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THE 
 
 CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS: 
 
 A TALE . 
 
 OF 
 
 ®l)c Ivisl) Rebellion of 1641. 
 
 MserV /4y\K<2L> 
 
 MRS. J. SADLIEE, ^ ZjAj 
 
 AUTHOR OF “NEW LIGHTS,” “ BLAKES AND FLANAGANS,” “WILLY BURAE,” 
 
 “RED HAND OF ULSTER,” ETC. 
 
 Rebellion ! foul, dishonoring word, 
 
 Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain’d 
 The holiest cause that tongue or sword 
 Of mortal, ever lost or gain’d. 
 
 How many a spirit born to bless, 
 
 Hath sunk beneath its withering name; 
 
 Whom but a day’s, an hour’s success, 
 
 Had wafted to eternal fame ! 
 
 Moore’s Lalla Eoofch. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 31 BARCLAY STREET; 
 
 BOSTON:— 128 FEDERAL STREET; 
 
 MONTREAL : — COR. OF NOTRE DAME & ST. FRANCIS XAVIER STREETS. 
 
 1864. 
 
 BOSTON COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 CHESTNUT HILL, MASS 
 
 
ps 
 
 . S^-3 
 
 C65X 
 
 j 2 b ^ 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by 
 D. & J. SADLIEE & CO., 
 
 In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It is a common saying, even amongst Irish people, that Irish 
 history is about the driest history known to us. There may be 
 some truth in the remark, for the fact is that Ireland of all coun- 
 tries, has never yet been fairly represented on the page of history. 
 In this she has had reason to complain, for although her sons have 
 done much for the historic fame of other countries, they have, for 
 the most part, wholly neglected that of their own. If Goldsmith 
 had but done for Ireland what he did for England, then the per- 
 sonages of Ireland’s eventful drama would be as familiarly known 
 as* are those of English history, — our O’Neils and O’Donnels 
 would bear comparison with the Russels and the Sidneys, and the 
 Hampdens, — our Desmonds, and Geraldines, and Butlers would 
 stand on a level with the Warwicks, the Percys, and the Douglases 
 of British story, and Brian Boromhe and Art McMurrough would 
 shine out from the darkness of their times with as true a lustre 
 as that which gilds the names of the English Alfred and the 
 Scottish Bruce. The sons and daughters of Ireland in foreign 
 countries would not then have to ask: “Who on earth is Owen 
 Roe ? — who is Hugh O’Neil ? — who is Oliver Plunket ? — What in 
 the world did they do that people keep talking so about them T 
 Oh ! what wonder is it that such ignorance prevails, such deplo- 
 rable ignorance, with regard to the history of Ireland ? What 
 effort has ever been made to invest it with charms for the rising 
 generation to whom history is of itself a dry study ? 
 
 We of the Irish race owe a debt to our departed worthies which 
 we cannot too soon set about paying. Their efforts to redeem 
 the land of their love were unhappily for the most part unsuc- 
 cessful, but the fault was not theirs — they were great and noble 
 in their generation — they did great things for Ireland — they have 
 left us their fame as a legacy — shall we not avail ourselves of it 
 to ennoble our country and give her that place amongst the na- 
 tions to which the glory of her sons entitles her ? No country 
 under heaven has had more heroic deeds done for her — no coun- 
 try holds a higher place in the martyrology of nations (so to 
 speak) — no history more chequered than hers, or marked by 
 more striking vicissitudes, more stirring events, deeper shadows 
 or more radiant lights. How then is it so little known, and when 
 partially known so little cared for ? Precisely because the romance 
 
4 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 of our history is left in the background, — the facts, even when 
 told over, are presented to the reader in the driest and least at- 
 tractive manner possible. What young person will think of read- 
 ing the Four Masters, McGeogegan, Lanigan, Keating, or OTIal- 
 loran ? The very sight of those ponderous volumes would deter 
 most people from opening them in search of “ Irish story,” and, 
 even though they did summon courage to “ look in,” the formid- 
 able array of long (and apparently) unpronouneable Milesian 
 names would be more than enough to damp their curiosity and 
 give them a distaste for further research.* 
 
 The annals of Ireland have been not inaptly likened to a 
 skeleton ; a heap of dry bones, which require the prophet’s breath 
 to infuse life into them, and clothe them with the vesture of 
 humanity. To follow up the comparison — as the student of 
 anatomy takes, bone by bone, and joint by joint, the wonderful 
 piece of mechanism which forms our body, in order to arrive at 
 a perfect knowledge of the whole, so would I endeavor to dissect 
 the corpus of Irish history, and presenting it piece by piece to 
 the reader, give a knowledge of each in detail. This is what 
 I have done in the work now placed before the reader. I 
 have taken the Religious War — commonly called the Great 
 Rebellion — which convulsed Ireland from 1641 to 1652, and 
 clothed the dry bones of the principal actors on both sides 
 with the flesh of their mortality, and breathed into them the 
 breath of life, so that they might speak and tell their own 
 story to all who are disposed to listen. I have woven a thread 
 of fiction — a slender thread, too — through the stirring events of 
 that “hero-age,” just enough to keep the dramatis personce grouped 
 together. In adhering so faithfully to the historical narrative, I 
 may have rendered the book less interesting to those who love 
 mystery and crave exeitement, but it was not to pander to 
 morbid and unhealthy appetites that I undertook a work requir- 
 ing so much patient research ; nor is it for the mere novel reader 
 that I write now or at any other time. To those who love Ireland 
 and can appreciate her fidelity to her ancient faith, the sufferings 
 she has endured, and the heroic efforts which her children have 
 made in times past to free her from civil and religious bondage, I 
 make no apology for the undue proportion of historical matter in 
 this story, they will value it all the more for being “ an ower true 
 tale.” 
 
 * The Popular History of Ireland now appearing from the pen of our dis- 
 tinguished countryman T. D, McGee, bids fair to supply this want. 
 
THE 
 
 CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 “ Is Iran’s pride, then, gone for ever, 
 
 Quenched with the flame in Mithra’s caves ? — 
 
 No — she has sons that never — never — 
 
 Will stoop to be the Moslem’s slaves, 
 
 While heaven has light, or earth has graves.” 
 
 Moore’s Lalla Rookh. 
 
 The long dreary reigns of Elizabeth and James, her successor, 
 had passed over bleeding, suffering Ireland like a hideous dream, 
 and the persecuted Catholics of that country hailed the accession 
 of Charles I. to the throne of his father, as the dawn of a day 
 that was to bring them peace and rest. For the king spoke them 
 fair and made many soothing promises, and they, in their exu- 
 berant loyalty, and in the gush of newly-awakened hope, be- 
 lieved every word he said, nor dreamed that the faithlessness of 
 all his race had descended upon this young prince, whose preco- 
 cious gravity of demeanor and affected generosity of sentiment w T ere 
 alike calculated to impose on the credulous and unsuspecting. 
 But the king wanted money, as the Stuart princes always did, and 
 who so ready as the Irish Catholics to supply it, hoping thereby 
 to secure the monarch’s favor, and to obtain from his gratitude 
 at least, if not his justice, those concessions which might raise 
 
6 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 them nearer the level of the other subjects of the realm. Plun- 
 dered and dispossessed of their estates by the wholesale confisca- 
 tions of the previous reigns, it is matter of astonishment to us at 
 this day that anything was left them to give. Undoubtedly the 
 native chieftains were many of them landless men, stripped of 
 their immense possessions by the crying injustice of English sov- 
 ereigns and their willing agents, the Lords Deputies of Ireland. 
 But the Catholics of the Pale were not so bankrupt in this world’s 
 goods — they being of English descent had been somewhat more 
 leniently dealt with, and the fairest and richest portion of the 
 island was still in their hands. They, then, were better able to 
 advance money, and it is probable the greater portion of the 
 subsidies came from them — who but they had it to give 'l How- 
 ever it was, no less a sum than one hundred and twenty thou- 
 sand 'pounds — an enormous sum in that age — was sent over by 
 the Catholics of Ireland as a peace-offering to the king. The 
 money once received, Charles thought no more of the promised 
 “ graces,” and the work of persecution and spoliation went on in 
 Ireland with undiminished violence, under the truculent and re- 
 morseless Strafford, the devoted henchman of the faithless king. 
 The Catholics, amazed and disappointed, petitioned and remon- 
 strated — reminded the king of the gracious promises which had 
 beguiled them into hope, and of the solemn contract into which 
 he had entered with them, but Charles gave them no sort of satis- 
 faction, and his minister in Ireland silenced their just complaints 
 with insult and mockery, and proceeded, with that diabolical 
 ingenuity which was characteristic of the man, to invent new 
 schemes of robbery for the benefit of his unworthy master. The 
 Commission of Defective Titles was appointed for the modest and 
 laudable purpose of dispossessing the Chieftains of Connaught of 
 their remaining lands and hereditaments — the pretence was to 
 examine into the titles of all the estates of the Province, but the 
 examination was only a legal farce. The juries were in every 
 instance coerced by the tyrant Strafford into finding for the king. 
 In fact, no alternative was left them. If they declared in favor 
 of the owners of the property, their own goods were confiscated, 
 and their persons dragged to Dublin to undergo the tortures of 
 the hell-devised Star Chamber, so that no alternative was left 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 7 
 
 them hut to find the existing title Defective , and by their verdict 
 to turn an ancient family out of its possessions, to swell the ranks 
 of the landless and beggared men who formed the great bulk of 
 the native gentry. 
 
 But the work of iniquity did not prosper with either Charles 
 Stuart or his factotum, Stratford. The Irish nation was bound hand 
 and foot, as they thought, and the remaining inheritance of its loyal 
 and long-suffering sons transferred in cash to the coffers of the 
 English king, but the all-seeing eye of a just God was on them 
 and their deeds of darkness were registered above. Even when 
 their power seemed at the highest, their doom was recorded, and 
 the crash of their fall resounded through the civilized world. 
 The same party whom the king, in his selfish blindness, permitted 
 to harry and distress his faithful subjects in Ireland, in England 
 and in Scotland, rose up in arms against him, and by a signal 
 stroke of retributive justice Strafford first, and himself at a later 
 period, suffered death at the hands of the ruthless fanatics who 
 were armed with power to smite them. When the king’s affairs 
 became desperate, his enemies many and powerful, and his friends 
 few, he was forced to recall Strafford from Ireland, hoping that 
 his tried fidelity, indomitable courage, and known ability, might 
 help to extricate him from the toils in which his own duplicity 
 had ensnared him. Vain and short-sighted calculations! The 
 measure of Strafford’s iniquity wa's full, and the hands which had 
 exercised such cruelties on the long-enduring Irish Catholics 
 were soon manacled by the fierce Puritans and rendered power- 
 less for evil or for good. His subsequent fate is well known to 
 all readers of history, but before his haughty neck was laid on 
 the block, the king his master replaced him in Ireland by two joint 
 governors named Lords Justices (strange perversion of terms !). 
 Of all the Popery-hating, plunder-loving rulers ever sent by the 
 'paternal government of England to soothe the woes and suffer- 
 ings of Catholic Ireland, these two men, Sir William Parsons and 
 Sir John Borlase, stand out in the light of history as amongst the 
 most odious robbers and persecutors. Even the bold, blustering, 
 barefaced villany of the royalist Strafford was better than the 
 smooth, hypocritical, all-grasping, and no less ferocious dealings 
 of these truculent agents of the Covenanting rebels, styled by 
 
8 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 themselves and others the Parliament of England. It was a 
 dismal day for poor bleeding, prostrate Ireland, when this pair of 
 associates were sworn in as Lords Justices, the actual Lord Lieu- 
 tenant, the Earl of Leicester, being then and long after resident 
 in England. 
 
 Amongst other atrocities of those penal days in Ireland was 
 the famous Court of Wards, established some years before with 
 the avowed object of protecting all heirs and heiresses, but in 
 reality for the double purpose of depriving them not only of their 
 patrimony, but of what was far more important, their faith, for, 
 be it known to the reader, that Catholic wards were the special 
 care of this precious Court. That such was the case Ireland 
 knew to her cost, for the working of this institution was more 
 fatal to her cherished faith than all the open persecution of the 
 times. Many of the descendants of her noblest and most ancient 
 families were in this way snatched from the fold of truth, and 
 brought up in rancorous hatred of that religion for which their 
 fathers suffered and died. Of this number was the famous James 
 Butler, Earl of Ormond, the representative of one of the oldest 
 •Anglo-Irish houses of the Pale, who, being an orphan from his 
 childhood, was of course laid hold of by the Court of Wards, 
 taken at nine years old from a Catholic school near London, trans- 
 ferred to the care of the Protestant Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 and “ trained up in the way” the English government “ would 
 have him go,” till he became the able and unscrupulous minister 
 of the crown, and one of the most dangerous — because insidious 
 — enemies the Catholics of Ireland ever had. But worse than 
 Ormond — worse than the fiercest blood-hounds of the Parliament, 
 was another of these royal wards, viz., Murrough O’Brien, Earl 
 of Inchiquin, a man who outdid all his colleagues — the fanatical 
 persecutors of the Catholics — with the single exception of the 
 monster Sir Charles Coote — in implacable enmity towards the 
 religion of his fathers. Even Coote himself did not exceed this 
 degenerate descendant of the great O’Briens in savage cruelty 
 towards the unhappy professors of the proscribed faith, when 
 they fell into his hands. 
 
 Truly was Catholic Ireland then passing through the sea of 
 affliction, enveloped in the darkest gloom of the penal days. 
 
THE CONEEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 9 
 
 Her religion proscribed by law, its professors styled recusants , 
 exposed with the poor remains of their possessions to the tender 
 mercies of such men as we have been describing, at the head of 
 infuriate bands of English soldiery. 
 
 Prostrate and helpless the whole country seemed to lie before 
 
 them, terrified into passive obedience, with no sign or symptom oi 
 life 'save the convulsive thrill of agony which ever and anon 
 passed through the tortured frame when some honored head was 
 smitten by the oppressor’s sword, or some fresh outrage was per- 
 petrated on the general body. But was this apathy real or only 
 apparent 1 — was there not, in all the land, one patriot soul to con- 
 ceive a thought of freedom 1 — where were the sons of those mar- 
 tyred chiefs who had lost fortune, and lands, and life itself for con- 
 science’ sake 1 — where the O’Neills and O’Donnells, were there none 
 to inherit their wrongs 'l — where the O’Moores of Leix who in pre- 
 ceding reigns had lost every foot of their princely possessions, and 
 were driven forth as wanderers on the earth 1 — where the 
 O’Byrnes of Wicklow whose noble spirit of independence, and un- 
 disguised hatred of the foreign foe,* had drawn down on them the 
 fiercest vengeance of tyrannic rulers for ages past, so that they 
 were made to endure every evil that malice could invent or power 
 execute 1 — were they all dead, or slept they in their chains, that no 
 murmer of complaint was heard, nor threat of vengeance 1 Ah 
 the time for complaints had passed away — they were tried all too 
 long, and had been found only to excite ridicule and contempt. 
 Threats and menaces would have seemed nothing short of mad- 
 ness, for all power was in the hands of the pitiless enemy, and no 
 hope of redress or liberation could quicken the pulse or warm the 
 heart of a nation in which life was almost extinct. No sound, 
 
 then, was heard from the despised masses of “ the mere Irish” to 
 indicate either hope or fear — a sullen silence reigned in all the 
 Catholic provinces — the native tribes and the descendants of the 
 Norman settlers were alike sunk in stolid hopelessness, to judge 
 from what was visible on the surface. What was passing in the 
 
 * The daring exploits of the famous Wicklow Chief Feagh McHugh 
 0’ Byrne “ and his hard-riding men” only a generation or so before, 
 are already celebrated in song and story — if not in history. 
 
 1 * 
 
10 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 secret depths, amongst those slumbering masses, it is for us now 
 to show. 
 
 Somewhere about the middle of September, in the memorable 
 year of 1641, a party of gentlemen were assembled around a fes- 
 tive board in the back parlor of a house in Bridge street, Dublin. 
 The room was comfortably but plainly furnished, and the black 
 oak table with its pewter plates and dishes and earthen drinking- 
 cups denoted but moderate means on the part of the entertainer, 
 yet there was that about him which savored of a different order of 
 life, and though all his guests — they were four or five in number 
 — were not, in manner at least, of the same high polish as him- 
 self, they were all evidently of a class entitled, if not accustomed, 
 to costlier fare and more humble service than that which fell to 
 their lot on the present occasion. They were all habited alike in 
 the gay and not ungraceful costume of the native Irish chieftains, 
 though it required not truis or cochal, to prove that such they 
 were. Their ages were different, though all might be called 
 young, for the oldest could not have seen forty, while the junior 
 of the party was still in the summer of life. As they quaff their 
 Spanish wine and idly while away in cheerful chit-chat the half- 
 hour after the viands were removed, let us tell the reader in confi- 
 dence who they were. The handsome and high-bred host, with 
 his long and silken hair so smoothly parted on his high white 
 forehead and falling on either side in the most exquisite of cooluns, 
 is no other than Roger O’Moore, the disinherited heir of the do- 
 mains of Leix, although none might trace on his frank, engaging 
 countenance even the faintest shadow of the stormy passions 
 which wrongs like his are apt to foster in the soul. Near him 
 on the right sat a younger man of prepossessing appearance, his 
 manners marked by that careless ease which indicates the con- 
 sciousness of rank, together with a certain assumption of super- 
 iority which might, or might not, give offence according to the 
 dispositions of the company. This was Connor Maguire, Lord 
 Enniskillen, more commonly known then, as since, by the name 
 of Lord Maguire. Next to him sat a personage of more mature 
 years, whose face and form were cast in a rougher mould, while 
 his bushy whiskers and thick short hair of sandy hue gave an 
 air of fierceness to the contour of his head that did not belong to 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 11 
 
 his broad, honest face, which was more indicative of good-nature 
 than anything else. This was Tirlogh O’Neill, brother of the 
 famous Sir Phelim, and as true a clansman as ever trod Tyrone 
 heather. On the opposite side of the table were two other gen- 
 tlemen, both in the prime of life, one of whom it was easy to dis- 
 tinguish as O’Reilly of Cavan, for his was the tall, thin, yet sin- 
 ewy frame, the fair and rather delicate features, and the calm dig- 
 nity of mien which ever characterized that far-descended line of 
 chieftains. The other gentleman was a promising scion of the 
 noble house of McMahon of Monaghan, and he, too, carried about 
 him the most prominent nfcirks of his race-— their frank sincerity, 
 their earnestness of purpose, and a shrewdness which eminently 
 fitted them for elbowing their way through life. 
 
 The distinctive peculiarities of each were more or less subdued 
 on the present occasion, and the wine appeared to circulate more 
 slowly than might be expected, notwithstanding the frequent 
 challenges of the host. 
 
 “ Why, gentlemen,” said O’Moore at length with sudden viva- 
 city, “ I marvel much at your disregard of wine which I have 
 taken some pains to provide of such quality as I thought likely 
 to make you merry at heart. How is it ? — are ye thinking to 
 conform to Puritan ways of godliness *?” 
 
 “ Nay, my very good friend,” made answer Lord Maguire, “ if 
 it be with others of your guests as it is with me, their thoughts 
 are too big for much speech.” 
 
 0’Moore’s_ assumed vivacity suddenly vanished, but a glow of 
 satisfaction overspread his features. “ You have been thinking, 
 then, friends and noble gentlemen, of the matter concerning 
 which I spoke to you severally as occasion offered heretofore. 
 I trust I see you all in the same mind, resolved to lend what 
 power in you lies to the relief and comfort of our suffering 
 country.” 
 
 The guests exchanged glances, and a certain embarrassment 
 was visible amongst them. Maguire was the first to break 
 silence. He assured O’Moore that no one felt more keenly than 
 himself the galling yoke of the oppressor, “ but,” said he, “it 
 would be worse than useless for us to make any show of resist- 
 ance at the present time, seeing that we have neither arms, 
 
12 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. • 
 
 I 
 
 ammunition, money, nor anything whatsoever to fit an army for 
 the field.” 
 
 “ It is even so,” said McMahon bitterly ; “ between confisca- 
 tions, fines and subsidies, and what not, they have left us bare as 
 whipping-posts. We have nothing to start us in the trade of war 
 — all is in their hands !” 
 
 “ Nothing !” cried O’Neill with ill-concealed impatience; “ call 
 you nothing, Costelloe McMahon, the strong arms and stout 
 hearts who follow the standards of our chiefs 1 Why, man, we 
 could raise an army in a month — ay ! and shorter time — fit to 
 sweep the cut-throat Englishers into tlfe sea !” 
 
 “ Spoken like a true son of the Hy-Nial !” said O’Moore, reaching 
 across Lord Maguire to grasp the rough hand wherewith Tirlogh 
 had made the table quiver to the tune of his fiery speech. 
 
 “ All well so far as it goes,” observed Maguire drily, his dignity 
 being somewhat hurt by his host’s momentary forgetfulness of 
 the respect due to his person ; “ men we have in great plenty, but 
 who will put arms in their hands, and clothes on their backs, 
 and find them wherewithal to live while they fight the country’s 
 battles 1 Would ye send them into the field as droves of sheep 
 without means of offence or defence, to be butchered at will by 
 the fanatic soldiers of the English Parliament V* 
 
 “ No need of that,” replied O’Neill with increasing warmth ; 
 “ there be iron and wood enough, for small purchase, to make 
 most excellent pikes, which will serve, I opine, till better 
 weapons come within reach, and I tell you, Connor Maguire,” he 
 added significantly, “ the smiths of Tyrone have not been idle 
 this time back, and moreover I can answer for one chieftain at 
 least ” 
 
 “ Ay ! and who may that be V’ 
 
 “ Phelim O’Neill !” said the haughty clansman with stern 
 emphasis, and a contemptuous glance at his neighbor ; “ he at 
 least is ready when his country calls him to the rescue — he will 
 offer no excuses — I tell you that, Roger O’Moore! — you may 
 reckon on my brother whensoever and howsoever you need his 
 aid in this matter.” 
 
 Had Maguire been as hot-blooded as O’Neill it might have 
 given their host some trouble to prevent a quarrel, but happily 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 13 
 
 the chieftain of Fermanagh was not of such choleric tempera- 
 ment, and with a somewhat higher degree of polish had a certain 
 amount of caution which enabled him to control his feelings when 
 he deemed it expedient. 
 
 The other guests were visibly alarmed for the effect of O’Neill’s 
 taunt, and O’Moore was about to interpose with his most winning 
 smile, but Maguire set them all at rest by saying in a good hu- 
 mored way : 
 
 “ I call ye all to witness that Tirlogh here took me up over 
 quickly. If I did express some doubts concerning our present 
 state of readiness, I had no thoughts of dallying behind when 
 others were of a mind to go forward. Right glad am I to hear 
 that my good friend of Tyr-owen is pushing matters on. Heaven 
 knows there be no time for delay — but for me I do hope to see 
 some other thing besides pikes in the hands of our men when 
 they come to blows with an enemy so well armed and otherwise 
 fitted out for war.” 
 
 “ You are in the right, my good lord,” said O’Moore, glancing 
 with evident relief at the restored good humor visible on Tir- 
 logh’s broad face ; “ much caution is needful in a matter of so 
 great import, but the provision of all things requisite for the 
 maintenance of warfare has been well considered before now. 
 There be those of our friends beyond seas in divers countries, as 
 ye all know, who have much skill in these matters, and they 
 wait but the signal to be with us with good store of all things 
 needful which, through God’s mercy and the royal charity of 
 Catholic princes, they have in speedy expectation.” 
 
 “ Lamh dearg aboo /” shouted he of Tyr-owen, jumping to his 
 feet with a suddenness that made the others start, “I knew it, 
 Rory ! — I knew they wouldn’t fail us !” 
 
 “ It is even so, Tirlogh,” replied his host smiling at the other’s 
 capricole, “ the Red Hand is working for us even now — not only 
 amongst the hills of Tyr-owen, but in the courts of Europe and 
 in the councils of kings.” 
 
 “ Tyrone* will be a host in himself,” observed O’Rielly, who had 
 
 * The Tyrone here alluded, to was the son of the great Hugh O’Neill. 
 He was the friend and counsellor of Roger 0’ Moore in his bold 
 
14 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 not as yet taken part in the conversation; “ his father’s great 
 deeds are in all men’s minds, and his name will he enough of 
 itself to stir up the northern clans.” 
 
 “ Owen Roe is worth a dozen of him !” said the rough-spoken 
 Tirlogh ; “ fighting is no novelty to Owen — he’s well used to it, 
 and can teach us all we want to know ! — Lamh dearg aboo ! — 
 there’s not a man of the O’Neills but will follow Owen Roe !” 
 
 “ You forget Sir Phelim, Tirlogh !” said Costelloe McMahon 
 with a meaning smile ; “ he has been so long now the first man in 
 Tyr-owen that I fear me much he will not take bidding even from 
 the hero of Arras or the belted Earl himself!” 
 
 “ Oh ! that's another story,” said O’Neill somewhat more coolly ; 
 “ there’s no need for him to take bidding — they can pull together 
 — and they will too, please God on high !” 
 
 “ Never was more need,” said O’Moore, fixing his thoughtful 
 eye on each of his guests in turn, “ there be news now to set us 
 on if we ever mean to do anything !” 
 
 Maguire’s anxious interrogatory was seconded by the startled 
 look of the others. “ What worse news can there be than those 
 which daily come to our ears 1 Thank Heaven ! matters cannot 
 be worse with us than they are !” 
 
 “ Thej r can be worse, my lord, and they will , if we do not 
 something before long. Have ye heard of this letter lately 
 intercepted V' 
 
 “ What letter 1” 
 
 “ Why, one from Scotland to a planter in the north, one Free- 
 man by name, apprising him that the Scotch covenanting army 
 is coming over anon in full strength to massacre every Papist in 
 this unhappy country.” 
 
 “It is true, then, what Parsons said at the banquet,”* said 
 Maguire with a quivering lip, “ not content with taking all our 
 substance, they must needs take our lives, too. Truly they treat 
 us as wolves ” 
 
 attempt to free the country. Their connection war, formed 'abroad, 
 O’Neill being in exile. 
 
 * A little before this Sir Wm. Parsons had declared at a put lie en- 
 tertainment that the Irish Papists should and would be exterminated. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 15 
 
 “ Yet we submit as lambs to their bloody oppression,” said 
 O’Moore eagerly; “let us but turn on them with the strength 
 that God gave us, and you shall see them wither as grass before 
 our righteous anger ! — make but a gallant show — rise in union 
 and in strength — stand before them as men resolved — and they 
 will not dare to smite ye ! The first news of our rising will bring 
 over supplies of all we want from the friendly courts of Europe 
 — our exiled countrymen will rush to aid us with the skill they 
 have gained in foreign wars, and before many months go by, if 
 we but keep together as we ought, we may hunt from our shores 
 the ferocious beasts who fatten on our spoils and on our blood, 
 stand as free men on the soil that is ours by right, and worship 
 God after the manner of our fathers in the way we deem safe for 
 our soul’s weal ! — what say ye, friends and gentlemen ? Chief- 
 tains of the north ! shall we still lie motionless under the enemy’s 
 armed heel, and suffer him to sweep our race from the face of 
 God’s earth without striking even one blow for freedom or re- 
 venge ? "Which one of us is there whose father they have not 
 robbed — ay, and murdered /” — his deep, impassioned voice sank 
 to a thrilling whisper as he spoke the hideous word, and whether 
 by accident or design he turned his eloquent eyes full on McMa- 
 hon, whose immediate ancestor, McMahon of Dartrey, had ac- 
 tually been hung in front of his own door* in the stormy days, 
 yet fresh in all men’s minds, when Hugh O’Neill was waging his 
 heroic but unequal war against the giant power of Elizabeth. 
 
 McMahon rose, and with flushed cheek and flashing eye gave his 
 hand to O’Moore : “ Such aid as I can give, Rory, you shall have — • 
 the cause is just, and the God of justice will bless our arms — we were 
 no men, either you or I, could we forget Dartrey or Mullaghmast.f 
 
 * Could Philip O’Reilly have looked into the future but a few years, 
 he would have seen a venerable chieftain of his own race hanging 
 from a tree, within sight of his own castle windows, during the bloody 
 Cromwellian period. These horrible tragedies are, and will ever be, 
 traditional in Ulster. 
 
 t Every reader of Irish history is familiar with the story of the 
 treacherous murder of the O’Moores at the Rath of Mullaghmast. It 
 is one of the blackest pages in the annals of British rule in Ireland. 
 
16 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 When the banner of our country is again unfurled, the men of 
 Uriel will be found in the right place and at the fitting time. 
 O’Reilly, what say you V ’ 
 
 “ I say this, Costelloe McMahon, that there beats not in Irish 
 bosoms hearts more true than those of Breffny-O’Reilly. Let the 
 clans of Ulster once raise the war-shout and the Red Hand 
 point the way, the O’Reillys will not be hindmost, take my 
 word !” 
 
 “ Uriel and Breffny forever !” shouted Tirlogh O’Neill ; “ I told 
 you the truth was in them, Rory O’Moore ! — now for Fermanagh !” 
 and he turned his fierce eyes on Maguire, who appeared to take 
 the matter rather coolly for his liking. 
 
 “ Fermanagh is not an ass, to be driven at will,” said Maguire 
 haughtily and coldly. “ If Roger O’Moore, or any other man, 
 can show me any fair prospect of success, I am ready to join a 
 cause which I know is just and righteous, but as yet, I have 
 heard or seen nothing to change my opinion, namely, that as 
 things stand now with us of the old faith it would be madness 
 to make a show of fight. Idle boasting will do nothing, Roger 
 O’Moore !” 
 
 O’Neill’s hand was on his skene in an instant, and the other 
 gentlemen, although habitually more self-possessed, could not 
 conceal their surprise. O’Moore laid his hand on O’Neill’s arm, 
 and admonished him by a gentle pressure to listen patiently. 
 
 “ Nay, Tirlogh,” said Maguire with a calm smile, “ if others’ 
 feathers were but as easily ruffied as yours, you should have hot 
 work of it, let me tell you ! By what I said, I meant no offence 
 to any gentleman of this good company. What I want, Rory 
 O’Moore, is this : Before we take any rash step in a matter which 
 concerns all men of Irish blood, or professing the Catholic faith, 
 let us see what the lords and gentlemen of that religion in other 
 parts of the country have a mind to do. The chain is as heavy on 
 them as it is on us — they have as many wrongs as we to rouse 
 their ire — of a surety, then, they will lend a hand — let us do 
 nothing till we acquaint them and make an agreement with them 
 as to what share of the work they will take !” 
 
 “ Your lordship must surely forget,” said O’Moore, his hand 
 still resting lightly on the arm of his refractory neighbor, “ what 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 17 . 
 
 I told you a few days since when I saw you at your lodgings, to 
 wit, that I have journeyed much of late through several parts of 
 the Irish country, and have talked the matter over with many of 
 the first men as to name and standing — they are all well affected 
 towards this thing, as far as I could see, and, with God’s blessing, 
 are determined to join us. There is not a man of the ancient 
 race, I do think, in Ulster, Connaught, or Munster that will not 
 rise at the first news of an attack on the government forces. Nay 
 more, my good Lord, there he those of English blood — ay ! within 
 the borders of the Pale itself, who are only waiting for us to 
 strike a blow in defence of religion, when they will join us heart 
 and soul !” 
 
 “Well, there is some encouragement in that,” said Maguire, 
 
 “ especially as regards the Connaught and Munster tribes — as for 
 the Palesmen, it will go hard with them when they strike a blow 
 on the same side with us Irishry, as they choose to style us. 
 However, Roger, I will not be the man to stand by and see 
 others fighting my battle — it would ill become one of my name — 
 so, in due time — nay, nay, no fierce looks, Tirlogh O’Neill ! — I 
 say in due time — that is, when fitting preparation be made here 
 at home and our countrymen abroad are in the way of joining 
 us with their well-tried swords — then, I and mine will not be 
 found wanting !” He had spoken all along with a sort of 
 nervous trepidation, that was but too visible, but as he reached 
 the close, his voice gathered strength and firmness, and he spoke 
 the last words in a tone as firm as even O’Moore himself could 
 wish, though he relished not the qualified consent which ought 
 to have come, he thought, without reserve or exception. 
 
 But O’Neill in his thoughtless, headlong generosity felt none 
 of this, and he was the first to grasp the young nobleman’s hand, 
 which the others all did in their turn. 
 
 “ Nobly said, Connor Maguire,” said the warm-hearted son 
 of the O’Neills, and his voice quivered with emotion ; “I shamed 
 to see the Chieftain of Fermanagh throwing cold water on so 
 good a cause. Now you speak dike a Maguire ! — Let’s have a 
 bumper, most sage Rory, to drink Maguire’s health !” 
 
 “ And success to the cause in which we are all embarked !” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 • 18 
 
 the host added, as the brimming tankards gleamed aloft in 
 every hand. 
 
 There was a momentary pause, during which one looked at 
 the other, and all, as if by a common impulse, turned their eyes 
 on Maguire. That chieftain saw the doubt, and a smile of cheer- 
 ing import lit his manly features. He was the first to raise the 
 goblet to his lips, and he drained it to the patriotic toast, as given. 
 The others followed his example, and O'Moore felt that some- 
 thing had been done — the representatives of four powerful 
 houses stood pledged to the common weal when they parted 
 that evening. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 19 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 “ In vain did oppression endeavor 
 * To trample that green under foot ; 
 
 The fair stem was broken, but never 
 Could tyranny reach to its root. 
 
 Then come, and around it let’s rally, 
 
 And guard it henceforward like men ; 
 
 Oh ! soon shall each mountain and valley 
 Grow bright with its verdure again. 
 
 Meanwhile, fill each glass to the brim, boys, 
 
 With water, with wine, or potheen, 
 
 And on each let the honest wish swim, boys, 
 
 Long flourish the Gael and the Green !” 
 
 M. J. Barry. 
 
 Eight or ten days after the dinner party at O’Moore’s lodgings 
 two gentlemen stood together at a window in an old weather- 
 beaten castle amongst the heath-clad hills of Tyrone. The scene 
 without was wild and rugged, hare, bleak hills of every variety of 
 shape stretching far and away, with brown moors and patches of 
 stubble-fields here and there between. Few traces of human ha- 
 bitation were at first sight visible, but a closer examination 
 showed the district thickly inhabited. The hill-sides and the 
 valleys, the moors and the meadow-lands were all dotted with 
 cabins and cottages, whose time-darkened clay walls were brown 
 as the withered herbage or the arid soil around them. Even 
 while the eye endeavored to distinguish these hut-like dwellings 
 from amid the drear monotony of the scene, smoke began to as- 
 cend in many a spiral column from every imaginable point, giving 
 life and animation, if not grace or beauty, to the scene. But it 
 was not the brown autumnal hills, or the smoke from cottage- 
 fire giving note of the evening meal, that arrested the wandering 
 
20 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 gaze or occupied the minds of the two individuals who stood in 
 earnest conversation at a window of the great hall in yon gray 
 old keep, whose solitary tower, surrounded by high, strong walls 
 of rough stone, looms dark and menacing over ihe adjacent moor- 
 lands. Both were in the prime of life, and their sinewy propor- 
 tions showed to full advantage in the close-fitting truis, and what 
 we would call jacket, of the Irish chiefs of that and former ages, 
 as they stood in the flickering, glaring light of a bog-wood fire 
 blazing and crackling behind them in the wide, open chimney of 
 the hall. The short cloak or cochal which invariably completed 
 the costume, hung more gracefully from the shoulders of one, 
 while the broad chest and stalwart form of the other would have 
 furnished a model for one of the Athletes of old. His voice, when 
 he spoke, too, was rough and strong, with something imperious 
 in its tone ; while that of his companion was soft and well-modu- 
 lated, as one who had lived long in cities, it might be in courts. 
 They talked in characteristic fashion of the great scheme then 
 in agitation for the country’s weal, and he of the courtly mien 
 was urging on his not very patient auditor certain reasons which 
 he himself deemed conclusive for a speedy and general demon- 
 stration of strength. Surely we have heard those mellifluous 
 accents before, and as surely it is Roger O’Moore that speaks. 
 His companion is a stranger to us, but we all at once remember 
 having lately seen a face like his and a burly form of just such 
 muscular proportions. Putting one thing with another, the Ty- 
 rone fortress, the authoritative tone of this stalwart chieftain, and 
 the eagerness wherewith the astute Leinsterman labors to con- 
 vince him, we venture on a shrewd surmise, eventually found 
 correct. With a start we recognize Sir Phelim O’Neill, at that 
 period the chief man of his race in Ulster, and the old gray for- 
 talice under whose smoky rafters he appears before us is, then, no 
 other than Kinnard Castle, made memorable to all aftertimes by 
 the valorous exploits of its martial lord. 
 
 O’ Moore had been watching through the misty light from 
 without, the lowering brow of the northern chieftain and the 
 fiery glances which shot at intervals from his half-closed eyes. 
 
 “ I say they count on our forbearance, Sir Phelim — or mayhap 
 they name it cowardliness. Those men of blood and rapine have 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 21 
 
 doubtless made up their minds that our lives and what holdings 
 we still have are theirs when they list to seize them, and that the 
 spirit of our fathers is squeezed out of us by the load of misery 
 they have put upon us — they have done what men could to cool 
 our blood by keeping us on low living, and divers other ex- 
 pedients ” 
 
 Sir Phelim interrupted him with a grim smile. “They may find 
 it too hot for their liking, an’ they wait a little. But name thenfcriot, 
 Rory — I confess to a want of patience, at all times, but the black 
 villany of these canting knaves is something I cannot even think 
 of without feeling for my skene. By our hopes of happiness here- 
 after, Rory O’ Moore, I would barter my chance of that earldom 
 of Tyrone of which you spoke but now, ay ! and the broad lands 
 that called the great Hugh master, could I but see the green 
 flag waving from Dublin Castle, and Parsons and Borlase swing- 
 ing from the battlements ! Before God, I would this very night !” 
 
 “ I doubt it not, my friend,” said O’Moore, with undisguised 
 satisfaction, “ but, now that you mention that’ accursed Castle, 
 I must tell you a thing which has come into my mind concerning 
 it. Come a. little farther this way — I see your people are making 
 ready for the evening repast.” 
 
 “ Pooh, man, heed them not — the Sassenach tongue is a dead 
 one to them — so should it be to us all — and as for treachery — did 
 they catch the meaning of our words — there be no such poisonous 
 weed amongst our heather. Still, an’ it please you better, let us 
 move somewhat farther from the gillies’* lugs.” 
 
 O’Moore then unfolded to his astonished host, in as few words 
 as might be, a plan which had been projected by himself and 
 others yet to be named for the seizure of Dublin Castle with its 
 stores of arms and ammunition, as the first grand move in their 
 military tactics. He was proceeding to enlarge in his clear and 
 lucid style on the incalculable advantages likely to follow this 
 bold stroke, if successfully carried out, but O’Neill broke in very 
 curtly with 
 
 * Gillie was the Celtic word equivalent to our follower or attendant . 
 Hence the prefix Gill or Gilla to some of the old names, such as Gil- 
 pat rick, Gil-macuddy , <&c. 
 
22 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ What ! — take the Castle ! — without men or reasonable arms ! 
 —why, before Heaven, man, I think your wits are failing you !” 
 
 “ It may be so,” replied O’Moore with a quiet smile, “ though 
 before I leave you I may prove myself sane enough. But, I pray 
 you tell me what you mean by reasonable arms ? — what manner 
 of arms be they 
 
 “Nay, Roger O’Moore,” cried the fiery northman, “ this, I take 
 it, is«o laughing matter ; you know well that by reasonable arms 
 I mean arms of sufficient quality and in sufficient numbers, 
 which, if so be you had, where are the men and the leaders to 
 carry out such a measure 1 Sdeath, man, where be all these V’ 
 
 “ If you will but hear me, Sir Phelim, I will make this matter 
 plain to your comprehension. You have heard, doubtless, of cer- 
 tain instructions lately sent over by the king’s majesty concerning 
 forces to be raised here for the Spanish and other continental 
 services ” 
 
 “ Yea, surely I have heard the thing spoken of, but what is 
 that to us, or rather will it not be hurtful to us in this matter to 
 have our best men sent abroad, if it so happen that we need 
 them here at home 1” 
 
 “ Ay, but suppose,” — he lowered his voice almost to a whisper 
 and drew still nearer his companion — “ suppose, Sir Phelim, these 
 regiments — drilled and trained by royal permission — might lend 
 us their good swords and muskets — ay ! and their stout arms to 
 boot — what think you of that, son of the Hy-Nial V’ 
 
 At this hint Sir Phelim’s countenance brightened up, and he 
 turned eagerly towards O’Moore : “ What ! do you mean to 
 
 say ” 
 
 “ I mean to say, O’Neill, that the colonels of several of those 
 regiments — two or three I can answer for — have another end in 
 view besides that of aiding the King of Spain ; think you, my 
 good friend, that our cause is not nearer and dearer to Colonel 
 Hugh O’ Byrne — for to such command is he named — than any 
 other in the wide world 1 ” 
 
 “ He were no man, Rory, an’ he were not so affected towards 
 us !” and honest Phelim rubbed his hands right gleefully. 
 
 “Well! there be others of the officers of rank in that service 
 no less willing to join us than Hugh O’Byrne. There be Plun- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 23 
 
 kelts and Dillons there, too, Sir Phelim ! — men with Catholic 
 hearts though of English blood !” 
 
 “ I have no faith in them,” said the blunt Ulsterman, with a 
 doubtful shake of the head. 
 
 “Nay, I tell you, Sir Phelim! there are good men. and honest 
 men among them — ay! and some who have suffered long and 
 much for the ancient faith — they are branded by the penal laws 
 as well as- we — why should they not join us in rending asunder 
 a chain which binds us all alike 1” 
 
 “ Well, well, Rory, I believe you know best ; I will take your 
 word for the good faith of these Norman churls ” 
 
 “ How, Sir Phelim ! you forget, surely, that some of these lords 
 and gentlemen are my friends and kinsmen! — Norman churls! I 
 like not the phrase.”* 
 
 “Ha! ha!” laughed O’Neill, “I did not think to see such a 
 frown on Rory O’ Moore’s smooth forehead — an’ it were me, now, 
 none might wonder ; but you, Rory ! — for shame, man ! clear 
 your brow, and keep your temper, I advise you, in Kinnard 
 Castle, or your Norman friends and kinsmen, as you call them 
 may fight the battle on their own account !” 
 
 O’Moore, by this time sensible of his error, and partly ashamed 
 of a display of petulance very unusual with him, applied himself to 
 soothe the chafed Ulsterman, and with that end asked him if his 
 brother had mentioned to him a certain matter appertaining to 
 the dispositions of a powerful nobleman in the Western .province. 
 
 “ Something of the kind he said you hinted to him and the 
 other gentlemen at your lodgings, but darkly and in a way they 
 could make nothing of ” 
 
 “ I told them further,” said O’Moore, “ that I was kept from 
 naming that lord by a promise of secrecy which he needs would 
 have of me ; still, as you now seem to doubt the good dispositions of 
 the Catholics of English blood, and as it behoves us to put the Red 
 Hand in motion at any cost — for without its aid our cause were 
 hopeless — I will tell you, on condition that you tell no man with- 
 
 * It is agreed by historians of all parties that Roger 0’ Moore was 
 connected both by kindred and affinity with many of the first houses 
 of the English Pale. 
 
24 
 
 'HE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 out my consent — that this nobleman is no other than the Lord 
 Mayo, whose power, and authority* and good credit amongst all 
 men you know as well as I !” This speech was a master-stroke 
 of dexterity, and told well on more accounts than one. 
 
 “ Did Miles Burke give you his word that he will join us in 
 this matter V' 
 
 O’Neill fixed his fiery eyes on the Leinsterman as though he 
 would read him through. 
 
 “ So help me Heaven and our dear Lady, he promised in all 
 sincerity to do his utmost in our behalf, when once our standard 
 is on the wind !” 
 
 Every trace of displeasure, not to say suspicion, vanished at 
 once from Sir Phelim’s open countenance, and grasping his guest 
 by the right hand he gave it a hearty squeeze as he led him to 
 the dais at the head of the table where Lady O’Neill, with one or 
 two female friends, already awaited them. “ Take your seat, 
 man, and forgive my rough speech! Nora!” to his wife, “you 
 know Roger O’Moore before now — the greatest man of his name, 
 I take him to be !” 
 
 O’ Moore smiled and bowed with the graceful suavity peculiar 
 to himself. Some other gentlemen of the O'Neills entered and 
 took their seats, and the meal began with a clatter of knives and 
 plates and dishes which boded no good to the substantial viands 
 on the board. 
 
 The repast was not yet over when a bustle in the court with- 
 out attracted the attention of those within, and before Sir Phe- 
 lim’s inquiry as to the cause of the tumult had time to be 
 answered, the door at the lower extremity of the hall was thrown 
 open, giving admission to an elderly man of portly mien, who 
 walked up the hall to where the hostess sat, with the smiling air 
 of a man who feels himself at home, every one present rising to 
 greet him as he passed with some word of joyous welcome. 
 O’Moore, though he rose with the others, was at first somewhat 
 puzzled, but his surprise was at an end when Sir Phelim pre- 
 sented the new-comer as 
 
 “Bishop McMahon of Clogher!” 
 
 “What! Heber McMahon!” cried O’Moore joyfully. 
 
 “ The same, good sir,” said the patriotic prelate, with a good- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 25 
 
 humored smile, as his quick eye ran over the face and figure of 
 O’Moore. 
 
 “ Then I am better pleased to meet you, my lord of Clogher, 
 than if you were the Pope of Rome, to whom be all reverence ! 
 The name of Heber McMahon is as a trumpet-note heralding 
 victory !” 
 
 “ I joy to hear it, Mr. O’Moore, ” returned the Bishop, “for 
 in sooth my heart is on fire at the present hour with hopes and 
 wishes for speedy action on behalf of our oppressed people, and 
 far in the solitude of my poor dwelling my ears have been glad- 
 dened of late by the tales of Roger O’Moore’s heroic efforts to 
 rouse the chief men of the nation from their fatal lethargy ! 
 Heaven bless you, my son ! you are worthy of your noble race !” 
 And the layman and the bishop, then meeting for the first time, 
 clasped each other’s hand with the fervor of old friends for long 
 years parted. 
 
 Lady O’Neill, being in poor health at the time, so far from 
 taking any interest in the contemplated movement, shrank with 
 nervous apprehension from the possibility of a rising which her 
 dread of the English made her regard as likely to draw down 
 swift and sure destruction on all concerned. She was a pious 
 and devoted Catholic, and felt, in common with all others, the 
 crying injustice wherewith those of the ancient faith were treated 
 year after year by every successive ruler, still she feared that any 
 attempt to throw off the cruel shackles which bound the peo- 
 ple would only increase the general misery, and, sure to end in 
 defeat, make matters worse instead of better. She had seen, for 
 months before, all manner of secret meetings and consultations 
 going on within the precincts of her dwelling, and well knowing 
 that her husband had more ambition than prudence, and was 
 naturally fond of excitement, she feared his being drawn into the 
 assumption of a responsibility which would be sure to make him 
 a prominent mark for that judicial vengeance which never spared 
 any one. In the beginning she had remonstrated warmly with 
 her husband against the making a general rendezvous of Kin- 
 nard Castle, urging him if those meetings were to be held, to ar- 
 range it so that some of the other chiefs and nobles of the pro- 
 vince should have them occasionally at their several houses in 
 2a 
 
26 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 order to avoid fixing suspicion on him.* But Sir Phelim was 
 little in the habit of taking counsel of women, so he only laughed 
 at his wife’s fears, and, at length, cut her short with an order to 
 mind her own business, nor dare for the future to meddle in his. 
 The lady knowing by long experience that further interference 
 on her part would do no manner of good, contented herself ever 
 after with showing a cold countenance to the gentlemen who fre- 
 quented the Castle on this, to her, obnoxious business. She had 
 no difficulty in distinguishing them, for they were all, without ex- 
 ception, heads of the old Irish families, men who had severally 
 and separately long accounts of insult, and outrage, and robbery 
 to settle with the government. In her heart the Lady Nora sym- 
 pathized with these injured chieftains, for she herself was of the 
 old blood, but still, a‘s I have said, she abhorred the idea of open 
 insurrection, dreading its results, and so it was that her cheek 
 paled and her rounded form wasted day by day- under the pres- 
 sure of fears which were necessarily pent up within her own 
 bosom. She had personally a great respect for Roger O’Moore 
 and a still greater for Ileber McMahon’s high office, yet it was 
 not without alarm that she saw them together at her board, for 
 the part they were both acting in the way of stirring up the 
 chiefs was well known to her. It was with difficulty that she 
 could show even ordinary civility to her husband’s guests, not- 
 withstanding the not very gentle hints from time to time thrown 
 at her by Sir Phelim, and the still more powerful influence of 
 O’Moore’s polished manners. On the plea of indisposition she 
 left the table early with her companions, having first ascertained 
 from the bishop his intention of saying Mass next morning. 
 
 “ But where, my lordl — surely not here— not in the castle 
 
 “ Assuredly no, my daughter, — if you are afraid of running 
 such risk !” 
 
 * That this advice was a wise and salutary one, we see from the 
 fact that in the famous letter of Sir Wm. Cole, governor of Enniskillen, 
 to the Lords Justices, apprising them of some unusual stir amongst the 
 Ulster chiefs, he founds his opinion on the number of visitors going 
 and coming, as he heard, all summer, to and from Sir Phelim O’Neill’s 
 house at Kinnard. 
 
BOSTON GOLLE&® UBK; 
 
 ■GHE3T1SIUT HILL, MASS 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 27 
 
 “ In the Castle-chapel, ray lord !” interrupted Sir Phelim,, with a 
 wrathful glance at his wife, of whose timidity he was heartily 
 ashamed. “ With God’s help, we will soon have Mass when and 
 where we wish.” 
 
 “ But that time is not come, Phelim !” pleaded Nora ; “ oh ! be- 
 think you ere it be too late. Think of the danger to the bishop — 
 yourself — all of us !” 
 
 “ Woman! hie you to your chamber !” cried Sir Phelim, start- 
 ing to his feet, “ not another word, now — begone ! I say ! — too 
 long have we worshipped in caves and huts through slavish fear — 
 from this day out, Mass shall be duly said here in the castle — that 
 is,” he added bitterly, “ when we can get priests to minister to us 
 — let me see who shall intrude on our sacred rites !” 
 
 Although Sir Phelim spoke in English, the substance of what 
 he said seemed well understood by all present, for as Lady O’Neill 
 retired sad and sorrowful, she heard from all parts of the spacious 
 hall, from retainers as well as guests, one long continued burst of 
 applause. 
 
 “ But on second thoughts,” said Sir Phelim, turning to the 
 bishop, “ it may be that I go too far in this matter without autho- 
 rity. Will you have any fears, my lord 7” 
 
 “ Fears !” cried the prelate contemptuously, “ fears to say Mass 
 in Kinnard Castle, protected by the chief of Tyr-Owen ! Were I 
 sure of death I would not shrink, — it were worth a hundred lives 
 such as mine to see one such step taken in advance, — and by Sir 
 Phelim O’Neill ! I would I were within sight of Parson’s ill- 
 favored countenance and the news reach him at the council-board 
 that Mass was said on a certain day in Kinnard Castle by one 
 Heber McMahon, a titular popish bishop ! ha ! ha !” The bishop’s 
 derisive laugh was echoed from all parts of the hall, and then 
 the host called for a general bumper to the discomfiture of all 
 tyrants and oppressors. 
 
 “ I pledge you in Spanish wine” said O’Moore pointedly. 
 
 “ Not so, Rory, not so,” quickly rejoined his host, “ our own us- 
 quebaugh and no other — foreign wines are good in their way, but at 
 a time like this, my friend, I say the native whiskey warms the 
 heart — ay ! and nerves the arm !” 
 
 0’ Moore gracefully assented, saying as he filled his goblet from 
 
28 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 the steaming bowl : “ I believe you are in the right, our worthy 
 host, in more senses than one — strength and power are from within 
 the nation, whatsoever may come from without” 
 
 Here the bishop excused himself from farther potations as the 
 evening was wearing late, and soon after withdrew to his ap- 
 pointed sleeping place, preceded by a tall henchman of the clan 
 O’Neill, bearing an oil-lamp in which a rush-light glimmered 
 by way of wick. It was never willingly that Rory O’Moore lin- 
 gered long over the punch-bowl or the wine-cup, but on that oc- 
 casion he found it no easy matter to escape the determined attack 
 of Sir Phelim on his temperate habits. Fearing to exasperate the 
 choleric chieftain by an obstinate refusal to continue the carouse, 
 he sat much longer than was his wont, and at last succeeded only 
 in effecting a timely retreat by the aid of a violent headache, 
 which, indeed, was partly real, owing to the share he had been 
 compelled to take in the fiery libations so plentifully “poured” by 
 O’Neill, to the cause of freedom and justice. With a very con- 
 temptuous expression of pity, Sir Phelim returned his guest’s 
 courteous salutation, while O’Moore, as he, in turn, marched to 
 his chamber after a stately follower of the O’Neill’s, pathetically 
 murmured to himself : 
 
 “ Phelim O’Neill ! — honest Phelim O’Neill ! your drink is good, 
 and your heart better, but I would your hospitality were less 
 urgent.” 
 
 Next day was Sunday, and hours before the lingering dawn, 
 the bishop’s man was in the chapel, preparing all things for the 
 celebration of the divine mysteries. The gloom of the place was 
 broken, not dispelled, by the fitful glare of a pine-torch standing 
 in an earthen socket close by the temporary altar,* making the 
 damp walls and the rafters of black oak dimly visible. The cold 
 autumn wind whistled dolefully around the narrow windows, 
 which were, indeed, loop-holes filled up with thin sheets of horn, 
 through which even the day-beam made its way but faintly. 
 There was a ghostly look about the place, and the wailing of the 
 
 # An altar could not then have existed as a fixture in any building, 
 public or private. It would have been as much as any nobleman or 
 gentleman’s life was worth to have such a thing on his prem'ses. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 29 
 
 wind was like the voices of perturbed spirits. It is probable that 
 Malachy McMahon would have shrunk from braving the loneli- 
 ness of the place and the hour had he been without a companion, 
 but he had taken the precaution of securing over-night the valu- 
 able company of Shamus Beg, no less a person than the foster- 
 brother of Sir Phelim. This individual, fully conscious of the 
 dignity arising from his intimate connection with so great a chief 
 — the greatest, he thought, in the whole island — gave himself lit- 
 tle trouble to assist Malachy, deeming his presence there quite a 
 sufficient stretch of condescension. So he lay at full length in 
 luxurious ease on a bench near the scene of Malachy’s labors, 
 with the flickering light of the torch shining on his well-formed 
 though somewhat stolid features. He evidently listened with 
 much relish to Malachy’s oracular discourse, as that grave and 
 half-clerical functionary suspended operations now and then to 
 deliver himself of an opinion. From his long attendance on 
 priests, dating, in fact, from his very boyhood, Malachy had 
 acquired a certain gravity of demeanor amounting at times to a 
 solemnity that was somewhat ludicrous. His claims to superior 
 wisdom were, however, cheerfully admitted by all the Clan 
 McMahon, amongst whom he was known by the soubriquet of 
 Malachy na Soggarth, or Malachy of the Priests, and the stout- 
 est McMahon in Farney, the boldest McKenna in Truagh would 
 not raise a finger for the king’s crown against that privileged 
 individual. Malachy always knew, or appeared to know, more 
 than any of his fellows, and amongst the simple clansmen 
 with whom he lived his dictum on any subject was almost as 
 much respected as though he had drank from the mystic foun- 
 tains of knowledge in the halls of Louvain or Salamanca. It 
 was natural that at such a time, when all men’s minds were filled 
 with portentous thoughts of coming events, the confidential ser- 
 vant of a bishop, a man so gifted withal as Malachy, should be 
 in much request amongst the lower orders of the Catholics as an 
 expounder of things past, present, and to come. 
 
 “ As sure as you’re a living man, Shamus O’Hagan,” said Mala- 
 chy, stopping for the twentieth time or so in front of his com- 
 panion, “ as sure as you’re a living man, we’ll have a hard fight 
 for it, if God is pleased to give us a victory over them thieving 
 
30 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 foreigners. You see they have the whole power of England at 
 their back, and what’s more, they have their general, the black 
 devil below, to fight for them, Christ save us ! for sure wasn’t 
 it him that put it in their hearts and in their heads to harass, and 
 plunder, and slaughter poor creatures as they’re doing ever since 
 the time of old Harry.” 
 
 “ Never mind, Malachy,” said Shamus, half raising himself 
 from his recumbent posture, “ we’ll pay them back for it some 
 of these days. When Sir Phelim and the rest of the chiefs once 
 get at them — as they will soon, please God on high ! — they’ll settle 
 them for ever and a day — I’ll go bail it’s little hurt or harm they’ll 
 do, the murdering villains, when once we’re done with them.” 
 
 To this Malachy shook his head doubtingly : “We couldn’t do 
 it, Shamus, we couldn’t do it — it’s a thing impossible, any way 
 you take it, unless the Sassenachs of the Pale would stand to 
 us — as they ought — for to be sure they’re of the same religion as 
 ourselves, and for that reason they don’t know the day nor the 
 hour they’ll be stripped of lands and livings as we are ourselves, 
 glory be to God ! — if they’d only come out like men and fight for 
 their country and their God, we mightn’t care what day we’d 
 hoist the green flag, as I’ve heard the bishop say many a time. 
 But sure I’m afeard, and so is the bishop, that that's what the 
 Sassenachs will never do — as long as they can live shut up in 
 their big stone castles, and hear Mass of an odd time down in' a 
 vault, or any place out of sight and hearing of the bloody Eng- 
 lishers and Scotchmen from beyond seas, they don’t care a straw 
 if all the Irishry in the country, man, woman and child, were 
 roasted alive or turned out to starve on the wide world, as thou- 
 sands of them are every year, and them the flower of the old 
 blood, more’s the pity ! — no, no, Shamus, if ever you see us gain- 
 ing any of our rights, it’ll be with good help from France and 
 Spain — and sure the ancient prophecies tell us that plainly.” 
 
 “ Ah, then, do they, Malachy V' asked Shamus with reneAved 
 interest, and he quickly raised himself to a sitting posture. 
 
 “ Indeed they do, Shamus — they make it as clear as the sun at 
 mid-day, that when Ireland rises to her feet again, and the race of 
 Heber and Heremon gets back their OAvn it will be with help from 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 31 
 
 the King of France and the King of Spain — and the Pope himself, 
 Shamns ! : ’ he added by way of climax. 
 
 “ See that now !” 
 
 “ Ay, and there’s great mention made, too, of the Irishmen in 
 foreign countries — heroes of great fame, and strength, and courage, 
 like the mighty men of old, Fin MacCool, and Ossian ” 
 
 “ And Hugh of Tyr-Owen,” suggested the clansman of O’Neill. 
 “ If he could only come himself with his warriors, now, from the 
 cave of Aileach where they’re enchanted* — and who knows, Mal- 
 achy — who knows but he may 1 Isn’t it prophesied that he’s to 
 rise and head the men of Ireland when the country’s at a great 
 pinch % ” 
 
 It was evident that Mai achy had not much faith in the great 
 Earl’s timely re-appearance, for he cut the other’s rhapsody short 
 with 
 
 “ There’s a man in this very house, now, that’ll be at the head 
 and foot of everything.” 
 
 “ Oh, to be sure — you mean Sir Phelim!” 
 
 “No, I don’t — Sir Phelim will be a great help, I know — but 
 the man I mean is Rory O’Moore !” 
 
 A dissenting grunt and a surly shake testified the foster-bro- 
 ther’s disapproval, but what he might have said was prevented 
 for that time by the entrance of the bishop, whereupon Shamus 
 betook himself to the vast dormitory allotted to the retainers and 
 male domestics of the house, to apprise his fellows that the hour 
 of Mass was at hand. 
 
 * The peasantry in the northern parts of Ulster cherish as fondly the 
 belief of Hugh O’Neill’s being enchanted with his warriors under the 
 h ll of Aileach as the people of South Munster do the continued pre- 
 sence amongst them, in a similar state of enchantment, of their great 
 champion, Garret Earla , as* they familiarly style Gerald, the last 
 Earl of Desmond. 
 
32 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 “ Joy, joy, the day is come at last, the day of hope and pride — 
 
 And see ! our crackling bonfires light old Banna’s joyful tide, 
 
 And gladsome bell, and bugle-horn from Ne wry’s captured tow’rs 
 Hark ! how they tell the Saxon swine, this land is ours, is ours ! 
 ********* 
 
 “ They bann’d our faith, they bann’d our lives, they trod us into earth, 
 Until our very patience stirr’d their bitter hearts to mirth ; 
 
 Even this great flame that wraps them now, not we but they have bred, 
 Yes, this is their own work, and now, their work be on their head. 
 ********* 
 
 “ Down from the sacred hills whereon a Saint* communed with God, 
 Up from the vale where Bagnal’s blood manured the reeking sod, 
 
 Out from the stately woods of Truagh, McKenna’s plunder’d home, 
 Like Malin’s waves, as fierce and fast, our faithful clansmen come.” 
 
 C. G. Duffy’s Muster of the North. 
 
 It were tedious to describe the several meetings that took place 
 during the next two weeks amongst the native lords and gentry 
 of the northern province. The newly-awakened thirst for free- 
 dom increased from day to day, and quickly spreading from the 
 chieftains to their friends and followers, infused life and vigor 
 and swelling hope into hearts long plunged in the torpor of 
 despair. Before O’Moore quitted the confines of Ulster to return 
 to his post in Dublin, he had contrived to visit all the principal 
 chiefs at their widely-scattered dwellings, and on more than one 
 occasion had the satisfaction of bringing them together to concert 
 measures for the grand and simultaneous effort to be forthwith 
 made throughout the province. He had seen the fiery spirit of 
 
 * St. Patrick, whose favorite retreat was Lecale, in the county 
 Down. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 33 
 
 Phelim O’Neill and his brother Tirlogh applied to the work of sober 
 and earnest deliberation, in concert with the calmer O’Reilly and 
 the haughty Maguire, and the bold, high-spirited McMahon. Nay, 
 so vast and so potent was the spell of that auspicious hour, that 
 even those who had been bitter enemies for years before, then 
 met in peace to deliberate on the means of righting their common 
 wrongs, and extended to each other the hand of fellowship across 
 the council-board. O’Moore’s influence was all-powerful amongst 
 them, and lay at the bottom of their league, although none of 
 them was made to feel it. They had all in turn felt the force of 
 his persuasive eloquence, and bowed to the wisdom of his sug- 
 gestions, but not one amongst them would have acknowledged his 
 superiority. This the sagacious Leinsterman well knew, and his 
 enlightened patriotism being happily proof against that puerile 
 vanity which makes men desirous of public homage, he was 
 quite willing to let O’Neill and Maguire and the other Ulster 
 chiefs have all the merit of the work — provided it was done, he 
 cared not who did, or appeared to do it. Yet somehow, by a sort 
 of poetical justice that must have been purely instinctive, the 
 share he had in the great movement was both understood and 
 appreciated by the people who, as often happens, were more 
 enthusiastic in the cause than most of those who undertook to be 
 their leaders. No sooner did the glad tidings of life and hope 
 extend to any locality, no matter how remote, than the name of 
 Rory O' Moore was whispered at the same time as the great ma- 
 gician beneath whose wand the slumbering masses were to start 
 into life endued with sudden power. The short glimpses which 
 the people had of his handsome and graceful person during his 
 flying visits to their chiefs, the little they had heard him speak, 
 his extreme devotion to the national cause, the mystery which 
 enveloped his comings and goings, the high repute in which he 
 was held, and though last, not least, the well-known misfortunes 
 of his ruined house, all conspired to inflame the minds of a lively 
 imaginative people with a romantic interest in whatever con- 
 cerned him : by common consent he was made the hero of the 
 stupendous drama then in preparation, and his name became the 
 watchword of freedom amongst the clans. 
 
 Even when O’Moore went back to Dublin, which he knew 
 2 * 
 
34 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 must necessarily be made tlie centre of operations, the charm 
 of his presence lingered amongst the clansmen of the north, and 
 when at length they came together armed and determined for 
 the struggle, and planting their feet on their native soil vowed 
 that it should be theirs and their children’s, as of old it was their 
 fathers’, the name of the Leinster chief mingled with the war- 
 cries of their respective leaders, and was heard above the din 
 of many a battle-field where Irish arms prevailed— 
 
 “ On the green hills of Ulster the whhe cross waves high, 
 
 And the beacon of war flames each night to the sky — 
 
 The taunt and the sneer let the. coward endure, 
 
 Our trust is in God, and in Rory O’ Moore.” 
 
 Weeks and weeks did the chiefs and people of Ulster await 
 some symptom of co-operation, or even word of encouragement 
 from their equally oppressed brethren of the South and West 
 — from the East they had no hope of sympathy or succor, for 
 there lay the English Pale with its sluggish Norman lords and its 
 well-trained bands of stalwart yeomen, more ready ever to do 
 battle for the autocrats of Dublin Castle, because they were Eng- 
 lish, than for their fellow-sufferers in the cause of religion, 
 because they had Irish blood in their veins. But except the 
 few Leinster Catholics whom O’Moore succeeded in animating with 
 a portion of his own spirit, the tribes of three provinces either 
 were or appeared to be buried in the dullest apathy. Whether 
 this was real or apparent, it disheartened the patriots of Ulster, 
 but could not deter them from making an attempt to which they 
 had braced up every nerve, and made what preparation their 
 poverty allowed. O’Moore, well-knowing the effect which the 
 rising of the northern province would have on the other native 
 tribes, and fearing the tepidity that might grow out of procrasti- 
 nation, sent trusty messengers to Sir Phelim O’Neill, urging him 
 to fulfil his part of their engagement, viz., the taking of London- 
 derry and some other northern strongholds, and to effect a gene- 
 ral rising of all the Ulster clans, on an appointed day. Sir 
 Phelim, once into the affair, was, to do him justice, nothing loath 
 to help it on by every means in his power, so that the work of 
 preparation went bravely forward wherever his influence reached ; 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 35 
 
 and where his could not reach, other chieftains took it up, and 
 sped it on, and all worked together for a happy completion of 
 the herculean task which of hard necessity they undertook. The 
 twenty-third day of October was fixed on for striking a grand 
 and simultaneous blow in the cause of civil and religious freedom, 
 and the very appointment of the day gave a new and strong 
 impetus to the movement. 
 
 Secrecy was, of course, observed as far as might be, yet such 
 preparations could not be made without coming in some way 
 under the observation of keen eyes all through the province, 
 whose very consciousness of guilt, and of foul wrong done their 
 neighbors, made them w T atchful and suspicious. They saw that 
 the forges were a-going early and late, and the smiths ever ham- 
 mering away at work which they might not see. Crowds of 
 natives were seen loitering in and around the forges, and the 
 snatches of songs wherewith the field and the workshop began 
 suddenly to resound were all of a martial or patriotic kind, chiefly 
 borrowed from the strains of the old bards. There was a cer- 
 tain amount of independence, too, in the bearing of old and 
 young — a firmness of step and an erectness of mien little com- 
 mon heretofore among the down-trodden children of the soil, and 
 # tliis the Scottish and English colonists took to be the worst 
 symptom of all. A presentiment of coming evil darkened many 
 a thrifty household which had grown rich and prosperous on 
 the spoils of poor Popish recusants. The oppressors began all at 
 once to pale with a nameless fear, and the bustle of preparation 
 stealthily going on the province over, suddenly extended itself to 
 the bawns and castles of “ the planters.” Couriers were dis- 
 patched to Dublin from divers “loyal gentlemen” of Ulster, 
 acquainting the Lords Justices that something dreadful was in 
 contemplation amongst the Irish Papists, which they implored 
 them to look after while it was yet possible to avert the evil. 
 
 The night of the 22d October came on dark and moonless. 
 The earth was wrapt in the double veil of gloom and silence, and 
 the warders on the English Castles of Ulster, as they walked to 
 and fro on the bleak battlements exposed to the piercing damp 
 of the atmosphere, amused themselves not seldom, for lack of 
 better employment, with heaping curses on the cowardly Papists 
 
36 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and “wood kerne,” who, hidden away in huts and holes, kept 
 them shivering there in the cold night breeze, though for what 
 earthly use they could not see, as the rascally crew were too care- 
 ful of their wretched hides to come within range of musket or 
 reach of whip. 
 
 Such, too, might have been the amiable cogitations of certain 
 troopers belonging to the military command of Captain Lord Blay- 
 ney, of Castle Blayney, in the county of Monaghan, as they rode at 
 a brisk trot along the high road through the barony of Farney, 
 about ten of the clock on that same night. They had been 
 escorting some members of the Blayney family to Dundalk 
 on their way to England, and were now returning post haste to 
 the Castle full charged with divers rumors relating to the sup- 
 posed treacherous practices of the Irishry, which they had heard 
 amongst the Palesmen in the old borough. 
 
 All at once the foremost riders blasted out a military oath, with 
 a vociferous “ who be youT’ 
 
 The party addressed consisted of two individuals mounted on 
 the rough nags of the country, whose approach had attracted no 
 attention, in the greater noise and clatter of the cavalry. At 
 first, the soldiers were half inclined to let the strangers pass un- 
 molested, being quite sure that they must be “ the right sort” to 
 venture so near a troop of Blayney’s horse, the only cavalry to 
 be met in that wild country. The answer to their rough chal- 
 lenge quickly undeceived them. 
 
 “ We’re peaceable men going about our business — pri’thee let 
 us pass!” 
 
 “ Peaceable men!” repeated the cornet in command, “ that is 
 no answer — be ye friends or foes ?” 
 
 “ Foes we are not, but fain would be friends to all men,” 
 replied the larger and more prominent of the two. “ I pray thee, 
 good sir, detain us not, for our business brooks not delay !” 
 
 “ Ay ! they say there is much business of that kind now going 
 on hereabouts,” said the officer, and he planted his horse full in 
 the other’s way. “ Let us hear who you are that we may know 
 whether you be a loyal subject or one Popishly affected.” 
 
 “I am Heber McMahon, Bishop of the Catholics in these 
 parts ” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 37 
 
 “ For God’s sake, my lord !” cried his companion in low smoth- 
 ered accents, “ don’t — don’t — they’ll be the death of us — you 
 know they will — they’ll hang us without judge or jury !” An 
 exulting shout from the troopers gave fearful confirmation of the 
 justice of his fears. 
 
 “ Be still, Malachy,” said the Bishop with stern dignity ; “ they 
 cannot slay us unless God wills it, and if He does, we cannot die 
 in a better time. Sir,” said he, addressing the officer, “ 1 am 
 going to administer the last rights of religion to a dying sinner — 
 detain me not, I adjure you by the Holy Name of that God who is 
 to judge us all !” 
 
 “ Now, by the Book !” cried the cornet, sternly enjoining his 
 men to keep back, “ this impudence of thine, McMahon, passes 
 belief. A man whose life is forfeited by his own confession — 
 openly avowing himself a Papist bishop, and caught, as one may 
 say, in the act of practising unlawful rites — here, soldiers ! — 
 advance and seize him — but see that you harm him not till we 
 place him in the captain’s custody. He is a pestilent recusant — 
 a snake in the grass, and his capture will fill our pockets — seize 
 the two and ride on at full speed — we have lost too much time 
 in parley with the wretch !” 
 
 The bishop made no further attempt at remonstrance ; indeed, 
 he was suddenly seized with a fit of coughing, just as the half 
 drunken soldiers rode up on either side of him and his servant, 
 the latter being, by this time, well nigh paralyzed with fear, 
 though he kept repeating his Ave Maria in a voice inaudible to 
 the ruffian crew around him. 
 
 The bishop’s cough seemed to annoy the troopers wonderfully, 
 and the fellow who rode on his right hand taking him by the 
 shoulder gave him a hearty shake—” Stop your coughing, you 
 old Popish thief, or I’ll choke you as dead as a herring.” 
 
 It seemed as though the fellow’s savage threat acted as an incan- 
 tation, for in an instant the thick darkness was, as it were, in- 
 stinct with life, and resolved itself into human beings. The cry of 
 “ McMahon aboo” arose— from what seemed a thousand voices — 
 on every side, before, behind, and allaiound the terrified troopers, 
 men started into sudden existence, armed, they could see, with 
 weapons that assumed fearful shapes in the darkness. The wild 
 
38 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 clan shout of the McMahons, which startled even the well- 
 trained cavalry horses, was suddenly succeeded by a fierce and 
 vengeful cry of “ down with Blayney’s bloody cut-throats !” and 
 instantly the clash of weapons was heard on every side, and 
 the horsemen, almost forgetful of their prisoners, thought only of 
 effecting their escape, or if that were not possible, of selling their 
 lives as dearly as they could, when a loud authoritative voice 
 made itself heard above the tumultuous din — it was that of He- 
 ber McMahon, commanding his friends and kinsmen to shed no 
 blood. 
 
 “ Let them go, in God’s name,” said he, “ or rather, Eman,” ad- 
 dressing the leader of the bold Farney men who, guided by his 
 voice, was now close at his side, “ or rather, take them prisoners 
 to your chief — but see they are kept safe — it would be an ill be- 
 ginning to slay them, and they so few in number.” 
 
 Some grumbling voices were heard amongst the crowd remind- 
 ing the bishop of divers outrages committed by Blayney’s troop- 
 ers, but the stern prelate silenced all objections by repeating 
 his orders to Eman McMahon to take the soldiers in charge. 
 
 The latter was easier said than done, for, as if actuated by a 
 common impulse, and with a cry of “ Save who can!” the score 
 of troopers set spurs to their horses, and, drawing their sabres, 
 dashed furiously through the amazed and frightened multitude 
 which, falling back on either side, from the horses’ hoofs, left a 
 passage open, and before the shouts from the rear of “ Seize them ! 
 seize them !” could be made intelligible to those in front, the op- 
 portunity of obeying the command was lost, and the troopers 
 were dashing at headlong speed along the road far beyond the 
 reach of pike or musket. Not a sound escaped them during the 
 few moments of their detention or even when they succeeded in 
 effecting their escape. The joy of finding themselves again at 
 liberty, so far safe in life and limb, coupled with their uncertainty 
 as to whether other and more fatal obstacles might not still im- 
 pede their progress, gave them little inclination for indulging in 
 idle bravado, and it was not till they came within sight of Castle 
 Blayney that they ventured to slacken rein. The account which 
 they gave of their adventure with the McMahons was wholly in- 
 explicable to their captain. It was something so remote from the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 39 
 
 range of probability that the Irish should be abroad in such num- 
 bers at that hour, or that the notorious Heber McMahon should 
 thrust himself, as it were, amongst English bayonets — for his bold- 
 ness amounted to nothing less — that Blayney was completely 
 mystified. At length a bright thought shone upon his mind, and 
 he started to his feet and flung back his chair with a vehemence 
 that made the silver tankards on the table before him dance and 
 quiver : 
 
 “I have it, Trellingham! by h — I have it! These Popish 
 hounds are not so bold without good reason — what if this night 
 were— let me see — it is on the stroke of midnight!” 
 
 “Hark! heard you that savage shout I — you are right, cap- 
 tain ! There be mischief brewing this very hour.” 
 
 A tumult was now heard within the castle, and soldiers and 
 domestics crowded unbidden to the captain’s presence with tid- 
 ings that the country was up jn arms, and bonfires blazing on 
 every hill. Measures were promptly taken to secure the castle 
 against a sudden assault, but its defences were not much to 
 boast of, and after doing all they could to strengthen it, the small 
 garrison awaited in fear and trembling the moment when “ the 
 bloody Irish Papists” should take it by storm and burn it over 
 their heads — which, by the dread law of retaliation, they had but 
 too much reason to expect. 
 
 When the bishop found his enemies gone, and none but friends 
 around, he stated his intention of resuming his journey, so roughly 
 interrupted. A couple of miles were yet to be travelled, and 
 the sick man lay in imminent danger of death. 
 
 “ But are they gone?" put in Malachy ; “ are you sure they’ll 
 not come back I” 
 
 “ No fear of that, anyhow,” laughed Eman, “ you may take 
 my word for it, Malachy ! — what would you say, my lord, to an 
 escort — a dozen or so of our Farney men I” 
 
 “Not one, Eman, not one — thanks for your kindness. I do 
 not think I shall meet any more such obstacles between this and 
 my journey’s end, and it ill beseems a minister of the Lord to go 
 guarded to the sick bed.” 
 
 “ As you will, my good lord, there be friends enow on foot to 
 keep you from harm ; and I warrant the English will stay within 
 
40 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 doors for this night. Now, friends, up to the hill there and light 
 your bonfire — an’ ye wait longer, our signal will be far behind 
 the others — haste for the honor of Farney !” 
 
 Hundreds ran to do his bidding, but ere yet the crackling, 
 smoking brushwood had burst into a flame, a joyful shout from 
 the assembled clansmen rent the midnight sky. From every hill 
 northward a column of flame was shooting up, one following the 
 other in quick succession till the country far and near was tinged 
 with a ruddy light, and even the blackness of the heavens was 
 partially broken by the thousand prophet-fires of earth heralding 
 the dawn of freedom. 
 
 To those who ascended the brow of Slieve-gullian that night at 
 midnight a glorious spectacle presented itself, if haply they who 
 looked were of the proscribed class, the ancient dwellers in the 
 land. The hills and the mountains to the north were in a blaze, 
 and along the margin of the rivers the signal-fires were shooting 
 up one by one. At first it was but the hill country of Tyr-Owen 
 that sent up its flaming protest to the heavens above, then most 
 of Tyr-Connel followed — the hills of Antrim were shrouded in 
 darkness, except a few along the borders of Donegal, so, too, 
 were those of Derry, but Down and Armagh quickly caught up 
 the illumination, and onward like wildfire it passed through 
 Monaghan and Cavan, and westward through all Fermanagh, to 
 the very gates of Enniskillen. And the shouts which came 
 swelling on the gale, some full and distinct, others faint and far 
 like the murmur of ocean-shells, were the voice of a newly- 
 awakened people, tribe answering to tribe, and county to county, 
 even as hill flashed electric news to hill that the children of the 
 soil had at length risen in their might to throw off the incubus 
 that had paralyzed their existence. As that light of hope, so 
 long expected, broke athwart the darkness of the winter’s night, 
 the persecuted ministers of religion, hiding away in secret places, 
 raised their hands in thankfulness to Heaven that they had lived 
 to see that sight, and floods of joyful tears streamed from many 
 an eye long unused to weep. 
 
 But the bristling castles of the strangers, whose prosperity was 
 based upon the ruin of the native chiefs, were dark and dismal 
 that busy night. Terror and confusion had suddenly taken the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 41 
 
 place of insolent security, and Castle Blayney was not the only 
 one where swift and terrible vengeance was anticipated. Had 
 the Catholic people of Ulster been what their enemies delight to 
 represent them, few Protestants would have lived next day 
 amongst its hills and valleys to tell the tale of retributive justice. 
 As it was, not one single murder stained their hands throughout 
 that general insurrection.* Long before noon of the following 
 day, Castle Blayney was garrisoned by Eman Oge with his stout 
 Farney men, and Blayn.ey’s troopers, “ in durance vile,” mar- 
 velling much, it may be, at the unlooked-for mercy shown them, 
 especially as they had wounded some few of the insurgents 
 before the castle was given up. 
 
 Lord Blayney’s wife and children were also captured, but he 
 himself escaped to Dublin Castle with the news. 
 
 It was understood among the chiefs that, for the present at 
 least, Sir Phelim O’Neill was to act as commander-in-chief of the 
 Ulster forces. As the head of the O’Neills he deemed himself 
 entitled to the office, and flung himself with right good will into 
 the stormy arena where its duties called him. Had he been a 
 man of finer or more tender feelings, it would then have been a 
 painful task, for but few days before he had laid in the grave the 
 once-beloved wife of his youth. The terror of the approaching 
 event, with all its fearful contingencies and possibilities, had has- 
 tened the progress of disease, and the gentle, but too timorous 
 spirit of Lady O’Neill had fluttered out of its mortal tenement 
 just in time to avoid the tumultuous warfare which so long after 
 convulsed her native province. She was borne to the grave amid 
 the loud wailing of her kinswomen from the plains of Iveagh, 
 followed by a long and imposing array of O’Neills and Magen- 
 nises, the latter headed by her two brothers, Sir Con and Bryan 
 Magennis. Sir Phelim’s mourning was not from his heart — his 
 wife had latterly been more of a restraiat on his actions than any- 
 
 * All Protestant histoi ians admit that during the first week of the 
 rebellion — that is to say, in the first glowing outburst of recovered 
 liberty, not one individual was put to death by the Irish. It was only 
 when murders and massacres perpetrated on themselves drove them to 
 it, that they adopted a system of retaliation 
 
42 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 thing else, and such being the case he viewed her death at that 
 particular juncture as a capital stroke of good luck. When her 
 coffin was placed amongst the mouldering remains of her lordly 
 ancestors in far Iveagh, and the tomb of the Magennises shut her 
 for ever from his view ; when he knelt in prayer with her brothers 
 and other near relatives for a short space before quitting the 
 graveyard, his “ requiescat in pace" was breathed in all sincerity, 
 for internally he added, “ now, indeed, may I rest in peace, or 
 rather do in peace that which it behoves me to do for myself and 
 others ! The great dread secret which gives me present rank and 
 future riches came never to your ear. I kept that from you, 
 Nora ! because I knew it would neither gladden your heart nor 
 smooth your last journey ! God rest you, then, Nora Magennis ! 
 heaven to you this day — name and fame to me , and freedom to 
 all our race ! Up, brothers, clansmen of Iveagh !” he shouted, 
 starting to his feet, “ grief and affection have had their hour — 
 now for freedom and revenge !” 
 
 Anger was at first mingled with surprise on the faces of Nora’s 
 kinsmen, as they slowly arose and blessed themselves after their 
 devotions. Even his own friends and followers looked surprised 
 at the sudden, and, as it appeared, indecorous change in Sir Phe- 
 lim’s manner. Sir Con Magennis, after eyeing the other sternly 
 for a moment, at last spoke: “Your words were more seemly, 
 methinks, at another time. Neither the hour nor the place befits 
 such discourse.” 
 
 “ Nay, Sir Con Magennis, you shall hear what I have to say, 
 and then judge if the tale be not one for churchyard bounds — 
 ay ! by my sacred hopes, it is one to make the dead clansmen of 
 Iveagh start from beneath our feet, into vengeful life, their eyes 
 charged with heaven’s lightning to blast and burn the whole 
 treacherous brood of robbers and murderers !” 
 
 “ Sir Phelim O’Neill,” said the elder Magennis coldly, “ we 
 would have, if it so please you, this fresh count in the indictment 
 — of what nature may it be that we are called on to hear it over 
 our sister’s dead body, as one may say 1” 
 
 O’Neill, folding his arms, wrapped his long cloak around him, 
 and turned on his interlocutor an eye wherein his natural impe- 
 tuosity struggled with the stern coldness which he deemed most 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 43 
 
 fitting the occasion : “ You pledged your word, Sir Con Magennis, 
 to join us with all your clan so soon as Tyrone came in person to 
 head the northern army — did you, or did you not?” 
 
 “ Surely I did, and with God s help, I mean to do what I said 
 I would do— at the first news of the Earl’s landing on Irish ground 
 the banner of Magennis is flung to the breeze.” 
 
 “ Chieftain of Iveagh,” said O’Neill in a voice hoarse with sup- 
 pressed passion, “ that news will you never hear — the son of the 
 great Earl will you never lay eyes upon.” 
 
 “ How so, man ! — speak out and tell us what your words — your 
 looks portend — what of Tyrone?” 
 
 “ They have murdered him, Con Magennis ! The Sassenach 
 has put him out of the way in the nick of time — oh ! doleful news 
 for me to tell !” 
 
 A cry of horror escaped from every listener, but Magennis by 
 a sign commanded silence : “ Murdered him — did you say ? — 
 when ? where ? — they dare not — no, by St. Columb ! they dare 
 not !” 
 
 “ I tell you they did — choked like a dog was he in his bed by 
 night — yea, even in. Brussels where of late he had been awaiting 
 the summons home !” 
 
 “ Sir Phelim O’Neill ! are you sure — sure — that this maddening 
 news is true ?” 
 
 “ As sure as that yon sun is clouded in the heavens.^ The car- 
 rier who brought me the sad tidings from Rory O’Moore in Dub- 
 lin is still under my roof — you may see and speak with him when 
 you list.” 
 
 Magennis made no answer, but the convulsive working of 
 every feature, and the swollen veins on his white forehead, told a 
 tale of mighty passion, beyond the power of words to express. 
 
 “Your hand, O’Neill !” he faltered out, after a pause of deep mean- 
 ing; “who talks of delay now is an enemy to our just and holy 
 cause — the axe is ready — before God it shall be laid to the root 
 of the accursed tree ere many days go by. Brother ! — kinsmen 
 what say ye ? — shall we longer hug our chains ? — shall we longer 
 pocket wrongs and insults ? — shall the blood of our slaughtered 
 kindred longer cry to heaven unavenged ?” 
 
 A shout of execration, both loud and long, resounded through 
 
44 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 the graveyard, and each stout clansman grasped his skene, and 
 muttered a stern vow, as Bryan Magennis bent his knee before 
 his brother and chief and swore from that day forward to wage 
 unceasing war against the common enemy. 
 
 “ Home, then,” cried the chieftain of Iveagh, “ home, friends 
 and kinsmen all, and speed ye in making all things ready — fare 
 you well, O’Neill ! — men of Tyr-Owen ! fare ye well ! — God give 
 us all stout hearts and strong arms to fight His battle and our 
 own ! — send me word, Sir Phelim, when the day is fixed on — as 
 early as you will, let it be — and, on the faith of Magennis, you 
 shall hear of me and mine full soon !” So the chieftains parted, 
 each declining the other’s proffered hospitality ; even the funeral 
 festivities then deemed indispensable were for that time laid aside. 
 
 Magennis kept his word, for in less than twenty-four hours 
 after the receipt of Sir Phelim’s fateful message, news was 
 brought to the assembling clans that “Newry was taken by 
 Sir Con Magennis.” The words were like an electric shock, 
 animating the tepid and the dull, giving life and warmth to the 
 cold and passionless, and sending a thrill of hope through the 
 hearts of all. At midnight the beacon of freedom blazed on the 
 hill-tops, and by the morning light the stout clansmen of the 
 north were trooping in armed bands over highway and by-way 
 to the place appointed for the general muster, viz., the plain in 
 front of Kinnard Castle. 
 
 It was a clear frosty day, and the sun shone down on the 
 crusted earth with a brightness seldom seen in that season of 
 “ melancholy days.” But more cheering than autumn’s rare sun- 
 beam to the roused spirit of the clansmen — was the snow-white 
 flag so proudly floating from the castle-keep with the Red Hand 
 of the O’Neills emblazoned on its centre. That time-honored ban- 
 ner was ever a sign of hope to the tribes of Ulster, but that gene- 
 ration had never before seen it flung in defiance to the breeze. 
 Now as band after band arrived, it was the first object on which 
 their eyes rested, and the joyful “ Lamh dearg ciboo /” echoed far 
 over hill and valley, at every fresh recognition of the well-loved 
 ensign — and the stalwart head of the O’Neills, “ Stout Phelim,” as 
 the clansmen loved to call him, stood just without his courtyard 
 gate, surveying with a proud and swelling heart the ever-increas- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 45 
 
 ing multitude from which ho was to form an army of offence and 
 defence. Near and around him stood some half dozen of the 
 principal gentlemen who had already arrived, all habited like 
 himself in the Celtic garb, with the addition of a green scarf en- 
 circling the waist, and hanging almost to the knee in graceful 
 folds. Tirlogh O’Neill was not amongst this group, but his burly 
 form might be seen bustling here and there amongst the clans- 
 men, his red face glowing with excitement, as he grasped the 
 hand of friend and neighbor, and welcomed each with exuberant 
 glee. 
 
 Every moment some fresh arrival called forth a shout of wel- 
 come, and as chieftain after chieftain joined the group in the 
 shadow of the old gateway, the air rang with his proper war-cry, 
 caught up from mouth to mouth by way of welcome. Only por- 
 tions of the different clans, however, followed those leaders to the 
 muster, the others remaining for the present with the Tanist, or 
 chief man on their own soil, to secure as many of the strong 
 places as possible, and take what spoils they could from the 
 enemy. But long before the sun began to decline there was 
 hardly a clan that had not sent its quota to swell Sir Phelim’s 
 army. O’Reillys were there from far Breffni, McMahons from 
 Uriel, headed by the gallant Eman, stout Maguires from the 
 lake* shore, O’Cahans from the hills of Derry, O’Hanlans from 
 the plains of Ardmacha, and tall McKennas from the song-famed 
 “ Green woods of Tmagh,” but as yet the banner of Magennis 
 was nowhere to be seen, the men of Iveagh were still wanting. 
 It was just when their tardiness was beginning to be noticed that 
 a solitary horseman was seen spurring swiftly over the waste from 
 the western country. Coming near he was quickly recognized 
 as a follower of Magennis, but the anxious inquiries addressed 
 to him as he sped his way towards the castle-gate were all met 
 by the single question of “ Where may Sir Phelim O’Neill be 
 found V ’ Once in the chieftain’s presence, he was not slow in 
 delivering his message : 
 
 “ The Magennis greets you well, Sir Phelim, and sends you 
 
 * Lough Erne, around whose broad bosom lay tho ancient domains 
 of the Maguires. 
 
46 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 word by me, that if he and his are backward in showing them- 
 selves here, it is because they were not idle all day at home— 
 the men of Iveagh were up betimes this morning, and have 
 taken N-ewry from the enemy !” 
 
 It was then that the shout of “ Magennis for ever !” went 
 up into the air from thousands of manly voices, and the wild 
 war-chorus had hot yet died away amongst the neighboring 
 hills, when Sir Phelim gave the word : “ Let us march to Dun- 
 gannon — that and Charleraont shall be ours before to-morrow’s 
 gun S8ts !” And so they were. Stout Phelim kept his word. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 “ Amid their joyous merriment, a cloud sails slowly o’er the sun ! 
 
 They start up as the shadow falls ; they look ; it loometh dreadiy dun ; 
 And tho’, not e’en the slightest leaf is by the slumbering breezes stirr’d, 
 Advancing bodefully afar a Pyramid of gloom appear’d !” 
 
 “ If it feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge !” 
 
 Shakspe are’s Merchant of Venice. 
 
 On that memorable night when “the beacon of war” was 
 flaming in triumphal brightness on the hills of Ulster, and a 
 whole province awoke into life, and the activity which springs 
 from sudden hope, while the chieftains of the north were exulting 
 in the gushing enthusiasm of the people, how did it fare with 
 their equally-devoted friends in Dublin'? O’Moore, and Maguire, 
 and McMahon were all there in person to direct and carry out 
 the hazardous design — the success of which would be almost a 
 guarantee for the ultimate triumph of their cause. They were 
 well acquainted with the state of affairs in the Castle, and knew 
 that skill and caution more than force were required for its cap- 
 ture. They bad, therefore, wisely abstained from making their 
 intention known within the city, except to the few gentlemen whose 
 honor aijd patriotism they had had too many and convincing 
 proofs to doubt. Their plan was well devised, and promised fair 
 for success. A hundred chosen men were to enter the city by 
 ten different gates on the following day, which, being market- 
 day, the ingress or presence of so small a number would attract 
 no attention. While the citizens were engaged about their market- 
 business the all but unguarded gates of the old fortress were to 
 be taken by the several small parties appointed for the task, 
 under the leadership of the chieftains already named, with Colonel 
 
48 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Plunket and Colonel O’Byrne. Arms were secretly provided, 
 and hid away in safe places ready for use. 
 
 The leaders of the enterprise had all supped together at Lord 
 Maguire’s lodgings in Castle street, and although each one strove 
 hard to appear gay, or, at least, easy in mind, still the effort was 
 too visible, and the attempt was, consequently, unsuccessful. It 
 was hard for men with such a perilous step before them to drown 
 the thought of the coming morrow, with all its dread possibilities, 
 in the sense of present enjoyment. Failure was not to be thought 
 of — the thought would have been too dreadful — success they did 
 and would anticipate, rejecting w T ith scorn all the chances that 
 lay against them, with a spirit worthy their heroic blood, and the 
 noble cause in which they had embarked, suppressing, as it rose 
 within them, every thought of the personal danger to be incurred. 
 Yet, even in that final hour, when their daring scheme was draw- 
 ing to its completion, and all had girded their loins with strength 
 and courage for the neck-or-nothing venture, the distinctive fea- 
 tures of their respective characters were broadly marked and 
 clearly visible. O’Moore was still calm and collected, earnest, 
 firm, and full of that high-souled confidence which springs from 
 a consciousness of innate resources and capacities yet unde- 
 veloped, together with a strong conviction of supernatural aid and 
 assistance. Maguire, on fjhe other hand, though apparently de- 
 voted heart and soul to the success of the cause which he stood 
 pledged to advance by every means in his power, still showed 
 symptoms, involuntary on his part, of a nervous anxiety as to the 
 result, (shrinking, as it were, from the approach of actual peril,) 
 which was little in keeping with his usual character. Men were 
 wont to speak of Lord Maguire as a young nobleman who lacked 
 prudence and was noways given to calculation, who, in short, had 
 suffered a large portion of his patrimony to slip through his 
 fingers, because and by reason of his reckless habits. It w r as 
 passing strange ; and the bold brave chieftain of Uriel, who had 
 known Maguire from earliest boyhood, found it hard to believe 
 him the same man, or to repress the words of contemptuous sur- 
 prise which ever and anon rose to his lips as he marked the un- 
 wonted paleness, not to say agitation, of his friend from Fer- 
 managh. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 49 
 
 O’Byrne, a tall, broad-shouldered mountaineer, of some thirty 
 odd years, with a frank and cheerful countenance, hale, hearty, 
 and good-natured, was the very beau-ideal of a dashing, daring, 
 high-handed soldier, little disposed to harm others without spe- 
 cial good cause, and just as little likely to bear wrong or insult 
 tamely. A genuine Milesian was Hugh O’Byrne, proud yet not 
 stern, brave even to rashness, seldom pausing to calculate results, 
 warm and impulsive in all his feelings, somewhat apt, at times, to 
 give offence by over-free speech, yet always willing to make 
 reparation when conscience or good sense convinced him of hav- 
 ing erred. Independent of the manifold wrongs sustained by his 
 own family at the hands of robber-rulers, 0 Byrne’s generous 
 heart bled for the woes of all his nation, and if his was not the 
 fierce, insatiable ardor wherewith Phelim O'Neill threw himself 
 into the struggle, his hostility to the foreign oppressors was none the 
 less strong or determined. Take him for all in all, O'Byrne was 
 a fair specimen of an Irish chieftain of that day, high-spirited, 
 straightforward, honest and patriotic, with a certain dash of 
 chivalry in his composition that served to soften and refine his 
 outward bearing, especially in the presence of ladies. He, too, 
 had noticed the, to him, unaccountable depression of Maguire, 
 but, unlike McMahon, he was touched by a sadness with which 
 he yet could not sympathize — his own heart revelled in the 
 thought that the work of liberation for the country and the peo- 
 ple was so soon to commence, and that he was to aid in striking 
 the first blow. He had an intuitive sense of delicacy, however, 
 that prevented him from making any allusion to a feeling which 
 he plainly saw was involuntary, and he more than once restrained 
 McMahon by a look or a sign when that gentleman seemed dis- 
 posed to address his lordship in terms more candid than polite. 
 
 As for Plunket, he sat looking from one to the other through 
 half closed eye-lids, a singularly humorous smile on his thin fea- 
 tures, mingled at times with the slightest possible expression of 
 contempt, for Richard Plunket, although a patriot at heart, and, 
 moreover, a zealous Catholic, was still a Norman by descent, 
 and as such looked down upon “ the mere Irish” with a sense of 
 superiority which in his case, however, was good-natured and 
 rather patronizing than otherwise. Still he had quite enough of 
 3a 
 
50 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Norman superciliousness to enjoy in a sly way what he justly 
 termed “ the old Milesian crustiness and thin* skin” of his com- 
 panions. Notwithstanding all that, Richard Plunket was a man 
 of honor and probity, clear-headed and far-seeing, who deserved 
 well of Iris countrymen as being the first man of English blood 
 who joined the ranks of the native Irish in that memorable strug- 
 gle for freedom. His first adhesion was owing to the influence of 
 O’Moore, between whom and himself a strong and sincere friend- 
 ship had been growing for years. Connected by family ties, and 
 pretty nearly of the same age — they had been boys together, and 
 in their case, at least, the distinction of races was obliterated, and 
 the feuds of past times voluntarily forgotten. The high-bred 
 descendant of the princes of Leix had many friends within the 
 English Pale, but none so true, so steadfast as Richard Plunket. 
 
 The long evening passed away, the stilly night wore on 
 apace, and still the party lingered as if loath to separate, 
 when the measured tread of armed men was heard echoing 
 through the deserted street, — near and nearer the sound came, 
 and some of the gentlemen, becoming alarmed, rushed to extin- 
 guish the lamp. Maguire, smiling at their fears, pointed to the 
 time-piece on the wall, which was just on the stroke of ten.* 
 
 “ It is the city watch, my friends ! — do but keep quiet, and they 
 will pass on !” 
 
 The room-door opened softly, and a lank, thin-visaged individ- 
 ual in a bob-wig protruded his head cautiously through the aper- 
 ture. The leaden eyes fixed themselves on Maguire’s face and 
 there they rested. 
 
 “ Sdeath, man !” cried his lordship, half angrily ; "what’s amiss 
 that you look so frightened V ’ 
 
 “ My lord, it’s Sheriff Woodcock that wants to know why there 
 be lights in my house at such an untimely hour ” 
 
 “ Sheriff Woodcock !” cried Maguire with a start; “ wherefore 
 comes he here 
 
 * It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that ten o’clock was 
 as far in the night in the seventeenth century as twelve is in the nine- 
 teenth. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 51 
 
 “ That I know not,” replied Nevil the surgeon, “ but he seems 
 
 marvellously curious to know who we have within ” 
 
 “ Let him travel farther in quest of knowledge, the hangman !” 
 said McMahon in a voice so loud as to excite the apprehensions 
 even of 0’ Moore, who admonished him by signs to keep quiet. 
 
 “Nay, my very good sir,” quoth Nevil, “ we may not answer 
 law-officers in that fashion — at least here in the city. I told 
 him it was only the Lord Maguire making merry with some 
 noble gentlemen ” 
 
 “ You did !” exclaimed Maguire, starting from his seat with a 
 flushed and changing countenance. “You told him so, Nevil 1” 
 “ Surely I did, but be not wrothful, my good lord — I told him 
 you were all civil, well-behaved gentlemen, and that I would 
 answer for your peaceable ways, though I couldn’t deny but what 
 you were from the Irish country, and come of the old blood, all 
 
 excepting Master Plunket ” 
 
 Some of the company laughed, but others, seeing more in the 
 affair than the ordinary vigilance of the night-watch, were in 
 more humor to give the pragmatical cliirurgeon an occasion to 
 test his skill on his own bones, than to relish the quaintness of 
 his words or the oddity of his demeanor. 
 
 “Let us throw him out to his sheriffship as a love-token!” 
 said one. 
 
 “ Nay, rather, let us tie him to the pump near at hand,” said 
 
 another, “ till he learns to keep his tongue from wagging ” 
 
 “ Jest an’ you will at my poor expense, noble sirs,” said Nevil 
 with sly emphasis, “ but were it not for my promise that you should 
 all be in your beds within the space of half an hour you might 
 have been taking the air by this time in company with the worship • 
 ful Sheriff Woodcock — I pray ye all to mark well my words, and 
 straightway betake yourselves to your proper lodgings, ere your 
 laughter be turned another way. Now do as you list, and blame 
 not Peter Nevil, if evil befall ye!” 
 
 The bob-wig vanished, the door closed, but somehow the 
 mirth of the company had departed with Peter, and after a short 
 and whispered consultation it was agreed that Nevil’s warning was 
 not to be slighted, inasmuch as none of them had any particular 
 
52 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 reason at that particular time for desiring to make the acquaint- 
 ance of the worshipful Woodcock. 
 
 “ They be birds of ill omen in this quarter,” observed Plunket, 
 who could never resist the temptation to give utterance to what 
 he considered a good thing; “ any cock were better than a wood- 
 cock here within the city limits !” 
 
 “ Until such time as we have a cage ready for him in Birming- 
 ham Tower,*” added Roger O’Moore, with his expressive smile. 
 
 This allusion was well-timed, and served to restore a portion of 
 the cheerfulness so lately lost. The high hopes, the daring con- 
 ceptions cherished so long, and for one short moment partially 
 dimmed, darted again into life and glowing fervor at the mention 
 of the hated prison, the Irish Bastile, where so many of the na 
 tion’s noblest and best had languished, suffered — and died. 
 
 “ Let us hence to our lodgings, friends and comrades,” said 
 O’Byrne, gayly, as he tightened his leathern belt around him and 
 threw his cloak over his shoulders ; “we have glorious work in 
 hand for the morrow — nay, our noble host, ask us not to dip 
 farther into that charmed bowl — we need steady hands, ay ! and 
 
 cool heads for the task before us ” 
 
 “ You say truly, colonel,” said O’Moore, with an approving 
 nod ; “ our game is a bold one, and the stakes are fearfully high, 
 but if well played, it will give back the heart of Ireland to its 
 dissevered members, and set the life-blood flowing once again 
 from end to end of the old land. Your hand, my lord! — • 
 McMahon, yours ! — the touch of an Ulsterman’s hand sets my 
 pulses throbbing this night, when I bethink me of what is passing 
 in that north country by this — no, not by this — ” he added, 
 glancing at the time-piece, which barely indicated the tenth hour 
 — “ no, not by this — at midnight the signal-fires are to blaze on 
 northern hills — Fermanagh and Monaghan are busy scenes by 
 now — and the O’Reillys are stirring in Breffny, and the men 
 of Tyr-Ovven are not idle — St. Bridget ! an’ we were there at this 
 hour, to see those bold clansmen throwing off their shackles ” 
 
 * The principal tower of Dublin Castle, in troublous times, used 
 as a State-prison. This portion of the edifice was, therefore, as may 
 well be supposed, peculiarly obnoxious to the native Irish. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 53 
 
 “ No need to go so far for a sight, Roger,” said his friend Plun- 
 ket ; “ before the morrow’s sun sets behind our own Ben-Edir, we 
 
 may see the green flag waving over Dublin Castle ” 
 
 “May!" repeated the fiery Wicklow-man ; “say rather we 
 shall and must ” 
 
 “ If God so wills it, O’Byrne,” rejoined Plunket. 
 
 “ Oh, surely, surely — that is understood, but ” 
 
 “ But nothing is certain,” put in Maguire, in alow, earnest tone, 
 as he accompanied his friends to the stair-head ; “if our eyes see 
 not the sight you mention, friends and loyal gentlemen, others 
 
 whom we wot of will see us in doleful plight ” 
 
 “ Hear the raven croak !” said McMahon with good-humored 
 irony ; “ where learned you that dismal note, Connor 1 — methinks 
 it was not by Erne’s banks or in those old Fermanagh woods 
 
 where you and I chased the fallow deer so oft together ” 
 
 Maguire’s answer was prevented by O’Moore, who laid a hand 
 on the arm of each of the northern chieftains as they stood to- 
 gether. “ Enough for the present,” said he, in a low, impressive 
 voice, his eyes glistening with strange brightness through the dim 
 light of the lampless lobby, “ to-night our friends in the north 
 will stand on their own soil as freemen — midnight is their hour 
 of freedom —shall not to-morrow’s noon be ours ]” 
 
 Every voice answered in the affirmative, and each clasped the 
 other’s hand with the energy of determination ; then one by one 
 Maguire’s guests departed and went their several ways, unnoticed 
 in the darkness of the narrow streets, as they confidently believed. 
 
 Their host, left alone, turned moodily back into the room they 
 had left, muttering to himself : “ Midnight ! — it is a dreary hour 
 for those who fear — but what should I fear more than the others 1 
 — fear ! it is an ill-word — no, I do not fear — wherefore should 
 1 1 Saints above ! who is here V ’ 
 
 “ Only a poor brother of the Order of St. Francis!” said a 
 meek voice from the depth of a high steeple hood, and a figure, 
 which had taken possession of a chair in front of the now expir- 
 ing fire, rose to its feet and slowly, very slowly, turned towards 
 the interrogator a pale emaciated countenance, looking ghastly 
 and spirit-like in the deep shade of the hood. 
 
 “ But how came you here V' stammered Maguire, strangely 
 
54 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 agitated ; “ what is your business with me — speak, friar ! I charge 
 you speak !” 
 
 “ There be danger abroad,” said the friar with solemn emphasis, 
 in a low muffled voice ; “ I know a noble quarry for which a pit- 
 fall is in waiting, an’ it move many paces from where it stands.” 
 
 “ In God’s name, speak plainly,” said Maguire, with increasing 
 agitation. 
 
 “ Leave this house, an’ you love your life,” said the Capuchin, 
 with a warning motion of the finger; “ lose not a moment, or it 
 may, even now, be late !” 
 
 “ Friar-'” said Maguire, solemnly, “ I know you not, and I 
 marvel much at the nature of your speech. Wherefore should I 
 fly as a felon I” 
 
 “ As a felon you will be judged, full soon, an’ you do not a 
 friend’s bidding !” 
 
 “ But what — what is the danger 
 
 “ The Sheriff has set a watch on this house— you know best in 
 how far that may concern you. Heaven grant you may even 
 now escape ; and should ill befal you, Connor Maguire, there be 
 those within the city walls whom the news will sore afflict !” 
 
 Maguire started and fixed his eye on the haggard face before 
 him — much of its character he might not see. 
 
 “ Stranger, I will do your bidding — but tell me first, who they 
 be that sent you hither, at the risk of your own life V’ 
 
 A scornful smile flitted over the ghostly visage. “ I care not, 
 an’ I save yours — that is — a poor Capuchin’s life is of small value 
 weighed against the Lord Maguire’s — but why tarry so long — give 
 me but one word of kindness — gratitude for those who take so 
 deep an interest in your welfare, and I lead you hence by a 
 secret way !” 
 
 “ Now, out upon you, Capuchin !” Maguire exclaimed, with a 
 ■vehemence as sudden as unaccountable ; “you a priest of God’s 
 Church, and holding communion with — nay, I name no names, 
 but say to those whom it concerns, that what I said before I say 
 now again — my mind is still the same on the matter they and I 
 wot of — and say further from me that Connor Maguire would not 
 take the boon of life at such hands ” 
 
 “ This is your final answer,” said the friar, very, very calmly. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 55 
 
 u It is, and let me tell you, father, that I am much surprised, 
 and no little afflicted to see a man of yo-ur holy state herding 
 with like company, and doing their will, moreover, in slavish 
 fashion ! ” 
 
 It is well,” said the pretematurally calm voice from beneath 
 the hood; “ I marvel not that the lofty feeling of gratitude which 
 cast at your feet a heart which the proudest and noblest have 
 sought in vain, should be a stranger to your flinty bosom — it was 
 said of old that nothing good could come out of Galilee — fool — 
 fool that I was to look for good where good never yet was 
 found. But the dream is past — ay ! and for ever — and love — ” 
 the voice ceased a moment — a low, strange sound like hys- 
 teric laughter was heard — then was added, in a hissing tone, the 
 figure approaching the astonished nobleman till it placed itself 
 within a few feet of where he stood, “ love will be hencefor- 
 ward hate — ay ! hate — stay or go now — as you will — the toils 
 are around you, go where you may — and I pray the just and 
 righteous God that the doom of traitors may fall soon and sud- 
 denly on all concerned in your foul plot ! — should that thing 
 come to pass, Connor Maguire ! you will think of — the Capu- 
 chin friar — ha ! ha! ha!” 
 
 A name was on Maguire’s lips when he could command his 
 voice to utter a sound, but whatever he might have purposed to 
 say, in the overwhelming surprise of the moment, was now too late 
 to reach the ear of the strange visitor — gliding through the half 
 open door he had vanished in the obscurity of the passage without. 
 
 At first, the whole seemed to Maguire like a hideous dream, 
 and, hastily pouring out a goblet of wine/ he swallowed it at a 
 draught, hoping that its generous warmth might overcome tho 
 dreary chillness which was creeping over him, but all in vain — 
 nor wine, nor reason, could dispel the gloomy impression left on 
 his mind by the parting words of the strange being whose iden- 
 tity he was at no loss to establish, any more than he could rea- 
 sonably doubt of the dread reality of what he had seen and heard. 
 
 In the silence and loneliness of the place — for no sound was 
 heard within the house — Maguire could not divest himself of the 
 thought that he was surrounded by danger — his morbid ima- 
 gination peopled the very air with hostile creatures — spies, it 
 
56 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 might be, and from Nevil’s manner, during his brief appearance, 
 his suspicions settled on him. He was alone, without any friend 
 to consult, and the dark presentiment within him, had other 
 motives been wanting, was, to a mind like his, sufficient to make 
 him decide on some step that might possibly avert the imminent 
 peril in which he began to fancy himself, though of its exact 
 nature he could form no idea. Strangely enough, he forgot what 
 his mysterious visitor had said, that there was a watch set on the 
 house, and believing that a change of quarters might ensure his 
 safety till morning light — or even till the hour appointed for the 
 great attempt — he softly made his way down the dark stair-case, 
 and, taking the key from its usual place, let himself into the 
 street, without any clear or definite idea as to whither he should 
 steer his course. Not unseen of Sheriff W oodcock’s understrapper 
 walked Connor Maguire through the shades of night. From 
 under the archway which had sheltered his precious body, stepped 
 forth John Steeples, and after the Irish lord paced he at safe and 
 respectful distance, anxious, no doubt, to see him safely and 
 snugly housed again for the comfort and satisfaction of his wor- 
 shipful principal. Now had Master Woodcock any definite or special 
 charge against Lord Maguire or his late guests, it would have saved 
 honest John Steeples some trouble, for nothing would have been 
 easier than to procure a few of his comrades and “ grab them” on 
 the spot, but, unluckily, no instructions had been issued for their 
 arrest, they were only suspected in a gene"al way, as it were, and 
 hence the necessity for John Steeples’ continued surveillance , 
 without any further steps in aggression. So on walked Lord 
 Maguire, and on followed John Steeples, past the old Church of 
 St. Nicholas^ down through Christchurch Lane, past the dark 
 dead walls of the old Cathedral, under the frowning arch of Or- 
 mond’s Gate, and so on into Cook street, where the young noble- 
 man was soon lost to John’s sight, but not before the sharp eyes 
 of the latter had marked the humble domicile into which three 
 gentle knocks had gained him admission. Having taken due 
 note of the house, John Steeples moved his bulky corpus with 
 quickened paces towards the place where he knew his employer 
 was likely to be found in snug quarters that cold raw night. 
 
 While the chieftain of Fermanagh was taking his lonely way 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 57 
 
 through the upper streets of the old city, he little dreamed of 
 what was passing by the water side in one of the mansions on 
 Merchant’s Quay.* Within the last two hours there had been 
 quite a commotion amongst the inmates of the house, from the 
 dark-browed, sinister-looking personage enveloped in ample robes 
 of grave official character, whose air and bearing expressed the 
 consciousness of high authority, to the humblest lackey who ren- 
 dered service to the great man’s great man. Alone in solemn 
 state the master of the mansion paced a spacious chamber to and 
 fro, muttering to himself dark and incoherent sentences, and 
 chuckling with strange mirth at times the while he waited with 
 nervous impatience for some intelligence which was evidently 
 delayed too long for his liking. Every now and then he stopped 
 and listened, then rang a hand-bell, which lay on a large table in 
 the centre of the room, covered with crimson cloth, and strode to 
 the door to meet the tidings half way, but it was long before any 
 came. Always to his question of “ Any of them come yet V* 
 the same unsatisfactory answer was returned. A fierce impreca- 
 tion, spoken withal in godly phrase, was on the man’s lips, in 
 anticipation of a like reply to his last imperious query, when the 
 serving man hastily put in : “ There’s one waiting without to 
 see your lordship’s honor.” 
 
 “ Who is it, sirrah 1 Not one of the lords-councillors surely V 1 
 
 ‘ Not so, my lord, it seems to me that the man is habited like 
 the devil’s birds named by the recusants, friars or something of 
 the kind!” 
 
 A sudden change passed over the heavy, puritanical features 
 of Sir William Parsons, for he it was. “ Admit him quickly.” 
 
 * To those who know anything of the Dublin of our day it will seem 
 strange to hear of aristocratic dwellings on the “ Quays,” and yet 
 they were as numerous there two hundred years ago — perhaps more 
 numerous — than the commercial buildings. It is now hardly credible 
 that some of the first legal functionaries and literary celebrities of 
 those days, together with many distinguished members of the gentry 
 and even the nobility, had their town dwellings in Bridge street, Wine- 
 tavern street, and all around that neighborhood, which seems to have 
 been quite a fashionable locality at that time. 
 
 3 * 
 
58 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE 'CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 The servant vanished. “ Friars ! ay ! he must needs he one of 
 onr own friars — ha ! ha! — godly men they be, too, for all the 
 heathenish fashion of their garments ! — ay ! so I thought,” as the 
 monk of St. Francis glided in, cautiously closed the door after 
 him, and advanced to the very contre of the room. 
 
 “How is this'?” cried the Lord Justice; “fellow, you are a 
 stranger — why enter here in that garb V' 
 
 “Ha! ha!” laughed the monk, “as though such mummers 
 never appeared in this most godly house ! Fear not, however, 
 Sir William Parsons, I be no enemy for all my frieze robe. I 
 came hither with good intent, as you will presently see — mo- 
 ments are precious. You received certain depositions this night 
 from one Owen O’Conolly, a servant of Sir John Clotworthy.” 
 
 “ Surely I did,” said Parsons, eyeing the other as closely as 
 the deep hood permitted ; “ know you aught appertaining to that 
 
 matter — an’ you do, good payment will not be wanting ” 
 
 “ Your gold I seek not, Sir William Parsons,” said the monk 
 sternly, “ but there be those amongst these Romish traitors whom 
 I would see brought to justice, and that full speedily — an’ you 
 wait till morning light, you will stand but poor chance of taking 
 them.” 
 
 “ But how — where can we come at them now !” 
 
 “ Leave that to Sheriff Woodcock — he knows ere now where 
 the conspirators lie hidden.” 
 
 “ So there is a plot,” said Parsons musingly. 
 
 “Can you doubt it when you have O’Conolly’s sworn evidence 
 of the fact V 1 
 
 There was a keen touch of irony in this question which the 
 Lord Justice well understood, and he bristled up accordingly. 
 
 “ Nay, nay, Sir William,” said the monk in a tone half jeering, 
 half soothing ; “ what matters it to you or me that your deponent be 
 a drunken serving-man — his deposition is none the less clear 
 — it will serve your turn and mine, too — it will help to build up 
 your fortune, and it will give the balm of revenge to my heart — 
 revenge ! — ay ! truly — but this is folly — Sir William Parsons ! 
 you have the germ of a great rebellion between your fingers — 
 crush it, I tell you ! crush the poisonous growth ere it crush and 
 destroy you — all ” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 50 
 
 The Lord Justice had been listening in silent wonder to the 
 vehement and most bitter speech of the friar, but at the last words 
 uttered in a somewhat softer tone, he started and fixed his eyes 
 anew on the mysterious personage before him. 
 
 “ Surely I have heard that voice ere now — say, am I right V 1 
 “ I came not hither to answer questions of that nature,” said 
 the monk haughtily, “ but to refresh your lordship’s memory con- 
 cerning the traitorous doings of Connor Maguire, Costelloe 
 McMahon, and others of their associates. You have heard that 
 to-morrow's morn is fixed for the execution of their plot — look to 
 
 it now, or the morrow’s eve may find you a headless man ” 
 
 “You are right, good monk — if monk you be ” 
 
 “ Good me no goods — nor monk nor priest am I — God forbid I 
 were ! ” 
 
 “Well! let us not quarrel on that head,” said Parsons in no 
 small trepidation ; “ an’ you think there is real danger, friend ! I 
 will repair to the house of my honorable colleague, Sir John 
 Borlase, and there await the assembling of the Council — being 
 
 without the walls, it may be safer ” 
 
 “ As you will,” said the stern voice from the hood, “ but what 
 you do, do it quickly !” The monk was gone ere Parsons could 
 summon a servant to see him out. The Lord Justice, happily for 
 his own peace, heard not the malicious laugh which echoed 
 through the vaulted halls below as the Capuchin roused the 
 porter from his nap to give him egress. 
 
 A little while after, and Sir William Parsons was engaged in 
 deep consultation at the house of Sir John Borlase, in College 
 Green,* with that functionary and some three or four members of 
 the Privy Council, over the sworn depositions of the drunken 
 servant, O’Conolly, who was secured and brought back for 
 further examination. 
 
 At midnight, Lord Maguire was arrestedf at the house of his 
 
 * College Green was then outside the city limits, 
 t To commemorate the capture of Lord Maguire, the bells of St. 
 Audeon’s — in which parish it took place — were rung at midnight on 
 the 22d — 23d October of every succeeding year. This custom is said 
 to have been continued down till the year of Emancipation, 1829. 
 
60 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 tailor in Cook street, just, as he bitterly thought, when the hills 
 and dales of Fermanagh were blazing with the signal-fires of 
 freedom, and his faithful clansmen were eagerly looking forward 
 to news of victory and noble exploits from their absent chief. 
 As the guard dragged him roughly along in the direction of the 
 prison, a voice, which the unhappy nobleman well knew, addressed 
 him in mocking tones from a deep archway : “ My benison on 
 thy head, Connor Maguire — benedicite, my son !” The chief- 
 tain shuddered, but made no answer. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 61 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 “Such which breaks the sides of loyalty, and almost appears in loud 
 rebellion.” Shakspeare’s Henry VIII. 
 
 “Then up starts the lord of Rathgogan, and fierce is the flash of his eye, 
 As he glares on the dark brows around him with bearing defiant and 
 high.” Ballad of “ Sir Domnall.” 
 
 The Lords Justices and the Council passed a sleepless night 
 at the house of Sir John Borlase, and the morning light found 
 them still in solemn conclave, with O’Conolly’s depositions be- 
 fore them. The master of the house, old and somewhat inert by 
 nature, lay fast asleep in an easy chair, oblivious of plots, massa- 
 cres and conflagrations, nay, even of fines and confiscations, as 
 the discordant music of his nasal organ from time to time bore 
 witness, to the no small annoyance of the other “ grave and re- 
 verend seigniors” who were still on duty, and wide awake. Of 
 these some were disposed to make merry over the whole affair, 
 regarding O’Conolly’s evidence as a capital joke. Of this num- 
 ber was Sir Robert Meredith, the Lord High Chancellor, a man 
 of prudence and sagacity, if possessed of no higher quality. He 
 had from the first ridiculed the idea of arresting a peer of parlia- 
 ment on the sole testimony of low-born varlet who, from drunk- 
 enness, could hardly make himself intelligible. When Sir Robert 
 joined the council on the previous night he did not attempt to 
 conceal his surprise on finding that such depositions were being 
 acted upon in a matter of such moment, while the “ scurvy fellow,” 
 as he styled him, who gave the information, had not even been 
 detained as security for the truth of his allegations. Parsons, who 
 had received the depositions, and also discharged O’Conolly on 
 his sole responsibility, was somewhat nettled by the Chancellor’s 
 stinging comments on the proceeding, but seeing, at the samo 
 
62 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 time, the utility of having his informant at hand, he immediately 
 sent messengers in pursuit of him all through the city. When 
 the fellow was at length secured and conveyed to the mansion on 
 College Green, Sir Robert was not the only one who was moved 
 to mirth, for the witness, being brought before the Council, was 
 found wholly incapable of answering any question put to him. 
 He had been taken from the hands of the watchmen who were 
 about consigning him to the Black Dog,* and, when introduced 
 to the august presence of the nation’s rulers, was unable to stand 
 without support. Still there was an attempt made by some of 
 the Lords, at the suggestion of Parsons, to examine him. His 
 deposition on the preceding evening was read over to him ; ho 
 listened with drunken gravity, steadying himself on his feet by 
 the aid of the two servants who had effected his capture. Being 
 asked at the conclusion of the documentary reading, whether 
 what he had heard read was his real evidence, he asseverated 
 with a vulgar imprecation on his soul that it was true, every 
 word of it. 
 
 “ And you spent the early part of the evening at the Lion Ta- 
 vern in street drinking beer with Mr. Costelloe McMahon V ’ 
 
 “ I’ faith I did, your honor’s lordship, and if any noble gentle- 
 man here wants a can of prime quality, if he finds not the beer 
 in that same Lion Tavern as good as any in town, let him call 
 me a liar — hie — hie!” 
 
 “ A likely story truly,” observed Meredith aside to Sir Thomas 
 Rotherham, “ that a gentleman of McMahon’s- standing made a 
 pot-companion of that varlet.” 
 
 Sir Thomas smiled his incredulity, but being a friend and pro- 
 tege of Parsons, thought proper to wnake a show of believing the 
 ridiculous statement. Prefacing his question with a small judi- 
 cial cough, he addressed himself to the witness : 
 
 * The Black Dog was the lowest of the city prisons in those days, its 
 dungeon corresponding to the “Black Hole” of modern towns and 
 cities. It had formerly been a castellated private mansion, known in 
 Dublin as “Browne’s Castle,” and being subsequently converted into 
 an inn, received its name of the “ Black Dog” from the innkeeper’s 
 sign of a mastiff or large dog. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 63 
 
 “And you came up to Dublin, Mr. O’Conolly, on a written 
 invitation from this McMahon to meet him, Lord Maguire, and 
 other gentlemen for the purpose of consulting anent this treason- 
 able plot!” 
 
 “ I satd not that, did 1 7 — (hiccup) — I wrote to Mr. McMahon — ” 
 
 “ Which of them — there are two brothers, you know 7” 
 
 “ I know — Joseph — Joseph and — Tim — two — surely there is.” 
 
 The members of the Council looked at each other, and Sir 
 William Parsons, detecting a smile on certain of their visages, 
 hastened to interpose : 
 
 “You mistake, Mr. O’Conolly, — I think the names are Costel- 
 loe and Art ” 
 
 “ Surely, my lord, surely — Costelloe and Art — it be all the 
 same ” 
 
 “ Which of them wrote to you 7” 
 
 “ Cossloe, I think — no, it was the other ” 
 
 “ And he invited you to go to his house on this business ” 
 
 “ Just so, my lord.” 
 
 “ Nay, Sir William Parsons,” said a nobleman present, speak- 
 ing for the first time, “it is sheer folly for this honorable body 
 to sit here listening to such evidence — the man is drunk — that is 
 clear — he knows not what he says, and I, for one, do protest 
 against receiving his information— until such time, at least, as 
 he be sober ” 
 
 “Who says Pm not sober!” cried O’Conolly, setting his arms 
 a-kimbo. 
 
 “ Silence, good fellow !” said the clerk of the Council. 
 
 “ Remove him !” said Sir Robert Meredith, “ his presence here 
 is an insult to the Council.” 
 
 “ Sir Robert Meredith ! you shall answer for this,” said Par- 
 sons doggedly, his coarse dark features swelling with rage and 
 vexation ; “ this be no time for cavilling at the evidence of loyal 
 men ” 
 
 “ I am a loyal man,” broke in O’Conolly, “ an’ your lordship 
 gives me a can of that same beer I told you of, I’ll drink confu- 
 sion to all Popish— Popish traitors (hiccup !) — I will, before your 
 eyes — hurrah ! — Parsons and Borlase for ever ! What the puck ! 
 — this head of mine is playing the d 1 with me !— your hand, 
 
64 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 old fellow !” — and making a grab at something to hold by, he 
 caught Sir William Parsons by the nose, that dignitary of the 
 State having unluckily approached him at the moment for pur- 
 poses of general admonition. A roar of laughter from his breth- 
 ren of the Council exasperated the already irritated Justice, but 
 as he did not choose to make an open show of resentment 
 towards the real offenders, he discharged a portion, at least, of 
 his venom on the unlucky witness, ordering him to be placed in 
 close confinement until the effects of his night’s carousal had 
 passed away and he could speak like a Christian man. 
 
 ‘‘And that’s what I’ll do, your lordship (hie! — hie!)— after I 
 get a sleep. I’ll tell you all as true as the Gospel, and we’ll hang 
 them all, Sir William, ay ! every mother’s son of the rascally Pa- 
 pists — I had a brace of them for father and mother, but never 
 mind 'that — I’m all right myself— I am— that is, I will be, when 
 I get paid for this job — liic ! hie ! hiccup !” 
 
 In the midst of this harangue, the witness was dragged from 
 the presence, vociferating in smothered accents his staunch ad- 
 herence to loyal principles. 
 
 Before the other members of the Council had succeeded in 
 smoothing away the wrinkles from the lowering brow of Parsons, 
 a violent knocking at the gate without gave rise to serious alarm 
 amongst the deliberative body. Even Borlase awoke with a 
 grunt, and asked what was the matter. 
 
 “ It is well an’ the rebels be not upon us,” said Parsons ; “ it 
 were a just judgment to some among us, an’ the Lord delivered 
 us unto them ” 
 
 The door opened, and a tall, dark-visaged, soldierly man made 
 his appearance, wrapped in a military riding-cloak. Even before 
 his keen eye had run over all the noblemen and gentlemen pre- 
 sent, a chorus of gratulation welcomed the new-comer as Sir 
 Francis Willoughby, all the way from Galway, of which fort he 
 was governor. He had ridden post-haste to Dublin at the urgent 
 request of Sir William Parsons, to assist in the deliberations of 
 the Council on this momentous occasion, and his appearance at 
 that juncture was most welcome to the Puritanical members of 
 the body, for his military experience and known hatred of the Pa- 
 pists, together with much real or supposed ability, gave him a 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 65 
 
 certain influence in their councils. Even those of the Council 
 who were neither friends nor admirers of Sir Francis Willoughby 
 were, on the present occasion, well pleased to see his stern visage 
 rather than that of some wild Irish chieftain, with eyes of fire, 
 all a- thirst for English blood. 
 
 “ In the foul fiend’s name,” was Willoughby’s salutation ; “ what 
 may all this mean 1 — I am summoned to town with all dispatch, 
 and when I get to town, I find every gate locked and double 
 locked against me.” 
 
 “ Not against you, Sir Francis ! surely not against you,” said 
 Parsons, eagerly advancing with a most deprecatorycountenance. 
 
 “ I tell you there was no admission for any one” repeated Sir 
 Francis, roughly; “ after much parleying with your halberdiers, 
 through the key-hole, I got word of the Council’s whereabouts, 
 and betook myself hither with all speed. I pray ye inform me, 
 lords and gentlemen, wherefore all this commotion 1 — has the 
 city, then, lost its wits, that it has turned itself inside out V * 
 
 “ Nay, nay, Sir Francis ! be not wroth,” said Parsons in as 
 soothing a tone as he could command ; “ the Papists are up in 
 arms, they are within the city we know not in what strength.-” 
 
 “ And the honorable Council and the Lords Justices fearing for 
 their precious lives have locked themselves out — ha ! ha ! ha !— 
 i’ faith, a good joke ! — here ye be in an unfortified house outside 
 the walls, open to all the country round, and the enemy, as ye 
 say, left in snug possession of the premises within — whoever be- 
 fore heard of men locking themselves out for safety !” And 
 Sir Francis, albeit little given to mirth or merriment, threw him- 
 self into a chair and laughed full heartily, regardless of the 
 frowns and menacing looks of his brother councillors, who' 
 winced individually beneath his biting sarcasm. 
 
 “ I rejoice,” said Meredith, “to see the gallant Sir Francis 
 Willoughby make so light of this matter — methinks it is over 
 grave for jesting, seeing that a leading man amongst the Papists 
 is already in custody, and other arrests are^iourly looked for.” 
 
 “ I knew nought of that,” said Willoughby, “ but this I know, 
 to wit, feat from Galway hither I have seen no signs of this 
 mighty rebellion whereof ye speak. And yet methinks if there 
 were any such movement on foot amongst the Irishry that coun- 
 
66 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 try would not lie still. There be as arrant Popish knaves where 
 I come from, ay ! and in as great numbers, as you would find in 
 any part of this island. An’ you take my advice, Sir William 
 Parsons, you will move back to our old quarters bag and bag- 
 gage ere the day be an hour older — for our own credit do this 
 that our name and authority fall not into disrepute even amongst 
 those who be well disposed — first of all, however, I would break 
 
 my fast, an’ it please our honorable host ” 
 
 “ Ay, surely,” cried Borlase, endeavoring to get rid of the 
 drowsy god by a vigorous shake and a most energetic yawn ; “ ay, 
 surely, Sir Francis, men do assuredly fight better and talk better 
 when the stomach is in good condition, to wit, well supplied with 
 wholesome food. I never prospered on anything I took in hands 
 fasting — ” he had just reached for the hand-bell to summon the 
 steward of the house, when bang at the outer gate came a new 
 series of knocks, or rather blows, as of heavy sticks. 
 
 “ There,” said Parsons, addressing Willoughby, half in fear half 
 in exultation, “ what think you of that 1 — who be they that de- 
 mand admission in such fashion as that V\ 
 
 “ That will I tell you full soon,” replied the stout soldier, as he 
 made for the door, while Meredith and Rotherham approached 
 one of the high narrow windows looking on the small court, hop- 
 ing to discover by the help of the dawning light the cause of this 
 new commotion. 
 
 No one ventured, however, to follow Willoughby to the hall, 
 and when, after a very brief absence, he again entered the room, 
 bis fii'st words were anything but satisfactory. 
 
 “ The rebels, my Lords Justices ! the rebels are upon us!” 
 
 “ The rebels! — how say you, Sir Francis'? — surely — surely 
 they have not attacked the house — why it would not stand an 
 hour’s siege !” 
 
 “ I know that, Sir John — I know it full well, but the dwelling 
 is safe for this time — I see but one recusant on the premises, and 
 
 he is in good hands ” 
 
 “How'?— who 
 
 “ Be not alarmed, Sir William — your fellows have taken another 
 of these wasps — it was their truncheons that battered the gates 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 67 
 
 so lustily even now — are your lordships in readiness to examine 
 the rascal, whose name I know not V* 
 
 “ I say nay,” put in Borlase quickly; “let him e’en cool his 
 heels till we have answered the demands of our several stomachs 
 • — I’ll warrant him not over anxious for the meeting ■” 
 
 This proposition was unanimously adopted, and the morning 
 meal being happily announced at the moment, the two Lords 
 Justices and the five Privy Councillors proceeded, nothing loath, 
 to the discussion of the good things awaiting their attention. 
 This important affair took up the best part of an hour, during 
 which time the Irish chieftain, the descendant of a lordly line, 
 was left shivering on the stone bench in the fireless hall, whose 
 low arched roof was dripping with damp, for Sir John Borlase 
 grudged all expense which had not his own comfort for its im- 
 mediate object, and hence a fire in the outer hall would have 
 been a superfluity. 
 
 It were hard to describe the feelings of the prisoner during 
 that dreary time of expectation, which, however, he turned to 
 some account, for when at length he was. summoned to the pre- 
 sence of the Council, the stone walls of the vacated hall were 
 found ornamented in strange fashion. Ghastly visages of tortured 
 men, figures dangling from gibbets, and other such quaint and 
 horrible devices were sketched on either side with a master hand 
 and of life size.* This audacious act was duly stated to the wor- 
 shipful assembly at the moment when Costelloe McMahon, was 
 ushered by the sheriff’s officers into the judicial chamber. Seven 
 pairs of eyes were immediately turned on him, some in wrath, 
 some in contempt, some in mere curiosity, but the Tanist of 
 Uriel shrank not from the darkest scowl of all, even that of Sir 
 William Parsons. 
 
 Drawing his short cloak around him, and shaking back the 
 long curled locks from about his face, he walked to the foot of 
 the Council-table with a step as light and as proud a mien as 
 though he trod his native plains at the head of his martial clan. 
 His clear blue eye met in turn the searching glance of each of 
 
 * This fact is historically true. It is strikingly illustrative of the 
 bold and reckless character of the brave but unfortunate McMahon. 
 
68 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 his judges, but the lid never drooped for a moment, nor did the 
 spirit-light of that eye grow dim. 
 
 “ Good faith, he were a gallant leader this,” muttered Wil- 
 loughby to himself, as his soldier-glance scanned the fair propor- 
 tions of the prisoner and marked his dauntless bearing. 
 
 “ What is this I hear, McMahon V ’ said Parsons at length, as 
 he disposed his clumsy members in the chair of presidential dig- 
 nity at the upper end of the long table ; “ how came you so far 
 to forget the respect due to this house as to disfigure the walls 
 thereof with foul daubing 
 
 “ Ask your fellows, rather, how it came that they did not see 
 it done — inethinks it was for them to keep watch on my evil 
 propensities 3” 
 
 “ So please your lordships,” cried the three bailiffs in a breath, 
 “ we did but go ini o the steward’s room near by to warm our 
 hands, the which weie well nigh frozen !” 
 
 “ Even so it was with mine,” said McMahon carelessly • “ I 
 found the vault over cold for my liking, and being, moreover, 
 left to my own wits for company, I was moved to exercise my 
 fingers in the delineation of certain pleasant fancies which came 
 into my head.” 
 
 “ An’ the churl had only clothed his unsightly criminals after 
 the manner of his own barbarous tribe,” said Borlase, entering 
 the room, after a critical inspection of the obnoxious images ; “I 
 might easier overlook the injury done me, but as I am a living 
 man this day, they are clothed in decent English garb — ay ! 
 every one of them !” 
 
 While some of the Council turned aside to conceal a smile, 
 Parsons again fixed his scathing glance on the prisoner, who was 
 smiling too. “ This surely heightens the offence, McMahon ! 
 The meaning of this bloody riddle we can all of us see ” 
 
 “ It was my purpose that you should see it,” said McMahon 
 haughtily ; “ men do say that Sir William Parsons is not over 
 quick of comprehension, but he were duller than one of his own 
 donkeys an’ he could not read so plain a lesson I” 
 
 A livid hue overspread the massive features of the Lord J ustice, 
 and a gleam of lurid fire — a single gleam, shot from his eye, as 
 though charged with the lightning’s destructive power. But he 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 69 
 
 was not the man to give way to violent emotion, at least in out- 
 ward show, and so terribly calm was the tone in which he next 
 addressed the prisoner — that the latter looked at him in some 
 surprise, a surprise which was not shared by Parson’s brethren of 
 the Council who knew the man better. 
 
 “ It is well, it is very well,” he said with a sort of portentous 
 smile, “ you have shown us at once the full extent of your malig- 
 nity, and thereby saved much trouble. You appear to be some- 
 what plain spoken, and may, therefore, throw some light on this 
 matter, to wit, the traitorous rising up of the Irishry against the 
 King’s majesty ” 
 
 “ That the rising will take place, nay, has taken place in many 
 parts of this Kingdom of Ireland, I freely admit,” said McMahon, 
 calmly ; “ that it is against the King’s majesty I deny — and I de- 
 sire that your scribe yonder put this my solemn denial on record. 
 If his highness were left free to deal with his Irish subjects, 
 according to his own royal clemency and justice, there would be 
 no discontent among us.” 
 
 “ Most like not — an’ ye had your way in all things, ye might 
 be content to give the King his. His grace is much beholden to 
 you. Pity it is, though, that so gracious a sovereign and such 
 loyal subjects should so little understand one another.” 
 
 “ It well becomes Sir William Parsons to talk in that fashion,” 
 said McMahon, with bitter emphasis ; “ none knows better than 
 he the causes which keep our liege lord and his faithful Irish 
 subjects from coming to an amicable agreement. Your lordship 
 and some others whom we wot of may live to feel that w r e are 
 over loyal for your liking, though you speak the word now in 
 scorn. Our lord the king, likewise, may learn all too soon — pray 
 God it be not to his cost — that treason and rebellion lurk full 
 often under robes of state !” 
 
 This home-thrust told so well on the thick hide of Sir Wil- 
 liam’s conscience that the purple tint faded from his dark visage, 
 and was replaced by an ashy paleness. He rose from his seat, 
 sat down again, drew a long convulsive breath, then coughed 
 slightly once or twice as though to clear away the last lingering 
 remnant of emotion, and was finally about to address the prisoner, 
 
70 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 who was all this time engaged in adjusting his girdle, when Wil- 
 loughby stood up : 
 
 “ My Lord Justice,” said he, “ I crave your pardon. This inso- 
 lence exceeds the bounds of toleration. We cannot allow farther 
 speech before this Council to a man who can so far forget the 
 respect due to such authority ” 
 
 A scornful laugh from McMahon elicited a dark scowl from 
 Parsons and a fierce threat from Willoughby. Some of the other 
 members urged dispatch, as, from certain sounds outside the house, 
 they had reason to believe that either some other prisoners or at 
 least fresh intelligence had arrived. 
 
 “Pray God it be not Maguire!” murmured McMahon, half 
 audibly, enlightened by a sudden presentiment. It was Maguire, 
 and before any further question could be put to his friend he was 
 brought in looking as 
 
 “ Ghastly, pale, and wan 
 
 As he who saw the spectre-hound in Man.” 
 
 And yet there was nothing craven or cowardly in the manner 
 with which he confronted the imposing array around the table. 
 He was still the Irish peer, the chieftain of Fermanagh, looking 
 down, as it were, on his upstart judges from an elevation all the 
 greater for the misfortune which had placed him in their power. 
 With him indeed the flesh was weak, but the spirit strong, and 
 so McMahon felt as their eyes met in melancholy greeting. 
 
 After a short whispered consultation amongst the councillors 
 as to whether the prisoners should be examined apart or face to 
 face, the former was decided on. Lord Maguire was removed to 
 an adjoining chamber until such time as McMahon’s examination 
 was brought to a close. Again the friends exchanged glances. 
 
 “ Courage, Connor !” said McMahon in Irish ; “ all is well that 
 ends well !” 
 
 “ True, Costelloe,” returned the peer dejectedly ; “ but this 
 cannot end well ” 
 
 “ Why not,” called McMahon after him, as he was conveyed to 
 the door ; “ what can they do but take our lives, and surely you 
 would not shrink from a patriot’s death ” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 71 
 
 “ Silence, prisoner!” cried a stern voice from the table ; “ you 
 presume on our indulgence !” 
 
 A contemptuous laugh was McMahon’s answer, as Parsons 
 rose in wrath to examine him. 
 
 “You are cognizant, are you not, of a deep-laid conspiracy 
 amongst certain individuals to overturn the existing government 
 and ” 
 
 “ To destroy rather the ferocious and tyrannical reign of des- 
 potism in this island ” 
 
 “Note well his answers!” said the galled Puritan Justice to 
 the Clerk of the Council. 
 
 “ Ay ! note them well,” replied the prisoner ; “ put them down 
 in black and white ; they will soon be copied in my blood 1” 
 “Silence!” 
 
 “ You admit a knowledge of this traitorous plot !” 
 
 “ I admit that your government is in danger !” 
 
 “ And you were a party to the design concerning the seizure of 
 the Castle ?” 
 
 “ I was — I came up to Dublin, with other lords and gentlemen, 
 with intent to take that fortress !” 
 
 “ Be so good as to name some of these lords and gentlemen !” 
 “ Not one of them will I name !” 
 
 “We can force you — there be persuasive arguments at our 
 command —ay ! arguments to overcome even your contumacy !” 
 
 “ I deny it,” said McMahon firmly ; “I know the arguments 
 you mean — the rack, the thumbscrew, and other such appliances 
 for Popish flesh and blood — you may use them on me, an’ 
 welcom e — ” 
 
 “ Sirrah !” cried Willoughby, starting from his seat, “ your life 
 is forfeited even now ” 
 
 “ I know it, sir ! — I scorn to give back your scurvy sirrah — 
 I know I stand here alone and helpless in the power of those 
 who never spared or pitied one of my race or creed — but, never- 
 theless, I pledge ye my word as an Irish gentleman, my Lords 
 Justices, and ye of the Council, that not one drop of my 
 blood shall fall unrevenged — there be those in arms, ay ! and in 
 ; 'power , who will settle the score with ye all !” 
 
 Further attempts were then made to induce McMahon to 
 
72 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 impeach some of his “ fellow-conspirators,” but not another ques- 
 tion would he answer, and some of the Council being anxious to 
 get rid of the affair, besought that this contumacious rebel might 
 be remanded for further examination, and the other prisoner 
 brought in at once. 
 
 “ Keep him in the hall,” said Borlase, “ till the other is dis- 
 posed of. Let him e’en study his morning’s work — but, hark 
 you, Milman ! see that his hands be made fast — no more sketch- 
 ing, an’ you value whole bones !” 
 
 Maguire’s examination occupied but little time. With charac- 
 teristic caution and timidity he persisted in denying all knowl- 
 edge of a conspiracy against the government. Unlike McMa- 
 hon he neither boasted nor threatened — he knew nothing, and 
 hence could tell nothing, or criminate any one. The only out- 
 burst of feeling that escaped him was when the Lord Chancellor 
 Meredith, on the part of the Council and the King’s majesty, held 
 out to him hopes of pardon if he would name some of the lords 
 and gentlemen implicated in the plot. On this, the blood of the 
 Maguires took fire. 
 
 “ Plot!” cried the chieftain indignantly ; “ I have said I know 
 of no plot, but suppose I did know that all the chief men of our 
 persecuted native race, and all the tribes who look up to them 
 as rulers, were resolved no longer to be crushed as worms, but 
 to cast off, come what may, the intolerable burden laid upon 
 them for their destruction — suppose I were to tell you that , 
 which, perchance, your wisdom may see without hint of mine 
 — it were needless to name any — all being of the same mind. 
 Work your will on the children of the soil collectively, for assur- 
 edly we are all of the one mind in regard to your doings, but 
 that is all I have to tell you, though you tore me to pieces on 
 the rack.” 
 
 “ It is very well,” said Parsons, with his gloomy smilo ; fC sum- 
 mon hither the Constable of the Castle — I believe he is in attend- 
 ance.” That functionary quickly appeared, and to him were de- 
 livered the two prisoners, with a delicate hint from the Lord Jus- 
 tice that it might be necessary hereafter to initiate them into the 
 mystic rites of the Star-chamber. Maguire changed counten- 
 ance on hearing this, though he tried to force a smile. McMa- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 73 
 
 hon answered with a gesture of haughty indifference and a care- 
 less laugh. 
 
 “ Do you affect Irish music, Sir William V’ said the reckless 
 Tanist of Uriel ; “if so, you may have a serenade full soon from 
 the pipes and clairseachs of Ulster. I hear them even now — far 
 off as in a dream — and vengeance breathes in every tone !” 
 
 “ Take them hence,” cried Parsons, almost speechless with 
 anger, and the prisoners were accordingly conveyed to the dun- 
 geons of that Castle which in a few hours was to have been their 
 own. 
 
 4a 
 
74 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 “ What I do next, shall be, to tell the king of this escape, and whither 
 they are bound.” Shakspeare’s Winter's Talc. 
 
 11 As spiders never seek the fly, 
 
 But leave him of himself t’ apply, 
 
 So men are by themselves employ’d 
 To quit the freedom they enjoy’d, 
 
 And run their necks into a noose, 
 
 They’d break ’em after to get loose.” 
 
 Butler’s Hudibras. 
 
 Half an hour or so after Lord Maguire and his friend were 
 committed to the Castle-prison, a small wherry might have been 
 seen, floating idly down the Liffey’s turbid stream, not far from the 
 Old Bridge. Its only occupant was a lubberly boy of that amphi- 
 bious class, midway between the seaman and the landsman, then 
 as now to be found about the water side in sea-port towns, well 
 content to do nothing, yet able to take a hand on either element 
 at any species of work which required only bone and sinew. His 
 bullet eyes were gazing listlessly on a crowd of persons assembled 
 at the corner of Bridge street, around an officially-clad personage, 
 who was reading aloud from a manuscript document in his hand. 
 Stolid as the youth was he could not but perceive that some 
 unusual bustle was going forward. All along the quay, and in 
 the various streets opening on it from the city, men were hur- 
 rying to and fro, exchanging significant words as they passed 
 each other, as if all were bent on a common object. 
 
 “ I’m thinking there’s some news abroad this morning,” said 
 Perry to himself, but without any troublesome feeling of curiosity, 
 “ an’ it were not that master bade me keep the boat here about 
 the bridgo-foot till I’d light on a fare, I’d bo ashore before 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 75 
 
 this to see what’s in the wind. Hillo, master ! — do you want 
 a boat?” 
 
 This was in answer to a signal made him by a sailor on the 
 bridge-steps. Another sign in the affirmative brought the boat 
 close alongside, and the sailor jumping in, stretched himself with 
 a lazy yawn on a bench in the stern. In answer to the boy’s 
 question, as to where he wished to be rowed to, the sailor, with a 
 drunken hiccup, pointed to some three or four of his fellows who 
 had joined the crowd on the quay and seemed listening intently 
 to the reading aforesaid. 
 
 “ Hang the lubberly knaves, what an itching they have for 
 news !” grunted their comrade in the boat ; “ we have got but 
 this one day a-shore, and they e’en clip it shorter than it be — (hic- 
 cup !) — hearkening to some fal-de-ral not worth a brass farthing. 
 Hark you, Watty !” raising his voice to the utmost, “ what the 
 plague’s got into your noddle 
 
 His voice appeared to set Watty and his mates in motion, for 
 they instantly detached themselves from the crowd and walked 
 towards the boat with that shuffiing gait peculiar to their craft. 
 They were all more or less under the influence of liquor, and 
 laughed uproariously at the angry rebuke of their companion. 
 
 “ Time enough, Bill ! time enough,” cried, one of the last arri- 
 vals; “ your old dame’s porridge will keep hot, never fear !” 
 
 “ But, what — what the puck made you stand there gaping'?” 
 
 “We were a-listening not a-gaping, Bill!” said the man ad- 
 dressed as Watty; “yonder fellow is reading what they call a 
 proclamation, so as we never chanced to hear the like before, 
 Launcelot and the rest of us had a mind to listen.” 
 
 “ A proc , what did you say it was '?” demanded Bill. 
 
 “ A proc-la-ma-tion ! do you hear it now '?” 
 
 “ Ay, marry, do I — (hiccup !) — but I be nothing the wiser for 
 
 the hearing. What is it like, that proc , hang the word ! — ”(hic 
 
 — hiccup !) 
 
 “ Hang your scurvy memory,” retorted Watty, with a hoarse 
 laugh ; “ the word is well enough. An’ you want to know what 
 it’s all about, why, it’s a chance for somebody to win five hun- 
 dred gold marks by delivering up to justice one Roger O’Moore, 
 a certain wild Irishman who, it seems, has been raising the old 
 
76 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 d — I in these parts. An’ the fellow is only half as bad as they 
 make him out, his whole carcass be not worth the money, though 
 any one who brings in his head will get it. Strike me dumb if 
 these great folks on shore be not greater fools than any we have 
 on sea ! — pull out now, my lad, we’ll lend a hand an’ you give us 
 oars! — up, Bill, up — take an oar, you lubber! or the dame’s 
 cookery may go for nought !” Bill’s intoxication did not prevent 
 him from both taking and using the oar, which he did, however, 
 so awkwardly that Perry grinned from ear to ear as he in- 
 quired : “ Where to, master V ' 
 
 “Up the river a piece— we’ll show you where to stop. Bo 
 alive now and you shall have a trifle to drink our health over and 
 above your fare !” 
 
 Before the lad could turn his boat’s prow up the stream, he 
 was hailed by another voice from the shore — “Where is that 
 boat bound for V* 
 
 “ Can’t say, master !” and Perry shook his head with a puzzled 
 air. 
 
 “ Can't sat/, you blockhead,” cried the other angrily ; “ I’ll 
 teach you to say, an’ I come within reach. Are you going up or 
 down, sirrah V' 
 
 “ Up !” said the boy very gruffly, muttering to himself, at the 
 same time: “You may go seek a passage for all Perry cares, 
 my fine gentleman !” 
 
 “ Stop, stop, that’s my way, too !” shouted the stranger ; “ stop, 
 I command you !” 
 
 But this was not so easy done, had Perry been ever so well in- 
 clined, for the sinewy arms of the four sailors had been speeding 
 the boat with all their might, and the little craft was already some 
 distance from the shore skimming the water with amazing swift- 
 ness for the lumbering thing she appeared to be. The boy 
 grumbled somewhat about losing another fare, but his good 
 humor was quickly restored when Watty assured him, on the 
 part of himself and his mates, that he should- be no loser on the 
 occasion. 
 
 “ Ay ! but he’ll have a grudge against me on account of it,” 
 said Perry ; “ that’s Sheriff Woodcock, and a dark man thoy say 
 he is !” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 77 
 
 “ Sheriff Woodcock !” repeated one of the sailors carelessly; 
 “ Lord ! who’d have thought it. He’s as arrant a churl as ever I 
 laid my eyes on !” 
 
 “ Take your time now, lads !” said Bill in an under tone, “ no 
 hurry — you understand 'l till the worshipful is out of sight !” 
 and thereupon Bill raised his voice to its highest pitch, and sang, 
 as the boat moved slowly up the stream, a verse of a street-ballad 
 then much in vogue amongst the anti-Irish population of the 
 metropolis : 
 
 “ Proud and poor, 
 
 * Lank and lean, 
 
 With matted locks, 
 
 And face unclean, 
 
 Owner of a pike and skene — 
 
 Here’s your native Celt, 0 !” 
 
 “ Pike and skene !” he muttered, exchanging a fierce look with 
 his comrade opposite ; “ better that than nothing !” Aloud ho 
 repeated once again: “ Here’s your native Celt, $ !” 
 
 “ All is right in that quarter,” said the sheriff on the quay ; 
 “ there can be no deception in the good will with which the fel- 
 low gives that out, and no man of the Irishry would sing it.” 
 
 “ 1 think your worship is well shot of such company,” spoke a 
 shrill voice at his side, and turning quickly the official personage 
 encountered the flabby face of his subordinate John Steeples • 
 “ the fellows are as drunk as swine ! Let them e’en go their 
 way — though they be loyal, too, as my ears tell me — howsom- 
 ever, worshipful sir, an’ you’ll step this way, I have a word for 
 your particular hearing. I pray you heed not the boat, good 
 master ! for though the song be not bad, and so well sung that I 
 could share a can of beer with the singer, an’ I had him near me 
 at a leisure hour, still the hearing of it will put no gold in your 
 worship’s pocket, nor would the sail to Island Bridge, for that 
 matter, but an’ you’ll come with me to a private place, I can tell 
 you something that may fill every pocket you have with gold 
 pieces !” 
 
 Anxious to hear this lucrative secret, the sheriff* followed his 
 familiar to a small house in Winetavern street, where John had 
 
78 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 a back room at command. “ You know, John,” said tlie em- 
 ployer, with a very serious face, as he took his seat near the 
 blazing hearth; “you know, John, gold is nothing to me — 
 nothing — but the duties of mine office are — I need not tell you, 
 John — are — everything !” 
 
 61 1 know it, your worship ! I do know it,” quoth John, with a 
 look which he intended to convey honest conviction ; “ hence it is 
 that I am so urgent in this matter.” Then lowering his voice to a 
 whisper, he stepped over on tip-toe, and stretching out his short 
 neck till his face almost touched the grave official countenance : 
 “ I have found out the chief plotter in this rebellion!” 
 
 e ‘ What — whom do you mean,'?” cried the sheriff with a start. 
 
 “ I mean Roger O' Moore /” said John, drawing himself up with 
 an air of superlative exultation. 
 
 “You do, John!” and the sheriff started to his feet; “you 
 know where to lay your hand on him '?” 
 
 “ Of a surety, I do !” 
 
 “ Then, my dear John, give me your hand ! — fifty of the gold 
 marks shall be yours — for the rest, you know, I care nothing, 
 but the credit of the thing, John ! — that is what I prize the most 
 — with Maguire and McMahon in custody, and now the arch- 
 traitor, O’Moore — why, man it will make our fortune — let’s go, 
 now, my trusty and right faithful John !” 
 
 Taking with them a trio of stout constables whom they met 
 on the way, they went accordingly to the dwelling of Patrick 
 Moore, merchant, in the upper part of what is now Lower Bridge 
 street, where undoubtedly Rory O’ Moore had been wont to lodge, 
 for it was the identical house wherein we first found that chieftain 
 entertaining his friends. Unluckily for Sheriff Woodcock’s pro- 
 fessional glory, though the cage was there, the bird was flown. 
 Master Patrick Moore, being informed of the object of their 
 search, politely expressed his regret that they had not come a 
 few hours earlier. 
 
 “ How so 1” asked the sheriff, with a sad misgiving smiting his 
 heart. 
 
 “ Why, because, worshipful sir,” said the urbane man of com- 
 merce, “ Mr. O’ Moore left his lodgings here before daylight this 
 morning — to my sorrow, I needs must say, for he is a man of 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 79 
 
 princely generosity and thinks no more of money than he does of 
 the sand on the floor. I crave your pardon, honored sir, for mak- 
 ing free to speak of my own affairs in your presence, but the loss 
 of a good lodger whom one has had on his floor, off and on for 
 three years, is something not easy to get over. You can walk up 
 stairs, gentlemen — assuredly !” seeing some of the constables in 
 the act of ascending. 
 
 As for the sheriff, he saw all too clearly that the man spoke in 
 the best of faith, and with a groan that came from the region of 
 his bowels, he called to John Steeples, who was already near the 
 top of the narrow stairway, that he thought it were but losing 
 time to search the house. 
 
 “No matter for that, your worship,” cried John from above, 
 “ I’m determined to see it out— it’s something I can’t stand to be 
 tricked by a scurvy Irishman, and I won't be either, an’ I can 
 help it. I’ll have him out, an’ he’s in the house, though I ripped 
 open every bed in it. I’ll not leave a hole where a mouse could 
 hide, but I’ll know what's in it ! An’ your worship has a mind 
 to go elsewhere, we can e’en see this matter out — myself and 
 these good fellows.” 
 
 “ And if so be you find him, John ! you will bear in mind that 
 you act for me — will you not V ’ 
 
 “ Of a surety, sir, I will — make your mind easy on that head !” 
 
 With a very polite obeisance, Master Moore let the sheriff out, 
 and with slow and heavy step that interesting specimen of the 
 ornithological tribe took his way to the Castle, where the Lords 
 Justices, and their privileged advisers, were by this time re- 
 established for dispatch of business. Before we enter with 
 his worship those gloomy portals so justly dreaded by the 
 natives of the country, it may be worth while to have another 
 peep at John Steeples as he steps on tip-toe into the apparently 
 deserted sitting-room of Rory O’Moore. 
 
 John appeared to have a good understanding with the other 
 members of the search-committee, for the street-door had no 
 sooner closed after their common employer, than that worthy, 
 hearing Master Moore’s step on the stairs, hastened to prevent 
 his entrance by double locking the room-door, which having 
 done, he tipped a sly wink at each of his companions, and smiled 
 
80 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 a grim smile, and nodded his head in a way peculiar to himself, 
 but well understood, it would seem, by those for whom the gesture 
 was meant. 
 
 “ Sit down now, my mates, and make yourselves at home for 
 a brief space,” said the fat constable, in an easy confidential tone, 
 having first taken care to stuff the key-hole ; “or perchance it 
 were the better thing for you to make some noise in the way of 
 knocking things about, even as though we were searching with 
 all our might.” 
 
 Having set his comrades to work pulling furniture hither and 
 thither in the noisiest manner possible, John approached an alcove 
 in the sitting-room, saying with a most complacent air : “ If so be 
 we find not Roger O’ Moore, we may find somewhat in the shape 
 of a cordial for our empty stomachs this cold morning. These 
 Irish gentlemen, to give the devil his due, are most excellent 
 judges of liquor, and I warrant me this same { arch-rebel,’ as 
 they call him, is not without good store of it in his cupboard !” 
 
 This hint was not lost on his companions, and, amid the 
 arduous and laudable employment at which John had placed 
 them, many a wistful look was cast towards the deep recess into 
 which that ingenious personage had dived. Hopes were raised 
 to the highest pitch as flask after flask was drawn forth, to the 
 number of half a dozen, some of them labelled with foreign 
 names which no one there could decipher. These being duly 
 ranged on the table, together with a few goblets, at a signal 
 from John the whole party gathered around like so many cormo- 
 rants over their prey, their frost-pinched noses and blue cold lips, 
 indicating the need they had of some warming draught. 
 
 “ Here’s the real usquebaugh,” said John, taking up a stone 
 flask, and proceeding, as he thought, to pour out some of its pre- 
 cious contents ; “ there be nothing like it, they do say, for keep- 
 ing out the cold.” Alas ! the cruel usquebaugh refused to come, 
 the still more cruel rebels had not left one solitary drop. This 
 first disappointment was bitter, but still hope remained. There 
 were others to be tried, and some of them must needs be full, 
 they were so heavy. With convulsive eagerness, and impreca- 
 tions not a few, one after one was tried and found wanting — their 
 weight was deceitful — they were all empty as the prophet’s gourd, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 81 
 
 and with a vengeful oath John Steeples flung the last on the 
 stone hearth, and shivered it into a thousand fragments, amid 
 a chorus of shouts from his companions, some angry, some 
 derisive. 
 
 “ May the foul fiend fly away with them, boat, and all !” cried 
 honest John ; “ an’ I thought he would play such a scurvy trick 
 as to leave his cupboard in this wise, Sheriff Woodcock might 
 have had his five hundred marks by this time.” 
 
 “ How is that, John 7” asked one of the listeners, but John all 
 at once remembered that in his anger he was committing himself, 
 so he made an evasive answer, and wisely kept to himself the fact 
 that he had bargained with a certain Master Dillon, (to wit, Sir 
 James of that name,) to connive at O’Moore’s escape, he being 
 found cognizant of his whereabouts. The trusty follower of She- 
 riff Woodcock well knowing that in case he delivered the rebel 
 chief to justice, his employer would contrive to pocket the lion’s 
 share of the reward, thought it more to his real advantage to 
 pocket the sum offered by Sir James Dillon, and let the sheriff, 
 look after his own interest. If truth must be told, too, he had a 
 trifling grudge against the same gentleman, for and on account 
 of certain former transactions wherein John had been the dupe 
 of his master’s superior cunning. Hence John’s timely appear- 
 ance on the quay, and the pains he had taken to draw off the 
 sheriff’s attention from the boat which, having said so much, it 
 is needless to say, contained Rory O’Moore, Colonels Plunket dnd 
 Byrne, with the friend who had engaged the boat, and otherwise 
 provided for their escape. 
 
 Having demolished the principal articles of furniture within the 
 rooms, by way of venting their disappointment, the jackals of the 
 law, thinking it time to evacuate the premises, made to open the 
 door, taking it for granted that they had nothing to do but 
 walk down stairs. Here, however, another and still worse dis- 
 appointment awaited them : the door was locked and also fas- 
 tened on the outside, the bailiffs and constables were caught in 
 a trap of their own making. Threats and promises were alter- 
 nately addressed by the chafed and angry captives to Master Moore 
 or some other imaginary personage without, but no word or sound 
 could their straining ears hear in reply — all within was noise and 
 4 * 
 
82 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 clamor, all without silent as the grave. Hungry and cold as the 
 prisoners were, the keenest pangs of their misery arose from the 
 recollection of the rich harvest to be reaped that day in the city — 
 a harvest on which each of them had been building all manner of 
 speculations. Every expedient that ingenuity could suggest was 
 tried on the door, and at length the lock yielded to the skill and 
 perseverance brought to bear on it. Alas ! freedom was as far 
 off as ever — the outward fastening still remained. Hope at length 
 vanished, and as grim despair began to take its place, the gen- 
 eral excitement amounted almost to frenzy, discharging itself in 
 a torrent of angry abuse on the conscious head of John Steeples, 
 whom his worthy associates accused as the sole cause of their 
 misfortune. John defended himself as best he might, alleging 
 that what he had done was with a view to the common good, and 
 that no one could charge him with selfish motives. If jars and 
 flasks were found empty, when they ought in all reason and in 
 fair play to have been full, surely no one could blame him , in- 
 asmuch as he was himself a joint sufferer with the rest. His 
 rhetoric was, however, thrown away — hunger, and cold, and thirst 
 — yea, even the thirst for gold were all clamoring fiercely against 
 him, and as time passed brows scowled darker and words came 
 forth fiercer and more ominous, till, at last, John Steeples’ pro- 
 fessional hardihood failed him, and he began to shiver with bodily 
 terror, when affairs took a turn as lucky as unexpected. In a 
 fit of desperation John’s fellow-prisoners made a combined attack 
 on the door, rushed against it with all their might, and went head 
 foremost into the corridor without, one over the other in ludicrous 
 confusion, while the whole venerable fabric shook with the force of 
 their fall, and a' pea! of distant laughter echoing from room to 
 room proved, with provoking clearness, that the mishap was not 
 the work of chance. Stunned and bruised as they were from 
 their fall, and mortified beyond endurance at the trick which had 
 been put upon them, still the sense of recovered liberty was para- 
 mount over all, and as John Steeples, with most meritorious 
 gravity, assisted them in turn to regain the perpendicular, there 
 was less of anger than of sheepish embarrassment in the general 
 expression of their faces. Vengeance they, indeed, vowed against 
 the Moores, young and old, kith and kin ; but the desire of car- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 83 
 
 rying it out was, for the time, subordinate to the corporal wants 
 before alluded to, and the no less craving longing for a share of 
 the government gold, likely to be flung that day with a liberal 
 hand amongst their honored fraternity. Great in proportion to 
 the peril from which he believed himself to have escaped, was 
 the joy of John Steeples when he trundled down stairs in the rear 
 of his company, free to seek his morning meal at the nearest 
 eating-house, and free, too, from the bodily fear which had been 
 Dozing in cold sweat from every pore. 
 
 Meanwhile all was confusion amongst the high functionaries of 
 the realm. Entirely ignorant as to the actual extent of the re- 
 bellion, fear magnified it into universal, and, in the absence of all 
 reliable information, the very worst was apprehended. It was 
 something, to be sure, that the design on the Castle had been 
 frustrated, (for the hour appointed, according to O’Conolly, for 
 the attack, was now past, without any appearance of insurrection 
 within the walls,) yet that afforded but small consolation when 
 there was no knowing what moment the rebels might come, in 
 overwhelming numbers, to invest the city. Several other mem- 
 bers of the Council had made their appearance, including two of 
 the episcopal body by law established. A proclamation was pre- 
 pared, announcing to the country, in exaggerated terms, the 
 wicked plot which had been so happily frustrated, together with 
 the capture of some of the chief conspirators. Couriers were 
 sent with this document to all the principal lords and gentlemen 
 throughout the provinces, requesting that all possible publicity 
 might be given to it, and this with a view to discourage and pre- 
 vent any further attempts on the part of the Irish. The city was 
 all bustle and excitement, confined, however, to the officials and 
 hangers-on of the government, for, whether it was that timely 
 warning had been sent over night to the different parties who 
 were to have combined for the attack on the Castle, or that the 
 arrest of Maguire and McMahon was told them before they en- 
 tered the city, it is certain that they were all invisible during the 
 day, even to the lynx-eyed cormorants of the law. 
 
 As the day approached its meridian, and yet nothing heard of 
 the rebels, the vague terrors of the night and of the morning 
 began to clear away somewhat, and by the time Sheriff Woodcock 
 
84 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 made his bow before that august body — the zodiac of his solar 
 system — announcing the continued quiet of the city and its 
 neighborhood, the Council, and even the Lords Justices, waxed 
 quite facetious, and many a dull grave jest was bandied about 
 at the expense of “ the beggarly Irishry,” who, as Parsons 
 jocosely observed, “ had not mettle enough in them to raise a 
 stir that might perchance give honest men their own.” 
 
 “ But what of O’Moore, Master Sheriff' 1” demanded the Bishop 
 of Meath. 
 
 “ No word of him yet, my reverend lord,” returned the obse- 
 quious official, carefully keeping his morning’s adventure out of 
 sight; “ I warrant me has e’en betaken himself out of our reach 
 in time ” 
 
 “ Ay, marry,” put in Parsons, “ they say he is cunning as a 
 fox, and can shift himself out of difficulty let who may get the 
 worst of it.” 
 
 “ I am well acquainted with his prudence and sagacity,” ob- 
 served the prelate, and he shook his head with a very serious 
 air ; “ hence it is that I am ill at ease so long as he remains at 
 large. I would, for the peace of the country, he were in as safe 
 keeping as the other two.” 
 
 “ Caged, eh V* cried Willoughby from an arm-chair in a remote 
 corner ; “all in good time, my Lord of Meath ! We'll have 
 them all time enough for the plucking — what say you, Sir Wil- 
 liam? There be scores of the Popish fowl better worth than 
 this gallows-bird, O'Moore, who, as I hear, is bare as a picked 
 bone — let him e’en go, he will bring others into the nest whose 
 feathers will make soft pillows — ha ! ha !” 
 
 This demoniacal hint was sharply rebuked by one of the bishops, 
 •while Parsons himself thought it decorous to reprimand his 
 friend, accompanying the words, nevertheless, with a side glance, 
 which more than contradicted their meaning. 
 
 Willoughby laughed in his usual boisterous way, saying : “ I 
 knew not that any here were so squeamish as regards a joke 
 —however, an’ ye do not relish mine we can e’en let it pass ” 
 
 His discordant laugh had not yet died away amongst the arches 
 of the old oaken roof, when the Council was again thrown into 
 perturbation by the arrival of Lord Blayney, who, travel-stained 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 85 
 
 and weary from his long night’s ride, suddenly appeared before 
 the assembled lords in that same room, so memorable in Irish 
 story, where half a century before 
 
 “Silken Thomas flung 
 
 King Henry’s sword on Council-board the English thanes among.” 
 
 To the hurried and anxious question of “ What news from the 
 north'?” simultaneously put by several voices, Lord Blayney re- 
 plied in tremulous accents : 
 
 “ The worst that could be brought — all Ulster is up in arms 
 under Sir Phelim O’Neill, O’Reilly, McMahon, and other chiefs " 
 of note.” 
 
 “ Merciful Heaven !” cried Sir Robert Meredith, “ are you sure 
 of this, my lord '?” 
 
 “ Sure of it, Sir Robert!” answered Blayney with some indig- 
 nation ; “ think you I would travel from Castle Blayney hither on 
 an idle rumor 'l Am I sure of it ! when all I hold dearest — wife, 
 children — all — are prisoners in the hands of the fierce McMahons. 
 God only knows if they be not butchered ere now !” 
 
 “ And your Castle V’ asked Parsons eagerly. 
 
 “ My Castle, too, is in their possession — oh ! that I live to 
 tell it !” 
 
 Lord Blaney’s evil tidings, if the first, were not the last of that 
 eventful day. Towards evening, the Council was brought to- 
 gether again by a message from Sir Arthur Tyringham, governor 
 of Newry, to the effect that the garrison had been taken by the 
 Magennises, together with a large quantity of military stores — 
 the latter was deemed even the greater loss, inasmuch as it fur- 
 nished the rebels with what they most wanted, and, moreover, 
 what the government could but ill spare at the time. 
 
 The courier from Newry was quickly followed by another 
 from Dungannon, announcing the capture of that fort by Sir 
 Phelim O’Neill. 
 
 “ What ! Dungannon taken, too 1” cried Willoughby. 
 
 “Yea, my lord!” replied the soldier who had brought the 
 news; “ but that is not all — Charlemont is likewise in the hands 
 of the rebels — the same crew that took Dungannon made straight 
 for Charlemont.” 
 
86 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Charlemont ! well nigh the strongest place in Ulster ! — surely 
 you mistake, good fellow ! they can have no artillery — no siege- 
 engines — by St. George ! an’ they took that fort so easily, it is 
 foul shame to the garrison — I would shoot every man of them, 
 my lords and gentlemen ! — I would — or worse death — yea, even 
 hang them like dogs for arrant cowards as they be !” 
 
 “ I warrant O’Neill will save us the trouble, Sir Francis !” 
 observed Parsons, while the others talked apart in low, eager 
 whispers. “How is it, soldier! did*tlie rebels kill all before 
 them 1” 
 
 “Not that I heard of, my lords! As yet they have but 
 taken prisoners.” This almost incredible news elicited no word 
 of commendation, softened no heart on behalf of “ the Irishry.” 
 Leaving the Council to digest the astounding intelligence hourly 
 pouring in from the north, we must hasten to relieve the reader’s 
 anxiety for the fate of Rory O’Moore and his faithful friends. 
 Acting their assumed parts with consummate skill, so as to keep 
 Perry under the impression that they were nothing more than 
 they seemed, they managed to get safe on shore some miles up 
 the river. After dismissing the boat with the promised gratuity 
 to Perry — so small as not to excite his suspicions, they took their 
 way inland, and when once out of sight of the river, shook 
 hands and parted, each one betaking himself to the house of an 
 acquaintance in the neighborhood, lest they, remaining together, 
 should attract attention. The future steps to be taken had all 
 been previously arranged. As for O’Moore, he found a safe and 
 pleasant asylum at the house of his daughter, then lately mar- 
 ried to a certain Mr. Sarsfield,* and residing at Lucan. There 
 he remained for -a day or so until he effected his escape ta the 
 north. 
 
 * And these were subsequently the parents of one of Ireland’s 
 most illustrious sons — Patrick Sarsfield. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 87 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 “ Yet had3t thou thy vengeance — yet came there the morrow, 
 
 That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night — ■ 
 
 When the sceptre that smote thee with slavery and sorrow, 
 
 Was shiver’d at once like a reed-in thy sight.” 
 
 Moore’s I rink Melodies. 
 
 “ He rose the first — he looms the morning star 
 Of the long, glorious, unsuccessful war — 
 
 England abhors him ! Has she not abhorr’d 
 All who for Ireland ventured life or word ? 
 
 What memory would she not have cast away, 
 
 That Ireland hugs in her heart’ s-heart to-day 
 
 T. D. McGee. 
 
 A week had produced unhoped-for changes in Ulster. As if 
 by magic, all the land had changed masters, and from Lough 
 Sheelan’s waters in O’Farrel’s country,* to the shores of Lough 
 Swilly and Lough Foyle, in the far north, the banners of the na- 
 tive chiefs floated in triumph over fortress, tower, and town. In 
 all the province of Ulster, from the green hills of Cavan to An- 
 trim’s rugged coast, with the single exceptions of Derry, Carrick- 
 fergus and Enniskillen, there was not one stronghold in stranger 
 hands. Over Charlemont and Dungannon, Benburb, Mountjoy, 
 and Portmore, the Red Hand waved as in days of old, side by 
 side with the royal banner of England, for it was Phelim O’Neill’s 
 proudest boast that he and his warred not against their sovereign, 
 but only to resist the further aggressions of his government in Ire- 
 land, regarded by the ^vhole Catholic body as traitors to the royal 
 
 * Now the county of Longford. 
 
88 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 cause, as well as ruthless oppressors of themselves. Ever blindly 
 attached to the house of Stuart, the native Irish were but too 
 ready to make excuses to themselves for the ungrateful and per- 
 fidious conduct of Charles, and to throw the blame on his offi- 
 cials in Dublin, who were consequently the avowed objects of 
 their undying hostility. Parsons and Borlase with their host of 
 satellites constituted the actual scourge of Catholic Ireland at that 
 day, and they, with the system of robbery and persecution which 
 they represented, must be swept away, as the chieftains thought, 
 before the king could carry out his merciful designs in their favor. 
 Hence it was that the banner of England floated on the northern 
 breeze wherever the native arms prevailed, and so it was all 
 through what is strangely called the great Rebellion. But to re- 
 turn. Tyr-Owen, as I said, was Phelim’s own — ay ! every rood of 
 it. Newry, and all the Ban country were subject once again to 
 the ancient lords of Iveagh. The strong fort of Tanderagee was 
 taken from the enemy by the brave O’ Hanlons ; the venerable city 
 of Patrick, the Primatial See of Ireland, was captured by Phelim 
 O’Neill after a fierce and protracted resistance ; the gallant 
 McDonnels of the Glynns did their duty well in Antrim, notwith- 
 standing the threatening proximity of the Scotch garrison of Car- 
 rickfergus ; the McMahons, roused to tenfold fury by the news 
 of their brave Tanist’s imprisonment, swept over their entire 
 country, within the first few days of the insurrection, so that not 
 one place of refuge remained to the enemy in all the county of 
 Monaghan. 
 
 In Fermanagh, for a similar reason, the arm of vengeance fell 
 with deadlier force. The Maguires were a stern and a warlike 
 race, men of Spartan courage and iron will, and it grieved them 
 sore to think that their lord should languish in dungeon vile 
 when other clans marched to battle with their chieftains at their 
 head. 
 
 When the news of Maguire’s capture first reached his own do- 
 mains, his brother Roderick assembled the men of his name who 
 had not as yet joined Sir Phelim’s army, and announced the dis- 
 aster which had come upon them. A roar, or rather a mighty 
 groan, was heard, like that of the angry ocean, when its waves 
 are lashed into sudden fury,— the crowd heaved to and fro as 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 89 
 
 though agitated by one common instinct, then all was ominously 
 still, save the voice of one who cried aloud — 
 
 “ What can be done, 0 Roderick, for the chieftain of our 
 race 
 
 “ Nought can we do,” made the brother answer, in a sorrowful 
 tone ; “ nought can we do, for Connor, — the fangs of the serpent 
 are in his flesji> and while life is left him he will be their prey — - 
 justice neither he nor McMahon can expect, and word or act of 
 ours were alike powerless on their behalf — to God’s mercy, then, 
 must we entrust them, hoping that ere it be too late, we may 
 win freedom for them with our strong arms — but this can 
 we do — ” he paused and surveyed the breathless crowd with a 
 kindling fiery glance — “ an’ we cannot save them from ignominy, 
 torture, and, perhaps, death — we can gloriously revenge them — 
 we can do what I am well assured they would wish us to do — 
 yea, what will gladden their sorrowful hearts to hear of — we can 
 drive the foreign herd like swine from this land of ours — we can 
 do unto them that which they have for ages done unto us — we 
 will do our part of what needs must be done, if we would longer 
 breathe God’s air and live above ground !” 
 
 A wild shout of approbation denoted the kindred sentiments of the 
 people, and the lake shore resounded with the ancient war-cry of 
 the Clan Maguire, announcing to the English garrison, shut up 
 within the walls of Enniskillen, that all the country round was in 
 open rebellion, that the fierce sept, whom even in repose they 
 feared, were now girding on the weapons of war. And they did 
 gird them on with a vengeance, and the Tanist kept his stern 
 ^vow, for annalists tell that Rory Maguire, “ brother of the Lord 
 Maguire,” ruined and devastated the English possessions in Fer- 
 managh, and carried fire and sword to the very walls of Ennis- 
 killen. He had an uncle, too, a valiant gentleman, one Lorcan 
 More Maguire, who did good service all during those trying 
 times, and between them they made Fermanagh too hot for the 
 enemies of their race and creed. Lorcan was a great lover of the 
 marvellous, and to him were made all the spiritual “ warnings.” 
 and other like manifestations affecting the fate of the Maguires. 
 Accordingly, the news of his nephew’s imprisonment had no 
 sooner reached him than he declared it had all been foreshown 
 
90 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 him by dreams and divers remarkable omens, not to speak of 
 the Banshee, whose doleful cries had been nightly ringing in his 
 ears for weeks. And still her voice haunted his slumbers, Lorcan 
 said, but her wail was mingled with beseechings for revenge, and 
 the old man vowed she should have enough of it, or be his race 
 “ unwept” for ever more. And yet by a strange anomaly, cha- 
 racteristic, however, of the Irish people, there was comparatively 
 little blood shed during that first memorable week even in Fer- 
 managh. With the sole exception of Enniskillen — which, for 
 want of artillery, the Irish were unable to take — every town and 
 fortress in the county was seized by the Maguires, the well-filled 
 barns of the strangers furnished provisions for the patriot soldiers, 
 and their owners were most terribly frightened by the wild and 
 vengeful threats which those who uttered them had no iritention 
 of carrying out. By a singular stretch of mercy and forbearance, 
 English and Scotch Protestants were permitted to betake them- 
 selves, which they did in droves, to the sheltering walls of Ennis- 
 killen, Derry, or Carrickfergus, as the case might be, and in- 
 stances were not wanting of their being allowed to take with them 
 what valuables they could collect.* 
 
 In Cavan the O’Reillys were up and stirring, but their warfare 
 was marked by that calm, yet firm moderation, which we have 
 seen manifested in the speech and bearing of their chief on his 
 first introduction to the reader. When once his mind was made 
 up on the necessity, as well as justice of the war, no man entered 
 into its details more minutely, or carried out its operations with 
 greater energy than he. Still the gentleness of his nature gave 
 a peculiar character to his share of the military transactions oi 
 the time, and even the most prejudiced Protestant historians bear 
 honorable testimony to the clemency wherewith the O’Reillys ot 
 Cavan tempered the horrors of civil war in their part of the 
 country. With Philip, their worthy chief, was associated in 
 
 * This was especially the case at one of the northern castles taken 
 by Sir Phelim O’Neill, of much-slandered memory, on which occa- 
 sion the occupants of the fort were seen in broad day carrying off 
 with them trunks of rich clothing, plate, and even money, the Irish 
 forces looking on without offering to molest them. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 91 
 
 command his cousin Miles O’Reilly, who, at the time of the nor- 
 thern “ rising,” was High Sheriff of the county. This gentleman 
 is specially mentioned as heading the first rising of the men of 
 Breffny, and his gallant spirit sustained and cheered them on 
 through many a trying scene of the eleven years’ war. One of 
 the first acts of the O’Reillys, after sending their quota to the 
 general army, and taking possession of all the strongholds of 
 their territory, was to restore the churches to their rightful 
 owners, and this they did in the coolest and most business-like 
 way imaginable. The usurping clergy were in every parish duly 
 warned to quit without further notice, as the churches and glebes 
 were required for the use of those whose fathers built them. 
 Where any remonstrance was attempted or an appeal made to 
 the pity of the unwelcome visitors, the latter generally cut the 
 matter short with a peremptory order to pack up and go, saying it 
 was only fair that they should have their turn of the hardship 
 which God’s anointed ministers had been made to endure for ages 
 by them and their friends. The example set by these high-souled 
 Breffny men was quickly followed throughout the province ; the 
 clergy of the people, hitherto wandering about on sufferance 
 amongst their flocks, were now publicly installed in the glebe- 
 houses, and the churches, so long profaned by heretical worship, 
 were purified and solemnly opened again for the celebration of 
 the divine mysteries. 
 
 Thus within the second week after the rising, the whole aspect 
 of affairs was changed in Ulster ; the native tribes were again in 
 possession of the soil ; the flags of their chieftains floated free 
 over tower and town ; — Religion-, so long occult and concealed, 
 now raised her stately head as of old, and planted her royal 
 standard on the high places — in Ulster, at least, she was again “ the 
 city on the mountain” seen of all men; — the Cross, her beloved 
 emblem, for ages hidden away in the caverns of the earth and 
 the inaccessible fastnesses of the hills, was now brought forth in 
 triumph and placed on the steeples and on the altars, amid the 
 exulting shouts of the faithful people, and the loud hosannas of 
 the clergy. It was a proud day when Hugh O’Neill, primate of 
 Ireland, stood once more at the altar of Patrick on the holy hill 
 of Ardmacha, and when Hebei* of Clogher appeared before the 
 
92 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 warlike clans of Uriel in full episcopal costume, and offered up 
 for them in the cathedral which their own valor had recovered 
 the divine sacrifice of the New Law. When we remember that 
 these scenes were going on either simultaneously or in rapid suc- 
 cession all over the northern province, while the heretical clergy 
 who had so long usurped the ancient seats of piety were hud- 
 dled together within the walls of the few fortresses remaining to 
 their party in Ulster, we can imagine the wild enthusiasm of a 
 people in whom the religious sentiment was stronger than all 
 others, and in whose hearts the triumph or debasement of reli- 
 gion was ever inseparably associated with that of their country. 
 
 Of the chieftains who led the people almost everywhere to vic- 
 tory during those eventful weeks, Sir Phelim O’Neill holds the 
 first place — the traditional reverence in which the name was 
 held, the position he occupied amongst the native chiefs, and, 
 above all, the fiery and impulsive vehemence of his character — set 
 down as valor by his compatriots — placed him just where he de- 
 sired to be, at the head of the Ulster forces. He had established 
 his head quarters at Newry, a day or two after the general mus- 
 ter of the army, and thence he issued orders with supreme autho- 
 rity, commanding and countermanding as occasion required with 
 that ceaseless activity which belonged to his character. From 
 the upper borders of Breffny to the wild capes and headlands of 
 Innisowen, from Slieve-Gullian and the Mourne Mountains, 
 to the Western Marches, where Fermanagh stretched into Con- 
 naught, Sir Phelim’s authority was recognized and his word 
 obeyed as law ; at his command castles and forts were stormed 
 and taken, protection given, withheld or withdrawn, supplies 
 levied, and commissions issued. Others of the chiefs, associated 
 with O’Neill, might have, and undoubtedly had, abilities superior 
 to his, but so sincere was their general devotion to the cause that no 
 petty jealousy appears to have arisen amongst them — had they 
 not been united heart and soul as one man under one head, their 
 fair province could not have thrown off the shackles of ages in 
 one single week, giving an example to the sister-provinces which 
 in due time they followed. 
 
 Considering, then, the leading part which Sir Phelim O’Neill 
 took in this magnificent revolution in the north, it is easy to un- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 93 
 
 derstand the detestation with which he was regarded by the ge- 
 neration of robbers whom he dispossessed — very uncivilly, no 
 doubt — of the lands and livings from which the lawful owners 
 had been driven out to make room for their fathers in a bygone 
 age. It was very unpleasant, to be sure, for the bloated 
 “ planters” of Ulster, to be forced to disgorge the six counties 
 swallowed with so much unction in the days of bountiful King 
 James, and little wonder it is if they looked upon Stout Phelim 
 as a very ungracious leech. Hence the massacres and wanton 
 cruelties which they delighted to lay to his charge, magnified by 
 the traditional hatred of their descendents into the blackest and 
 most atrocious crimes, so that Phelim O’Neill is represented to 
 the world as a monster stained by every crime that can disgrace 
 humanity. That he had a heart-hatred of English tyranny, and 
 resented with all the intensity of a fierce and passionate nature 
 the system of spoliation and religious persecution of which his 
 whole race had been for centuries the victims, is as true as that 
 the eight or ten first days of the war so actively carried on by him 
 in Ulster were marked by no massacre or even personal outrage 
 beyond what was incidental to the violent transfer of a whole 
 province from one set of masters to another. 
 
 But, leaving this digression — which, after all, is no digression 
 — let us see what has become of Rory O’Moore, and how the 
 news of the Ulster rising is received in the other provinces. As 
 yert all seemed quiet in Leinster, and the government proclama- 
 tion, duly read in the proper places, and duly posted on church 
 and other public doors, seemed to have the desired effect — the 
 Palesmen were as peaceable and “ well-affected” towards the 
 powers that were as even Parson’s heart could wish, when sud- 
 denly the border parts of the south were found to be in quite an 
 alarming commotion, and before the loyal could tell "what it 
 meant, within a mile or so of the then strong fortress of Ardee, 
 almost within range of the guns, a suspicious gathering of the 
 people was observed, occupying a decidedly suspicious position on 
 the slope of one of the few hills in the vicinity — if hills we may 
 call the occasional undulations of a vast plain. Rumors got 
 afloat, and penetrated even to the English garrison of the castlo, 
 that one of the rebel leaders was there in person, and, in great 
 
94 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 excitement, the governor dispatched a troop of horse, under 
 the command of his lieutenant, Sir John Netterville, to ascertain 
 whether the report were true, and, in any case, to send the 
 people about their business, seeing that they had no business there. 
 
 When the young noble of the Pale approached the multitu- 
 dinous assembly on the hill, he was much surprised to perceive 
 them fully equipped with such arms as country people could 
 improvise, to wit, pikes, bludgeons, scythes, and other such 
 unsoldierly implements of warfare, and so unsightly did these 
 appear that Netterville could not refrain from smiling, while his 
 men laughed outright. There was that, however, in the resolute 
 air of the peasants as they drew together at the approach of 
 the cavalry, firmly grasping their formidable weapons, which 
 instantly checked the unseasonable mirth of the soldiers, and 
 made their leader himself look grave. He immediately ordered 
 one of his troopers to the front with a white flag, calling out 
 himself at the same time : 
 
 “ Peace, peace, good people ! — we come not as enemies ! — who 
 is in command amongst ye V 3 
 
 “An old acquaintance of yours, Sir John Netterville!” said a 
 gentleman in a Spanish hat and an Irish cloak, advancing from 
 a farm-house in the centre of the crowd, the people giving way 
 respectfully as he passed. It was no other than our friend 
 Watty, the drunken sailor of the Liffey, though Perry would 
 have had some difficulty in recognizing him, as he exchanged a 
 graceful salute with the royal officer. 
 
 “What! Roger 0’ Moore ! or do mine eyes play me false V* 
 the latter cried in amazement. 
 
 “Surely no, Sir John!” said O’Moore with his bland smile; 
 ‘ methinks those gracious orbs of thine were much at fault, an’ 
 they knew not my lineaments ! — how fares the good lord your 
 father.” 
 
 “Well in body, Roger,” replied Netterville with a meaning 
 smile, “ but wofully afflicted in spirit because of the doings of 
 these — ahem !” he stopped abruptly, and glanced at the motley 
 array before him. 
 
 “ I understand you, Sir John,” said O’Moore in Irish, and 
 ho spoke with a bitterness all unusual; “I heard of my lord 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 95 
 
 Netterville, with the other chief men of the Pale, hastening 
 many days since to offer their services at the Castle — they asked 
 for arms, too, it would seem, to use against their poor country- 
 men of the same faith, who are fighting their battle as well as 
 their own— faugh ! they stink in our nostrils, those magnates of 
 the Pale — for all many of them were my good friends and kins- 
 men — inasmuch as that, with noble blood in their veins, and 
 the profession of faith on their lips, they crouch like hounds at 
 the feet of those who have wronged the Catholics of this nation 
 beyond forgiveness, as beyond reparation — yea ! who are sworn 
 to cut us off root and branch — ah ! Sir John Netterville ! I shame 
 to hear of these craven doings, and trust me ! my heart is sore 
 oppressed with grief to see you in such livery — you, of whom I 
 had better hopes !” 
 
 “ So said my Lord Moore but yester-eve,” cried Sir John 
 with a gay laugh, speaking fluently the same tongue. “ He and 
 his family have betaken themselves to Drogheda for shelter — fear- 
 ing, God wot, to trust the strength of his own walls— he seems to 
 have no great opinion of my loyalty, for, as I was saying, he told me 
 over night, as you did but now, that he had thought me a loyal 
 gentleman and a true son of a noble father— i’faith an’ I am 
 doubted on every side, I must e’en doubt myself ” 
 
 “ Sir John Netterville !” said O’Moore, advancing a step or two 
 with outstretched hand, “ what am I to think — what brings you 
 hither in such guise if, indeed, you be what, my heart would 
 fondly hope 1” 
 
 “ Stand back, Roger ! not a step farther, an’ you value my head 
 and your own ! For your thoughts of me, I would have them favor- 
 able — what brought me hither was to disperse this tumultuous 
 gathering — so the order runs— an’ you take a friend’s advice, ye 
 will move from here, and thereby show that I did my errand — but 
 hark you, Roger ! keep your men together, and march north- 
 ward —a little way beyond the borders into Farney — there let 
 them remain in arms till you have concerted measures with those 
 you know in the far north !” 
 
 “ Thanks, Sir John, thanks! That course is surely safest and 
 best — but you V* 
 
 “ Oh ! leave me to my own wits” — and again Netterville laughed 
 
96 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 as lie turned his rein, and made a sign to his subordinates to ride 
 on— “ suffice it for the present, that I feel as you do, and will act 
 accordingly, when occasion serves, so help me God and my good 
 patron St. John! — nay, doubt me not, Roger! — I have plans in 
 my head of which you may hear ere long to your satisfaction — 
 but name me not in the councils of your friends — the time is 
 not yet come — farewell ! and I pray you to bear this in mind, 
 that all the Catholic gentlemen of the Pale are not so pliant, or 
 so oblivious of past and present wrong as my honored father 
 and his peers would seem to be !” 
 
 The last words were uttered in a tone so significant that 
 O’Moore could not help laying them up for future reflection. 
 One doubt, however, remained to be solved. 
 
 “A word with you, Sir John,” he called after Netterville. in a 
 subdued tone , “ I am to conclude that your people do not un- 
 derstand our language —but how is it that you seem to have no 
 fear of exciting their suspicions by such lengthened parley with 
 me 7” 
 
 “ Why, man ! from the distance at which we stood,” said the 
 other, riding back a few yards, “ they would have had good lugs 
 an’ they heard what passed — for the rest I have no fears— not one 
 of them would harm a hair of my head for Lord Moore’s estate ! 
 go your ways, Roger, and God have you in care till we meet 
 again — by then you may know many for friends whom you now, 
 perchance, esteem as foes !” 
 
 “ Heaven grant it be so!” murmured O’Moore, as he gazed a 
 moment after the gallant cortege, his eyes resting with pride and 
 no small degree of hope on the light and graceful form of the 
 young Norman noble. Many questions were by this time buzz- 
 ing in his ears, from the curious and eager listeners around him, 
 and to answer them satisfactorily he took the principal men 
 amongst them into the farm-house before-mentioned, where, after 
 a short consultation, the march into McMahon’s friendly country 
 was agreed upon, until such time as orders could be received 
 from head-quarters. It is needless to say that while 0’ Moore 
 rode post-haste to join the northern chieftains at Newry, the 
 sturdy Louth men were welcomed with joyful acclamation by 
 their neighbors “ over the border,” in the Irish country, who 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 97 
 
 naturally hailed their accession as the first instalment from the 
 Pale. 
 
 On his way from Ardee to Newry, O’Moore’s patriot heart was 
 gladdened by the tidings that Longford and Leitrim were up in 
 arms — Leinster and Connaught were at length stirred into action, 
 though as yet only on their outskirts. “ I knew the O’Farrels 
 would not long remain inactive,” said O’Moore to a Louth gen- 
 tleman, who, with two of his followers, accompanied him to the 
 camp ; “ 1 knew they would speedily snap their chain, for all 
 their officious loyalty — loyalty, indeed ! defend us, heaven ! from 
 the loyalty which is treason to our bleeding country ! But the 
 O’Farrels were in former times such very loyal gentlemen 
 that they must' needs prove their adhesion to the government by 
 fighting their best against Hugh O’Neill, for which, forsooth! 
 they received government commendation, together with a small 
 matter of toleration, by virtue of which they have retained some 
 shreds of their ancient patrimony — they have lately, as I hear, 
 got some kicks and buffets from the Castle-folk, which, most 
 like, spurred them on to make cause with us.” 
 
 “Ay, marry !” said the Louth man, “ I have ever heard the O’Far- 
 rels of Longford, marvellously well spoken of within the Pale — 
 good Lord, Mr. O’Moore ! what may that mean 1” He pointed as 
 he spoke to a bulky object suspended from a tree some twenty 
 yards before them. O’Moore answered not, but rode forward at 
 a more rapid pace, closely followed by the others, till he 
 reached the object in question. It was the body of a man com- 
 fortably clad in the English costume. 
 
 “ It is e’en one of the blood-hounds of the law,” said O’Moore 
 with indifference, that was partly assumed, “ and look !” point- 
 ing to a printed paper on the breast of the corpse, “ look you, 
 there is the insolent proclamation lately issued from the Castle 
 — he would read it, doubtless, for some of these fierce border 
 chieftains ! methinks that will be the last of such readings this 
 side the march !” 
 
 “ It is an awful sight!” said Callan, with a heavy sigh ; “ after 
 all, Mr. O’Moore, war is a direful trade to take up !” — and he 
 spurred his horse to a gallop so as to get out of sight of the 
 hateful object. 
 
 5a 
 
98 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ What, man,” cried O’Moore, rather more sternly than was his 
 wont, “ you must, ere now, be well used to such sights, or there 
 be no ‘ Popish recusants’ in your country. I warrant me, these 
 gallant gentlemen will teach them to dance to another tune ere 
 long, and moreover, to keep their proclamations for those who 
 value them !” 
 
 They were here challenged by a warder from* the battlements 
 of a castellated building, some perches from the high road, and his 
 husky voice made the Palesmen start. But O’Moore made an- 
 SAver quickly in Irish, telling Avho they were and on what business, 
 when a prompt “ Pass on, in God’s name !” sent the travellers on 
 their journey with renewed hope and confidence. Even the half- 
 fearful Louth man exclaimed in a cheerful tone : “ Marry, but 
 times are changing— something may come of it yet !** 
 
 “ Never doubt it, man, never doubt it,” cried O’Moore, slap- 
 ping him gaily on the shoulder ; “ every step you take now is on 
 free soil, and by the time you reach O’Neill’s camp, you will be 
 as sure of victory for our arms as I am !” 
 
 While O’Moore and his companions were thus beguiling the 
 weary way to Newry, exchanging friendly greetings ever and 
 anon with straggling parties from O’Neill’s force, the brave 
 O’Rourkes of Western Breffny were rapidly clearing their an- 
 cient territory of the savage brood of vipers who had been so long 
 preying on their life-blood. One of the most atrocious miscreants 
 of the robber-race, Sir Frederick Hamilton, was, unhappily for 
 that county, located in Leitrim, in the midst of princely posses- 
 sions, which, of right, belonged to the plundered O’Kourkes, and 
 his stately mansion of Manor Hamilton Avas nothing better than 
 a den of marauders, who, under pretence of keeping the Papists 
 in subjection, periodically issued forth and committed all manner 
 of depredations (of which robbery was the least offensive) on the 
 unoffending natives. Any attempt at resistance had hitherto but 
 provoked still greater cruelty and oppression, for Hamilton and 
 his hell-hounds, as the people called them, were far too useful to 
 the Lords Justices to be restrained in their harmless sport of rob- 
 bing, torturing and murdering such illicit animals as native Papists. 
 What fell out in Breffny-O’Rourke in those days of retribution 
 we shall presently see. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 09 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 “The tyrannous and bloody aet is done.” 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 “ The greatest attribute of Heaven is mercy, 
 
 And ’tis the crown of justice and the glory, 
 
 Where it may kill with right to save with pity.” 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 The torch of freedom had shone but few days on the hills of 
 Leitrim when, as in the neighboring counties of Ulster, the most 
 brilliant success attended the bold attempts of the native tribes 
 to recover their independence, or rather to free themselves from 
 the iron fangs of the fanatic government, for it never entered into 
 the heads of any amongst them to reject the authority of King 
 Charles. Many of the chief strongholds of the country were 
 already in possession of the O’Rourkes and other tribes of lesser 
 note, but as yet no attempt had been made on Manor Hamilton, 
 partly on account of the extreme terror in which its freebooting 
 lord was held, and partly, because of the exaggerated ideas en- 
 tertained regarding the strength of the fortress. 
 
 But although this stronghold of fanaticism was still unassailed, 
 many places of equal, or almost equal, importance were snatched 
 from the enemy bj' the brave and chivalrous Owen O’Rourke, the 
 chosen head of thg Leitrim clans — -chosen not more on account 
 of his princely lineage than the admirable qualities of his head 
 and heart. Handsome, like most of the chieftains of his race,* 
 
 * Most of our readers are doubtless acquainted with the story of 
 that O’Rourke of Breffay who, visiting London in the time of Queen 
 Elizabeth, the Royal virgin became so struck with his extraordinary 
 
100 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 brave as man could well be, accomplished in all the knightly arts 
 of war, and withal generous in the highest degree, the O'Rourke 
 of that day was a man who commanded the respect of all — even 
 bis enemies were forced to acknowledge his high deserts, while 
 by his own party he was universally loved and esteemed. Such, 
 then, was the man whom the fate of war opposed to the brutal 
 and overbearing Hamilton in the wild guerilla warfare of that 
 remote country. It so chanced that in capturing the various cas- 
 tles and manor-houses of the county, many distinguished persons 
 of both sexes had fallen into the hands of O’Rourke, and for 
 some days these were entertained in the dwelling of the chief 
 with that princely hospitality which became his noble ancestry 
 rather than his present fortune. Amongst the prisoners were a 
 few ladies of high rank, either belonging to, or connected with 
 some of the first English families in Ireland. Now the terror 
 with which these dames of quality had at first regarded the Irish 
 chieftain speedily wore away in the genial influence of his pre- 
 sence, surrounded as he was, too, by a most interesting family- 
 circle — and what with the novelty of their situation, the polite 
 attentions of the chieftain and his family, and the soothing strains 
 of the old harper who nightly made his harp discourse most sweet 
 music from an oaken settle in one of the wide chimneys of the 
 great hall, the prisoners — at least the female portion* of them — 
 almost forgot their captivity, and learned to love the chains which 
 the chivalrous O’Rourke contrived to interweave with flowers. 
 
 A week had flown away — the number of English in the Castle 
 was every day increasing, as fort after fort was taken by the 
 sept, and yet no diminution in the respectful demeanor of the 
 household, including often whole parties of the fiercest and most 
 formidable of O’Rourke’s followers. The latter, in conformity 
 with old customs, still took their place at the further end of the 
 
 personal beauty that she conceived a violent passion for him, and long 
 detained him near her. It is characteristic of the woman that when, 
 after a time, her passion cooled, she much desired to have O’Rourke 
 made away with ; and the ill-fated chieftain was accordingly brought 
 to the scaffold for some frivolous political pretext. This Teige was 
 not the only one of his race distinguished for personal attractions. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 101 
 
 spacious board extending the full length of the hall, the family 
 and their guests occupying the dais or raised portion at the 
 upper end. 
 
 It was the middle of November and the wild northern blast 
 was sweeping angrily over the frost-clad hills and moors around 
 the Castle, when about midday word was brought the chieftain 
 that his brother had been taken prisoner that morning by a party 
 of Sir Frederick Hamilton’s horse. At first a chillness like that 
 of death crept over the stout warrior, for imprisonment in the 
 gloomy vaults of Manor Hamilton was, to a Catholic, sure to end 
 in death —most likely a death of torture and ignominy. 
 
 “ Great God !” cried Owen O’Rourke, the cold sweat oozing 
 from every pore of his body, “ can it be true that my own — my 
 only brother — the brother who is to me more than a son — that 
 my fair-haired Tiernan is in the power of that blood-thirsty 
 demon 1 — an’ it be so, his chance of life is not worth a straw !” 
 
 Suddenly a gleam of hope illumined the darkness of the chief- 
 tain’s soul, and he bounded from his seat with the lightness of a 
 mountain-deer. “ Glory and honor to thy name, my God !” he 
 said almost aloud as he darted to the chamber of his wife to com- 
 municate the tidings but late so heart-rending, now of less pain- 
 ful import. 
 
 “ Bad news were mine to tell you, Eveleen !” said Owen as he 
 threw himself on a cushioned bench beside his still lovely mate, 
 “ were it not for one thing.” 
 
 “ How now, Owen,” his wife exclaimed with a look of anxious 
 surprise ; “ there be much in your words and more in your eyes 
 — what has fallen out 1 ” 
 
 “ Our Teague is a prisoner in the hands of Hamilton !” 
 
 “ Holy St. Bridget! Owen! can that be true T’ and the lady 
 crossed herself devoutly, “ an’ it be, I marvel at your gaiety !” 
 
 “ So you might, sweetheart, an’ I were thus lightsome without 
 good cause. Bethink you of the number of persons of prime 
 quality Who are prisoners here with us — ha ! you smile now — the 
 rose returns to your cheek — yes, Eveleen, my faithful wife, let 
 us thank the Lord of hosts who has placed these dames and gen- 
 tlemen in our hands, for they are hostages for the safety of our 
 
102 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 brother ! — giving them, we shall receive him ! Rejoice with me, 
 oh my beloved !” 
 
 But Eveleen did not, could not rejoice. A dark presentiment 
 of evil took possession of her mind, and fears, which she might 
 not utter, lay heavy on her soul. She strove to appear as though 
 she shared her husband’s hopes, but beneath the assumed cheer- 
 fulness of her outward showing lay the fearful thought that the 
 generous, high-hearted youth, whom all the Clan O’Rourke look- 
 ed up to as their future chief, was in the power of an incarnate 
 fiend who seemed to revel in bloodshed as the joy of life. 
 
 Neither were the gentlemen of his kindred so sanguine as their 
 chief, regarding Tiernan’s safety, and if O’Rourke had taken their 
 advice he would have assembled all his forces, and marched at 
 once to storm Manor Hamilton. But the chieftain was confident, 
 having, as he supposed, the guarantee of his brother’s safety in 
 his own hands, while, on the other hand, it was his opinion that a. 
 sudden attack on a fortress which, without artillery, they could 
 hardly hope to take, would but exasperate Hamilton and perhaps 
 accelerate the catastrophe which by fair means he hoped to avert. 
 
 A messenger bearing a flag of truce and accompanied by a suit- 
 able escort was accordingly sent without loss of time to Manor 
 Hamilton to inform Sir Frederick that Owen O’Rourke having in 
 his custody a number of prisoners of high standing amongst the 
 English of the Pale, and having just learned that his brother 
 Tiernan O’Rourke had been captured that morning by a troop of 
 cavalry from the Manor, he was willing to deliver all the prison- 
 ers before-mentioned into Sir Frederick’s hands without ransom 
 or other condition than his brother’s release. 
 
 Sir Frederick stood on the battlements surrounded by his 
 archers to hear O’Rourke’s message. As he listened, a smile of 
 savage ferocity gleamed on his swarthy face, and his great black 
 eyes shone with a lurid light. 
 
 “ Ho ! ho !” he laughed, and his laugh rang strangely out on 
 the moaning wind ; “ ho ! ho ! release his brother — ay ! marry 
 will I — it were hard to refuse the first favor so good a neighbor 
 ever asked of me. Where be your chieftain now V * 
 
 “ He waits our return some miles hence at the Haunted Hollow.” 
 
 “ And the prisoners ?” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 103 
 
 “ They are of his company there, Sir Frederick, ready to make 
 the exchange forthwith.” 
 
 “Pity it is to have such noble dames shivering in the blast. 
 What, ho ! there, bring up the prisoner O’Rourke——” 
 
 “Is it your pleasure, Sir Frederick,” said Manus O’Rourke 
 through his trumpet, “ is it your pleasure that we bring the Eng- 
 lish prisoners hither I” 
 
 “ As ye will, — stay first to have a sight of your pretty Tanist — 
 bless the boy !” he jeeringly added as the youthful warrior was 
 brought before him by a winding staircase leading from the don- 
 jon-vault. “ A nice captain, forsooth, for savage rebels.” 
 
 A joyful shout from the O’Rourkes beyond the moat hailed 
 the appearance of their young lord, who turned and smiled his 
 grateful recognition. Sign he could not make, for his hands 
 were closely manacled. He was going to speak, however, for 
 he advanced a step or two towards the parapet, his soul-lit face 
 beaming with the joy of seeing friends once more, but suddenly 
 his eye caught sight of some strange preparations going on 
 amongst the brutal soldiers near him, and the words died on his 
 lips. 
 
 Having once seen him, and being naturally anxious to havo 
 him again in their own safe keeping, the faithful clansmen were 
 moving hastily away, in order to bring the English prisoners, 
 when an agonized voice of entreaty reached their ears, high 
 above the wail of the wintry blast. It was that of Tiernan 
 O’Rourke — their hearts told them so — and the words it uttered 
 were “ For God’s sake, stay !” 
 
 Manus O’Rourke and his little party turned quickly back, 
 and again faced the fortress just in time to see their idolized 
 young Tanist launched from the lofty parapet, his body swinging 
 ill mid-air above their heads, his death-shriek drowned in a yell 
 of savage mockery from Hamilton and his brutal archers. Alas ! 
 the presence of his clansmen, so urgently invoked, afforded no 
 protection to the unhappy victim — they had the horror of wit- 
 nessing his murder without the power of doing aught on his 
 behalf, when there was not a man amongst them who would not 
 have given his heart’s blood to save him. It was a fiendish device, 
 worthy of Hamilton himself, to secure such witnesses for such a 
 
104 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 specta.de. And oil ! the agony which wrung those faithful hearts 
 as with a wild shriek they covered their faces to avoid the mad- 
 dening sight ! Rage and despair filled their souls, and for a mo- 
 ment they could think of nothing but the dread calamity which 
 had come upon them. They were speedily aroused from this 
 torpor by the harsh voice of Hamilton overhead : 
 
 “ Why dally ye now, men of BrefFny 1 — surely ye have got 
 your message !” 
 
 “ Ah ! you devil’s limb !” cried Manus as loudly as his choking 
 passion would permit. “ There will come a day for this — an’ 
 you had a thousand lives we’ll have them all — they say the devil 
 has you bodily, but if all his legions took your part, we’ll have 
 revenge for this deed — ay, for every hair in Tiernan’s head !’* 
 
 “ Go to h — 1 !” shouted Hamilton; “ an’ ye remain a moment 
 longer, these fellows will send ye a shower of arrows — but stay, 
 ye shall have Tiernan home with ye in regard to the prisoners 
 whom your chief holds !” 
 
 Before the bewildered followers of O’Rourke could guess his 
 meaning, the rope was severed above, and down amongst them 
 came the lifeless body of poor Tiernan. Reverently and with 
 tender care the precious remains were placed in front of Manus 
 on the horse, and clasping the corpse close to his bosom, that 
 faithful vassal slowly turned and rode away, followod by his 
 comrades, each one of whom registered a vow in his inmost 
 heart that Hamilton should suffer for that day’s work if the 
 Lord spared them life. 
 
 Shouts of derisive laughter from the battlements followed the 
 mournful cavalcade on its way. Once, and once only, Manus 
 turned his head. 
 
 “ Ye may laugh now,” he said sternly, “ at the load you have 
 given us to carry home, but remember, Hamilton, we can send 
 you ten to one !” 
 
 An arrow whizzed past his head as he spoke, missing its fatal 
 aim by little more than a straw’s breadth ; following its slanting 
 course, it struck his horse in the neck, but happily, with little 
 hurt to the animal, its force being well nigh spent ere it reached 
 him. 
 
 “ Ride on, my comrades,” said Manus quickly, “ or the hell- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 105 
 
 hounds will not leave a soul of us to bear these woful tidings ! 
 — ride on for Tiernan’s sake that we may live to revenge, since 
 we could not save him ! Woe for our valiant chief this day, and 
 woe, woe for us who bear him such a burden !” 
 
 The responsive wail which burst from the mourning band was 
 kept up with little intermission till they came within sight ot 
 the towering oaks which’ clothed the sides of the Haunted Hol- 
 low. Bare, and bleak, and gaunt they were as they waved and 
 shivered in the blast, but still they aiforded a sort of shelter to 
 the cloake 1 and hooded forms of the English ladies who were 
 seated on palfreys belonging to various members of the family 
 of O’Rourke. Their male companions were no less decently 
 mounted, and all seemed well satisfied with the treatment they 
 had received from thoir Irish captors. Little cared the bold 
 clansmen of O’Rourke for the blustering blast, and they would 
 not long have confined themselves to the limits of the dell, were 
 they not kept there by duty as a guard to the prisoners. They 
 were all more or less, sharers in the anxiety with which their 
 chief kept watch for the return of his messengers, and the delay 
 of Manus and his companions excited no small discontent. 
 O’Rourke himself was becoming impatient, and had just resolved 
 to move nearer to Manor Hamilton for the purpose of expedi- 
 ting the joyful meeting to which he looked forward. He had 
 barely intimated his intentions to the prisoners — who, to say the 
 truth, seemel no way anxious to be delivered to Hamilton, 
 whose character was well nigh as odious amongst those of his 
 own race and creed as it was amongst the Irish — when his quick 
 ear caught the distant sound of wailing in the very direction 
 from which he expected his own people. His attendants, too, 
 heard the mournful sound, and a simultaneous rush was made to 
 the mouth of the glen, all looking at each other with ghastly faces, 
 but no one daring to give utterance to the fearful thought which 
 filled heart and brain. But near and still nearer came the dismal 
 sound, faintly heard at times in the louder howling of the blast, 
 then rising to a wild cry when the winds were still a moment. 
 
 “It is — it is ,” cried O’Rourke at last, and a paleness like that 
 of death came over his handsome features; “it is our own 
 5 * 
 
106 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 caoine — oh, Tiernan ! oh, my brother ! Heaven grant it be well 
 with yon !” 
 
 A few moments more of racking suspense, amounting to all 
 but certainty of coming evil, and on the brow of a hill, scarce a 
 hundred yards distant, Manus and his party were seen advancing 
 with that funer.eal slowness which denoted the presence of death, 
 while louder and wilder rose the dirge as though to give warn- 
 ing of what had happened. 
 
 By this time even the strangers had noticed the change in the 
 demeanor of those around them, and as most of them were 
 either Irish by birth or had lived long enough on Irish soil to 
 know the peculiar customs of the natives, they were at no loss 
 to associate the visible agitation of the chief and his followers 
 with the now distinct death-cry. As their own fate was just then 
 interwoven with that of the young O’Rourke, they, too, became 
 fearfully anxious to know whether evil had befallen him in his 
 dangerous captivity. 
 
 Notwithstanding O’Rourke’s previous intention of advancing to 
 meet his messengers, he now stood still as a statue, his eyes 
 fixed with stony immobility on the approaching cortege. One of 
 his kinsmen suddenly laid his hand on the chieftain’s arm, and 
 asked in a thrilling whisper what the load might be that Manus 
 carried so carefully. 
 
 “ I know not, but I partly guess, Philip !” said O’Rourke half 
 unconsciously, and not another word was spoken till the party 
 from Manor Hamilton approached. With a scream of anguish 
 Owen O’Rourke threw himself from his horse, and received in his 
 arms the cold, stark body of his fair haired Tiernan, his one bro- 
 ther, the swollen and distorted features hardly recognizable, alas ! 
 not at all, save to the unerring eye of agonized affection. 
 
 “ I knew it !” murmured the wretched brother as he clasped 
 the beloved remains to his bosom and gazed with tearless eyes on 
 the face but late so beautiful, now so revolting ; “ I knew it — 
 something told me it was for you, Tiernan ! for you, brother of 
 my heart ! that the sons of Breffny raised the cry ! — oh, Manus ! 
 Manus ! where were you — where were all the others — oh ! God ! 
 where were we all — all — when Tiernan O’Rourke was butchered 
 
 “ My eyes saw the deed done,” was Manus’s stern reply, “ and 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 107 
 
 I shame to live and tell it — but blame us not, my chief ! blame 
 not your faithful clansmen, for the height of Hamilton’s accursed 
 battlements was between us and the incarnate fiends who did it — 
 from that height, O’Rourke, was he flung to our arms even as 
 you see him — think then if we could save him — no, we could not, 
 but we can avenge him — we have sworn it every man of us !” 
 
 O’Rourke, sunk in a lethargy of woe, heeded no more what 
 was passing round him; neither the vengeful threats, nor the 
 moans and lamentations of his retainers, the increasing wildness of 
 the storm, nor aught but his own misery noted he. The first 
 sound of which he was conscious was a vehement appeal to himself 
 by name from his English prisoners, and raising his head sud- 
 denly he saw Manus and some others of his men engaged in the 
 singular work of suspending their leathern girdles in the form 
 of nooses from the branches of the trees above them. Manus 
 appeared to be directing operations generally, for, having reck- 
 oned the number of nooses already arranged, he called for three 
 more. 
 
 “ There are nine of them,” said he, “ and we may as well string 
 them all up at once." 
 
 “Manus,” cried O’Rourke, “what, in God’s name, are you 
 about V' 
 
 “ Why, making ready to hang the prisoners, to be sure — we 
 have no place at home better than this, and it be nearer the 
 Manor for the sending of them to Hamilton.” 
 
 “ Take down those belts !” was the chfeftain’s stern rejoinder, 
 “ and go make a litter of branches without loss of time that we 
 may take my brother home !” 
 
 Some of his men went immediately to execute the latter com- 
 mand, but the order regarding the girdles was not so promptly 
 obeyed. The clansmen looked at each other, and then at their 
 chief, then furtively eyed the prisoners with no very friendly 
 aspect. 
 
 “ Chief of the Clan O’Rourke !” said Manus with a sullenness, not 
 his own ; “ do you, or do you not, mean to revenge your brother’s 
 blood r 
 
 “I do, and if life is spared me I will,” said O’Rourke, 
 
108 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 ‘but not by murder , Manus, not by the murder of innocent 
 persons ” 
 
 “ An’ tlieir lives are worth anything,” said Manus still unconvinc- 
 ed ; “ it is to their own they be of value — when Hamilton set no store 
 on them, why should we 1 — what were five score of them to us com- 
 pared with him who lies there ? Owen O’Rourke, mine eyes saw 
 him hung — hung like a dog — ay ! even Tiernan, the pride of 
 our name — these arms caught him when he was flung like rotten 
 carrion from their walls, when they had worked their devilish 
 will on him. I told Hamilton we would have revenge — and first of 
 all send him back our prisoners in such wise as he sent his — I tell 
 you, now, that with my good will these dainty Englishers shall 
 never go to him with life. Men of Breffny, what say ye 
 
 “ Blood for blood !” was the fierce response from every man 
 of O’Rourke's party. “ An’ every one of them had as many 
 
 lives, let the nine die as did our Tanist ! ” 
 
 “ Justice ! justice on the Hamilton brood !” 
 
 “ Mr. O'Rourke !” said a venerable gentleman of the prisoners, 
 Sir Robert Hanna by name, “ Mr. O’Rourke, your people are in 
 error — I thank God there is no connection of any kind whatso- 
 ever between any one of us here present and this bloody-minded 
 man, Hamilton ! Whether you carrv your generosity so far as to 
 send us to our friends — for what ransom you may please to name 
 — or whether you yield us to the vengeance of your people — and 
 assuredly their demand is not unnatural — but be that as it may, 
 I beseech you, noble sir, to believe all of our company your 
 humble debtors, and, as in duty bound, much grieved for the 
 heavy woe which has come upon your house !” 
 
 “ I believe you, Sir Robert,” said O’Rourke sadly, “and you 
 say truly — this is a heavy woe ! — still no harm must come to 
 you or yours because of it — God forbid ! Manus ! as the near- 
 est of kin, to you will I give this precious charge to bear 
 
 homeward ” 
 
 “ And you, our chief 
 
 “ I, with Philip and ten more of our party, will see these 
 strangers safe to the Manor — at least within sight of it.” There 
 was a quiet dignity in Owen’s manner that impressed even his 
 equals, and inspired his clansmen with a feeling deeper than 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 109 
 
 respect. Independent of his authority, his word had absolute 
 power over them, because of the high qualities of which they 
 saw him possessed, amongst others a certain firmness of purpose, 
 amounting at times to sternness. There was a meaning in his 
 words and in his looks which his followers well understood, and 
 notwithstanding that their own convictions remained unshaken, 
 and the fierce instinct of their warlike nature urged them to per- 
 sist in their clamorous cry for what they considered justice as 
 well as revenge, still there was no resisting the stern command 
 and the still sterner look of their chief. 
 
 “ Be it as you will, O’Rourke !” said Manus, spokesman for the 
 rest, but his lowering brow and sullen tone showed the struggle 
 which it cost him to obey. 
 
 Meanwhile the litter was prepared, and the body of the young 
 Tiernan being carefully placed upon it, was slowly conveyed 
 homewards, amid the renewed lamentations of the brave clans- 
 men who had so often followed him to danger, both by flood and 
 field. When the final moment came, O’Rourke, with all his 
 firmness, looked irresolute, as it became necessary to turn his 
 back on the body of his murdered brother. 
 
 “ Manus,” said he, ££ I have never known you to deceive or 
 disobey me in aught. May I trust you to convey these prisoners 
 safe to Manor Hamilton 
 
 “ At your bidding, Owen, I will do it, though my heartstrings 
 broke asunder, to do that which may pleasure Hamilton. You 
 may trust me, Owen MacBryan.” 
 
 Some of the prisoners looked aghast at the prospect of such an 
 escort, for whatever might be Owen’s confidence in his kinsman 
 they had but too much reason to shrink from being left in his power. 
 One of the ladies, a stately matron of mature years, was on the 
 point of imploring the chieftain either to keep them in his own 
 hands till such time as they could communicate with their friends, 
 or, if not that, to carry out his original purpose of conveying them 
 himself to Manor Hamilton, the only fort within many miles then 
 in the hands of the English, but Sir Robert Hanna, better under- 
 standing the people with whom they had to deal, gave her an 
 admonitory look, and hastily addressed the chief. 
 
 “ Your pleasure is ours, Mr. O’Rourke ! — we have seen enough 
 
110 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 of your gallant clansmen since we came into your hands, to trust 
 our lives to their honor — cold-blooded murder is foreign to their 
 nature, we feel assured. Therefore, good Mr. Manus, we are 
 ready to place ourselves in your keeping, though well content 
 with our treatment in the hospitable halls of Drumahair, and no 
 ways anxious to see the inner parts of Manor Hamilton, which 
 house is not in over good repute amongst honest or peaceable 
 men, even of our own nation. But, concerning the ransom, Mr. 
 O’Rourke, in what way can we send it that it may come safe to 
 your hands in these unhappy times V ’ 
 
 “ Name it not, I pray you, Sir Robert !” said the princely 
 O’Rourke, waving his hand with a commanding air ; “ the chief- 
 tain of Breffny were hard driven, an’ he could not afford to be 
 generous without hope of reward. An’ ye feel yourselves under 
 an obligation to me or mine, you may have occasion during these 
 troublesome times to discharge it by a similar act of kindness to 
 some poor Irish prisoners who may, perchance, stand much in 
 need of your good offices. By saving from death or torture even 
 one poor kern or gallowgiass of ours, ye will render to O’Rourke 
 the ransom he most esteems. Go now with my best wishes for 
 your safe and speedy arrival in your own homes, and may ye find 
 them far otherwise than the desolate home of O’Rourke !” 
 
 “ And be it our prayer, most generous and noble sir,” said the 
 lady before mentioned, who was indeed the daughter of Sir 
 Robert Hanna, “ be it our prayer to the throne of grace that the 
 chances of war may never throw us into worse hands than those 
 of the chieftain of Breffny ! This is the second priceless boon 
 for which I and mine are indebted to the nobles of your nation, — 
 it will go hard with me an’ one bitter enemy, at least, be not 
 
 softened towards you. If Sir ” 
 
 A simultaneous sign from the chieftain and her father arrested 
 the name hovering on the lady’s lips, and O’Rourke, by an almost 
 imperceptible gesture, urged immediate departure. A last cour- 
 teous salute was exchanged between the chieftain and his late 
 prisoners, and then the parties dividing took their separate way. 
 
 Few words passed between Manus and the liberated prisoners. 
 He and his men were dark and sullen to the last degree, yet nor 
 word nor sign gave any amongst them, during the miles which 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 they had to traverse, of any ill intent towards those whom they 
 had in charge. When, at length, they came in sight of the towers 
 of the fortress, and Sir Robert, on the part of himself and his 
 friends, offered them a sum of money, the offer was sternly, con- 
 temptuously rejected. 
 
 “No, no, Sassenach!” cried Manus, with passionate warmth, 
 “ not so — gift from you would dye our hands crimson — it were 
 blood-money , 0 stranger ! which men of Breffney might not take, 
 and live !” 
 
 Such were Manus’s parting words, as *ie shortly turned and 
 rode away, unwilling to remain longer in sight of a place for ever 
 hateful to him and his. 
 
112 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 “ It was no fire from heaven he saw, 
 
 For, far from hill and dell, 
 
 O’er Gobbin’s brow the mountain flaw 
 Bears irftisket-shot and yell, 
 
 And shouts of brutal glee that tell 
 A foul and fearful tale, 
 
 While oyer blast and breaker swell 
 Thin shrieks and woman’s wail. 
 
 “ Now fill they far the upper sky, 
 
 Now down mid air they go, 
 
 The frantic scream, the piteous cry, 
 
 The groan of rage and woe ; 
 
 And wilder in their agony 
 
 And shriller still they grow — 
 
 Now cease they, choking suddenly, 
 
 The waves boom on below.” 
 
 Samuel Ferguson. 
 
 It was a wild bitter night in the early part of November, — it 
 might have been about the very day so loved of English mobs, 
 when the veritable Guy Fawkes appears again at their bidding 
 in all the dark-lanthorn horrors of his Popish identity. The winds 
 were whistling drearily over the snow-clad earth along the bleak 
 shore of Antrim, and the billows of that boisterous sea were lash- 
 ing the dark spectral rocks with as much fury as though they 
 gave vent to some stormy passion long pent up within their secret 
 depths. The gloomy towers of Carrickfergus rose dark and mas- 
 sive at no great distance, and the ancient town which nestles in 
 their shadow lay silent, and, as it were, wrapped in slumber around 
 the huge old fortress. A wild pastoral tract of land inhabited at 
 that time chiefly by fishermen, shepherds and goatherds, stretched 
 out for miles into the sea from the near neighborhood of the city. 
 It is a long, narrow peninsula, girded on one side by a range of 
 rocks whose crags assume the strangest and most weird shapes 
 imaginable. These are known to the country round as the Gob- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 113 
 
 bin Cliffs, and many a tale of superstitious horror is connected in 
 the minds of the surrounding peasantry with their jutting shelves 
 and gloomy caves. Superstition has ever had a fitting home 
 amongst these geological phantoms of the coast, and bold were 
 the man or woman esteemed who would venture after nightfall 
 within their haunted precincts. 
 
 It was at all times a dismal sound, or rather a chorus of dismal 
 sounds, to hear, when the winds rushed to and fro amidst the 
 clefts and caverns of the Gobbins, but on that dark stormy No- 
 vember night in the memorable year of ’41 there came such 
 unearthly cries, and groans, and screams from amid the haunted 
 cliffs that it seemed as though a thousand demons were doing 
 their accursed will on myriads of tortured souls. 
 
 “ God bless us all, it is a fearful night!” ejaculated in the Irish 
 tongue a patriarchal old man, who, in the simple luxury of humble 
 life, occupied a straw-backed chair of ample dimensions in the 
 right-hand chimney-corner of a small cottage about midway on 
 the peninsula, and so close to the rocks that not a sound from 
 thence escaped the ears of its inmates. 
 
 “ You may say that, Corny !” responded his aged dame, who in 
 high-cauled cap and kerchief white sat directly opposite plying 
 her wheel. “ It is a fearful night sure enough — God pity all poor 
 souls who are at sea in weather like this !” And in her sympa- 
 thy for those who were so perilously exposed, old Rosh Magee 
 looked round with a grateful heart on the snug and cozy little 
 spot which contained at that moment all her nearest and dearest, 
 to wit, her venerable partner before mentioned and a numerous 
 family of sons and daughters of every age between thirty and 
 eighteen,— the latter a blooming, bright-eyed lass who seemed 
 on the high road to matrimony, judging by the tender glances of 
 unmistakeable meaning interchanged between her and an indi- 
 vidual whose leathern girdle displayed on its clasp the well- 
 known cognizance of the Red Hand as his voice was marked by 
 the peculiar intonation of the “land of Owen.” 
 
 “ God grant there be none on sea to-night making their way 
 to us /” said the follower of O’Neill. “ An’ there be, granny, I’d 
 offer up a Pater and Ave myself for all sea-faring people, though 
 the devils in Dublin above may be getting help too !” 
 
114 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS 
 
 “ Shamus aroon ! ’ said old Corny with a fatherly smile, “ there 
 be nothing in your head hut the wars. But, sure, agra ! we 
 needn’t wonder at that — it’s as natural for Tyrone men to fight 
 as it is for a fish to swim. Our boys here be not much better, 
 an’ they had their way, though God only knows how they got 
 such wild notions in their heads — except they come down to 
 them from their grandfather — God rest him ! who was out with 
 the great Hugh. For my part, I declare I never had any turn 
 
 that way, and I’m sure I’d make a poor hand at a scrimmage ” 
 
 “To be sure you would now , father,” said his eldest son, a 
 fine young man of some eight-and-twenty or thereabouts, and his 
 eyes twinkled with sly meaning. 
 
 “Any time, Phelim!— any time, even the youngest day 
 ever I was, I’d run a mile of ground sooner than I’d see 
 blood shed — the Lord be praised, they say there’s not many lives 
 lost yet since these troubles began — that’s a great thing entirely, 
 for if we could get our rights civilly and peaceably, it would be 
 a blessing from God. But sure, sure that’s what we needn’t 
 expect anyhow ! — the Lord save us, children, did you ever hear 
 such fearsome cries from the cliffs abroad 1” 
 
 “ It’s for all the w r orld, Corny,” said Shamus Beg, for Aileen’s 
 favored suitor was none other than that notable person, who hav- 
 ing some relations in that neighborhood made an excuse to go 
 there occasionally ; “ it’s for all the world as if every Banshee in 
 Ireland was gathered about the Gobbins this night — or maybe 
 they’re spirits from beyond the water crying the Englishers that 
 are to fall in these wars.” 
 
 “ Or witches from Scotland, Shamus,” suggested Aileen with 
 her mirthful smile ; “ who knows but they followed the Scotch 
 red-coats here abroad in the Castle — Christ save us,” she added, 
 with a shudder, “ they have a bad look about them — the same 
 red-coats — myself never meets one of them when I go into 
 town with eggs or butter, or anything that way, but I feel in a 
 hurry to get past him — a kind of a weakness comes over mo 
 somehow —isn’t it strange, mother dear V’ 
 
 “ Take me with you, when you go,” said Shamus jocosely, 
 u though I’m in hopes it isn’t long they’ll be in it to frighten you 
 — we’ll scatter the nest some of these days and make the place 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 115 
 
 too hot for them as we did at Charlemont and Dungannon, 
 and all the rest of them. When the money, and the big guns, 
 and everything comes to us from foreign parts —and that will be 
 soon now, please the Lord ! — you’ll see how we’ll send Monroe 
 and his villainous looking cut-throats about their business — just 
 wait a little, Aileen, and it’s me and the like of me you’ll see 
 mounting guard at the Castle within, and maybe it’s myself 
 won't be watching for the pretty girls coming in and out with 
 baskets on their arms, when I’m standing at the gates with 
 my musket at my shoulder — and the boys here — faith we’ll 
 make corporals and sergeants of them at the very start — eh, 
 Rosh 1 — won’t them be the times — and you and Corny and the 
 girls will be coming in to Mass, Sundays and holidays, to our 
 darling fine chapel where the blackguard Scotch ministers spend 
 their time on God’s holy day cramming murder and robbery and 
 all sorts of wickedness again Catholics down the throats of their 
 hearers ! Lham derg aboo ! but it’s ourselves will send them 
 where they came from in double quick time, when once we get 
 the cannon !” 
 
 The caper which Shamus cut at the conclusion of this har- 
 angue made the girls laugh, but the young men, catching a share 
 of his enthusiasm, swallowed every word with avidity, and testi- 
 fied by unequivocal signs their intense desire to be with and of 
 that grand army of Sir Phelim’s which was doing, and would 
 yet . do, such wonders on behalf of the oppressed Catholics. 
 Seeing this, the old couple took the alarm at once, and Corny 
 hastened to put a damper on the martial ardor of his sons. 
 
 “ War is a fine thing,” he observed with a discouraging shake 
 of the head, “ when people have it all their own way, and so long 
 as it stays far off — but God keep it away from us, that’s all I 
 say !” 
 
 “Why, Corny, man!” cried Shamus, more than a little nettled 
 by this show of indifference which, had he seen the old man’s 
 heart, he would have placed to its proper account, viz., the 
 natural affection of the father struggling with the hopes and 
 wishes of the patriot —“ why, Corny, man, what’s come over you 
 at all— you talk for all the world like one of the Sassenachs in 
 the Pale above —sure you ought to know as well as we do that 
 
116 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 there’s nothing left for us but to fight the battle out - things 
 could’nt go on as they were— every one knows that- and. as I 
 have heard Rory O’Moore, and Sir Phelim, and other great, long- 
 headed men saying a hundred times over, fair means were tried 
 long enough, and when they didn’t do,— when things were get- 
 ting worse from day to day in place of better, what could the 
 people do, or the chiefs —tell me that, now, Corny This was a 
 “ clincher,” and the old man having no such answer ready as he 
 would willingly give, hesitated and looked at Rosh, as though 
 expecting aid from her in so great an emergency, while Sliamus 
 glanced around with a triumphant air to gather the suffrages of 
 his younger auditors, all of whom, but especially the young men, 
 appeared to enjoy the old man’s discomfiture. 
 
 But Rosh was a powerful auxiliary, a host in herself, and she 
 stopped her wheel to pronounce her opinion, which she did in a 
 very dictatorial manner : 
 
 “ I never want to see the face of a soldier, Shamus Beg — do 
 you hear that now 1 And it’s thankful I’d be if you’d leave your 
 game-cock notions behind you when you come to Island Magee 
 • — where you’re always welcome only to do as I tell you — the 
 wars are keeping away well from us, thanks be to God for that 
 same ! and I tell you what it is, Shamus, as long as they let us 
 alone, we’ll let them alone ! Girls ! isn’t it time some of you was 
 seeing about the supper I Shamus will be none the worse for 
 something to eat !” 
 
 These words put Aileen and her sister Cauth in motion, and 
 under their hospitable cares, Shamus’s wants would doubtless 
 have been well provided for, but the meal they went about pre- 
 paring was never ready, — the oaten cakes which Aileen’s taper 
 fingers shaped and placed before the peat fire were never tasted 
 by Shamus, nor yet the fresh eggs which Cauth put down to 
 boil, for, just as their culinary labors had reached that stage, a 
 roaring, rushing sound swept past on the land side, screams of 
 anguish and of terror were heard mingling with shouts of wrath 
 and execration, and the clashing of sharp weapons and the report 
 of musketry or other fire-arms — all near enough to be distinctly 
 audible in Corny Magee’s cottage, the terrified inmates of which 
 started to their feet and held their breath to listen. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 117 
 
 “ Rosh !” said Shamus Beg in a hurried whisper, “if the trou- 
 bles never came before, they’re on you now — God in heaven save 
 ye all !” 
 
 “ Why, Shamus, dear,” cried the old man, “ what can it be at 
 all ? Oh Lord ! — oh Lord ! hear them shrieks — oh Rosh ! — oh 
 children ! what will we do — -what will we do, if it’s the bloody 
 Scotch red-coats that are /out ?” And the old man wrung his 
 hands in piteous agony, while his aged wife fell on her knees be- 
 fore a rude picture of the Virgin which graced the wall near her. 
 
 “ As sure as God’s in heaven, Corny, it’s them and no other,” 
 again whispered Shamus, whose practised ear had already dis- 
 tinguished the foreign tongue amid the horrible din of slaughter 
 which came every moment nearer. 
 
 “ Father,” said the eldest son Phelim, as he sliudderingly 
 glanced at his old mother and his fair blooming sisters, “ father, 
 it were not so bad to be a soldier now — a score or two of the 
 O’Neills or Magennises with pikes in their hands were worth their 
 weight in gold this night.” 
 
 “ Alas ! alas !” groaned Shamus, “ if Sir Phelim did but know 
 of this — but och ! there’s many a long mile between him and us 
 this miserable hour — oh holy St. Columb ! hear ye that? Why, 
 they’re not a hundred yards off! — oh ! the treacherous, bloody 
 villains to come in the night and murder all before them without 
 rhyme or reason — creatures, too, that never done or said them 
 ill — boys ! boys ! have ye no arms of any kind ?” He cried in 
 despair as the tumult came rushing on. No weapon either 
 offensive or defensive did the house contain, but each of the four 
 sons laid hold of some household implement which might answer 
 the purpose — even the old man snatched with the energy of des- 
 pair a sickle from under the thatch, and placed himself with his 
 sons in front of the trembling, fainting group of females, his 
 shaking hand clutching the weapon with a desperation that was 
 fearful to look upon. 
 
 “ I tell you all,” cried Shamus wildly, “ that there’s no earthly 
 use in your staying here — you’d be butchered, every soul of you, 
 like sheep — and even that were perchance not the worst of it !” 
 His heart sickened at the hideous thought that presented itself to 
 his mind, and seizing Aileen by the arm, he opened the back- 
 
118 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 door — which he knew led to the shore — calling on the others to 
 follow for life or death. 
 
 “ There may yet be time to get among the rocks,” he muttered, 
 as, clasping the sinking form of Aileen he dashed out — not into 
 the darkness he fondly hoped to find, but alight more glaring than 
 that of day, the lurid light from homesteads burning in all direc- 
 tions. At this sight a wild shriek burst from one of the affrighted 
 damsels, and old Rosh dropped on the threshold. 
 
 “ Mother of God! we’re done for now!” whispered Sharnus in 
 despair, and still holding fast by Aileen, he seized the benumbed 
 and paralyzed old man by the arm, and attempted to drag him 
 onwards. * But Corny would not go without Rosh, and jerking 
 himself out of Shamus’s grasp with a strength and agility little 
 to be expected from his seeming frailty, he stooped over the 
 sensefess partner of forty years, and with the help of one of his 
 sons had succeeded in raising her to a sitting posture, when a 
 wild shriek from some of the fugitives made them start, and 
 roused the old woman to sudden consciousness. It was only to 
 see her husband and son struck down by the butt end of two 
 muskets, and the next instant her scream of agony was silenced 
 by a bayonet thrust down her throat — she fell back a lifeless 
 corpse against the wall of her cottage, her snowy kerchief crim- 
 soned with her own blood and that of her aged husband. Shouts 
 of fiendish laughter followed, as some half dozen of the murder- 
 ers trampling over the dead bodies rushed to set fire to the house, 
 while twice as many of their comrades darted off in pursuit of 
 the fugitives. Alas| the chase was of short duration — encum- 
 bered with the weight of their shrieking sisters, the brothers could 
 make but little progress, and in their vain efforts to save 
 
 “ from outrage worse than death” 
 
 the pure and loving ones who clung to them as their last 
 and only hope, they fell one after another. But where, 
 meanwhile, was Sharnus Beg — had he basely deserted his 
 betrothed in that moment of death and danger, and left 
 her a prey to the savage fury of incarnate demons rioting in 
 blood'? No, sooner might the lioness abandon her young to 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 119 
 
 the pursuing hunter than Shamus Beg O’Hagan leave the girl of 
 his heart under s'uch circumstances. Neither turning to right nor 
 left, nor once casting a look behind, on, on he dashed with a speed 
 more than human across the level snow-plain which lay between 
 him and the rocks, his left arm still encircling the now senseless 
 Aileen, while his right hand grasped the trusty skene, which he 
 meant to plunge into her bosom should their ruffian pursuers once 
 come within reach. In his heart he thanked God for Aiieen’s happy 
 unconsciousness, as he heard the oaths and threats and hideous 
 laughter of the infuriated soldiers, their heavy footsteps crushing 
 the frozen snow as on they dashed — near and more near they 
 came till poor Shamus fancied he could hear the laboring breath 
 of the foremost, and by that time his own strength was failing 
 fast. Oh, God ! how wildly he scanned the space yet lying 
 between him and safety — or if not safety, at least escape — every 
 cranny and cleft of the rocks thereabouts was known to him, and 
 already his straining eye was fixed on a certain point right 
 before him — it was only a few yards off — a second or two would 
 bring him there, but, alas ! a gully lay between — a brackish, 
 briny streamlet or creek, which a thousand times he had leaped 
 across in boyish sport — but now— now — when death — and mad- 
 dening danger were close upon him — when the most hideous 
 of all fates was about to fall on her for whom he would have 
 given an hundred lives — now when the breath of the pursuing 
 savages was unmistakeably in his ear — faint and exhausted with 
 the weight of his precious burden and the superhuman exertions 
 he had made, he felt that the attempt was beyond his utmost 
 strength, and his blood ran cold as he reached the brink. There 
 was no time for hesitation— not even an instant, and breathing 
 from his heart a fervent “Mary Mother! now or never!” he 
 sprang over the chasm with a lightness that amazed himself, and 
 drew a shout of admiration even from the ruthless Scotchmen 
 —three or four of whom reached one bank as he gained the 
 other. 
 
 “ Saul ! but that’s a braw lad for a wild Irishman ! ’twas a 
 bold leap that, I tell ye !” 
 
 “But the lassie — the bonnie lassie, Alick, pitch him to the 
 de’il, but we’ll have her or I’m no Lindsay ! Here’s for her !’ 
 
120 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and the fellow was about to spring over the chasm when one 
 of his comrades caught him by the arm. 
 
 “ Hoot awa ! Jamie Lindsay, are you gone daft or what 'l — see 
 you no that the boiling sea is ahint them rocks — that callan 
 kens the place weel — he may chance to lead you an ill dance 
 there awa. The spot is no canny, ye see weel !” 
 
 “ Canny or no, I’ll see it out !” cried Lindsay, “ I’m bent on 
 having that lass, an’ the tramp we hae had after her !” 
 
 “ 1 tell you, Scot, you’ll never lay a hand on her!” cried Sha- 
 mus, from the elevated point which he had now gained ; “ though 
 every devil’s imp of your crew was there on that bank, I could 
 dare ye all now — a drop of my blood you’ll never spill, nor nearer 
 shall one of you ever be to this ‘ bonnie lass,’ as you well call 
 her ! Death before dishonor is a word with us Irish. I’ll leave 
 my chief, Sir Phelim O'Neill , to settle with you for this — you’ll 
 pay dear for this night’s work — take my word for it — ay ! every 
 egg and bird of your accursed brood !” 
 
 “ Hear till him now,” shouted the enraged Scots, “ hear till the 
 senseless braggart !” and loudly they laughed in scorn and hate 
 but louder laughed Shamus Beg, when seeing his savage foes 
 about to overleap the ravine, he sank down behind the rock with 
 his still unconscious burden, and a heavy plash in the waters far 
 below reached the ears of the awed and terrified Scotchmen, even 
 amid the roaring of wave and wind. Warned thus of the fate 
 which awaited themselves if they ventured to scale the fearful 
 barrier, and awed in spite of themselves by this episode in the 
 night’s bloody tragedy, they said little to each other on the sub- 
 ject, as they turned to retrace their steps to the burning cabin of 
 Corny Magee. There, however, they found none of their com- 
 rades — the work of destruction being completed, the place was 
 left to the silent dead aud the crackling flames. It was meet 
 cause for mirth to the disappointed ruffians that the body of 
 poor B-osh was well nigh consumed, and as one of them gave a 
 kick to the venerable head of Corny, where it lay across the path, 
 with its white locks dabbled in gore, it furnished him with a 
 ribald jest for the present and future entertainment of his com- 
 panions. 
 
 When the bugles called the marauders together, an hour after, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 121 
 
 they presented a hideous sight ; smutted and begrimed they 
 were with the smoke of many dwellings, and marked like Cain 
 with the murderer’s brand stamped in the blood of their victims.* 
 They had glutted their national and religious hatred of the Irish 
 to their hearts’ content, and were drunk with the fulness of their 
 bloody feasting. Yet they talked in Scriptural cant of the good 
 work they had been doing, and the salutary terror which such an 
 example would strike into the Moabitish rebels. And it did 
 seem as though the Lord had abandoned his faithful people into 
 the hands of those merciless executioners, who came upon them 
 when least expected in the darkness and storm of night. Of 
 all the gallant chieftains who were then in arms with their legions 
 of brave followers, to repel the aggressions of bigotry and legal- 
 ized rapine, not one was near in that dark hour to save the un- 
 offending peasantry of Island Magee from the exterminating 
 sword of fanatical ruffians. Where were O’Neill and O'Reilly, 
 McMahon and Maguire, on that fatal night, when the maids and 
 matrons of that old Catholic race were shrieking and struggling 
 in the grasp of Munroe’s soldiers 1 Ah ! they were far, far away, 
 little dreaming of the foul butchery which, on that night, com- 
 menced the work of slaughter in the northern province. B ut, if 
 they were not within ken, there was an eye that witnessed all, 
 and a power that armed those leaders with might and strength to 
 revenge that massacre. If blood could wash out the stain of 
 blood then was the torrent that flowed that night, on the wild 
 Antrim shore, effaced from the soil it saturated, for the memory 
 of that atrocious deed, thenceforward, nerved the arms and steeled 
 the hearts of the Ulster chieftains, and if ever wanton slaughter 
 was avenged it was that of Island Magee. 
 
 * Tlie number of those slain in the massacre of Island Magee is so 
 variously estimated, that it is hard to arrive at any accurate conclu- 
 sion respecting it. By Catholic writers it is said to have amounted to 
 three thousand, while no respectable Protestant historian attempts to 
 make it less than “thirty families.” The victims must, in any case, 
 have numbered many hundreds, from the actu id extent of the district, 
 viz., seven miles. Even the ultra-Protestant, Leland, speaks of the 
 affair as an “ infernal massacre.’ 
 
 6a 
 
122 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Next morning the wintry sun rose over the peninsula, with a 
 keen and frosty radiance, and it shone on black roofless walls 
 and the shattered remains of household furniture, and, sadder 
 than all, on unburied corpses, some of them partially, others 
 wholly, charred and burnt, while others still lay singly or in heaps 
 on the highway, where they had been overtaken in their attempt- 
 ed flight, these last bruised and shattered by the iron-shod boots 
 of their slayers trampling them to and fro. Terror and conster- 
 nation, at this dreadful news, had so far overcome the Catholic 
 people of the adjoining country, that the day was far advanced 
 before any of them ventured to approach the scene of the slaugh- 
 ter, either to seek the living — if life were yet to be found there — 
 or to give sepulture to the dead. 
 
 In the early morning, long before the first of these parties 
 visited the place, two men had appeared there at different times, 
 ^ coming stealthily and slowly from opposite directions. Each in 
 turn made his way to Corny Magee’s cottage, now a pile of 
 smoking clay walls and smouldering thatch. The first who came 
 was Plielim, the eldest son of the murdered family. He had es • 
 caped almost by a miracle the fate of all his kindred, though his 
 bandaged head and his right arm supported in a sling showed 
 that he had not been altogether forgotten in the distribution of 
 the Scottish favors. No thanks to them that Phelim was not 
 still under the mangled corpses of one brother and two sisters, 
 Avhere he had been left for dead. At midnight he recovered his 
 senses, and with much difficulty extricated himself from his fear- 
 ful position, for the death-grasp of his sisters held him as in a 
 vice, and the unnatural weight of three dead bodies was a crush- 
 ing load for a living man, wounded, too, as he was. But at last 
 he rose to his feet, his clothes stiff upon him with the blood of 
 his murdered relatives, as he saw by the flickering and uncertain 
 light from the still burning ruins. His first thought was one of 
 gratitude to Heaven for so signal an interposition of its mercy, 
 his next to seek some place of shelter from the bitter northern 
 blast until morning’s light should enable him to look after the 
 remaining members of his family, of whose fate he had little 
 doubt. Before, he left the spot, however, he stooped and turned 
 over in succession each of the three before him. in order to as- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 123 
 
 certain whether life remained in any of them. Alas ! they were 
 all dead — dead, stiff and cold as death and frost could make 
 them. With an instinctive horror that almost froze his blood, 
 poor Phellm then moved towards the cottage, and who may de- 
 scribe his feelings, who may even imagine them, when right 
 across his path he beheld the mangled corpse of his father, and 
 a step or two farther on, by a portion of the brown-drugget gown, 
 which still covered her lower limbs, he recognized the half-con- 
 sumed body of his mother! No sigh, no groan escaped the son 
 as he bent over the ghastly remains of his beloved parents — the 
 grief and the horror and the sense of desolation which paralyzed 
 his being left but one*feeling acute — one passion dominant— who 
 cannot guess what that feeling, that passion was — the feeling was 
 hatred , the passion revenge , and from that hour Phelim Magee 
 lived but to gratify both. All softer emotions were thenceforth 
 banished his heart, and his nature, hitherto so genial, became 
 hard, hard as stone. 
 
 On the following morning when Phelim emerged from the 
 sheltering walls of a neighboring cottage which had escaped the 
 fire, he found an individual whom, even at a distance, he knew to 
 be Shamus Beg, standing with folded anus looking down on his 
 father’s dead face. It was a joyful surprise for each of the young 
 men to see the other, and the silent greeting which they ex- 
 changed was as glad as it was sorrowful. By a common impulse 
 they knelt on the bloody snow, but neither heard what the other 
 uttered. When they arose, sad and stern, Phelim said : 
 
 “What of Aileen, Shamus 1 ~ is she gone, tool” A dismal 
 shake of the head was O’Hagan’s answer, and Phelim covering 
 his face with his hands, groaned aloud. But Shamus did not 
 suffer him to remain long in his lethargy of woe. Laying his 
 hand on his arm, he said briskly : 
 
 “What’s to be done with these I” pointing to the bodies. 
 “ And these 1” added Phelim, leading the way to where his bro- 
 ther and sisters lay. “ And Aileen and the others, wherever 
 they are.” 
 
 It was then agreed that they should go up on the mainland 
 and seek assistance amongst their friends there, in order to per- 
 form the solemn rite of burial. 
 
124 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ There’s one thing to be done before we leave the spot,” said 
 Shamus with stern emphasis, “ and after that we’ll go look for 
 our poor Aileen and the rest!” He extended his hand to Phelim 
 across the old man’s body, and the son, at no loss for his mean- 
 ing, joined him in a solemn vow to do battle against the Scotch 
 murderers and all who took part with them as long as breath 
 remained in their bodies. By way of ratifying their solemn com- 
 pact, each laid his hand on the face of the corpses, and then 
 rising they stood a moment silent, surveying the awful scene. 
 
 “ That will do now !” said Shamus at length, as he turned to 
 commence his journey. “ When we have found the others” — 
 here his voice trembled— “ I must leave you to do the rest — Sir 
 Phelim must have word of this before the sun sets, and I would 
 that my tongue should have the telling of it ! Let us off now on 
 our search, and first for Aileen !” 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 125 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Superior worth your rank requires ; 
 
 For that, mankind reveres your sires , 
 
 If you degenerate from yonr race, 
 
 Their merit heightens your disgrace.” 
 
 Gay’s Fables. 
 
 “ Me glory summons to the martial scene; 
 
 The field of combat is the sphere for meu, 
 
 Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, 
 
 The first in danger, and the first in fame.” 
 
 Pope’s Iliad. 
 
 It was a grand and stately edifice, dating from mediaeval times, 
 turreted and castellated for purposes of defence, as became the 
 dwelling of a princely house, with crenellated walls and lofty 
 curtains uniting the various towers, and tall, narrow windows, 
 most of them splayed so as to give much more light to the inte- 
 rior than might be expected from their outward dimensions. 
 This noble old building, old even in the seventeenth century, 
 stood in the midst of a spacious park, whose venerable 
 woods of oak, and birch, and hazel, were in keeping with the 
 lordly character of the dwelling. The neighborhood, too, wa3 
 rich in picturesque beauty, for the matchless valley of the Suir lay 
 spread beneath, and the noble river rolled its silvery waters sea- 
 ward through the lovely scene, the whole enlivened by the even 
 then prosperous town of Carrick-on-Suir.* 
 
 In a spacious apartment of the baronial dwelling thus situate, 
 
 * “ I know of few finer prospects,” says Mr. Inglis, the famous tra- 
 veller, “ than the valley of the Suir presents as it opens upon one from 
 
 the heights abovo Carrick I do not think it is equalled 
 
 by the vale of Clwyd.” 
 
126 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 about the last days of October, in the year of 1611, the noble 
 owner first received the intelligence of the great rebellion in 
 Ulster, transmitted to him in all haste from the terrified and 
 vacillating officials of Dablin Castle. A gentleman of Sir Wil- 
 liam Parsons’ household bore the despatches, and the number of 
 his well-armed escort, while it showed the fears of the Lords 
 Justices, made the lord of the Castle smile, knowing as he did 
 that however tilings might be in Ulster — by this official showing 
 — there was not an illegal mouse stirring in that part of Munster. 
 
 But the tidings' brought were grave and important, and with a 
 very grave countenance the nobleman heard them. No one knew 
 better than he the many and grievous causes of complaint 
 on which the native chiefs based their rebellion, and no one 
 knew better, either, than he the persevering resistance of which 
 they were capable, and the trouble they were likely to give 
 the government when banded together in the sacred names of 
 Religion and Justice. His fine countenance darkened more 
 and more as he read of the rapid success of O'Neill and his 
 friends in Ulster, and when at length the official document 
 closed with an earnest hope that his lordship would hasten to 
 Dublin without delay in order to assume the chief command 
 against the rebels, an ironical smile flitted across the darkness, 
 giving a strange expression to his features. 
 
 Turning towards the expectant envoy, he was about to speak, 
 when the latter, bowing lowly, said by way of appendix: “ Their 
 chiefest hope is in my Lord of Ormond !” 
 
 “ My Lord of Ormond is much beholden to them,” the noble- 
 man replied, with the same cold, calm smile ; “ their lordships are 
 well aware that for the king’s necessity they may command my 
 poor services, and I thank them for so signal a mark of their 
 good opinion. With G-od’s help, I will do what in me lies — after 
 I have heard from the king’s majesty !” 
 
 “But, my lord, the affair is urgent,” ventured to suggest the 
 messenger, “ an’ the rebels go on as they are doing, Dablin 
 itself will not be safe ere many days go by !” 
 
 “ How is it with the Catholic English of the Palel” demanded 
 Ormond suddenly, without at all heeding the remonstrance so 
 humbly offered ; “I find no mention of them in these despatches.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 127 
 
 a They have not joined the rebels — as yet , ray good lord ! — but 
 I have heard said that the Lords Justices trust them none the 
 more. The chief men amongst them were at the Castle betimes 
 
 on the first day after the news of the rebellion came in ” 
 
 “ They were 1 — on what business, I pray you V’ 
 
 “ Making a tender of their loyal services to the government, 
 my lord, and soliciting arms for the defence of their castles 
 against the rebels.” 
 
 “ And they doubtless got theml” 
 
 “ Ay, marry, did they,” and the gentleman shrugged his shoul- 
 ders and looked up with a half quizzical expression into the dark, 
 passionless face above him, where nothing was to be read save 
 dignified attention. £< But how long they may have them passes 
 my poor ability to say. I did hear Sir William Parsons say but 
 yesterday that they were all traitors at heart, and that he would 
 as soon trust Maguire or McMahon— whom God has even now 
 delivered unto us — as Dunsany or Netterville, or Gonnanstown 
 himself, for all their smooth speeches !” 
 
 “ But Maguire and McMahon — be they, then, in prison V* 
 
 “ Even so, my lord! they be safe as bolt and bar can make 
 them — they were trapped like bag-foxes even in their own lodg- 
 ings in Dublin the night before the rising in Ulster. There was 
 a nest of them gathered in the city with intent to seize the Castle 
 next day when their wretched kerns got in from the north. But 
 the Lord — even the Lord of Hosts — saw their bloody designs and 
 His arm smote them and gave them bound and manacled into our 
 hands ” 
 
 “Who waits without V* demanded the Earl, and when one of 
 his pages appeared at the door he commanded him to give the 
 gentleman in charge to the steward o? the household so that all 
 proper attention might be paid to his wants and those of his atten- 
 dants. “ Meanwhile, sir, I will prepare my answer to the Lords 
 J ustices,” and so saying he dismissed him with an imperious ges- 
 ture, whereat the follower of Parsons wondered mightily and was 
 much abashed, saying to himself as he followed the page through 
 the ante-room where numerous attendants were in waiting : 
 
 “ Of a surety he bears him grandly, this earl — an’ he be the 
 king’s servant , it were ill standing before the master !” 
 
128 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 And he was, too, a grand and stately personage, that same 
 Earl of Ormond — a man of commanding presence and imposing 
 manners, high and haughty in his ordinary bearing, above all, 
 where undue assumption on the part of others, or any approach 
 to familiarity made him deem it requisite, yet no man of his 
 order could condescend with a loftier grace, a more bland or 
 winning courtesy. Accomplished in all the arts of dissimulation, 
 and well versed in courtly wiles, prudent, too, beyond most men 
 of his time, it was little wonder that Ormond’s sentiments and 
 opinions on public events were often a mystery both to his col- 
 leagues at the council-board and his subordinates in the field. 
 Allied to the Catholic party by every near and dear tie, he 
 was naturally suspected by the Puritans, while the Catholics, 
 especially those of English blood, gave him credit for a secret 
 sympathy with them and their cause which was, in reality, foreign 
 to his heart. Like all apostates he hated the religion he had 
 left, and thought it quite right to restrict its growth by penal 
 enactments, yet, having just as little, or it might be even less 
 sympathy with the fanatical Puritans, he held their exterminating 
 doctrines in utter abhorrence, and for very hatred to them might 
 at times appear less determined in his hostility to Catholic inter- 
 ests than he really was. Outwardly he professed the religion of 
 the king to whose fortunes he was every way bound, but at heart 
 James Butler was a self- worshipping, worldly-minded man, bent 
 upon turning to his own advantage some at least of the conflicting 
 elements around him, and not over scrupulous as to the means of 
 building up a yet greater fortune, and attaining to yet greater 
 power than that which he already possessed. Still his religious 
 profession was sincere, that is to say, his sympathies were all 
 with the Anglican Church, and to a certain extent he was also a 
 loyal subject of King Charles, always providing that the mon- 
 arch’s interests and his own ran in the same channel. 
 
 Such a man must necessarily have wielded a powerful influence 
 in the complicated machinery of the state at that momentous 
 period when all was anarchy, strife, and contention, in the great 
 councils of the empire. And so, in fact, he did, for all through 
 the storms and convulsions of those^ turbulent times, his grand 
 figure stands out in strong relief from the chaotic mass of medi- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 129 
 
 ocre statesmen, intriguing politicians, and truculent, unprincipled 
 leaders. With all his faults — and they were partly the effect of 
 early training, partly of non-training, and the absence of all salu- 
 tary restraint on a wild and spirited youth, brought up in the 
 corrupt atmosphere of the court of James the First — with all his 
 faults, Ormond had some redeeming qualities which challenge 
 our respect, and although we may not love, we cannot help ad- 
 miring the lofty, ambitious, courtly Earl of Ormond, who, hand- 
 some and accomplished, wise in council, great in camp and field, 
 presented to a dissolute and faithless age the rare spectacle 
 of immaculate purity of morals, with the strictest observance of 
 all domestic ties. 
 
 For the part which James Butler took in frustrating the efforts 
 of the Confederate Catholics, we owe him small liking, the more 
 so as his powerful influence should, by right, have been thrown 
 into the scale in their favor, whereas he proved himself through- 
 out their consistent enemy, while, at times, professing friendship 
 for the most sinister motives. If his giant shadow fell darkly 
 across the most brilliant effort ever made by the Irish people to 
 obtain redress, it was the fault of those w 7 ho trusted him blindly 
 and against all experience— had he never obtained an influence 
 in the Catholic councils, he never had power to betray, and in 
 fair fighting he could never have conquered. 
 
 Such as he was, however, the Lords Justices were but too 
 happy to avail themselves of his recognized abilities at that cri- 
 tical juncture, and hence their urgent request for his speedy at- 
 tendance in Dublin, for the purpose of assuming the chief mili- 
 tary command. 
 
 Left to himself, the Earl took some turns up and down the 
 spacious apartment, pausing now and then at one of the win- 
 dows to look out upon the gray lowering sky and the misty rain 
 which drearily veiled the fair landscape. 
 
 “ The season is a bad one,” he muttered, “ for military opera- 
 tions, but it is no better for them than it is for us. And yet — I 
 know not but it may — they be used to hard living, these wild kern 
 and gallow glasses, and are wont to battle with the elements.” 
 
 Again he paced the room to and fro, then stopped before a 
 grim old portrait which hung in a deep recess between the tw r o 
 6 * 
 
130 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 centre windows. The Earl folded his arms on his broad chest, 
 and gazed with an eye half sad, half defiant, on the dark, stern 
 face which seemed to look reproachfully down from the time- 
 worn canvas. Gradually a dreamy look settled down on Or- 
 mond's face, and he stood riveted to the spot in utter abstrac- 
 tion. Once more his full rich lips parted, and- many words of 
 strange import escaped them as he apostrophized the mailed 
 warrior. 
 
 “ You need not look so grim, Thomas Butler, for there be too 
 much of your own haughty spirit in me to quail even before your 
 frown. For all you were a stern old Papist, given to mumbling 
 over beads like my grandfather,* gx>d, easy man, it does not 
 follow that I, your descendent, should serve the Pope of Rome 
 in preference to my lawful .sovereign. Men may upbraid me, if 
 they will, with my Popish ancestry, and some seek, on that ac- 
 count, to hold me to Romish ways of thinking, but I tell you, 
 Thomas Dhu, Til none of them, and they do me foul wrong who 
 cast my Popish blood in my face, for there be none of it in my 
 heart. An’ my Elizabeth were once in a mending way,f and his 
 highness’s commission come to hand, this old house of yours:}: 
 should not long hold me within its walls. The voice of duty 
 calls me to crush these audacious rebels — ay, doth it, Thomas ! 
 —and crush them I will, so help me heaven !” 
 
 Here there came a message from the Countess, craving a few 
 moments’ speech of her lord, and immediately Ormond recol- 
 lected the despatches, which he must needs send off without delay. 
 Still his thoughts followed him as he repaired to the apartments 
 of the Countess, situate in another wing of the Castle, and on 
 the way he soliloquized in this wise 
 
 “ McGuire and McMahon in prison — humph — McGuire would 
 never have given us much trouble, but McMahon served in Spain 
 
 *His grandfather, Earl Walter, whom he immediately succeeded 
 in the title, was known by the soubriquet of Walter of the Rosary. 
 
 tit was tho illness of his Countess that then detained him at 
 Car rick. 
 
 X This Tipperary Castle of the Butlerg was built by this Thomas 
 Dhu, one of the lineal ancestors of the great Earl 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 131 
 
 for a short time, and for the little I have seen of him, I am well 
 content to hear of his speedy capture. But this Phelim O’Neill, 
 who has, they say, overrun the major part of Ulster with his 
 allies within a week — as a military leader his name is new to 
 me, though I have seen the man more than once in Dublin — a 
 genuine Celt I took him for, rough and somewhat hasty withal 
 — and yet, if what I have heard be true, he did profess the Re- 
 formed doctrines while studying the law ip London* — it matters 
 not, he must have returned to the fold, as the Papist’s phrase it, 
 else would he never go headforemost into this treason. A plague 
 on them for O’Neills, they be ever brewing mischief — I thought 
 the late mishap which befel young Tyrone might, perchance, keep 
 them quiet a space, but they be a hydra-headed race — no sooner 
 one lopped off, than up another starts, and what is worse, all 
 Ulster starts up with them. I would that Bloody Hand of theirs 
 was in the Red Sea, never again to beckon men on to treason and 
 foul rebellion — an’ the Flemish hero of the family take it into his 
 noddle to come and have a finger in this precious pie, we may find 
 it over hard of digestion for our stomach’s health. There be 
 others of the old blood, too, who have won laurels abroad, an’ 
 they all flock around the standard of rebellion, we may look to 
 our poor laurels, such as they be. As for the Palesmen, I value 
 them little, one way or the other — their lip-loyalty is not worth 
 a straw, for of a surety they have but small cause to relish this 
 government — still it will go hard with them an’ they make com- 
 mon cause with the natives — no, no, their Norman stomachs could 
 never brook that— their Papistry and their English sympathies 
 will keep tugging them in opposite directions, till it be too late 
 to give effective aid to either party. Ha ! ha ! their estates begin 
 to shake under them — poor Fingal and all the rest of ye, what a 
 quagmire ye have got upon since the unlucky twenty -third. And 
 of all men living it is to Parsons and Borlase ye must needs 
 reach out your hands for succor ! — oh blood of our Norman 
 
 * If this be true, and many credible aixthorities say it is, we have 
 only to say that Sir Phelim nobly atoned for this temporary apostaoy 
 of his earlier years. All through the long struggle for religious free 
 dom, ho did what in him lay to advance the Catholic cause. 
 
132 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 fathers, do you indeed fill the veins of these Plunkets, Prestons, 
 Nettervilles and Dillons! Ye call yourselves Papists, yet have 
 not the manhood to stand up for your party — better, surely, to 
 be as Janies Butler!” 
 
 This contemptuous sarcasm brought the keen-witted nobleman 
 to the Countess’s ante-chamber, whence he dispatched one of 
 her women to apprise her that he waited admission. Meanwhile 
 a short digression may not be amiss. 
 
 Elizabeth Preston, Countess of Ormond, then lying on a bed 
 of sickness, the effect of a long and tedious confinement, was a 
 woman of great beauty and of many fine endowments of mind. 
 Like her husband she had been brought up in the noxious 
 atmosphere of the English Court, for she, too, was the orphan 
 daughter of a noble house,* and being so, was, of course, under 
 the fatherly care of the Court of Wards, and brought up in the 
 orthodox religion of the state, though her veins, like Ormond’s, 
 were filled with the purest Catholic blood. It so happened that 
 the Lady Elizabeth’s large possessions were made up in great 
 part from the domains of the house of Ormond, seized at various 
 times by the hypocritical rapacity of James, and by him, for some 
 consideration, unjustly transferred to his new Earl of Desmond. 
 Drawn together not only by similarity of position, but also by the 
 ties of blood, — for they were cousins, — the two noble wards early 
 began to regard each other with more than common attention, 
 and it was not strange that the all but portionless heir of the 
 Butlers should do homage to the peerless charms of the fair 
 daughter of Desmond, or that she, on her part, should feel what 
 all admitted, that the young Lord Thurles was the handsomest 
 and most accomplished cavalier about the court. Mutual admi- 
 ration quickly grew into mutual love, and much was the plotting 
 king disconcerted to find that the wealthy heiress of Desmond, 
 whose hand he had promised to his unworthy favorite Bucking- 
 ham, for a nephew of his, son of the Earl of Denbigh, was about 
 to bestow herself and her possessions on her cousin Lord Thurles, 
 
 || Her father, Sir Richard Preston, was endowed by James the 
 Hirst with the earldom of Desmond, long vested in the crown under 
 various political pretexts 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 133 
 
 and thereby to build up again the broken fortunes of the house 
 of Ormond, for whose prosperity Scotch Jamie cared very little. 
 Finding, however, that the nearest relations on both sides were 
 favorable to the union, the king could not for shame withhold 
 his consent, and so it was that young Butler bore away in tri- 
 umph the fairest lady, and, perchance, the richest heiress of King 
 James’s Court. Their first married clays were spent amid the 
 shades of Acton, the beautiful seat of the bridegroom’s maternal 
 grandfather, but after a brief season, Earl Walter of Ormond, 
 being far advanced in years, “ shuffled off this mortal coil,” leav- 
 ing his title and his castles, and the remnant of his domains, to- 
 gether with his blessing to the grandson whose auspicious mar- 
 riage had brought back into the family the bulk of its princely 
 possessions. So the youthful bride of Ormond was removed from 
 her quiet English home, and installed as a Countess in the lordly 
 halls of Kilkenny, and in that stately Castle by the silvery Suir, 
 near Carrick’s walls, where we have first seen the great Earl, 
 and when the pipers and harpers of Ormond put forth their joy- 
 ous strains of welcome, the lady of Desmond won their hearts by 
 declaring that never music sounded half so sweet to her, albeit 
 that her ears were attuned to the melody of courtly minstrels. 
 From that day forward the bards were loud in the praise of 
 Ormond’s bride, and she ruled like a queen in beauty and in 
 grace, over the hearts and homes of the thousands who called 
 the Butler lord. 
 
 The Countess, although brought up under the same pernicious 
 influence as her husband, was no sharer in his anti-Papist pre- 
 judices. Her clear sound judgment and her strong sense of 
 right made the justice of the Catholic claims apparent to her 
 mind, while the gentleness of her nature made her prone to pity 
 the sufferings, which, for conscience’ sake, they bore, and to sym- 
 pathize with the hardships of their ruined and plundered state. 
 Not that she regarded their religion with any more favor than 
 others of the royal perverts, but as a clear-headed, soft-hearted 
 woman she viewed their cause and entered into the feelings which 
 impelled them to this struggle when from Ormond’s lips she 
 heard of it that day. 
 
 “ My lord, my lord,” said she, “ bethink you well what you do 
 
134 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 ere you take upon you to carry out tlie views of the Lords Jus- 
 tices in regard to these poor misguided people 
 
 “Why, Elizabeth,” said the Earl with a sportive smile, “me- 
 thinks you be more than half a rebel yourself to hold such speech 
 in their behoof. I little thought ever to hear wife of mine plead 
 in favor of the king’s enemies !” 
 
 “Nay, Ormond,” replied the lady, “you know full well that 
 the king’s enemies are not the Irish Papists — marry, he has his 
 worst enemies nearer home, and I have it from our gracious 
 queen herself that if his highness dared he would do somewhat 
 to lighten the burden which weighs so heavily on his subjects in 
 
 this realm who hold to the old faith ” 
 
 “ Hush, Bess, hush, I pray you !” said the Earl in a low earnest 
 tone, “ such words be neither safe nor prudent — heard and re- 
 peated by tattling tongue they might reach those who would be 
 right glad to use them to his grace's detriment. However it be 
 in that matter* my duty is plain, and if God spares me life to 
 do it, I will put down this rebellion before it gathers more 
 strength.” 
 
 “But, Ormond,” persisted the generous Countess, and she 
 raised herself on her elbow the better to urge her remonstrance, 
 “ no fair means have been tried to conciliate these poor natives — • 
 not one of their just demands hath been conceded — why, then, 
 have recourse to force and bloodshed, ever odious in the sight of 
 heaven, before any attempt hath been made to win them from 
 their treasonable practices by gentler means V’ 
 
 “ Truly, Bess, their own ways are gentle !” quoth the Earl, 
 sharply; “ they be dealing softly, of a surety, with the loyal Pro- 
 testants whose goods and substance they lay hold of with so lit- 
 tle ceremony. Your womanly softness leads you into error!” 
 
 “ Surely, no, James, I bear all their treasonable doings in 
 mind, and, all things taken into account, I marvel they be not of 
 a bloodier nature — but your lordship knows right well that these 
 Papists, hunted, and robbed, and persecuted for their religion 
 though they be, have made divers efforts to soften the flinty 
 hearts of their rulers, and obtain even a small portion of that 
 justice which is due to them — nay, in the late affair of the 
 Graces — have they not been treated with most base and cruel 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 135 
 
 treachery —interrupt me not, I beseech you, till I speak my 
 thoughts once for all on this pitiful subject— why it was but the 
 other day, in a manner, that a large body of these much- wronged 
 poor people had a remonstrance written for them by that godly 
 prelate, Bishop Beddell, of Kilmore, urging upon the govern- 
 ment their many grievances, and humbly asking for redress — 
 think you that good bishop and most loyal subject would have put 
 pen to paper on behalf of knaves and plotters of rebellion 1 - nay, 
 never tell me, it was hard necessity that drove them to their 
 present courses — whenever they complained or remonstrated 
 ever so humbly, Sir Charles Coote and such like men were sent 
 into their territories to silence their clamor with fire and sword.” 
 
 The Countess sank on her pillow exhausted, and the Earl 
 laughed— a low deep laugh peculiar to himself — as he rose to 
 proceed to the writing of his despatches. The look of discontent 
 on the fair brow of Elizabeth quickly vanished as he stooped and 
 whispered some words of tenderness, and smoothed with his 
 hand the fair silken tresses which had made their way from under 
 her cambric coif. “ Rest you softly, sweet wife,” he said very 
 gently, as he beckoned to her women, who had merely retired on 
 his entrance to the farther end of the spacious chamber; “ trust 
 me, the rebels will not thank you for taking up their cause, and 
 good Doctor Delamere will find you none the better for what you 
 have spoken.” 
 
 The following day brought the royal commission, written by 
 the monarch’s own hand, appointing his “ trusty and well-beloved 
 Ormond” lieutenant-general of all the army in Ireland, with an 
 urgent request— meaning, Of course, a command — to take the 
 field immediately. Fortunately the Countess’s health was so far 
 improved that in two days more the leech pronounced her out of 
 all danger, and, his mind thus lightened of its heaviest load, the 
 Earl proceeded at once to Dublin. 
 
 The Lords Justices, in their puerile terror, hailed Ormond’s 
 appearance with exuberant satisfaction, as, in times of trouble 
 and confusion, weaker minds ever throw themselves on the 
 stronger for support, and Ormond was even then famous amongst 
 the men of his time for readiness of wit as for promptness and 
 decision of character. He was known to both friends and foes 
 
136 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 
 as one who could practise as well as plan, and plan as well as 
 practise. He was the man, in short, on whose genius, energy, 
 and courage, both the Irish government and the king himself 
 relied in every emergency. 
 
 A council was immediately summoned to meet the Earl, who 
 belonged, of course, to that dignified body whose privilege it 
 was to advise the executive. Great was Ormond’s surprise to 
 find that the small force actually at the disposal of the govern- 
 ment was already brought into Dublin from the different gar- 
 risons of the adjoining country, leaving the whole island, as one 
 might say, open to the incursions of the rebels, as, to be sure, the 
 Catholic forces were styled. In the Earl’s eyes this amounted to 
 little less than encouraging the rebellion, and so he broadly 
 hinted, but Parsons was ready with his answer, that the seat of 
 government must needs be protected at all hazards. 
 
 “And the Lords Justices above all!” Ormond added within 
 himself, and he smiled, but made no remark. 
 
 Here one of the many doors of the Council Chamber opened, 
 and another remarkable personage made his appearance. 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 “ Nurtur’d in blood betimes, his heart delights 
 In vengeance, gloating on another’s pain.’* 
 
 Byron’s Childe Harold. 
 
 “ Torture thou mayest, but thou shalt ne’er despise me ; 
 
 The blood will follow where the knife is driven ; 
 
 The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear ; 
 
 And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain : 
 
 But these are foreign to the soul ; not mine 
 The groans that issue, or the tears that fall ; 
 
 They disobey me ; — on the rack I scorn thee.” 
 
 Young. 
 
 The person who now made his appearance was a man of large 
 proportions, considerably above the middle height, and far be- 
 yond the middle age. His form and demeanor might have been 
 called commanding, were it not for the fleshy redness of his face 
 and the large, fierce-looking gray eyes, which, protruding far 
 beyond the surrounding surface, gave a fierce and somewhat 
 brutal expression to the whole visage. His hair and whiskers 
 were already silver gray, and his massive forehead bald to the 
 crown. He was clothed in the undress military uniform of the 
 British army of that day, and his brawny, sinewy neck, in utter 
 defiance of the chill November rain, was bare almost to the col- 
 lar-bone. Altogether there was a look of ferocious energy and 
 indomitable courage about the whole man, that, with his huge 
 muscular frame, and the sensual appearance of his eyes and 
 mouth, made a strong and very disagreeable impression even on 
 the casual beholder. To the native Irish, and, indeed, to all the 
 Catholics who fell in his way, the man was an object of fear and 
 abhorrence, and well he might, for he was no other than Sir 
 
138 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Charles Coote,* the Dalzell of the Irish wars, one of the bloodiest 
 and most inhuman generals that ever drew sword in execution of 
 a tyrant’s will. With the Lords Justices Coote was in high favor, 
 higher far than Ormond or any other captain of that day, and that 
 not on account of any superior excellence as a general, or any 
 superior knowledge of military tactics, but solely because of his 
 entire subserviency to their will, and Utter disregard of the means 
 by which it was accomplished. The more cruel, in fact, the 
 means, the better pleased was Coote, and where cupidity had 
 little to look for or expect from the utter wretchedness of the 
 victims, another and still stronger motive had he in his unquench- 
 able hatred of the Irish Papists. Like Hamilton of Leitrim, Sir 
 Charles Coote was disliked by all the moderate and humane 
 even of his own party, and the general impression amongst them 
 was that when any strong temptation offered, or his brute pas- 
 sion impelled him on, it would cost him no more to give them 
 cold steel or short shrive than the veriest Papist or merest Irish 
 kern in broad Ireland. Between Coote and Ormond there was 
 little sympathy and just as little liking — heartless as the Earl was 
 in regard to Catholics, he was utterly opposed to the savage 
 policy of Coote and Parsons, and with all his intense devotion to 
 liis own interests, he could never have stooped to advance his 
 fortunes by the harsh and brutal means which they, from choice, 
 adopted. There was hardly one bond of union between the two 
 generals, if we except that of hatred to Catholics — for while 
 Ormond was the friend and servant of King Charles and honestly 
 fought in his interest, Sir Charles Coote was by all recognized as 
 the henchman of the Lords Justices, and consequently of the 
 refractory Parliament of England, a far more rebellious body 
 even then than the insurgent Catholics of Ireland. 
 
 “ How now, lords and gentlemen,” said Coote, in a deep gruff 
 voice, as he advanced to a vacant seat near Parsons, scarcely 
 
 * Tliis Sir Charles Coote was the founder of a race which has left its 
 bloody mark on many a page of Irish history — above all others they 
 have been distinguished for cruelty, love of plunder, and the grossest 
 sensuality. The Q icon’s County and that of Cavan were specially 
 given over to their rapacious rule. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 139 
 
 deigning to make the customary salute to the other members of 
 the Council, though it numbered two or three Bishops ; “ ye do 
 take things easy here, nothing mindful, it would seem, that the 
 rascally Papists are overrunning the whole country !** 
 
 “ What would you have us do, Sir Charles V’ asked Parsons in 
 what he meant for a gracious tone ; “ until such time as your new 
 levies are fit to take the field, we are, as it were, powerless to 
 smite those Philistines — here is my lord of Ormond, newly ap- 
 pointed by his grace’s highness to the chief command — he would 
 have us give him what forces are here in town — and our Lord 
 knows they be all too few to protect the place — and to let him 
 march northwards in quest of the enemy, when Heaven knows 
 but they might give him the slip and by another route come upon 
 us here in town and burn and slay all before them after their sav- 
 age manner. We were of hard necessity driven to refuse his lord- 
 ship’s demand, how then can we answer your question, otherwise 
 than by saying that the lack of troops is our misfortune rather 
 than our fault.” 
 
 “ It is even so, Sir Charles,” said Ormond with his bland and all- 
 concealing smile ; “ here have I been summoned to town in all 
 haste to proceed against the rebels, and being come, I am like a 
 man with his hands tied— men, money, and' arms are all wanting, 
 so that I am a general without a command— was there ever such 
 provision made for such an emergency 1” 
 
 “Go to work and make an army as I do,” was Coote’s rough 
 answer ; “ Sir William is right, strength must be kept up here, 
 come what may, and the king’s trust is much misplaced in your 
 lordship an’ you cannot raise forces to serve your turn.” 
 
 “ Were I inclined to bandy words with a gentleman so polished, ’ 
 said Ormond with lofty scorn and keen irony, “ I might say to 
 Sir Charles Coote that what man can do that will Ormond do, an’ 
 means are given him, but a carpenter can ill work without tools, 
 or a butcher, either, as some here present may bear witness.” 
 There was something in the last words that brought a smile to 
 many a grave face around the table, though all cast down their 
 eyes to avoid making any application. 
 
 “ I understand you, my lord of Ormond,” said Coote with a 
 smile half humorous, half ferocious, “ but I would have you to 
 
140 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 know that- butchery, for all your sneer, is the best trade going 
 now that wild cattle are out in droves — an ounce of sharp steel 
 will go farther with them than a bushel of fair words. Hang them 
 up and rip them open — make scare-crows of them to frighten 
 their accomplices — that’s all you can ever make them good for, 
 and that’s how I treat them whenever they come into my hands, 
 egg or bird of them !” 
 
 With the exception of Parsons and his surly old colleague, 
 there was hardly one around the council-board who did not shud- 
 der at this brutal declaration, but all knew the speaker too well 
 to attempt either censure, ridicule, or remonstrance. By general 
 consent, little or no notice was ever taken in the council-room of 
 Coote’s characteristic blustering, and Ormond, to whom he had 
 specially addressed himself, vouchsafed no reply but turned with 
 cold contempt to the Lords Justices. 
 
 “ I have heard,” said he, “ that the English Papists of the Pale 
 have asked and received arms from the government. Your lord- 
 ships, then, believe them trustworthy V’ 
 
 Some members of the Council, amongst others the Archbishop 
 of Dublin, were eagerly professing their belief in the loyalty of 
 those lords and gentlemen, when Coote roughly interposed : 
 
 “ I wouldn’t trust them the length of my nose” — here there was 
 a very perceptible titter amongst the younger members, for the 
 general’s nose occupied a large portion of his facial surface, and 
 was moreover of very remarkable length — “ ay ! ye may laugh,” 
 he continued, with a fierce glance around the board, “ especially 
 as the rebels are at safe distance— an’ they come within pike’s 
 length of any of your noble lordships, the laughter, I fear, will 
 be the other way. As for these white-livered and most dainty 
 gentlemen of the Pale, I tell you they be worth watching — the 
 lying spirit of Rome is in them to the back-bone, and ye know it 
 too — if ye trust them, ye are no better than they, and another 
 thing let me tell you concerning them, lords and gentlemen, which 
 perchance some of ye know not — ” here the speaker paused 
 and looked around with a leer so expressive and at the same time 
 so diabolical as to make the majority of his hearers turn away 
 their eyes in disgust — “ rich lordships they have and hold, and 
 fair manors, and barns and bawns well stored — little wonder is 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 141 
 
 it, then, that they would fain pass for most loyal men, but great 
 wonder it is to me that you, my Lords Justices, and you, honor- 
 able members of the Council, should suffer those knaves to throw 
 dust in your eyes, and thereby keep what they have until such 
 time as their friends the northern rebels can, with their secret 
 aid and abetment, take your houses over your heads, ay ! and 
 ornament the tops of their pikes with those same sculls — num- 
 skulls we might well call them then, seeing that they had not 
 
 sense enough to protect themselves ! By the ,” and he swore 
 
 a dreadful oath, striking the table with his ponderous fist at the 
 same time, “ an’ ye. leave these arms in the hands of such traitors 
 as Gormanstown, Dunsany, and the rest of that crew, ye deserve 
 all that will come upon ye ! Some even of this Council may seek 
 to persuade you in courtly speech that these mongrel hounds 
 being of English blood, and, moreover, in divers ways connected 
 with them,) must needs be loyal gentlemen, but I give you my 
 word I would not trust them an’ they were Charles Stuart's 
 kinsmen !” 
 
 “ Charles Stuart !” Ormond repeated with stern emphasis, 
 “ who may that be, Sir Charles Coote V ’ and rising, he drew 
 himself up to his fullest height. 
 
 “ Go northward and ask Sir Phelim O’Neill,” was the insolent 
 answer; “ they do say he shows a license from an individual of 
 that name !” 
 
 “ I insist on knowing what you mean !” said the Earl in his 
 loftiest tone and manner ; “I will not, cannot suppose that our 
 sovereign lord the king is alluded to in such wise by one of his 
 own generals and in such presence as this—” 
 
 Suppose what you please, my lord of Ormond,” said Coote 
 with vehemence, “ I say the arch-rebel and traitor, Sir Phelim 
 O’Neill — whose head I look to see on one of our city gate-posts 
 some of these days — does publicly and openly exhibit to his 
 ruffianly followers a commission for his present work, signed by 
 no less a personage than ‘ our sovereign lord, the king.’ Hear 
 you that, my lord V' 
 
 The insolent imitation of his own tone and manner would at 
 another time have irritated the proud earl, but at that moment 
 
142 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 the astounding news* which he then heard for the first time 
 engrossed all his attention, and leaving Coote to exchange tri- 
 umphant glances aside with Parsons and a few others of the mem- 
 bers, he eagerly turned to the Bishops and Sir Robert Meredith 
 to ask if what he heard could possibly be true. The report was 
 common in town, they regretted to say, and however idle or im- 
 probable it might seem to be, there were but too many who be- 
 lieved it. 
 
 “ It were strange an’ they did not,” said Borlase, disregarding 
 the nods and winks of his more wily partner in office, “when 
 they have it from the mouths Of the sufferers who flock hither for 
 shelter from the ravenous fury of the Ulster Papists who have 
 stripped them of all they had and turned them adrift like shorn 
 sheep, to die in the fields and highways of cold and hunger.” 
 
 “ It is but too true, my lord,” said Bishop Loftus in reply to 
 Ormond’s look of wonder and interrogation ; “ we have for the 
 last two or three days witnessed sights of that nature fit to melt 
 our poor hearts within us. Shoals of the loyal and God-fearing 
 Christians df Ulster — men, women and children, are daily flock- 
 ing hitherward for succor and protection — ay ! some of the fore- 
 most people of that unhappy province, too glad to escape with * 
 their lives from the bloody hands of those godless Papists who 
 have stripped them of all they had — alack ! alack ! but our 
 bowels yearn over those suffering confessors for the faith of 
 Christ !” 
 
 Hearing this, Ormond could not keep from smiling : “ Well ! it 
 
 * There is no d >ubt that Sir Phelim O’Neill did exhibit such a do- 
 cument in order to induco a belief that he and his army fought under 
 the royal sanction. Amongst a people *so loyally disposed as the 
 Irish, this pretended commission did undoubtedly strengthen Sir 
 Phelim’s hands considerably. Our condemnation of such an act as 
 the production of a spurious commission would be much more severe, 
 did we not know that Sir Phelim expiated the deed with his life, and 
 that his last words declared the king entirely innocent and ignorant of 
 such a document being in his hands. The history of this famous com- 
 mission with the mystery in which its origin was involved, the reader 
 will find in a future chapter. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 143 
 
 is very moving, I do confess,” said he, “hut still I see not how 
 the rebels can have such bloody hands as your lordship speaks 
 of, seeing that they do not make martyrs of these pious confess- 
 ors — surely, an’ they were so much given to bloodshed, these 
 ‘ shoals’ of Protestants could not escape their fury 1 But me- 
 thinks we are losing much precious time in idle chit-chat — what 
 news from the west, the south I know to be quiet 1” 
 
 “Ay, marry, is it 7” quoth Parsons curtly; “thanks to good 
 St. Leger ” 
 
 “ Little fear of rebellion where he rules,” put in Coote with a 
 fierce laugh. 
 
 “ And as for Connaught,” continued Parsons, taking no note 
 of the interruption, “ the men of Belial there have not dared to 
 
 stir a finger — they are quiet as ” 
 
 “As muzzled bears,” suggested Coote again; “who thanks 
 them 7” 
 
 “ Nay, Sir Charles, said Rotherham coldly,” much thanks are 
 due to the Lord Clanrickard for the good disposition mani- 
 fested in those parts. Papist though he be, he is a most loyal 
 and excellent nobleman, and writes us in such wise as we might 
 
 expect from a true friend to law and order ! ” 
 
 “ Of a surety that Earl is doing good service,” said one of the 
 Bishops, “ and deserves most honorable commendation.” 
 
 “Well! well!” said Coote impatiently, “let it pass — Clanrick- 
 ard and the other Papists of that country are none the worse for 
 Willoughby being there to watch them. Having Galway city 
 under his thumb he can keep it screw tight on them. But as 
 regards this royal commission to the rebels — be there no way 
 left us of getting at the proof 7” 
 
 The sinister look which accompanied the words was well un- 
 derstood by Parsons, and he smiled exultingly as he replied : 
 “ That have we, Sir Charles ! I thank God, we are in a fair way 
 to bring out the truth — grievous as that may be to loyal subjects 
 — though I see not but we have only too much proof even now 
 — however, lest any doubt remain, Sir Charles, we will have re- 
 course to the safe and secure means which the God of justice has 
 placed within our reach.” 
 
 Ormond and most of the other members exchanged significant 
 
144 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 glances, for they all guessed what Parsons had in view. Disgusted 
 as many of them were by the blasphemous hypocrisy which yet 
 was characteristic of the man, and perhaps condemning in their 
 hearts the cold-blooded cruelty which made so little account of 
 the sufferings of others, like Pilate they shrank from inter- 
 posing between the tyrant and his victims, fearing to em- 
 broil themselves in an affair which no way concerned them. 
 Even the Bishop who talked so feelingly of the hardships endured 
 by the Protestants of Ulster had not a word of remonstrance to 
 offer on behalf of fellow-creatures about to undergo the extremity 
 of human torture. 
 
 So without having formed one resolution, or framed one salu- 
 tary measure to check the progress of the rebellion, the Privy 
 Council adjourned its sitting in favor of the noble and right hon- 
 orable stomachs of its members. This first and most pressing 
 duty discharged, Parsons and Coote proceeded together to sift 
 the matter of Sir Phelim O’Neill’s commission. 
 
 Ormond was no way surprised to hear that evening that Lord 
 Maguire and Mr. McMahon had been both put to the torture, 
 and that even the rack which strained and twisted every bone 
 and sinew of their body could not draw any confession from 
 either which went to inculpate the king as privy to the designs of 
 the insurgent chieftains. The Earl had made up his mind that 
 the document was a forged one, and he knew enough of the 
 Irish generally to be well assured that chieftains such as the two 
 in custody would not be induced by any amount of suffering to 
 criminate their sovereign wrongfully. 
 
 The heroic fortitude displayed by both prisoners, and their 
 generous refusal to obtain a release from torment on a false pre- 
 tence, might have softened many a hardened heart, but it could 
 not soften either Coote or Parsons, who alone witnessed the exa- 
 mination (as the torture was technically styled). Standing by, 
 they directed the fiendish operation, plying the sufferers at short 
 intervals with such questions as they would have had them 
 answer 'affirmatively. Maguire being deemed the most hopeful 
 subject, was first placed on the rack. And. in sooth, his appear- 
 ance when first introduced to the fatal chamber, and, surveying 
 tho various instruments of torture, was such as to inspire his 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 145 
 
 fiendish persecutors with hope. But the deathly pallor of his fine 
 countenance, the tottering of his limbs, and the clammy sweat 
 which bedewed his face were merely outward symptoms, the 
 natural effect of extreme bodily terror, suddenly excited. Those 
 who judged of the chieftain’s spirit by these manifestations of 
 weakness did him foul wrong, as they speedily found to their no 
 small amazement. As for Coote, he missed the sight of the first 
 application. He was summoned from the room just as the unfor- 
 tunate nobleman was stretched on the rack, What detained him 
 from the luxurious feast of cruelty for full ten minutes neither 
 Parsons nor any one present could guess, but when he returned 
 and hastily took his seat near the Lord Justice, that personage 
 noted with surprise that his whole frame trembled, and his every 
 feature was convulsed by some strong emotion, most probably of 
 anger, judging from the livid hue which, pervaded the whole. 
 Had any one been bold enough to question him, he would hardly 
 have told that two persons of high estate, and whose solicitations 
 even he had found hard to refuse, had been pleading with pas- 
 sionate earnestness that the prisoners might not be subjected to 
 the torture. Threats and persuasions had been tried, and rea- 
 soning so cogent that few men could have resisted it. Sir Charles 
 Coote, however, was not the man to give in to reason — and, at 
 last, as the agonized groans of the sufferer fell on the ears of 
 the petitioners, and still no sign of obtaining mercy for him, the 
 tones of entreaty were suddenly changed to that of solemn de- 
 nunciation, and one of the two, as with the sudden inspiration of 
 a prophetic spirit, exclaimed with fearful energy : 
 
 “ No mercy for him who showeth not mercy — as we judge, so 
 shall we be judged — doom dark and dreadful awaits the merci- 
 less tyrant — >away — let’s away — I cannot listen to those sounds of 
 agony — oh, G-od! wilt not Thou — Thou have pity V 
 
 There was a rush of sweeping garments down the long 
 stone passage, the other individual, after another fruitless 
 entreaty, followed at slower pace, and Coote, without turn- 
 ing his head to look after either, pushed in the iron-stud- 
 ded door of the torture-room with a muttered impreca- 
 tion of fearful import, and glancing with hellish exulta- 
 tion at the panting, fainting firm writhing on the rack, he 
 7a 
 
146 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 took his seat near Parsons with as much composure as he could 
 assume, although that was very little. It soon became evident 
 that nothing satisfactory was to be elicited from the prisoner — 
 nothing, at least, but what was already patent to the whole 
 country. As to the royal commission alleged to be in the hands 
 of Sir Plielim O’Neill, Maguire heard of it then for the first time, 
 and although it was made the chief point of his examination 
 — although bone, and nerve, and sinew, were stretched almost to 
 rending asunder, still he assured them with a voice almost 
 extinct, that he knew nothing whatever of such a document, or 
 had never heard of its existence. At last the unfortunate victim 
 fainted away, and his two examiners concluding there was nothing 
 to be made of him, ordered the ministers of their vengeance to 
 remove him, and bring in the other prisoner. 
 
 McMahon, true to his own character, and having, doubtless, 
 braced his mind for the first effect of the gloomy chamber and its 
 dismal apparatus, betrayed no sign of fear as he glanced around, 
 and when his eye settled on Coote and Parsons, its expression 
 was that of calm defiance, mixed with a stern resolution that was 
 anything but encouraging to the worthy pair, especially after 
 their experience of the weaker and more timorous Maguire, 
 whose “ stature tall and slender frame,” were also strongly con- 
 trasted by the more athletic proportions of the Tanist of Uriel. 
 They were not deceived in their calculations, for if the peer 
 proved an unsatisfactory subject, the commoner was still worse. 
 Even the rack could not quench the fire of his free spirit, and so 
 far from gaining any admission from him detrimental to the 
 cause for which ho suffered, they heard many words of biting 
 sarcasm, and many home-truths which stirred them to the very 
 quick. Not the least provoking thing was that, increase the 
 amount of torture as they might, they could not extract an ex- 
 pression of pain from McMahon. Like the son of Alknomook 
 “ he scorned to complain,” and although his members were 
 strained till the joints and sinews cracked, and the big drops stood 
 on his pallid brow, yet, pressing his lips together, he resolutely 
 kept from uttering even -the slightest groan. When the officials 
 had exercised upon the brave prisoner the full measure of torment 
 prescribed by the disappointed rage of the examiners, McMahon 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 147 
 
 was taken from the rack more dead than alive, though still con- 
 scious, and consigned once more to his dark and silent dungeon 
 without remedy or soothing application of any kind to his bruised 
 and aching limbs. 
 
 Like inhumanity was shown to Lord Maguire, but, more 
 fortunate than his friend, he was not without one sympathiz- 
 ing heart to compassionate his sufferings. All through the 
 long and dismal night a figure muffled from head to foot in a 
 sort of military cloak sat weeping in silence at the door of his 
 cell, crouched up in a shapeless heap, listening ever to the piteous 
 moans and half-suppressed groans of the lonely sufferer within. 
 And yet though some mighty passion at times shook the frame 
 of the solitary watcher without, not even one sigh, one whisper 
 of sympathetic sorrow escaped its lips. No turnkey’s tread 
 broke in on the mournful vigil, for the golden key which had 
 obtained admission “ for some moon-struck Irish damsel,” as 
 the jailor phrased it, kept the passage which contained Maguire’s 
 cell from all official visitation that night. It was enough for the 
 turnkey in charge to glance down the dimly-lighted corridor as 
 he passed its entrance, and seeing the dark, motionless bulk still 
 there, he would mutter something about “ strange tastes” and 
 pass on his round. 
 
148 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 “Pity! no, no, you dare not, Priest, — not you, our Father, dare 
 Preach to us now that godless creed — the murderer’s blood to spare j 
 To spare hi3 bLool, while tombless still our slaughter’d kin implore 
 ‘Graves and revenge’ from Gobbin-cliffs and Carrick’s bloody shore ! 
 
 “ Pity! could we ‘forget — forgive,’ if we were clods of clay, 
 
 Our martyr’d priests, our banish’d chiefs, our race in dark decay, 
 And worse than all — you know it, Priest — the daughters of our land, 
 With wiongs we blush’d to name until the sword was in our hand !” 
 
 C. G. Duffy. 
 
 All was bright and cheerful in the Irish camp at Newry. 
 Roger O’Moore and Hugh McMahon and Rory Maguire and 
 Lorcan, Sir Con Magennis and many others of the chief leaders 
 were there with Sir Phelim O’Neill, and Sir Phelim, now tacitly 
 recognized as the O'Neill, and, moreover, the head of an all- 
 conquering army — if army his multitudinous force could yet be 
 called — was in the best possible humor with himself, his brother 
 chiefs, his brave followers, and, in short, all the world, with the 
 trifling exception of the Lords Justices and their adherents, and 
 the sluggish Normans of the Pale. Even the usurping English 
 and Scotch within his own borders Sir Phelim could, in his gra- 
 cious mood, somewhat excuse, inasmuch as restitution had been 
 exacted from them, and that, on the whole, with less trouble 
 than might be expected. In fact Sir Phelim could have almost 
 sympathized with them on their losses, in the exuberance of his 
 good-nature, and the other chiefs were no little amused by his 
 unsoldierly bearing in their regard. The Irish of that, as of for- 
 mer days, had an instinctive dislike to be shut up in walled towns, 
 and thus it was that although the neighboring stronghold was 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 149 
 
 theirs, they chose to keep outside rather than inside its walls,, 
 leaving merely a small garrison to keep the place in possession. 
 But their flag was floating from its towers, and their sentinels 
 walked its ramparts, and they knew themselves masters of Bag- 
 nal’s fortifications, so they rested content in their encampment 
 close by on the Newry-water, well supplied with provisions by 
 the country-people around, and little heeding the rain and snow 
 beating in at times through the frail coverings which were merely 
 apologies for tents. 
 
 The sixth day of November arrived and Sir Phelim spoke of 
 making another attack on the strong walls of Lisnagarvey,* 
 which had some days before repulsed a detachment of his forces 
 with considerable loss. Some few castles, too, were yet in the 
 hands of the foreigners, and these must be gained, if possible, 
 without further delay. The following day was fixed on for the 
 attack on Lisnagarvey, and all things were to be put in readiness 
 over night for an early start. 
 
 This arranged, the chieftains met by invitation in Sir Phelim’s 
 tent to partake of the evening meal. While it was still in prepa- 
 ration they talked over the general prospects of the war, what 
 had been already done, and what remained to do before freedom 
 could be established on a fair basis. O’Moore marvelled much 
 that nothing was heard from his friend Owen Hoe O’Neill to 
 whom he had straight sent off a trusty messenger on hearing of 
 Tyrone’s assassination. 
 
 “ An’ he were but come,” said Rory, '‘he would organize our 
 forces and teach them the art of war ” 
 
 “ What’s amiss with them at this present V ’ demanded Sir 
 Phelim snappishly ; “ I see not that they have need of new-fangled 
 modes of fighting — what could they do more than they have 
 done here in the North, an’ they had fifty Owen Roes to head 
 them V’ 
 
 “ I said not to head them , Sir Phelim,” replied O’Moore very 
 gently, “ but only to train them in the military art, and thereby 
 make them more efficient soldiers ” 
 
 “ Such teaching were well enough for the Englishers of the 
 Pale,” said O’Neill with increasing petulence, “but the clans- 
 * Now Lisburn. 
 
150 
 
 TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 men of Tyr-Owen and Tyr-Connell — ay ! and others whose valiant 
 chiefs are here present, have hut small need, I think, of such les- 
 sons. Trust me they can use their pikes and skenes, not to 
 speak of other instruments of that kind, as prettily as heart could 
 wish !” 
 
 Most of the other chiefs, however, were clearly of O’ Moore’s 
 opinion that a leader of foreign reputation, and of tried prowess, 
 like Owen Roe, was much to be desired. 
 
 “ I would you had a score of such,” cried Sir Phelim passion- 
 ately, “an’ I warrant me, chiefs of Ulster, you would soon be sick 
 of them, and wish them back again in France or Flanders, or 
 wherever they came from — who did you say was come V ’ to one 
 of his gillies who had been waiting at his elbow for some minutes 
 vainly trying to get a hearing. 
 
 “ It’s Shamus Beg,” said the youth quietly, “ at least he says 
 so, though, for my part, I’d hardly know him ; he wants to see 
 you, Sir Phelim — why, here he is himself — well ! sure enough he 
 must be in the d — 1 of a hurry !” he added looking back over his 
 shoulder as he moved away. 
 
 “Well, Shamus, my man,” said his chieftain with restored good 
 humor, as he held out his hand to his foster-brother, for whose 
 return he had, to say the truth, been much more anxious than he 
 would wish to acknowledge ; “ well, Shamus, my man, what 
 news from the Island — I hope you’ve brought the colleen back this 
 time — I can ill spare you these busy times running after a colleen 
 bawn —but how are all in Corny Magee’s *?” 
 
 “ Not one of them breathes the breath of life,” said Shamus, 
 speaking with difficulty, “ in that house anyhow,” he added in 
 an under tone. 
 
 “ Why, how is that V* asked the chieftain in surprise. 
 
 “ They’re all dead, Sir Phelim, dead — dead — and their house 
 is a heap of burned rubbish — and so is most every house on Is- 
 land Magee — and the whole place is like a graveyard with 
 corpses, only that there they’re above ground ” 
 
 Shamus O’Hagan,” said O’Neill with increasing agitation, 
 “what is this I hear'? — have then the whole people been 
 massacred V’ 
 
 “Ay, every soul of them— I may say — it was a miracle from 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 151 
 
 God that I escaped myself— and it’s little I’d care to do that 
 same only to bring the news to you myself ” 
 
 “ Great God!” cried O’Neill, as he leaped from his seat, “ who 
 did this horrible deed T* 
 
 “ Monroe’s bloody sassums from Knockfergus — last night, in 
 all the storm they marched out to the Island and murdered and 
 burned, and robbed and plundered all before them — by this 
 morning’s sun, when I stole back to see what harm was done, I 
 found only one living being in the place — and he groping like 
 myself among the dead ! — oh ! the curse of God villains ! — the 
 black, blood-thirsty hell-hounds !” cried Shamus, warming up at 
 his own recital, “ it was them that did their work well ! — -fareer 
 gar , but they did !” 
 
 “ Chieftains of Ulster ! — Catholics ! gentlemen ! hear ye that 
 shouted O’Neill, now thoroughly roused to that passion which 
 was always fearful. 
 
 “ We do, O’Neill!” said Magennis, who had been sitting next 
 him, but all now rose from their seats, and stood looking on each 
 other and on their host with faces of horror and blank amaze- 
 ment; “ we hear the black tidings, and mournful it comes to our 
 ear, 0 son of the Hy-Nial !” 
 
 “ By my faith, they’ll be worse for the foreigners than they 
 are for us !” exclaimed Maguire in a voice quivering with passion. 
 “ It’s all over now with the poor victims on Island Magee, but 
 they have it all before them ” 
 
 “ And if it do not overtake them in every corner where our 
 arms can reach,” said McMahon sternly, “ may Lhose same arms 
 fail us in our sorest need !” 
 
 “ Ay,” said O’Neill in a half-stifled voice, grinding his teeth at 
 the same time, “ we were all over generous with the brood of 
 vipers — we were sparing them, forsooth — ay, were we — sparing 
 them for our own destruction — now, Mr. O’Moore,” he exclaimed, 
 turning suddenly to that gentleman, “ what have you to say for 
 yourself 1 — this milk— and — w T ater work — this clemency and ge- 
 nerous forbearance, and what not, was a pet scheme of yours — 
 are you satisfied now that they deserve nor mercy nor pity at our 
 hands — these scorpious — these — oh! that my single arm could 
 deal destruction to them all — but if my life be spared, I will give 
 
152 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 them enough of this bloody work — ay ! they shall have it to their 
 hearts’ content!” 
 
 “ I knew it,” cried Shamus, his eyes gleaming with exultation 
 and the burning anticipation of revenge ; “I knew O’Neill would, 
 stand by us — lamh dearg aboo /” and he leaped some feet from 
 the ground, “ it’s ourselves will pay them back with heavy inter- 
 est for their last night’s work — I told them Sir Plielim would see 
 justice done! — lamh dearg aboo! friends of my heart, but it’s 
 many a proud Sassenach we’ll bring down as low as these eyes 
 saw you !” And so saying, he darted from the room, eager to 
 spread the doleful news. 
 
 “ Sir Phelim,” said Rory O’Moore in a tone of deep emotion, 
 “ believe me there is no one amongst you all who feels more 
 deeply for the victims of this inhuman massacre, or more detests 
 the cruel treason which wrought so foul a work, but ere we do 
 aught by way of revenge, I would have you think whether, as 
 Christians, we can follow in the bloody track of our enemies with- 
 out danger of drawing down on ourselves and our cause the 
 wrath and malediction of the God who claimeth vengeance as His 
 own right. Shall we, by indiscriminate slaughter, imbrue our 
 hands in innocent blood, after the manner of these ruthless fana- 
 tics, and stain with foul crime the cause now so holy and so just I 
 Friends ! Brothers ! shall we forfeit our high character as Chris- 
 tian gentlemen, and worse still, our hopes of heavenly guerdon 'l 
 — speak !” 
 
 More than one of the chieftains was about to make reply, but 
 Sir Phelim broke in with thundering voice, and fierce gesticula- 
 tion : 
 
 “Ay, speak! — speak all of ye! — tell our smooth-tongued 
 Leinster friend that ye will close your ears to the cry of kindred 
 1)1 ood — that ye will obligingly banish from your minds the mem- 
 ory of last night’s slaughter, and in all Christian charity join 
 hands with the murderers, and humbly thank them for what they 
 have done ! Talk of staining our cause by punishing those mis- 
 creants whom no other power can or will punish ! By St. Columb 
 of Hy ! Rory O’ Moore, you’re not the man I took you for — an’ you 
 were, Island Magee would stir up the memory of Mullaghmast !” 
 
 It required all O’Moore’s self-control to bear this taunt. The 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 153 
 
 hot warm blood of the princes of Leix took fire at the insult, and 
 his generous heart, conscious of its own fervent sympathies, was 
 deeply wounded by a sarcasm which more than hinted a want of 
 feeling on his part for the unhappy victims of fanatic cruelty. 
 His face, pale and flushed by turns, and the fitful light flashing 
 from his deep blue eyes, showed at once the struggle going on 
 within and the depth of the emotion which he would fain repress. 
 Sir Phelim himself seemed to expect an angry retort, for he 
 turned his fierce eyes on Rory with a sort of dubious expression 
 as though prepared either to defy or conciliate as occasion might 
 require. If he expected an outburst of passion from O’ Moore he 
 was much mistaken, for the latter, after a few moments of obvious 
 self-combat, to the surprise and no small admiration of those 
 present, turned calmly to the other chiefs : 
 
 “ I know not if I merit this reproach,” said he, “ mayhap I do 
 — although there be none that I know of — not even Sir Phelim 
 O’Neill — who hath had this matter more at heart from the first 
 hour in which it was planned. What I have felt and do feel for 
 our nation : s wrongs my own heart knows, what I have done for 
 the cause, it beseems not me to say. Gentlemen of Ulster, I per- 
 ceive there be some amongst you with whom I could never agree 
 on the mode of warfare to be pursued — my presence is of small 
 import here, and much work is to be done in other parts of the 
 country — I will, therefore, take my leave of you all for a time, 
 wishing you all success and beseeching you, not for my sake, but 
 for that of the great cause in which we have all engaged, to cher- 
 ish a brotherly feeling amongst yourselves and avoid all unneces- 
 sary bloodshed ” 
 
 “Why, surely, you are not going without your dinner V’ put 
 in Sir Phelim, with a ludicrous change of manner, while the 
 other gentlemen crowded around with eager solicitations. 
 
 But O’ Moore, having once made up his mind, was not to be 
 moved from his purpose, although when he shook Sir Phelim’s 
 hand at parting, there was not the slightest trace of ill feeling 
 visible on his face or in his demeanor. Cullen and his followers 
 were well pleased to return to their own country, -where all was 
 comparative peace, and in very few minutes the small cortege 
 was ready for the start. Sir Phelim, in high dudgeon, lounged in 
 
154 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Ills tent while O’ Moore was setting out, hut his absence gave 
 little concern to Rory or the other chiefs, all of whom were as- 
 sembled in front of McMahon’s tent to wish him God speed. 
 Glancing his keen eye over the stately group, O’Moore bent from 
 his saddle and softly whispered : 
 
 “ Heed not his wayward humors — keep together, and work for 
 the common good — as Christians — till God sends you a fitting 
 leader, wanting whom but little can be done. Such a man ye 
 all wot of, and, with God’s good aid, he will soon be with you — 
 of that I am well assured. Heaven guard ye all, friends and 
 gentlemen, till we meet again!” These last words were said 
 aloud, and, after exchanging a cordial salute with his friends, 
 O’Moore was just starting, when up, at full speed, rode Bishop 
 McMahon, followed, as usual, at a respectful distance by his 
 faithful Malachy. v 
 
 “Well met, Mr. 0’MOore,” said the prelate hastily, after ex- 
 changing salutes with his cousin of Uriel and the other chieftains ; 
 “ it was but last night I heard of your being here, and as I have 
 many things of moment to treat of with you, I hurried off this 
 morning betimes, the rather,” he added with a smile, that was 
 not of mirth but sadness, “ the rather as our good Malachy was 
 anxious, likewise, to have speech of you.” 
 
 I am truly happy, then, that your lordship arrived in time," 
 said O’ Moore courteously ; “a few minutes later and I should 
 have been on my road southward.” 
 
 The Bishop appeared surprised. “ Why, I thought you pur- 
 posed making longer stay with us here, an’ it were but to see 
 how our brave clansmen move in war-harness.” 
 
 0’ Moore explained in few words what had happened, adding 
 that his presence was really more needed elsewhere. The pre- 
 late then lowering his voice, and drawing as near as their re- 
 spective steeds would go, inquired if there were any recent news 
 from Colonel O’Neill, and whether he was soon to be expected. 
 Being answered in the affirmative, he appeared much pleased. 
 
 “Well,” said he, “Mr. O’Moore, as you have given me good 
 tidings, it is but fair that I do the same by you. I have got word 
 but yester-eve from my reverend friend, Father Luke Wadding, 
 whom you doubtless know — at least by name.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 155 
 
 “ Surely I do, my good lord,” said O’Moore joyfully ; “ when in 
 Spain I saw much of that worthy priest and true patriot, and 
 there be few men living whom I hold in higher esteem. My poor 
 friend, Hugh O’Neill — now, I trust, with God — was first moved 
 to hope and work for our country’s freedom by the glowing elo- 
 quence of that great and good man. I warrant me he is taking 
 note of our poor efforts ” 
 
 “ That is he and more, too, which you will hear of before long — 
 he desires to know what truth there is in the reports current 
 throughout Europe concerning our rising here — he says, an’ it 
 be true that we have already done so much as he has heard, that 
 we shall have no lack of succor, and that right speedily. I am 
 able to give him good accounts of this northern country, but 
 what shall I say regarding the other provinces and the English 
 Catholics of the Pale V* 
 
 “ As regards our own tribes in the south and west,” said 
 O’Moore, “ I am daily in hopes of their rising — portions of both 
 Connaught and Leinster are even nowin action — as for the Pales- 
 men, I must say that my hopes of succor from them have dwin- 
 dled into nothing — they are too wedded to those fat lands of 
 theirs to gainsay the government in aught.” 
 
 “ Ho ! ho !” laughed Sir Phelim O’Neill, who had just come 
 within hearing, “ you were ready to measure swords with me, 
 but late for saying no worse thing of your Norman ‘ friends and 
 kinsmen.’ I joy to think that you have found them out in time 
 — how goes it with my good lord of Clogher'?— have you heard 
 the news from Carrick side 1” 
 
 While Sir Phelim, with some of the other chiefs, horrified the 
 Bishop with the fatal story of the last night’s butchery, Malachy 
 approached O’Moore, who merely waited to take his leave of the 
 prelate, and begged permission to say something very particular. 
 The permission being given with an encouraging smile, Malachy 
 opened his large mouth and spoke as follows : 
 
 “ It’s in regard to the heavy load that’s on my heart these days 
 that I make bold to speak to you, Mr. O’Moore. I can’t sleep 
 by night or rest by day only thinking of our noble Tanist that’s 
 a prisoner with the bloody villains in Dublin Castle above. The 
 
156 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Lord save him from worse harm, hut somehow I’m troubled 
 entirely with fearsome dreams and visions concerning him.” 
 
 “ Oh ! that is all hut natural, my good Malachy,” said O’Moore 
 with assumed gaiety; “ your faithful heart is sore grieved for your 
 young lord’s misfortune, and I do not wonder that your dreams 
 should be wild and gloomy !” 
 
 Malachy shook his head. “ There’s more than that in it, sir, — 
 ochone ! I know there is, and as we’re entirely in the dark about 
 * him, with the blessing of God I’m determined to make my way 
 to where he is before I’m many days older.” 
 
 O’Moore was touched by the self-forgetting devotion of the faith- 
 ful follower, and his voice trembled as he replied: “Alas! my 
 poor friend, the journey to Dublin is long and toilsome, and 
 supposing even you got there in safety, it might profit you 
 little. How could you hope to get speech or even sight of Mr. 
 McMahon I” 
 
 “Well! as for the journey, the Bishop says you know every 
 foot of the way, and that if you’d let me follow you when you’re 
 going back, I’d get so near Dublin that I could make out the rest 
 of the way easy enough — if I was once in the city, God and the 
 Blessed Virgin would do the rest, and who knows but I might be 
 able to get to do something for Mister Costelloe.” 
 
 O’Moore could not help laughing at Malachy’s grave simplicity, 
 . whereupon that individual opened his eyes very wide and looked 
 somewhat offended : “You needn’t laugh, sir,” he said in a very 
 serious tone, “ for it’s not me alone that’s troubled in mind about 
 this matter - there’s his honor Lorcan More Maguire has got 
 warnings to no end about my lord Maguire and our Tanist, aiffl 
 he wouldn’t believe even the Bishop but something very bad has 
 happened to them both — or will happen, if God hasn’t said it, 
 before long.” 
 
 The person thus alluded to hearing his own name mentioned, 
 — and Malachy, whether by accident or design, spoke it in a raised 
 voice, — quickly detached himself from the group around the 
 Bishop, and came eagerly forward. He was much excited, for 
 he had been warmly combatting some rash proposal of Sir 
 Phelim’s, but on hearing of Malachy’s purpose, he became calm 
 in a moment, and strenuously recommended the visit to Dublin. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 157 
 
 “ An’ it were not,” said he, “ for the press of work put upon us 
 by these bloody Scotch I’d be up in Dublin myself before now, 
 for I know well there’s something amiss with my poor Connor. 
 Not to speak of all the signs and warnings I have got of late, it 
 was only the other night I was told by one that came to me in 
 my sleep that the Maguire was in sore bodily distress at that 
 hour, and that unless something wonderful turned up he’d never 
 stand on green grass. It is ease to my mind to think that 
 Malachy here may be able to bring us some word of Connor, and 
 if he didn’t go, I’d go myself, for, after all, I know there’s enough 
 here to settle accounts with the enemy — ha ! ha ! if there was 
 none but Sir Phelim and our Rory yonder, they’d do that between 
 them !” 
 
 “ I believe you,” said O’Moore in all sincerity, “ heaven only 
 grant they go not too far with this thing of revenge. However, 
 my duty lies elsewhere, and if the Bishop be content to spare 
 Malachy, he can journey with us — let me see — to the very 
 borders of Dublin county, whence I can send a trusty messenger 
 to guide him to the city !” 
 
 The Bishop, being appealed to, declared himself quite willing, 
 albeit that he feared Malachy's simplicity and inexperience, yet, 
 as he said apart to 0’ Moore, such persons often fared better in 
 trying contingencies than those of sharper wit, so in God’s name 
 he dismissed Malachy with his blessing, commending him earn- 
 estly to the guiding care of his Leinster friend. Not so McMahon, 
 who, when informed of Malachy’s project, ridiculed the whole 
 scheme, and scouted as something altogether impossible the 
 notion of his reaching Dublin in safety, or, at all events, of his 
 seeing his brother. His chieftain’s mockery disturbed poor 
 Malachy not a little, but with the Bishop’s blessing and consent 
 he consoled himself, and started hopefully for the unknown re- 
 gions of the English Pale, not, however, without giving the pre- 
 late sundry charges relating to the care of their slender stock of 
 altar linen and other matters of a like nature. 
 
 While Rory 0’ Moore was rapidly retracing his way to the con- 
 fines of the Pale, and thence over the rich plains of Louth to the 
 neighborhood of Dundalk, where he expected to meet Colonels 
 Plunket and O’Byrne, the Red Hand was smiting in wrath and 
 
158 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 vengeance the terror-stricken settlers in the northern parts of 
 Ulster. On the very day after the receipt of Shamus’s fateful news, 
 Sir Phelim led a strong force against Sir William Brownlow’s 
 Castle of Augher, situate in the county of Tyrone, and the 
 place being taken after some resistance, the garrison and house- 
 hold servants — all, in short, who were found in arms, were put to 
 the sword. At the intercession of Lady Brownlow, however, she, 
 her husband and family, were spared, and suffered to quit the 
 Castle, of which Sir Phelim immediately took possession. During 
 that first scene of slaughter on the part of the Irish troops, and 
 in many a bloody act of retributive justice in after days, their 
 watchword was “ Island Magee !” and when pity touched their 
 hearts or unnerved their arms, the recollection of that wanton 
 and most savage massacre silenced the voice of compassion. 
 From that time forward, the war in Ulster assumed a fiercer and 
 more sanguinary character, and its horrors were daily, hourly 
 increased by mutual acts of retaliation. Roused to fury by the 
 savage cruelty and base treachery of Monroe’s Scotch fanatics, 
 and conscious that his own forces had previously been almost too 
 sparing of bloodshed, Sir Phelim O’Neill gave full rein to his 
 fierce passions, and thenceforward treated the enemies of his 
 country according to what he believed their deserts. 
 
 
 J 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 159 
 
 CHAPTER ^XIIL 
 
 “ A great man struggling in the storms of fate, 
 
 And greatly falling with a falling state.” 
 
 Pope 
 
 “ Full many mischiefs follow cruel wrath, 
 
 Abhorr’d bloodshed, and tumultuous strife, 
 
 Unmanly murder, and unthrifty scathe, 
 
 Bitter despite with rancor’s rusty knife, 
 
 And fretting grief the enemy of life.” 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 When the new order of things began to extend into Breffny, 
 and the clansmen were more or less imbued with the fierce spirit 
 of revenge coming southward on every breeze from the north 
 country ; when every tongue was busy with the horrors of the 
 Antrim massacre, and many a stout Breffny-man was heard to 
 mutter a stern regret for past clemency thrown away, it was then 
 that Philip O’Reilly was called upon for the display of those 
 high qualities which have since won the admiration of all. Like 
 his friend O’Rourke, he knew how to battle for the right without 
 staining his soul with murder or degrading the noble profession 
 of arms by unnecessary cruelty. O’Reilly and O’Rourke, gener- 
 ous, noble and warm-hearted, were neither of them insensible to 
 the wrongs and outrages committed on their people — they felt, as 
 brave men could not but feel, their hearts swell with indignation 
 and disgust at the atrocious massacre which had stirred up 
 Catholic Ulster from end to end, and they, too, panted for 
 revenge, but their revenge took a higher range with more solid 
 advantages in view. Little gratification would it be to either of 
 these Breffny chieftains to see Protestant blood shed in torrents, 
 
1G0 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 or to know that every foreigner in the land was put to cruel 
 torture ; these things were foreign to their nature, and they never 
 could delight in human suffering, but to crush the power of the 
 stranger, to smite the oppressor in honorable warfare, and 
 raise the old tribes everywhere to that position which they ought 
 to hold in their own land — finally, to re-establish the true faith in 
 all its pristine glory, and to humble the haughty crest of heresy 
 even to the dust — such was the revenge for which O’Rourke and 
 O’Reilly thirsted, such were the ends which they had in view in 
 raising their respective standards. 
 
 During the stormy days, and weeks, and months which fol- 
 lowed the massacre of Island Magee, the clans of Breffny O'Reilly 
 were not idle any more than their neighbors of Uriel and Breffny 
 O’Rourke. They had their musters, and marches and counter- 
 marches amid the swelling hills and pastoral knolls of their an- 
 cient principality. The several chieftains who looked up to 
 O’Reilly as their head had all more or less contributed to the 
 general success of the northern army, and each, in his own 
 district, dispossessed the English planters in a summary manner 
 of the castles with which they had studded the country. The 
 Protestant inhabitants, necessarily regarded as adherents of the 
 government, and, therefore, not to be tolerated, — were ejected 
 with very little ceremony, and sent to seek winter-quarters else- 
 where. In some places, where an obstinate resistance was made, 
 and the native forces suffered, the power of the chief was not 
 able to withhold his people from taking revenge in their own 
 hands, although even then the executions were confined to the 
 most prominent and rabid of the enemy. 
 
 There was one house, however, in O’Reilly’s country — one 
 Protestant dwelling which no hostile force ever attacked, no 
 random shot ever reached. It was an old-fashioned glebe-house, 
 of plain yet respectable exterior, surrounded by pleasant woods 
 and fertile, well-tilled fields. Here the Anglican bishop of Kil- 
 more had dwelt in peace for many a year ; a man of peace he 
 was, a venerable man, devoted to study and the care of his flock, 
 meddling not with his Catholic neighbors, in their spiritual affairs, 
 but serving them when occasion required, to the utmost of his 
 ability. A good man of quief^ unostentatious habits, kind and 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 161 
 
 benevolent to all, was Bishop Beddell, of I^ilmore, the same 
 whom our readers will remember as so favorably mentioned by 
 the Countess of Ormond, when pleading the cause of the pro- 
 scribed Catholics with her husband. Respecting the religious 
 convictions of others, this exemplary man was himself respected 
 in times when religious rancor was at the highest, and his house 
 was a sanctuary never violated by the generous and grateful 
 clansmen of Breffny. By it they marched at all hours of the 
 night and day with banners flying, and weapons gleaming, often 
 in all the flush of victory, and again, smarting under some recent 
 provocation, yet never was their anger directed against the house 
 of Bishop Beddell, although it was well known that many Pro- 
 testants driven from other parts of the country were sheltered 
 within its walls. Had the Anglican prelate been other than he 
 was, and more like to his brothers of the established episcopate, 
 his snug glebe-house would have passed into other hands as his 
 cathedral and parish churches had done before, but, as it was, 
 he lived there in peace, with his friends and his numerous house- 
 hold, protected by the noble-hearted O'Reilly and other influen- 
 tial Catholics of. the country. 
 
 On a certain day when the good Bishop had the numerous oc- 
 cupants of his house assembled in his best parlor for some relig- 
 ious exercise, word was brought him that the Catholic bishop had 
 come to visit him, and was then waiting in an adjoining apart- 
 ment. This announcement was heard with dismay by the little 
 congregation who naturally feared that it boded no good to them. 
 Bishop Beddell, however, calmed their fears and assured them 
 that Dr. McSweeny was not the man to take advantage of their 
 misfortunes or betray them to the Philistines of the northern 
 country. 
 
 “ Howsoever,” said the good Doctor, “ I will go and see what 
 the gentleman’s business may be with me, and when I have had 
 speech of him I will straightway return hither. Meanwhile, rest 
 ye here in peace, supplicating the Lord on behalf of his poor 
 dispersed flock, that he keep them from the hands of Sir Phelim 
 O’Neill and such like men of blood.” 
 
 The meeting between the two bishops was characteristic of the 
 times. In Dr. McSweeny, a tall dignified man of middle age, the 
 
162 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 polished bearing of the foreign ecclesiastic, the graduate of Royal 
 Salamanca, was blended with the somewhat patronizing air of a 
 man suddenly raised from an outlawed and hidden life to one of 
 triumph and jubilation, — from a position of constant dependence 
 to one of absolute command and all but unlimited power. 
 
 In the bent form of the old Protestant bishop, and on his mild 
 but wrinkled brow, there was deep sorrow, but nothing of defer- 
 ence or deprecation. On the contrary there was in his aged eyes 
 when he raised them to the face of his visitor a look of something 
 like reproach which the other was at no loss to understand, al- 
 though quite conscious that he did not deserve it at Bishop Bed- 
 dell’s hands. 
 
 The two had met but once before, and the memory of that long- 
 past meeting was fresh in the mind of each, giving, it might be, 
 a sort of constraint to the demeanor of both. 
 
 “ Times are changed with us, Dr. Beddell, since last we met,” 
 observed the Catholie bishop after they had exchanged a some- 
 what distant salute. 
 
 “ Fear not that I forget the change,” the other replied with 
 more warmth than he commonly displayed, “ the Lord hath hum- 
 bled us, we trust for our good ! — will it please you to sit T* 
 
 “ My time is short,” the Bishop replied, “ for, in these unhappy 
 days, my avocations are many and arduous.” 
 
 “ Unhappy days !” repeated Beddell with some sternness, “ and 
 whose be the fault, Owen McSweeny V ’ 
 
 “ I came not hither to dispute a question which the sword 
 must decide and the might of armies,” said the Bishop coldly, — 
 “ Dr. Beddell. I respect you beyond all men of your persuasion — 
 you once served me, too, in a matter of great moment, which I 
 wish not to forget - our people are moved to wrath at the present 
 time by the recent bloody act of Monroe’s soldiers at Island Ma- 
 gee — so that even these kindly men of Breffny, who have hitherto 
 respected your name and character, may in some moment of 
 frenzied irritation forget all else but your connection with that 
 establishment which truly they have no reason to love — nay, hear 
 me out, Doctor ! Even O’Reilly’s power may not always be able 
 to protect you — that is, when other portions of our army come 
 to pass this way — mine will never fail with Catholic soldiers — • 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 163 
 
 would you that I send a small party hither who, wearing my 
 cognizance and colors, may secure you against all attacks from 
 our troopsJ” 
 
 “ I pray you, good brother, excuse my compliance,” said Bed- 
 dell hastily ; “ I fear me much that the presence of your armed 
 followers would do more harm than good in my quiet household. 
 And, moreover, if the rebel hordes — excuse me — if the army of 
 Sir Phelim unhappily comes this way, our chance of life or 
 escape were small, indeed, even under favor of your reverence’s 
 cognizance and colors, which I pray you to believe I hold in all 
 respect.” 
 
 The grave caustic irony of these last words was keenly felt by 
 Bishop McSweeny, who, conscious of his own good intentions, 
 could not help being somewhat nettled. Taking his hat to de- 
 part, he coolly observed : 
 
 “ My reverence’s cognizance may serve you yet, Master Bed- 
 dell, for all you seem to set so slight store on my poor- ability to 
 befriend you. It may be that Philip O’Reilly, on whose protection 
 you now depend, may one day fail you — should that ever come 
 to pass, you will find a friend in the Bishop of Kilmore.’' 
 
 “ Nay, nay, good sir,” cried the old man, following his visitor 
 to the door, “ if you mean yourself, assuredly the Bishop of 
 Kilmore stands not in your shoes — the Cathedral maketh not 
 the Bishop, Owen — I pray you, remember that !” 
 
 “ I remember, John, I remember,” said the Bishop looking 
 back over his shoulder with a humorous expression of coun- 
 tenance, “ I stand beholden to you for that new lesson in theo- 
 logy. But, man, King Charles himself cannot make a Bishop 
 here now, and as for Cathedrals, there be no one in all Ireland 
 more expert at making them than the O’Reilly, Heaven bless 
 him! — except it be Sir Phelim O’Neill, who has, I hear, turned 
 stone mason of late for the building of such like fabrics !” 
 
 “ Ay ! they may laugh and jest that win,” cried Bishop Beddell, 
 still more excited, and raising his cracked voice to the utmost ; 
 “ but forget not that I am and will be Bishop of Kilmore, while 
 God spares me life ! — of that title no man can rob me, Dr. Mc- 
 Sweeny, for it came to me from God himself!” 
 
 “ Prom his late Majesty King James you mean — howsoever, 
 
164 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Dr. Beddell, keep your temper an’ you may not keep your title 
 — my humble service to you !” 
 
 “ But you will bear me witness,” shouted the excited old man, 
 
 “ that I gave not in to your unlawful assumption of my dig- 
 nity !” 
 
 “ I pray you, shelter yourself from the cold !” was the Bishop’s 
 good-hurnored answer as lie mounted the horse which one of his 
 attendants held for him at a little distance down the avenue, and, 
 waving his parting salute, he rode away at a brisk trot, wilfully 
 closing his ears to the vehement protestations of the superseded 
 dignitary of King Charles’s church. 
 
 But, alas! while the good Bishop of Kilmore and the chival- 
 rous chieftains of Breffny were thus shielding from harm the 
 venerable man who, in his better days, had shown himself the 
 friend of the persecuted Catholics, far different scenes were being - 
 enacted in various parts of the same province, where the lurid 
 flame of civil war burned more fiercely and made greater havoc. 
 
 Far amongst the wild mountains of Tyrone, where one of the 
 rude castles of the O’Neills stood in its strength defending an 
 important pass, one of the saddest episodes of that sad drama had 
 lately taken place. When Charlemont Castle was taken by Sir Phe- 
 lim O’Neill it was by a clever stratagem, and the chief, well disposed 
 towards the veteran soldier, who was at once its owner and the 
 commander of its garrison, strictly forbade his followers to haim 
 him or his, and, after some deliberation, (during which he had 
 been removed more than once for greater security from one 
 stronghold to another,) finally resolved on sending him to the 
 mountain-fortalice above referred to until such time as he might 
 turn his capture to account by obtaining other prisoners in ex- 
 change for him. Thither, then, Lord Caulfield was conveyed, 
 with his family, in the early part of November, escorted by a 
 party of O’Neill’s men. Lady Caulfield and her children were 
 safely lodged in the Castle, her husband was already on the 
 threshold when, unluckily for himself, he made some imprudent 
 remark concerning Sir Phelim O’Neill, little complimentary to 
 that chieftain’s honor or 'good faith. He was passing between 
 some six or eight of O’Neill’s clansmen at the moment, and their 
 hot blood could ill brook words derogatory to their chief. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 1, i “> 
 
 “ Say that again,” cried one of them, “ and you pass not that 
 threshold with your life !” 
 
 Caulfield, unawed by this threat, repeated what he had said, 
 and with increased bitterness — another moment and six skenes 
 were in his body : he fell across the threshold a lifeless corpse, 
 the victim, surely of his own imprudence, rather than of premed- 
 itated treachery on the part of his captors. The cry of terror 
 and dismay which arose from their comrades was not needed to 
 alarm the culprits, who had hardly done the deed when they 
 would have given worlds to recall it. They knew that their 
 chieftain’s wrath was terrible and that he would exact a rigorous 
 account of the blood they had just shed. 
 
 When Sir Phelim heard of what had happened, he acted with 
 a coolness little to be expected from his fiery nature. He neither 
 blustered nor stormed as was his wont when laboring under great 
 excitement, but he ordered the offenders to be brought before 
 him, and waited their appearance with a calmness more terrible 
 to those around who knew him well, than the most violent mani- 
 festation of anger. 
 
 Some minutes elapsed without the offenders making their ap- 
 pearance, and Sir Phelim began to wax impatient, especially as, 
 from certain significant looks and gestures passing rapidly 
 amongst his officers, he concluded that the delay was not acci- 
 dental. Pacing to and fro in front of his tent, he repeated his 
 command in a louder and more threatening tone — still no prisoners 
 appeared, and the angiy chief was about to proceed on a quest 
 that would likely have proved fatal to those concerned, when a 
 stir was noticed in another direction, and round a projecting 
 angle of a wall rode up to the general’s tent a young gentleman 
 of grave and sedate aspect, with an elderly lady in a cloak and 
 riding-hood, mounted on a pillion behind him. They were 
 followed by a couple of serving-men whose composed demeanor, 
 round ruddy faces, and smooth, well-combed locks pointed them 
 out as of Saxon rather than Gaelic origin. It was English, too, 
 that the party spoke, when they came to exchange salutations 
 with those of the camp. 
 
 Sir Phelim advanced hastily to assist the lady from her ele- 
 vated seat, though his greeting manifested anything but pleasure. 
 
166 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ In God’s name, mother, what wind blew you hitherward — 
 surely this be no place for hoods or kirtles !” 
 
 “ I know it, Phelim, and I come not from choice, believe my 
 word, but pressed by sore trouble and anxiety on your account 
 I prayed Alexander to conduct me hither that I might hear 
 from your own lips the truth which will either give me rest or a 
 heavier load of sorrow to bear for evermore.” 
 
 “ Why, what in the d ’s name is she driving at, Alick 
 
 cried Sir Piielim with ill-concealed discontent as he turned to 
 the gentleman, who was no other than his half-brother, by a 
 second marriage. “ What docs it all mean 7” 
 
 Alexander Hovenden only smiled and said : “ she will tell you 
 that full quickly !” 
 
 “ I came hither, Phelim,” said the aged matron, dropping 
 her voice so as to reach only her son’s ear, “ to know from your- 
 self in person whether you be chargeable with the death of that 
 good man, Lord Caulfield, as people say you are — tell me, my 
 son ! what am I to believe concerning this foul deed, for since I 
 hoard of it, I cannot eat, or drink, or sleep !” 
 
 “ Mother,” said Sir Phelim O’Neill, and opening his large eyes 
 wide he fixed them full on those of his parent, “ mother, as I 
 hope to be saved, I solemnly assure you that I knew not of 
 this murder — for murder I do call it — until it was too late to do 
 aught but punish the guilty — which that I do in all sincerity, 
 you may see in a few minutes’ time. Why, Mistress Hovenden, 
 my good mother, I had hoped much from the imprisonment of 
 my Lord Caulfield, whose death I look on as a heavy loss, not to 
 speak of the good esteem in which I held him as a right valiant 
 old soldier and a jovial, hearty neighbor — but stay — -what is this 
 — how — do mine eyes see right, or is that Shamus 7” 
 
 Alas ! it was Shamus, the beloved foster-brother, the trustiest 
 vassal that ever followed chief to the field — and there he stood, 
 one of the six whom Sir Phelim had already doomed to death. 
 Seeing him thus, O’Neill struck his brow with his open palm, and 
 turned away in violent agitation. Turning again he walked close 
 up to Shamus, whose downcast eyes scarcely appeared to notice 
 his presence. 
 
 “ Shamus !” said the chief, in a voice trembling with emotion, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 107 
 
 “ Shamus, are you a murderer — did you aid in slaying a prisoner 
 entrusted to your care — a prisoner of rank and note 'l — speak, 
 Shamus, did you do this deed ?’ 
 
 “ My chief, I did not," said the foster-brother, raising his eyes 
 for the first time, “ I have made my death-shrift but now, and I 
 tell you —believe me or not — that I am innocent of this crime, 
 which Modder and the rest pan tell you as well as I.” 
 
 But Modder O’Neill, a fierce-looking mountaineer with fiery 
 red hair, when questioned by his chief, declined to answer, al- 
 leging that he knew nothing more than that Shamus Beg was on 
 the spot — whether he struck the Sassenach lord he could not tell. 
 
 “ God forgive you; Modder !” cried Shamus, in a reproachful 
 tone, “ you know well I had neither act nor part in it, only that 
 I helped to lift the corpse when them that ought to be in my 
 
 place took to their heels 
 
 “ And who is that?" demanded Sir Phelim. 
 
 “ If you dare !” cried Modder, with a look of savage 
 
 ferocity. 
 
 “ I would dare,’ - replied Shamus, returning the look with one 
 of stern defiance, “only that what I never done before, I’ll not do 
 now — that is turn informer — Sir Phelim, if you think me guilty, 
 I’m ready to bear whatever punishment you lay on me !’’ 
 
 “ You must die, then, Shamus, though it breaks my heart to 
 say it ” 
 
 “ Son ! son !’* exclaimed Mistress Hovenden, coming forward 
 with clasped hands, “the same milk nursed you both — for the sake 
 of his dead mother who loved you as her own, spare his life — 
 spare poor Shamus, I beseech you 1” 
 
 “ Mother, I cannot spare him without sparing the others, and 
 I have sworn by the soul of the great Nial that the murderers of 
 Toby Caulfield shall die — die !" he repeated with fierce empha- 
 sis, stamping his foot at the same time ; “ if it were my own bro- 
 ther, he should share the same fate ’’ 
 
 “ More shame for you, O’Neill,” said Modder suddenly, “ it 
 was on your account we did it — an’ it were to do over again, you 
 might do it yourself ” 
 
 “ Silence !” cried the chieftain in a voice of thunder ; “ you 
 have left a stain upon my name which your heart’s blood can 
 
1GS 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 never wash out — here, you, Teague, take twelve of the best 
 shots in your company, and shoot these six there behind — be- 
 hind — ” he strove to keep up a show of stern indifference but 
 it would not do — his rough voice sank to a whisper, and at last 
 failed him quite — pointing with his hand to the fatal spot which 
 he would have mentioned, he rushed away, followed, however, by 
 several of the chieftains who, hearing of what was going on, 
 hastened to intercede for the unhappy culprits. 
 
 But Sir Phelim, who had already rejected his mother’s inter- 
 cession, was little likely to hear them with more favor, and in a 
 very few minutes all would have been over with the prisoners, 
 when a duplicate image of Modder O'Neill was seen making his 
 way through the doggedly silent and discontented crowd, and 
 seizing Shamus by the arm as, fiercely as though he would have 
 torn him to pieces, he dragged him back to the presence of their 
 chief, crying with the fury of a maniac : 
 
 “ It was I did it, Sir Phelim, and not him — he wouldn’t inform 
 on me, so I will !” 
 
 A cry of anguish from Modder brought all eyes on him, and 
 the ghastly visage with which he stared on his twin brother, thus 
 throwing himself on death, was a piteous sight to behold. IIow 
 that wild, fierce man must have loved that no less uncouth bro- 
 ther of his, and the despairing look with which he regarded him, 
 moved every heart. But Phadrig heeded him not at all, so intent 
 was he on carrying out his wild idea of justice. 
 
 “ I did it, Sir Phelim, and not Shamus — I stabbed the Sassen- 
 ach chief — he said you were a base traitor — and I silenced his 
 lying tongue with my skene — I did it, and I’m willing to die for 
 it, but let Shamus go! — for he’s innocent!” 
 
 “Thank God!” murmured Mistress Hovenden, and her young- 
 er son advancing shook Shamus warmly by the hand. 
 
 “ It is well,” said Sir Phelim, the ruddy tinge returning sud- 
 denly to his cheek and brow, “release Shamus, Teague, and 
 take Phadrig O’Neill in custody. I am sorry for you, Phadrig, 
 my honest fellow ! by the sounding Lia Fial , I am, but justice 
 must be done ” 
 
 It was now Shamus’s turn to sue for “ poor witless Phadrig,” 
 and other mediators of, higher rank were not slack in their sup- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 169 
 
 plications for a general pardon of the six, — even his own chap- 
 lain adding his entreaties, — but Sir Phelim silenced them all with 
 a ferocity that was partly assumed, and having allowed time, as 
 a special grace, for Phadrig to receive the last rites, he consigned 
 the prisoners to their fate,* with as much coolness as though 
 they were so many of the hated Scotch troopers. 
 
 The other chieftains, with the sole exception of Rory Maguire, 
 withdrew to their quarters in displeasure, and even Mistress 
 Hovenden, albeit that she rejoiced to know her son innocent of 
 Lord Caulfield’s murder, refused to partake of any refreshment 
 at his hands, and left the camp immediately. As for Shamus, he 
 hardly knew, he said, whether to be glad or sorry, for, after the 
 way in which poor Phadrig acted,, he would as soon have died 
 himself in a manner, as see him die — to be sure, whatever Sir 
 Phelim did was right, but somehow he could not help thinking 
 that the black looks and lowering brows of the clansmen were 
 not without good cause, considering that the unlucky old Sas- 
 senach had brought his death on himself if ever man did. 
 
 * It is said, in justification of Sir Phelim, that, on hearing of Lord 
 Caulfield’s murder, he caused six of his men to be put to death in 
 punishment of that crime. 
 
 8a 
 
170 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 “Experience, wounded, is tlie school 
 Where men learn piercing wisdom.” 
 
 Lord Brook. 
 
 M Those that fly may fight again, 
 
 Which he can never do that’s slain ; 
 
 Hence, timely running’s no mean part 
 Of conduct in th-e martial art.” 
 
 Butler’s Hudibras. 
 
 The last days of November had come on, and, although the 
 insurgent forces had, as I have shown, overrun nearly all Ulster, 
 with some counties of Leinster and Connaught — for great part 
 of Sligo had recently followed the example of Leitrim — still, 
 strange to say, they had never yet encountered the enemy in 
 open field. For so far, they had it all their own way, as one 
 might say, the few troops who were at the government’s disposal 
 being kept so selfishly and at the same time so imprudently 
 within the limits of the capital. Owing to the unaccountable 
 supineness of the Lords Justices, Ormond’s military talents were 
 comparatively useless, for, under one pretence or another, he 
 was kept inactive in Dublin, waiting for forces which were not 
 forthcoming, his proud spirit chafed and mortified by the power- 
 less condition to which he w r as reduced, and the little regard 
 paid to his proposals, which, had they been acted upon, w r ould 
 speedily have arrested the progress of the rebellion. To crown 
 his mortification, he saw Sir Charles Coote entrusted with what- 
 ever operations were carried on, and empowered to levy forces 
 almost at discretion, while he, with his consciousness of superior 
 ability, possessing, too, the confidence of his sovereign, and vested 
 in some degree with his authority, was yet, through the narrow 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 171 
 
 jealousy and suspicious bigotry of the Lords Justices and their 
 party in the Council, compelled to a most disgraceful inactivity. 
 
 Much was expected by Ormond and what might be called the 
 royalist party in the Couneil from the opening of Parliament, 
 which, adjourned in the previous August, was to meet in this 
 month of November. But, to the utter astonishment of all, ex- 
 cept those who were in the confidence of Parsons and his col- 
 leagues, a few days before that fixed on for the opening of Par- 
 liament, a proclamation was issued declaring it prorogued till 
 the following February. This arbitrary and most insane step 
 excited such a storm of indignation and drew forth such angry 
 remonstrances from almost all parties, that the Lords Justices 
 agreed to have the Parliament sit for one day, provided the two 
 estates would unite in a strong protestation against the rebels. 
 This was agreed to, and the Parliament assembled, as was its 
 wont, within the walls of the Castle, guarded by the whole avail- 
 able force of the government, and further secured from unwel- 
 come intrusion by the exclusion, by proclamation, of all strangers 
 from the city. 
 
 The Lords and Commons after much deliberation agreed on a 
 form of protest which, though not at all strong enough for the liking 
 of the Executive, was gladly received and industriously scattered 
 throughout the country. A parliamentary commission, consisting 
 of nine lords and twelve commoners, was then appointed to treat 
 with the rebels about laying down their arms, and this done, the 
 assembly was prorogued in the most arbitrary and tyrannical 
 manner possible by Parsons himself, notwithstanding that a nu- 
 merous deputation from each of the two houses was sent to him 
 to request that the session might continue si little longer that 
 measures might be taken to suppress the rebellion. This was 
 peremptorily refused, and the Parliament was forced to dissolve 
 at the very moment when its deliberations were most necessary 
 for the country, and its counsel and direction most required by 
 the bulk of the people. 
 
 Meanwhile the Lords of the Pale were in no enviable position. 
 Keeping entirely aloof from the rebels, and taking all possible 
 care to avoid anything that might appear like sympathy with 
 them or their cause, they did all that in them lay to attach them- 
 
172 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 selves to the government party, and to obtain even a share of 
 government confidence. Their application for arms on loyal pre- 
 tences was, as we have seen, successful, but only in a very mo- 
 derate degree, for the five hundred stand of arms granted to 
 them was not more than sufficient for the defence of a single 
 county, much less the five inclosed within the Pale. A short way 
 would it have gone against the pikes and muskets and hatchets 
 of the northern clans, as the Norman lords bitterly said amongst 
 themselves. 
 
 Small, however, as the supply was, it was rather encouraging 
 to the Palesmen, as showing a certain amount of confidence on 
 the part of the Executive, and Lord Gormanstown, to whom the 
 arms were sent, lost no time in distributing them as far as they 
 went, amongst the border castles of the Pale. It is probable that 
 the exaggerated reports concerning these military stores would 
 only have excited the Ulster chiefs to attack those castles all the 
 sooner with a view to obtain, if possible, what they stood most 
 in need of, but almost before the news had time to reach them, 
 a peremptory order was sent to Lord' Gormanstown from the 
 Castle to send back the arms without delay. Great was his lord- 
 ship’s discomfiture and bitter his mortification, for, of course, he 
 and his friends had been making a great parade of the trust re- 
 posed in them by the powers that were. But even this new in- 
 sult they were forced to pocket, and the arms were duly returned 
 to the arsenal in Dublin to the no small amusement of Lord 
 Ormond and men of his stamp, amongst whom it was jocularly 
 remarked that the arms aforesaid having been for days in Popish 
 hands must needs undergo some process of purification ere they 
 were given for use to godly Protestants. 
 
 Certain of the lords thus insulted repaired forthwith to Dublin 
 to offer their humble remonstrances to the Lords Justices, but, 
 even there they found a trifling difficulty in the way, for, on 
 reaching the metropolis, they were denied admission, the gates 
 being closed, they were told, against all persons residing at a 
 certain distance from the city. But they went on business of 
 importance to the government. It mattered not, the orders were 
 peremptory. So the magnates of the Pale, the ultra-loyal sup- 
 porters of Parson’s government, and the determined foes of all 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 173 
 
 rebellion — right or wrong — were under the painful necessity of 
 turning their backs on the viceregal city in which all their hopes 
 were centred. Like the false knight in the old roundelay 
 
 “ They love and they ride away,” 
 
 ride away from government patronage and all its soothing hopes 
 and prospects, which, to such very loyal gentlemep, was a sore 
 affliction. Blank was the comely oval face of Gormanstown, as he 
 turned his horse’s head for home, and Dunsany’s thin, sharp fea tures 
 grew wofully wan, whilst Netlerville, who was also of the party, 
 was half inclined to laugh at a rebuff which, of all the Norman 
 lords, he regretted the least, for reasons known unto himself. 
 
 “ It passes belief,” said Lord Gormanstown, “ that any admin- 
 istration should so goad men on to rebellion ” 
 
 “ So far does it outstrip credibility,” put in Dunsany, “ that I 
 will never believe this rejection of our services to proceed from 
 the Lords Justices or the Council, unless I have it from Parsons 
 himself, or some other member of the government. Why, the 
 thing is wholly impossible when we bethink us of the favor where- 
 with the first tender of our services was received ” 
 
 “ I think as you do, my Lord Dunsany,” said Gormanstown 
 gravely, “ and we will not give up our hopes of being rightly 
 understood without another trial. What say your lordships to 
 our meeting — I mean the chief men of the Pale — at Killeen Castle, 
 as the more central, three days hence, and then after holding 
 counsel together, to name one or two of our number to repair to 
 Dublin and there assure the Lords Justices in a still more solemn 
 manner than heretofore of our entire devotion to the royal cause, 
 and our anxious desire to be employed in any way their lord- 
 ships may deem fitting for the suppression of this dangerous 
 rebellion 
 
 Dunsany eagerly caught this new idea, and although Netter- 
 ville was clearly of opinion that sufficient pains had been already 
 taken to demonstrate their loyalty, he agreed to be present at 
 the meeting, and to advertise the noblemen and gentlemen of his 
 vicinity where and when it was to be. 
 
 So the over-loyal magnates of the Pale met at Killeen Castle, 
 
174 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 enjoyed Lord Fingal’s princely hospitality, railed at the hot-headed 
 folly o r the “ mere Irish,” and appointed Lord Dunsany to convey 
 their loyal and fhost submissive sentiments to their mightinesses of 
 the Castle, with their humble prayer to be allowed to serve the 
 state and defend their own possessions at the same time against 
 the savage hordes who were already encroaching on their domains. 
 
 Much was expected from this embassy of Dunsany, who, well 
 pleased with the office, set out in high spirits for Dublin, ponder- 
 ing, doubtless, as he went on the perspective advantages likely 
 to accrue to himself and his brethren of the Pale. But Patrick 
 Plunket, like many another very sagacious individual of his 
 stamp, reckoned without his host, and so did those who sent him. 
 It was long ere they saw his face again — some of them never on 
 earth — and the gracious reply and warm commendation of their 
 good dispositions, which they fully expected him to bear back, 
 never reached their longing ears, for Sir William Parsons, having 
 heard what Dunsany had to say, was so charmed by that noble- 
 man’s loyal sentiments and so grateful for the same, that he must 
 needs treat him hospitably, and with that laudable intention, 
 doubtless, sent him to share the imprisonment of the northern 
 chiefs in the dungeons of the Castle.* 
 
 Alas ! for the would-be loyal Catholics of the Pale when 
 these tidings reached them ! bow blanched their cheeks, how 
 ghastly the look which they turned one on the other, and ho'w 
 hollow the voice in which each made his brief comment on the 
 strange announcement. 
 
 “ Dunsany in prison!” cried Fingal. 
 
 “ The loyalest noble of the Pale !” echoed Gormanstown. 
 
 “ Parsons must be mad !” said the courtly Louth. 
 
 “ There be more than Parsons so,” quoth Netterville bluntly; 
 “ methinks all Ireland will set us down as crazy-pates, and, by 
 mine honor, not without good reason !” 
 
 “ Who knows,” said a stout elderly gentleman of martial as- 
 pect, “ but they may send Sir Charles Coote amongst us some 
 
 * Burke, in his British and Irish Peerage, says that this imprison- 
 ment of Lord Dunsany lasted for several years — in fact, till after the 
 Restoration. So much for the gratitude and honor of Parsons. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 175 
 
 of these days — an’ they do, the Tyrone man’s countenance and 
 succor were worth having — there be no man on Irish ground to 
 meet Coote in due form save O’Neill!” 
 
 “O’Neill is no general,” said Lord Slaney in a contemptuous 
 tone; “ if he wins it is by good luck and brute force, not by skill 
 or prudence.” 
 
 “ Ay, but there be others of the northern chiefs more skilled 
 in warcraft than he,” observed Lord Netterville, “and there is 
 Roger 0’ Moore, with whose prudence and sagacity, not to speak 
 of other rare qualities, we are all well acquainted.” 
 
 “ Surely yes,” said Lord Trimbleston, who had not yet spoken ; 
 “ Roger O’Moore is well fitted for courtly diplomacy — no man 
 more wise or discreet, or of more winning tongue than he, but I 
 have no faith in his military skill— an’ it come to a trial of 
 strength, as it soon will, no doubt, there be no man as yet , 
 amongst the insurgent leaders, able to cope for one hour with 
 Ormond, or even with .Coote — brave men and gallant chieftains 
 they have — I deny it not — such as O’Rourke, O’Reilly, and 
 McMahon — men who would do honor to any cause, but they 
 have not that knowledge or experience in the art of war which 
 ■might give them a chance of success.” 
 
 “ By my faith, Trimbleston,” said Louth with a significant 
 smde, “ your speech savors of more interest in their affairs than 
 
 becometh a loyal gentleman ” 
 
 “Loyal!” repeated Trimbleston with emphasis, “I know not 
 but these gallant chieftains of the old stock who have boldly 
 taken up arms for country and religion be the loyal men rather 
 than we — excuse me, lords and gentlemen — who have been of- 
 fering incense to bigotry and injustice — before God this day, I 
 shame to think of how we have humbled ourselves before these 
 upstart Puritans, the bitter enemies of our faith and all who 
 profess it !” 
 
 Lord Trimbleston rose as he spoke these words with honest 
 warmth, and many a pale cheek amongst his hearers waxed red 
 with the glow of a new-born spirit, and many a knightly gentle- 
 man laid his hand on his sword-hilt as he joined in the shout of 
 applause which greeted the Baron’s short but significant address. 
 Still, there was amongst the Palesmen there assembled too much 
 
176 
 
 TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 of the time-serving and timorous spirit which had of late charac- 
 terized the degenerate sons of the Norman knights of old for 
 any genuine act of patriotism to he elicited from their worldly 
 and over-cautious minds — all the experience of the past months 
 was not sufficient, it would seem, to show them that their duty and 
 their true interest pointed in the same direction. They had ever 
 regarded the native Irish with contempt, as a race wholly inferior, 
 and only fit for that serfdom which their fathers imposed on the 
 conquered Saxons of England, and in viewing them still in that 
 light they could not or would not make common cause with them, 
 until every vestige of hope was taken from them by the acts of 
 that government to which they clung with the blindest infatuation. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Ulster forces, unwilling longer to be cooped 
 up within their own limits when so much was to be done in the 
 other provinces, began to penetrate in large bodies into the ad- 
 joining counties of the Pale. Crossing the borders with banners 
 flying, they attacked and took several strong Castles ; at length 
 growing bolder from success, the O’Reillys and McMahons laid 
 siege to the house of Lord Moore at Mellifont, within a few miles 
 of Drogheda, and succeeded in taking it by storm, to the ex- 
 treme mortification of its noble owner, who was justly considered 
 as one of the best officers in the government service. With his 
 family, however, he retreated to Drogheda, leaving his lordly 
 manor in the hands of the Catholics, and what was far more of 
 triumph to them the sacred vale of Mellifont, at whose ruined 
 and desecrated shrines the chieftains knelt with swelling hearts 
 to give thanks for their success, and invoke the blessing of God 
 and His saints on their future efforts to redeem His suffering 
 people. AVhere the ill-starred Dervorgil wept and prayed of old 
 in penitential mood, the brave defenders of their country and 
 their creed, catching fresh enthusiasm from the mournful yet 
 hallowed scene, vowed to do yet greater things for the holy cause 
 to which their lives were pledged, nor sheath their swords till 
 freedom and justice were established in the land on a firm basis. 
 
 So long as the native chieftains kept within the bounds of the 
 northern province, the government were clearly well content to 
 let them work their will on the king’s lieges, godly and ungodly, 
 as the case might be, but when once they crossed the marches 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 177 
 
 and began to clear the bawns of the Pale of the fat beeves which 
 were wont to supply magnificent sirloins for Dublin boards, and 
 still worse, when their rebellious flags began to appear on castle- 
 keeps within a score of miles of the metropolis, as in the case of 
 Mellifont, then, indeed, it was time to bestir themselves, or there 
 was no knowing how soon the very gates of Dublin might creak 
 and shiver beneath their ponderous axes. Word was even brought 
 them at the council-board that the rebels meditated a speedy at- 
 tack on Drogheda, headed by Sir Phelim himself with the chosen 
 men of his army. 
 
 Immediately a commission was issued to raise four regiments 
 in the vicinity of Dublin, and with one of these, a thousand 
 strong, and a goodly troop of horse, Sir Charles Coote was sent 
 to scour the counties of Meath and Louth and drive the rebels 
 back into Ulster, giving no quarter to such as fell into his hands. 
 
 The latter part of the instructions Coote heard with a sardonic 
 smile, believing the order somewhat superfluous in his case. 
 
 A strong reinforcement was, at the same time, sent to Drogheda 
 under the command of Sir Patrick Wemyss. These troops, on the 
 eve of their departure, were reviewed by Lord Ormond, who 
 pronounced them hardly sufficient for the purpose, but the Lords 
 Justices would not consent to any further reduction of the me- 
 tropolitan forces, and Sir Patrick had nothing for it but to set 
 his column in motion, while the Earl bowed with lofty grace and 
 a smile of forced acquiescence. 
 
 Wemyss and his men were alike disheartened by the Earl’s 
 opinion of their insufficiency in point of numbers, and, to make 
 matters worse, the day was dull and misty, threatening rain. 
 More experienced soldiers would have probably exulted in the 
 prospect of meeting a superior force of the wild Irish in hopes 
 of signalizing their powers, but Sir Patrick’s command was com- 
 posed entirely of raw recruits from the new levies ; men, for the 
 most part, to whom the smell of powder was less trying than the 
 glitter of an Irish skene. On they marched, however, with as 
 great show of military ardor as though their valor had stood the 
 test of an hundred fields. The level plains of Dublin were soon 
 passed, and many a mile of the rich lands of Louth, and already 
 the confidence of the Palesmen began to revive \vhen Balbriggan 
 8 * 
 
178 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and Balruddery were left far behind, and they found themselves 
 nearing the place of their destination. The picturesque, heights 
 on the Nanny- water were already in sight, or ought to be — for 
 the cold, thick mist rested cheerlessly on every object — when 
 a horse was heard approaching at full gallop across the fields, 
 and, Sir Patrick sending a scout or two to reconnoitre, they re- 
 turned with a courier sent by Lord Gormanstown to apprise the 
 officer in command that a strong detachment of the Irish army 
 was stationed at Julians-town bridge, only a little farther on, 
 awaiting their approach. 
 
 At this confirmation of their worst fears, the men were at first 
 seized with trepidation, and were more disposed to retreat than 
 to go forward, but Sir Patrick, himself a brave soldier, repre- 
 senting to them in brief but stirring terms the disgrace which 
 was sure to follow such a step, and, moreover, the heavy punish- 
 ment which they might expect, the column again turned its head 
 towards Drogheda and marched steadily down the gentle slope 
 leading to the bridge. It was little wonder if the stoutest heart 
 there beat more quickly, and the bravest held his breath, for 
 they knew not but death awaited them all in the misty depth of 
 the valley. Urged on, however, by their gallant leader, they 
 gained the bridge, crossed it, and marched in good order up the 
 opposite acclivity without any other obstacle opposing their way 
 than the mizzling rain which now began to beat in their faces. 
 
 Elated by this agreeable disappointment, the men were with 
 difficulty kept from expressing their joy in a loud “hurrah,” but 
 they said one to another with bounding hearts and gleeful eyes : 
 “Now for Drogheda — the cowardly rebels will scarce venture so 
 near the guns of Millmount <” 
 
 But their commander was far from sharing their confidence, 
 and as he rode on at the head of his column, his face had a stern 
 and determined look, his keen gray eyes piercing the mist in all 
 directions as though seeking some expected object. Without no- 
 ticing his ominous silence, his men kept laughing and talking 
 amongst themselves, in anticipation of the guardroom fire and the 
 foaming tankard, when, just about a quarter of a mile beyond the 
 bridge, they were struck dumb by the fierce clan-shouts of an 
 Irish host, as it seemed to them, and the equally terrific sound of 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 179 
 
 pipe and war-trump striking up a martial strain. At the same 
 moment, the rain ceased, and the mist clearing partially away, 
 disclosed to the affrighted soldiers of the Pale what appeared 
 to them a whole army of the enemy, the foot drawn up in five 
 battalions, flanked on either side by a troop of horse. 
 
 Immediately the English bugles sounded a charge, and VVemyss 
 and his officers tried hard to get their men in order of battle. 
 Just, however, wfien they seemed to have succeeded, another 
 shout from the Irish ranks, and a slight forward movement, struck 
 new terror into the hearts of the amateur soldiers, and with scarcely 
 a glance at the formidable array before them, they fairly turned 
 their backs and fled, notwithstanding that their commander and 
 others of his subordinates threw themselves from their horses and 
 did what men could to bar their retreat. Maddened by the yells 
 of derisive laughter from behind, and yet not daring to turn on 
 the fierce foe whom they fancied in full pursuit, the Dublin men 
 rushed with headlong speed towards the bridge, little recking 
 that they turned their backs on Drogheda and left its garrison 
 to their fate. 
 
 Well for them that the mist closed in behind them thick and 
 heavy, so as to prevent the possibility of pursuit — else had they 
 never reached Dublin with the news of their own disgrace. As 
 it was they effected their retreat without any loss, leaving the 
 enemy a bloodless victory, and what they well loved, a standing 
 joke in relation to “ the battle of Julians-town.” 
 
 They had reached Swords on their way back when, cowering 
 in the shade of the old round tower, with a view to protect him- 
 self from the now pelting rain, they found an individual mounted 
 on a shaggy pony and enveloped from head to waist in the many- 
 folded scarf of home-made woollen then generally worn by the 
 lower orders of the native Irish, after the manner of a Highland 
 plaid. This personage, having his back turned towards them, 
 was wholly unconscious of the approach of the soldiers till a 
 loud halloo, coupled with the epithet of “Irish dog,” made him 
 turn his head just as a heavy grasp was laid on his shoulder. 
 The ludicrous mixture of >surpris9 and terror depicted on his 
 lank features made the Palesmen laugh heartily, and well it was 
 
180 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 for him that he presented so woe-begone a spectacle as to move 
 even the mortified and crest-fallen Wemyss to mirth. 
 
 “ What do you here, you pitiful d 1 1” said the sergeant 
 
 whose clutch was on his shoulders; “ be you a spy or what'?” 
 
 “Dominus Vobiscum” was the reply,— “no, no, God forgive 
 me for saying the like to — to — ahem ! I’m no spy, an’ it please 
 you, sir ! — I’d scorn the like.” 
 
 “ Where do you come from, then, and who the foul fiend are 
 you — quick, for we cannot stand here in the rain waiting on 
 such a scarecrow !” This was from one of the officers. 
 
 “ I come from McMahon’s country, and if you’re curious to 
 know my name I’ll tell you, and \yelcome — my name is Malachy 
 McMahon. There’s another name they give me at home, but 
 that’s the right one.” 
 
 “ McMahon’s country !” repeated Wemyss, “ why the man’s a 
 fool — what brought you here all alone if that be your dwelling- 
 place 1 Answer me, fellow 1” 
 
 “Well, it’s a little business I had in Dublin,” said Malachy, 
 “ if I could get there— but dear knows when that will be, except 
 your worship or some of these good-looking sassum dergs would 
 be pleased to direct me, for I’m wandering like a ghost hither and 
 thither in search of it, and never seems to be coming any nearer ! 
 There’s a great man there that I’d wish to have a word with.” 
 
 “ And who may the great man be, you numscull 1” 
 
 The first name that occurred to Malachy was that of Ormond, 
 but luckily for himself, and perhaps for the Earl, too, he cun- 
 ningly changed his mind ; “ I don’t know if you know him,” said 
 the keen Monaghan man with a look of great simplicity ; “ but 
 anyhow his name is Sir William Parsons, a very fine gentleman 
 and a great lord besides, at least people say so, down where I 
 come from !” 
 
 Many of the soldiers laughed outright, but not so Sir Patrick 
 Wemyss. 
 
 “ Why not tell us at first that your business was with him 1” 
 he said shortly. 
 
 “ Well, because you didn’t ask me the question !” 
 
 “Take him along!” cried Wemyss, “and march!” an order 
 which was promptly obeyed, for the men were on thorns while 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 181 
 
 they stood, and had they dared would have made short work of 
 the “ d d Irish fool,” as they very erroneously styled Malachy. 
 
 “ Take me along !” echoed McMahon, “ why, it isn’t a prisoner 
 I’d heT’ 
 
 “ You want to have speech of Sir William Parsons,” said 
 Wemyss sternly ; “no more talk, but come with us !” 
 
 It would have fared harder with poor Malachy had not Sir 
 Patrick set him down in his own mind as an informer, a class of 
 persons then largely employed and liberally encouraged by the 
 government. 
 
 In such company and under such circumstances it was that our 
 friend from Uriel made his entry into Dublin, but he knew Par- 
 sons too well by reputation to let the joke go so far as appearing 
 in his presence. Passing under the gloomy arch of one of the 
 city gates, he contrived to detach himself from the soldiers who, 
 confused and ashamed of their ignoble conduct, had little atten- 
 tion to bestow on him. Even Wemyss thought no more of him 
 till he was about to appear himself before the Lords Justices to 
 give an account of his unlucky expedition. It is unnecessary to 
 say that the man from McMahon’s country was nowhere to be 
 found. Sir Patrick finding himself thus duped, looked blank 
 enough, but he little thought how often Malachy na Soggarth 
 made merry amongst the clansmen of Uriel over the trick he 
 played on the Sassenach chief, whom he got so cunningly “ to 
 show him the way to Dublin !” 
 
182 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 “ Ah mo ! what perils do environ 
 The man that meddles with cold iron ! 
 
 For tho’ Dame Fortune seem to smilo 
 And leer upon him for awhile, 
 
 She’ll after show him, in the nick 
 0. all his glories, a dog- trick.” 
 
 Butler’s Hudibras. 
 
 ’Tis necessity 
 
 “ To which the gods must yield ; and I obey, 
 
 Till I redeem it by' some glorious way.” 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 But whilst the Catholic arms were beginning to command 
 fear, if not respect, within the territory of the Pale, how was it 
 with Sir Phelim and the vast multitude who followed his stand- 
 ard 1 Alas ! the flush of conquest which attended his first ca- 
 reer had subsided into a dull, cheerless state that was neither 
 life nor death — it was partly struggle and partly the inaction of 
 failing hope. The castles he had won were for the most part 
 still in the hands of his friends, so, too, were the smaller and less 
 important towns, but some of the principal forts had unhappily 
 been retaken by the enemy, and that through no want of bravery 
 or perseverance on the part of the Irish, but because leaders of 
 greater skill than any they then had to boast of were sent from 
 Carrickfergus and other places against them with artillery and 
 other war equipage of which they were wholly destitute. Even 
 powder and other ammunition would have long since failed them 
 had it not been for the supplies which they succeeded in wrest- 
 ing from the enemy. Now when the remaining fortresses were 
 too well garrisoned and supplied with military stores, and tho 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 183 
 
 Scotch forces increased by a strong reinforcement under Lord 
 Leven were scattered in large bodies over northern Ulster, there 
 was little chance of continued success for an inexperienced ge- 
 neral like Sir Phelim, with a raw, undisciplined host, badly armed 
 and badly accoutred in every way.* In fact, when the first en- 
 thusiasm began to die for lack of any substantial encouragement, 
 and obstacles, not at first foreseen, began to arise and went on 
 increasing in magnitude from day to day, the very numbers of 
 Sir Phelim’s forces became an incumbrance of which he knew 
 not well how to dispose, for with abundance of animal courage 
 and the most sincere devotion to the cause, he was unhappily 
 wanting in those other qualities which constitute an able general. 
 He was, moreover, too much under the control of passion to ac- 
 quire much influence over others, or command that respect to 
 which his position entitled him. Many of his associates in com- 
 mand were repelled by his harsh, overbearing demeanor, and 
 mortified by seeing the boyish gusts of passion to which, on the 
 slightest provocation, he gave way. With heavy hearts they ac- 
 knowledged to each other that with such a leader there was little 
 prospect of success, especially as no succor was coming from 
 abroad, and no solid or lasting advantage had been gained at 
 home after the first weeks of the rebellion. 
 
 Newry, so early taken by the impetuous valor of Magennis, 
 was retaken by Scotch troops under Lord Conway, after being 
 'but a few weeks in possession of the Irish. Other cities which 
 yet remained in their hands were expected to share the same fate 
 as soon as a reasonable force presented itself with proper provi- 
 sion for a siege. 
 
 Yet still Sir Phelim fought on, wherever fighting was to be 
 done, his temper, as may well be imagined, no way improved 
 by the discouraging aspect of his present affairs, but his courage 
 and activity, if possible, increased by the reverses he had lately 
 encountered. The clouds were gathering darkly around him, 
 
 * Lord Ormond, writing to the King about thi3 time, makes the fol- 
 lowing remarks: “The rebels are in great numbers, for the most part 
 very meanly armed with such weapons as would rather show them to 
 be a tumultuary rabble than anything like an army.” See Carte’s 
 Ormond. 
 
184 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and no gleam of hope illumined his soul — no aid came from 
 abroad, no sign of life amongst the noble or wealthy of the land 
 at home, yet stout Sir Phelim was undismayed, and bravely 
 holding his head above the surging waves, resolved by a bold 
 effort to recover the ground he had lost, and with it the prestige 
 of success so necessary to revive the drooping spirits of his 
 followers. 
 
 “ We will march eastward and besiege Drogheda,” said Sir 
 Phelim to his friend Magennis, as they strode to and fro together 
 in the winter twilight in the neighborhood of the camp. “ We 
 must do something, Con, — it may go hard with us, an’ we rest 
 longer on our oars.” 
 
 The gallant chieftain of Iveagh was never the man to throw 
 obstacles in the way of a bold attempt promising any degree or 
 chance of success, and, moreover, he had been for several days 
 urging upon his impracticable leader the necessity of pushing 
 the war beyond their own borders. He was, therefore, well 
 pleased with this proposal, the full merit of which, however, he 
 was content to leave with Sir Phelim as a healing unction for 
 his wounded vanity. A council of the principal officers was im- 
 mediately summoned, and the siege of Drogheda being proposed, 
 met with their entire approbation. As “ the key of the north,” 
 and commanding the Boyne, the old town was, in itself, valuable as 
 a military port, and as being directly on the road to Dublin, and 
 within less than half a day’s march of the capital, it became of 
 the last importance to secure it. 
 
 The success at Julians town and the capture of Lord Moore’s house 
 at Mellifont — both localities in the immediate neighborhood of 
 Drogheda — had contributed to inspire Sir Phelim with what seem- 
 ed otherwise an over-bold design, considering the pusillanimous 
 neutrality, to say the least of it, observed by the Lords of the Pale. 
 The country around Drogheda was all in their hands — there was 
 no reason to hope for sympathy, much less actual assistance from 
 them, and, as the chiefs bitterly said amongst themselves, it was 
 a good prospect for the Catholic army of Ulster to have probably 
 to fight its way through the domains of the Catholic nobles of 
 Leinster. 
 
 It was hard to see those degenerate Normans, if not openly 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 185 
 
 arrayed against the defenders of their faith, at least disposed to 
 stand aloof with folded arms while the tyrannical power of the 
 government was brought to hear upon them, unaided and alone 
 as they were left to oppose it with the scanty means at their 
 command. Where, alas ! was the boasted chivalry, the lofty 
 spirit of the old Norman knights who were wont to style them- 
 selves the champions of the faith — they whose magnificent foun- 
 dations of piety still covered the soil of Ireland — they who had 
 done such great things for the Church of Ireland, in atonement 
 for their oppression and spoliation of its native tribes 1 Had the 
 sons of the Fitzgeralds, the Plunkets, the Cusacks and the Dil- 
 lons, the Burkes and the Butlers, all lapsed from the faith which 
 their fathers loved, and fallen so low as to worship at the shrines 
 of Moloch and Mammon with the other creatures of the govern- 
 ment 1 There were moments when the high-souled Catholics of 
 Ulster could believe even that of them, from the tales which con- 
 stantly reached them concerning their base truckling to the 
 powers that were. It might be that they did them injustice, but 
 of that there seemed little probability. 
 
 It was just when the northern chieftains had given up all hope 
 of any patriotic movement, or friendly co-operation on the part 
 of the Palesmen, that a bleak December day found a gallant show 
 of lords and gentlemen of high degree with a numerous train of 
 their respective followers assembled on the hill of Crofty, in the 
 fair county of Meath. The rounded crest of the gently-swelling 
 eminence commanded a view far and wide over plains extending 
 into the adjoining counties of Louth and Cavan, and ever as the 
 chief men of this assembly rode to and fro on their elevated plat- 
 form, they cast many an anxious, scrutinizing glance into the far 
 distance on every side as though expectation were becoming te- 
 dious. The while they conversed amongst themselves with the 
 gravity of men engaged, or about to engage, in some affair of 
 great moment. Yet, considering the troubled aspect of the times, 
 the whole array, although imposing, was wonderfully void of 
 martial show. Neither banners nor music were there, nor weapon 
 of any kind, and even the numerous company of men in attend- 
 ance were characterized by the same staid and sober gravity 
 which marked the demeanor of their lords. The calm patience, 
 
186 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 too, with which all waited, hour after hour — whatever their pur- 
 pose might be — was worthy of admiration, and sufficiently de- 
 noted, were there no other mark of distinction, that it was not 
 the hot Milesian blood of the natives which flowed in their veins. 
 
 As the mid-day hours wore on, the stillness was broken from 
 time to time by the arrival of some lord or gentleman, with his 
 band of retainers, when a grave salute being exchanged, and 
 perhaps some brief inquiries between friends or acquaintance, 
 the new comers took their station according to their respective 
 grades, and like water broken by some falling pebble, the ripple 
 presently subsided and all was still again. The scene was im- 
 pressive as well from the high bearing of the chiefs as the vast 
 number and respectable appearance of their followers. 
 
 After some hours had thus passed, a stir was visible amongst 
 the anxious watchers on the hill, and a murmur of “ They come ! 
 they come !” was heard passing through the crowd below. Pre- 
 sently the sound of martial music came floating on the breeze — 
 near and nearer it came — and more distinct, then approaching 
 the hill from the northward was seen a gallant band of soldier- 
 men arrayed in the picturesque costume of the native troops, with 
 many-colored woollen scarfs of ample dimensions wrapping their 
 brawny shoulders, their lower limbs encased in truis and buskins, 
 and on their heads the graceful hanging cap traditionally deaf to 
 the Celts of Ireland. A banner they had, too, a gay, green banner, 
 with the royal sunburst emblazoned on one side and Ireland’s harp 
 flaunting on the other. With a light, quick step and a buoyant 
 mien they marched up the slope, those bold borderers from the 
 Irish country, and the younger gentlemen on the hill catching, as 
 it were, a gleam of their bright and hopeful spirit, gave vent to 
 sundry exclamations of pleasure and glad surprise as they rode 
 to the front to watch the approaching cavalcade. 
 
 “ By my faith,” cried Sir John Netterville, for he, with his 
 father, was of the* expectant party ; “ by my faith and honor, 
 these be men to stand by one’s side in tented field — ha, there I 
 see my old friend Roger — why, man” — he called out at his top- 
 most voice, as O’Moore, with some four or five other gentlemen, all 
 in military costume, detached themselves from their company and 
 rode up the hill— “ why, man, you must count largely on our 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 187 
 
 patience, for I swear we have been here— some of us at least — 
 since morning hours. Well for you that it is your own body and 
 bones we see, or belike trouble might come of this delay !” 
 
 O’Moore apologized in his usual brief yet forcible manner for a 
 delay wholly unintentional on his part or that of his friends, whom 
 he severally introduced to the crowd of Norman lords and gentle- 
 men as Colonels McMahon, O’Byrne, Plunket, the O’Reilly of 
 Breffny, and Captain Fox. These officers, arrayed in a costume 
 half Irish, half Spanish, presented a remarkable contrast to the 
 soberly-attired gentlemen of the Pale in their black broadcloth 
 cassocks, broadly edged with plush, and loose, long riding-cloaks, 
 all of the same, or some other almost equally sombre hue. Their 
 broad-leaved hats, too, were more akin to those worn by the Puri- 
 tans than any other head-gear of that age, so that, what with the 
 cold reserve of their manner and the cheerless character of their 
 personal attire, these proud Normans of the Pale were to all appear- 
 ance the very opposite of the gay, light-hearted, soldierly men 
 who came there to represent the native Irish. 
 
 On the part of the Palesmen, seven of their chief nobles rode 
 forward to treat with O’Moore and his friends. There was Gor- 
 manstown who, as Governor of the County, had drawn this assem- 
 bly together by his warrant ; Fingal, the premier peer of the 
 Pales,; Louth, Trimbleston, Slaney, Netterville, and the gallant 
 son of the latter. There was one wanting of the seven great 
 lords — Plunket of Dunsany was far away the tenant of a vault in 
 Dublin Castle, but though absent he was not forgotten, the 
 thought of his wrongs, and the outrage committed on their order 
 in his person, rankled in the hearts of his peers, and had, 4 doubt- 
 less, contributed no little to bring about that remarkable con- 
 ference. 
 
 When the parties had come within speaking distance, Lord 
 Gormanstown, on a sign from Lord Fingal, moved to the front, a 
 little in advance of the others, and O’ Moore instantly following his 
 example, the chieftain of Leix and the Norman peer were brought 
 within a few feet of each other in sight of their respective friends 
 and followers. Then Gormanstown, with a grave and formal 
 bow, — to which O’Moore responded by raising his plumed hat 
 
188 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 with that winning grace peculiar to himself, — thus addressed tli6 
 Irish chieftain : 
 
 “ As the Custos Rotulorum of this county of Meath, Mr. 
 O’Moore, I desire to know wherefore it is that certain of your 
 Irish troops have of late trespassed on this our territory of the 
 Pale, which as loyal subjects we are bound to keep and to hold 
 intact for our lord the king — further, I would know, most worthy 
 sir, why you with your company appear in arms at this present, 
 I and mine being here assembled with peaceful intent and no 
 other r 
 
 “ As regards your first question, my lord of Gormanstown,” 
 O’Moore replied with dignified composure, “ we would have it 
 known of all men that in taking up arms and calling on all true 
 Catholics to aid us, we have but two undoubted objects in view, 
 namely, the defence of our holy faith, unjustly and most cruelly 
 proscribed, the vindication of our rights as citizens, and further- 
 more, the assertion of our sovereign lord the king his righteous 
 prerogative, traitorously assailed by certain of his rebellious 
 lieges. These, my lord, be our ends in waging this war.” 
 
 “ As a Christian and a man of honor,” said Gormanstown with 
 impressive earnestness, “ I ask you, Mr. Roger O’Moore, if these 
 be- the sole ends and objects which you have in view — behind 
 these are there no narrower and more selfish objects, less worthy 
 the appeal to arms 1” 
 
 “ As God liveth,” said O’Moore solemnly, and he raised his 
 right arm towards heaven, “ as God liveth, my lord, I have 
 specified truly unto you the grounds of our quarrel with the 
 present government of this country — false and double-dealing 
 men as we hold them to be, and traitors to the king their 
 master as they are to God and to us over whom they are ap- 
 pointed to rule in justice and in all righteousness. The God of 
 all truth who hears my words, knows whether I speak according 
 to truth this day !” 
 
 After a short consultation with the principal lords and gentle- 
 men of his company, Lord Gormanstown advanced again to 
 O’Moore, and extending his mailed hand, which the chieftain, it* 
 may be presumed, was not slow to take, he said slowly and 
 distinctly : 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 189 
 
 “ If that be so, Mr. O’Moore, we of the Pale will join heart • 
 and hand in your loyal and commendable efforts on behalf of God 
 and the king’s majesty.” 
 
 This announcement, made with the calm precision and the 
 dignified composure so characteristic of the speaker, yet without 
 the slightest tinge of arrogance or affected condescension, was 
 instantly communicated by O’Moore’s companions to their anx- 
 ious followers at the base of the hill, while Rory himself hastened 
 to express in a few appropriate and well chosen words the plea- 
 sure he received from, and the importance he attached to, this 
 formal adhesion. 
 
 O’ Byrne, less accustomed to control his feelings, and, per- 
 haps, not quite so conversant with the etiquette of the day, rode 
 eagerly forward and shook Lord Gormanstown warmly by the 
 hand, while his whole face glowed with joyful animation. 
 
 “ By St. Kevin !” he cried, “ your words are right welcome to 
 our ears, my lord of Gormanstown ! Heretofore, we have been 
 fighting the battle single-handed, as one may say, but that could 
 only last awhile, do our best — and surely it will nerve our arms 
 with now strength when Clan- Saxon of the Pale arises in its 
 might to strike with us for homes and altars !” 
 
 “ It was high time they should,” said McMahon quickly, “ an’ 
 they held back much longer all the water in Lough Erne would 
 not wash out their disgrace. I give you joy, Lord Gormanstown, 
 for that you and these other noble gentlemen have taken it in 
 head to retrieve your character in the eyes of Catholic Europe 
 ere yet it be too late.” 
 
 However nettled the Palesmen might have been by this cha- 
 racteristic allusion to their tardiness, they were not the men to 
 give way to unseemly ire, especially where they knew that no 
 actual insult was meant. A general introduction immediately 
 took place, and after some brief inquiries from those of the Pale 
 as to the present prospects and intentions of their new allies, 
 Lord Gormanstown requested the High Sheriff, who was present, 
 to convene another and larger meeting for that day week, to be 
 held on the hill of Tara. 
 
 “ The place is favorable to our purpose,” said his lordship aside 
 to 0’ Moore and the other Irish chieftains. “It is central for us 
 
190 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 of the Pale counties, and as the seat of the ancient royalty of 
 this kingdom it must needs be dear to you of the Milesian race, 
 who will, I doubt not, deem it a fitting spot for the solemn con- 
 summation of our alliance !” 
 
 This graceful compliment to the national traditions of an un- 
 kinged people was both understood and appreciated by the 
 chieftains of the old race, and when, the auspicious conference 
 being closed, the parties separated to retrace their respective 
 ways homeward, the friendly farewell clasp exchanged between 
 the Irish chiefs and the Norman nobles was accompanied by a 
 hearty cheer from their followers on either side, those amongst 
 them who stood high enough on the sloping sides of the hill to 
 have a view of what passed, telegraphing their friends and fel- 
 lows who were not so fortunate. 
 
 While this auspicious alliance was being formed between tho 
 Catholic English of the Pale and the old Irish, as they were 
 called, the national cause was rapidly gaining ground in other 
 parts of the kingdom. The Kavanaghs of Carlow, with the 
 O’Byrnes and O’Tooles of Wicklow, had marshalled their clans 
 and raised their standards for God and the right. But the faith- 
 ful tribes of Wicklow had already paid dear for their patriotic 
 efforts to aid their brethren in the north. Sir Charles Coote, 
 with his sanguinary bands, recalled from Meath for the express 
 purpose, was sent amongst them, armed with plenary authority 
 to burn, harry, and massacre all before him. 
 
 The Castle of Wicklow being closely besieged by the O’Byrnes, ' 
 Coote was ordered to relieve its garrison, which he did with that 
 wanton slaughter of the besiegers’ with which no other general 
 would disgrace his arms. Being once in possession of the for- 
 tress, he took occasion to make daily excursions amongst the 
 natives of the towo and its vicinity, just by way, he jocularly 
 said, of making their acquaintance. The nature of these visits 
 may be easily understood, and was so well understood by the 
 surrounding population that the gates of the old Castle were no 
 sooner heard to turn on their hinges than mothers fled with their 
 young children to the recesses of the neighboring mountains, 
 while the men, with stern and desperate resolution, seized whatever 
 weapons they could find, and, drawing together for mutual de- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 191 
 
 fence, awaited in silence the descent of Coote’s murderous troops 
 from the Castle. Scenes of horror were enacted on these occa- 
 sions, the recital of which makes the blood run cold. 
 
 In Coote’s first descent upon the town, the inhabitants taken 
 by surprise, were wholly unprepared for the humorous pranks 
 wherewith the soldiers under his command, and under his eyes, 
 amused themselves. Babes were torn from the arms of their 
 shrieking mothers and tossed on the points of spears or bayonets 
 from one to another of the soldiers, amid shouts of laughter and 
 yells of delight. And Coote himself stood by, enjoying the rare 
 sport, and commending the dexterity of their performances.* 
 How females were used in these pastimes, it becomes not us to 
 tell, but in very many cases, they were ripped open by way 
 of winding up. This, however, was not suffered to be of fre- 
 quent occurrence, for, as I have said, after the first or -second 
 visit of these barbarians the women and children took refuge in 
 the caves and fastnesses of the mountains on the least intimation 
 of their approach. Even there they did not always escape, for, 
 on one occasion, some of the soldiers having learned where a 
 party of the helpless fugitives were concealed, swore with hellish 
 glee that they would smoke them out. To work they went, 
 made a fire of brushwood at the mouth of the cave, and then plac- 
 ing themselves in silence round with bayonets screwed on their 
 muskets, they coolly awaited the result of their pleasant frolic. 
 
 They had not to wait long, for no sooner had the thick smoke 
 penetrated to the interior of the cavern than groans and choking 
 cries were heard, at first in the feeble voices of children, then 
 came the half-suppressed shrieks of women, and a chorus of 
 fiendish laughter burst from the savage listeners without. Pre- 
 sently the sounds from within were heard to approach the aper- 
 ture, and through the flickering flames were seen fearful-looking 
 female forms, some with infants in their arms, all blackened 
 and begrimed with smoke, attempting to make their way through 
 the fire. At this sight, compassion moved the heart of one of 
 
 * Unfortunately these Wicklow horrors are matter of history- 
 even Protestant writers admit that Sir Charles Coote exercised all 
 manner of cruelty amongst the Wicklow tribes. 
 
192 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 the officers, and seeing the soldiers thrusting the unhappy crea- 
 tures back in-to the fatal cave with their bayonets, he sternly re- 
 buked them, and made an effort to have the fire extinguished. 
 Alas ! he himself was reprimanded by his fierce superior from be- 
 hind in a voice of thunder, and ordered immediately to his 
 quarters. 
 
 Captain Jameson bowed and walked away, well pleased at heart 
 to escape from such a scene. That was the last time he ever 
 went out with C-oote, for next day he sent in his resignation and 
 retired from the army in disgust. 
 
 Before the gallant band of soldiers quitted that mountain-glen, 
 they made sure that no human being remained alive in the cave, 
 for they drove the fire farther and farther into its mouth, until at 
 last the groans, and cries, and piteous moans, all died away, 
 and the silence which followed assured them that their work 
 was finished. 
 
 
THE C0NFEDERA1E CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 193 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 “ But screw your courage to the sticking point, 
 
 And we’ll not fail.” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 tl The better part of valor is discretion.” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 The middle of December bad hardly arrived when Drogheda 
 was in the condition of a closely-beleagured town. Some twelve 
 thousand* of the allied Irish army occupied the villages for miles 
 around. The meeting at Tara had been followed by immediate 
 action on the part of the lords and gentry of the Pale. Each 
 nobleman and gentleman undertook to raise a certain number of 
 men within the limits of his own district. Lord Gormanstown 
 was appointed commander-in-chief of the army, to be raised in 
 the five counties, and Lord Fingal was commissioned to act as mas- 
 ter of the horse. The Ulster forces were still, of course, under 
 the command of Sir Phelim O’Neill, with Art Oge McMahon ; 
 Philip O’Reilly and Sir Con Magennis as subordinates in com- 
 mand. Roderick Maguire also commanded a troop of horse, 
 and Lorcan a company of infantry. The junction with the Lords 
 of the Pale and their adherents infused new life, with new hope into 
 the easily- disheartened or easily-elated Irish, and when the siege 
 of Drogheda commenced, and they found themselves undertak- 
 ing it under auspices so favorable — provisions supplied in plenty 
 by the fruitful territory of the Normans — they were quite san- 
 guine of success, notwithstanding the well-known strength of the 
 place and the numerous garrison which the voice of rumor as- 
 signed to it. 
 
 *D’ Alton, in his History of Drogheda, says that tho besieging 
 army amounted to eighteen thousand before all was over. 
 
 9a 
 
194 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Sir Pkelim had his headquarters in Bewly House, within three 
 miles or so of the town on the banks of the silvery Boyne. 
 Parties of his troops were also in possession of Rathmullen Castle, 
 with the villages of Betty stown, Mornington, Oldbridge, Tully al- 
 ien, and Ballymakenny.* 
 
 Any one at all acquainted with the geographical situation of 
 Drogheda will see at a glance from this enumeration of the 
 places held by the Irish, that they had the town invested on every 
 side — seaward they had Bettystown and Mornington, landward, 
 and commanding the river they had the heights of Rathmullen 
 and the plains of Oldbridge, while back into the country in 
 various directions, the other posts mentioned extended their con- 
 trol. But, alas! with all these advantages— including the pos- 
 session of the harbor which they closely blockaded — there was 
 one great want on the part of the besiegers, so great, indeed, 
 that it left them with all but empty hands in the presence of 
 the enemy. This was the old story — the almost total want of 
 artillery or ordinance of any kind. Their arms and ammunition, 
 too, were very insufficient for such an army — had they been 
 even in a degree proportioned to the number of men, the siege 
 of Drogheda would stand differently recorded on the page of 
 history. 
 
 And so it happened that while the garrison was reduced to 
 the most grievous straits by the unceasing watchfulness of the 
 besiegers, while reinforcements and supplies were alike excluded 
 by sea and land, and while a brave, and numerous, and vigilant 
 force occupied every available position around the town, its 
 strong walls were, week after week, unassailed, and its imme- 
 diate precincts still uninvaded by hostile foot. 
 
 The governor of the town, a tough old Puritan soldier, Sir 
 Henry Tichbourne by name, was a man who held all Papist recu- 
 sants in holy horror, and thought them only to be treated with 
 sword in one hand and Bible in the other, by way of a double 
 exorcism. Still he had not the ferocious cruelty of Sir Charles 
 Coote — at least the shedding of blood or the sight of human tor- 
 ture gave him no pleasure, although if the cause required it, he 
 
 See D’ Alton’s History of Droghcda } p. 230. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 195 
 
 could kill, and burn, and destroy as well as Coote or any other 
 general of the time. He was, however, a brave and skilful officer, 
 and his defence of Drogheda, under such adverse circumstances, 
 raised him high in the estimation of his own party, as it made 
 him feared and respected by the other. 
 
 The straits to which the garrison was reduced at that time, 
 almost equal the hardest necessities of Derry or any other siege oi 
 modern times. And what most afflicted Sir Henry and his officers 
 was the fact, that the shameful neglect of the government had 
 quite as much share in producing their hardships and privations 
 as the watchfulness of the besiegers. Letters addressed to Lord 
 Ormond and the government were repeatedly intercepted, com- 
 plaining in the bitterest and most moving terms of the wants of 
 the garrison. But the wants continued, and the weather increased 
 in severity, and the various parties sent out at different times 
 under the pressure of necessity to seek provisions were, for the 
 most part, either captured or slain by some of the numerous Irish 
 detachments encircling the place. At last, famine and despair, 
 made more excruciating by the stinging sense of neglect, brought 
 about strange things. The soldiers of the garrison were fre- 
 quently seen scaling the walls by night, at the imminent risk of 
 discovery from within on account of the blazing warlights kept 
 up at regular intervals along the walls and ramparts. On reach- 
 ing the ground these men made their way directly to some Irish 
 post, stating that they fled from salt herrings and bad water to 
 which fare the provident and remunerative bounty of the Lords 
 Justices had so long consigned them. 
 
 It was amusing to witness the surprise manifested by some of 
 these men on finding themselves actually in the presence of Sir 
 Phelim O’Neill, the great Irish ogre of their guard-room stories, 
 the fierce warrior whom they looked upon and spoke of as half 
 man, half demon, hideous in person as diabolical in spirit. The 
 boisterous laughter wherewith the rough chieftain heard these 
 ludicrous imaginings of their diseased fancy, both startled and 
 amazed the semi-puritanical soldiers of Tichbourne ; yet the blunt 
 and unexpected good-nature with which their starving stomachs 
 were relieved by his orders very soon reconciled them to his 
 Papistical want of gravity. 
 
196 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Many a desperate struggle, without the walls, marked the 
 passage of those long, long weeks, during which the Irish army 
 kept watch and ward around the old town. Having no encamp- 
 ment, the severity of the weather forbade them to remain in the 
 immediate vicinity of the town, where shelter was not to be 
 found, so that the troops were posted here and there within the 
 distance of a few miles, wherever they could be protected from 
 the inclemency of that unusually rigorous season. The frequent 
 sallies of those from the town, made in different directions, kept 
 the besiegers constantly on the alert, from the continual uncer- 
 tainty in which they were as to the point where the sortie was to 
 be made. 
 
 In the midst of their hard and arduous duties, only a few days 
 before St. Thomas’s Day, which was that fixed on for a grand 
 attack, the mercurial Celts of the north were elated beyond 
 measure by the unlooked-for arrival of Miles O’Grady, one of 
 the few great harpers remaining in Ireland, who had travelled 
 all the way from the hills of Breffny to chant the war song for 
 the O’Reillys, to the fortunes of whose chief he was for weal or 
 woe attached, and had been so from early boyhood. It was at 
 Oldbridge that the Clan O’Reilly lay, and thither Miles made his 
 way, his small harp slung on one shoulder, and a wallet on 
 the other containing his oaten cakes, with a little flask of us- 
 quebaugh. He was accompanied by a youth of some twenty 
 summers, a tall and rather delicate stripling, with a mild and 
 somewhat pensive aspect, and clustering brown curls, which 
 would have given him a girlish look were it not for the dark hue 
 of his complexion and the fire which gleamed in his large eyes. 
 He was a stranger to all the Irish host, even the harper could 
 give no other account of him than that he had found him wan- 
 dering on the confines of Louth, inquiring the way to Drogheda. 
 His name, he said, was Angus Dhu, at least he would give no 
 other, and by that soubriquet he was ever after known amongst 
 the soldiers. 
 
 Notwithstanding the attraction of Miles’s music, his young 
 travelling companion did not long remain at O’Reilly’s quarters. 
 Wandering about from one post to another, he at length reached 
 Bewly House, and by some strange whim there took up his abode 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 197 
 
 amongst the martial clansmen of Tyr-Owen. The northern ac- 
 cent was on his Irish tongue, and many questions were, therefore, 
 put to him regarding the distant land of the O’Neills, but the 
 questions soon ceased, for he declared himself wholly unac- 
 quainted with that part of the country. Much curiosity was at 
 first excited by the singular reserve in which the youth chose to 
 enshroud himself ; but after a few days the mystery was forgot- 
 ten, and Angus Dhu came and went like any other individual of 
 that “ varied host.” 
 
 St. Thomas’s Eve came on dark and dull as the days usually 
 are at that season — the few short hours of daylight were spent in 
 preparation for a general attack, too much time having been 
 already lost in useless delay, according to the opinion of the 
 most experienced officers. Silently, and as they fondly hoped, 
 unnoticed by those within the town, the Irish leaders prepared 
 their respective troops for the assault, too sanguine, most of 
 them, in their hopes of success to entertain the possibility of 
 failure. But Sir Henry Tichbourne was not the man to be taken 
 unawares, as the besiegers found to their cost. When under 
 cover of the darkness, they applied their scaling ladders to the 
 walls, and moimted with hearts full of hope and courage, noth- 
 ing doubting of success, they found bristling bayonets and grim 
 faces behind them at every accessible point. Silent as the grave 
 w r as the watch of these stern veterans, the first intimation the assail- 
 ants received of their presence being from the point of the bayo- 
 net, so that in very many cases those coming next on the ladders 
 were only apprised of the reception awaiting them by the death- 
 groan of their comrades above and their heavy fall to the ground, 
 too often dragging their fellows with them clutched in their dying 
 grasp. Courage and skill were alike useless : however it was 
 that Tichbourne had disposed of his forces there seemed not a 
 single point left unguarded, and, as the Irish officers understood 
 when too late, the cressets and other lights usually burning on 
 the walls were that night nowhere to be seen. It was a night of 
 darkness, silence and death, and the loss sustained by the besiegers 
 was so considerable as to stamp its horrors indelibly on their 
 minds. But although repulsed with heavy loss, and necessarily 
 thrown into confusion by a result so wholly unexpected, the 
 
198 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Irish soldiers, for the most part, exhibited such steady courage 
 as to excite the surprise of the garrison. Many instances of 
 hardy and persevering valor were displayed on that memorable 
 occasion, and one of these came near to obtain possession of the 
 West Gate from which a sortie had been made on the assailants, 
 a party of the followers of O’Neill. The gate was, in fact, taken 
 and retaken several times before the attention of the rest of the 
 garrison was called to that particular point, the Irish being led 
 on by a youth wno seemed animated with more than mortal cour- 
 age, and on whom defeat had no other effect than that of a spur 
 to renewed action. Even in the breathless rush of that fell 
 struggle, amid the gloom of the winter night and the silence of 
 mutual caution, the neck-or-nothing bravery of that young Irish 
 soldier attracted the attention of both parties, and although the 
 arrival of a stuong reinforcement from the Tholsel gave victory to 
 the defenders of the gate, and left the brave assailants on the out- 
 side, still his feats of valor were not forgotten, and Sir Phelim 
 himself on the following day made special inquiries concerning 
 him. But whoever he was notoriety was not his object, for, the 
 useless struggle of the night once over, his identity was not to be 
 traced. 
 
 Next ’day Angus Dhu made his appearance in a block-house 
 erected by the besiegers at the mouth of the river where Shamus 
 Beg was left in command of a small party. The account which 
 Angus gave of the night’s disaster was gloomy enough, and the 
 hearts of his hearers sank within them as they listened, but when 
 the youth came to tell of the mysterious stranger who had so 
 nearly taken West Gate, and of Sir Phelim’s anxiety to find him 
 out, dejection and despondency were swallowed up in curiosity 
 and that eager thirst for the marvellous so common to all Celtic 
 people. 
 
 “ Who knows but it’s one of the old ancient heroes mentioned 
 in prophecy that’s coming back to help us in our need,” said 
 Shamus thoughtfully. “We all know they’re to come one day 
 or another.” 
 
 “ Yes, but when they do,” said Angus quickly, “ they’ll not go 
 without their errand — they’ll leave their mark behind them, 
 Shamus, or where’s the use of them coming at all. It isn’t to be 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 199 
 
 beaten as we were last night that thev’d show their faces — no, 
 no, I'm thinking the young man — let him be who he might — had 
 a little business to settle with the cut-throats — a message to de- 
 liver or something that way.’ 
 
 Angus started in some confusion and changed color, for he saw 
 Shamus’s eyes fixed on him with a look of keen scrutiny that 
 made him wince. Muttering something about looking out for 
 squalls he darted to the door, and was soon apparently lost in 
 contemplating the wintry flood, — hardly to be recognized as the 
 silvery Boyne, — pouring down into the boiling waters of the Bay. 
 As for Shamus and the other soldiers of his party they were too 
 well accustomed to the lad’s strange humors to feel or express 
 any surprise. 
 
 Christmas was more merrily spent amongst the Irish troops 
 than might be imagined under the circumstances. What with 
 the surpassing music of O’Grady’s harp, the numerous pipes and 
 other instruments then called into requisition for other than mar- 
 tial purposes, what with the various assemblies of the officers 
 held at the different mansions in possession of the army, and the 
 solemn celebration of the joyous mystery of the time, the Christ- 
 mas holidays passed cheerily away. For well nigh the first time 
 in their lives, the proud Normans of the Pale were brought into 
 close and constant communication with the native chiefs, and 
 the result was, as might be expected, a more cordial feeling be- 
 tween them. 
 
 It was on one of these festive occasions when Lord Fingal was 
 entertaining in military fashion the other leaders of the army, 
 with their respective officers, that Art McMahon was requested 
 to speak to a person outside the door who had just arrived from 
 Dublin. 
 
 “ From Dublin!” the chief repeated aloud, and his words were 
 echoed with a start by many of the lords and gentlemen ; “ from 
 Dublin! — who can it be 1 —the bearer of some overtures, per- 
 chance, from my lord of Ormond.’ 1 ' 
 
 Expecting some communication of great importance, McMahon 
 left the hall, and dead silence prevailed during his absence, each 
 gazing in his neighbor’s face to learn the purport of his thoughts. 
 
 Only a few moments had elapsed when the chieftain’s firm 
 
200 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 tread was heard approaching, and all eyes were instantly fixed 
 on the door. His portly form was no sooner seen at the entrance 
 than the anxious cloud disappeared from every brow, for he was 
 laughing heartily. Advancing up the spacious hall to his place 
 at the table, he said to Lord Gormanstown who occupied the 
 presidential seat : 
 
 “ Your lordship has doubtless heard of the mountain in labor 
 — a new version of that old story is what I have to tell. To save 
 you all the trouble of asking questions, you must know that the 
 new arrival is no other than an old follower of our house, Mala- 
 chy McMahon by name, who has been to Dublin in search of the 
 reading for certain dreams of his.” 
 
 “ Is it Malachy na soggarth 7” inquired O’Reilly ; “ I heard he 
 was gone to see your brother — poor simple man ! how did he 
 fare 7” 
 
 “ As might be expected, Phil — he saw the outside of the 
 Castle walls — no more. But even that was a comfort to the poor 
 fellow ’ 
 
 “If it was, I paid dear for it,” said Malachy from the lower 
 end of the hall, he having followed his chieftain so far. The 
 general attention once attracted to him, his singular appearance 
 and abrupt speech called a smile to every face. 
 
 “ How is that, Malachy I” inquired McMahon. “ What went 
 wrong with you I” 
 
 “Not much with me , only what I heard. I fell in with a friar 
 — a Franciscan I think he was — and he told me all about what 
 the hell-hounds done to our noble Tanistand Lord Maguire ” 
 
 “ And what was that 7” cried his chief with a start. “ What 
 has befallen Costelloe 7” 
 
 Malachy groaned and covered his face with his hands while 
 his chief, approaching him with rapid step, urged him to speak. 
 “ Tell me, in God’s name, have they killed my brother 7” 
 
 “ If they didn’t kill him all out,” said poor Malachy, “ it was 
 almost the same thing — they put him on the rack, and kept him 
 there till the life was most gone — they wanted to make him con- 
 fess, the friar told me, about that commission Sir Phelim has from 
 the king.” 
 
 “ It is false !’' cried Lord Netterville, starting from the table ; 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 201 
 
 “ there be no such commission — but what did Mr. McMahon con- 
 fess — or did he confess anything V' 
 
 “ He had nothing to confess,” said Art proudly, as he turned 
 his ghastly face towards the company ; “ the rack could force 
 nothing from poor Costelloe !’ 
 
 “ Not a word,” hastily put in Malachy, anxious for the honor 
 of the house of Uriel ; “ not a word they could get from either of 
 the two — Lord’s blessing be about them !” 
 
 “Lords and gentlemen — friends all!” said Art McMahon, in 
 a choking voice, “ how long is this to last 'l — how long are these 
 miscreants to exult in our sufferings 'l — oh ! my brother ! — my 
 brave brother ! why was I not near with half a hundred of our 
 faithful clan — when they dared to stretch your free-born limbs 
 on their accursed rack ! — oh, God ! why was I not there V’ 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, he rushed from the hall, fol- 
 lowed closely by Malachy, anxious, doubtless, to inform his fol- 
 lowers of what had happened. 
 
 Even the coldest of those who remained behind was roused to 
 resentment by this new outrage, and a solemn vow was taken on 
 the spot alike by Irish chief and Norman noble to wipe out the 
 long score which they owed to the government if God spared 
 them life. 
 
 The army from that night forward became restless and impa- 
 tient. Anxious to do something, yet condemned to a state of 
 inactivity almost in the presence of the hated foe, the hearts of 
 young and old panted for an opportunity to grapple with the 
 veteran soldiers of the garrison, who, by this time, they deemed 
 well worn by continual famine. 
 
 Early in the month of January, one cold, frosty morning, the 
 wildest excitement suddenly spread amongst besiegers and be- 
 sieged. Sundry attempts had been made at various times lately 
 to relieve the garrison, all proving ineffectual because of the un- 
 ceasing watchfulness of the beleaguering forces. That morning, 
 however, a sloop and a pinnace laden with provisions had boldly 
 sailed up the bay, and, favored by a landward breeze, crossed the 
 sand-bar at the mouth of the harbor, managed to get over the 
 chain, which, for further security, had been laid across, and in 
 safety reached the wharf at James’n Bridge amid the cheers and 
 
202 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 plaudits of a multitude, consisting of thousands of the half- 
 starved garrison and townspeople, who had been watching with 
 greedy eyes, ever since they hove in sight, the precious little 
 craft, which, at such fearful risk, brought life and hope to them. 
 
 The shouts of exultation from within the town brought in- 
 creased dejection to those without, and so much time being al- 
 ready lost, some of the leaders began to talk seriously of raising 
 the siege, and turning their attention to some other place where 
 success was more probable. Towards evening, however, their 
 prevailing despondency seemed to vanish, and a more cheerful 
 spirit took possession of all. There was bustle and buoyant 
 excitement where late there had been dullness and dejection, and 
 the change was, under the circumstances, altogether inexplicable. 
 Divers mysterious meetings and hurried councils took place 
 during the latter part of the day, but as night came on all was 
 again quiet, and silence seemed to have settled down on the Irish 
 host. 
 
 In the mid-watches of the night, about five hundred chosen 
 men, chiefly from McMahon’s and O’Neill’s countries, marched 
 out in the direction of St. James’s Gate, and having reached an 
 old door, sheltered from general observation by a projecting angle 
 of the wall, the officer in command — it was Eman Oge McMahon 
 — struck three times on the wood with the point of his sword. 
 The door was instantly opened, and, silent as spectres, the clans- 
 men marched through in single file, finding themselves, as well 
 as the faint star-light would permit them to judge, treading the 
 alley of an old orchard. 
 
 “ Now,” whispered the person who admitted them, “ now or 
 never — you have the game in your own hands, and there be many 
 within the town who will bless God if you succeed — forward in 
 His name !” 
 
 “Whither'?*' asked Eman. in the same tone; “we are but 
 strangers, as you know !” 
 
 “ To the Mill-mount, an’ you take a friend’s advice— cross the 
 bridge, and make straight up the hill — the garrison there is 
 small, and you will have no trouble in surprising them — if you do, 
 you will find several pieces of ordinance which will ensure your 
 success — either that, or master the guard at the gate close by 
 here, and then let in as many as you will !” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 203 
 
 Alas ! by some fatal misapprehension, the party ^.id neither. 
 Making straight for the heart of the city, and, forgetting in the 
 wild excitement of the moment, the extreme necessity of pru- 
 dence and caution — confident, moreover, of having victory in 
 their own hands, a thrilling shout burst from their ranks, meant 
 at once to apprise their comrades without of their being fairly 
 inside the walls, and, at the same time, to strike terror into the 
 slumbering and apparently unconscious garrison. 
 
 “ Great God !” cried Eman, “ what have ye done 1 — we are lost 
 —lost !” 
 
 It was too late to redeem the fatal error. The sound of horses’ 
 hoofs was heard approaching with headlong haste down Shop 
 street towards the bridge. At the same moment the drums beat 
 to arms, and the Irish, not knowing how many or how few were 
 the assailants gathering around them in the darkness, made' an 
 effort to regain the orchard, and thence the door by which they 
 had entered. About two hundred of them succeeded, but, alas ! 
 the enemy had already mustered in strength, and the stern voice 
 of Tichbourne was heard commanding no quarter to be given. 
 
 “ Hew them down,” he said; “'in God’s name, let not one 
 escape !” 
 
 Even while this pitiless order was given, doors were softly 
 opened in the rear of the bewildered Irish, and many of them 
 were drawn in by friendly hands unseen, undreamed of by the 
 Puritan soldiers or their relentless commander. Others finding 
 their retreat cut off, turned on the foe with their pikes and made 
 what defence they could. These w T ere almost to a man cut down 
 by the swords and sabres of Tichbourne’s troop, so that fully one- 
 half of those who marched so proudly through the orchard some 
 half an hour before, paid with their life the forfeit of their impru- 
 dence. 
 
 Amongst those who fell was the gallant young leader of the 
 party, who, refusing to quit the place and leave any of his men 
 exposed to danger, was cut down, sword in hand, by one of Tich- 
 bourne’s officers. 
 
 Thus ended, in shame and humiliation, disappointment and 
 death, an attempt which might and should have placed Drogheda 
 in the hands of the Irish. 
 
204 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 “ What tho J the field be lost ? 
 
 All is not lost ; the ungovernable will, 
 
 * * # * 
 
 And courage never to submit or yield, 
 
 And what is else not to be overcome.” 
 
 Milton’s Paradise Lost. 
 
 “ A tale more strange ne’er graced the poet’s art, 
 
 And ne’er did fiction play so wild a part.” 
 
 Tickell. 
 
 With varying success the Irish army remained in the neigh- 
 borhood of Drogheda all through the months of January and 
 February — at times there seemed every probability of the gar- 
 rison being reduced by famine to surrender, for the supplies so 
 wonderfully introduced into the town in the beginning of Janu- 
 ary lasted but a very few weeks. Famine and sickness soon 
 began to produce the saddest efFecls amongst the hardy soldiers 
 of the garrison, and strong hopes were entertained by the leaders 
 of the besieging force that the town could not much longer hold 
 out, when towards the end of February a fearful storm came on, 
 which carried away the boom from the mouth of the river, to- 
 gether with various defences erected there for the greater secu- 
 rity of the harbor. Before any of this mischief could be re- 
 paired, certain of the government cruisers, ever hanging around 
 the coasts in wait for an opportunity of approaching the town, 
 succeeded in making their way to the wharf, and plentifully sup- 
 plied the wants of the garrison. 
 
 Thus strengthened, and invigorated with renewed hope, the be- 
 sieged not only defended the town more vigorously, but issuing 
 forth, in considerable detachments, and at short intervals, they 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 205 
 
 attacked the various stations occupied by the Irish, sometimes 
 with success, but just as often to be driven back again to the 
 shelter of their strong walls. Many a hard struggle took place 
 between the contending parties for the possession of fords and 
 passes on the river. On one occasion, in which the Irish were 
 defeated, so obstinate was the contest that the Nanny-water at 
 Julianstown ran red with the blood of the slain. On nearly the 
 same spot where they gained a complete and bloodless victory, 
 they were themselves, so soon after, vanquished with fearful loss. 
 One by one several of their strongest posts were taken, owing to 
 their fatal want of ordinance, and to crown all it was announced 
 that the Earl of Ormond was at length marching to the relief of 
 Drogheda with a strong force and with orders to burn, pillage, 
 and destroy the houses and possessions of all who had declared 
 for the rebels or in any way assisted them. 
 
 Hearing this, Sir Phelim O’Neill thought it high time to betake 
 himself again to the woods and fastnesses of Ulster, until such 
 time as Providence might send him a supply of arms and ammu- 
 nition, with such artillery as might enable him to encounter a 
 regular army in the field. Reluctantly he came to this decision, 
 which his allies of the Pale, moreover, endeavored to combat 
 with a view to the protection of their own goods and chattels, 
 but Sir Phelim took it into his head that the preservation of his 
 entire fofce depended on effecting a speedy retreat, and retreat 
 into Ulster he would and did, to the great joy and exultation of 
 the garrison, which for three months and better he had kept so 
 closely straightened, with scarcely a piece of cannon in his pos- 
 session, and other war-stores in such limited quantity as to be 
 wholly insufficient for such an undertaking. 
 
 With the exception of the miserable failure of that fatal night 
 — and Sir Phelim never forgave himself for not having entrusted 
 the enterprise to older and more experienced commanders — • 
 everything was done that either courage or prudence could dic- 
 tate, and if the siege of Drogheda was at length abortive, the 
 fault lay in the grievous wants already mentioned, wants which 
 should, from the first, have prevented an undertaking of such 
 magnitude and so great importance. 
 
 Philip O’Reilly had just returned for a brief season of rest to 
 
206 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 his paternal halls, and the clansmen of BrefFny were resting in 
 peace after the fatigues of the luckless Louth campaign, await- 
 ing another summons from the north, when the chief was ap- 
 prised of the death of old Dr. Beddell. Application had been 
 made to Bishop McS weeny for permission to bury him within 
 the precincts of his former cathedral, and after some hesitation 
 that prelate gave his consent. 
 
 On the day of the deceased bishop’s interment, a sight was 
 seen which filled his friends and co-religionists with surprise. A 
 lonely funeral they expected to have of it, for the few Protest- 
 ants who still remained in the neighborhood feared to make any 
 demonstration, or in fact to be seen abroad at all. Great, then, 
 was their astonishment when, on the morning fixed for the fune- 
 ral, a hundred or so of the patriot-soldiers of BrefFny marched 
 to the late prelate’s house with soft and mournful music, and 
 announced their intention of accompanying his remains to the 
 grave. 
 
 At first the bishop’s family and household were more alarmed 
 than pleased by the appearance of this martial band, but when 
 the officer in command — it was the former high sheriff, Miles 
 Mac Edmund O'Reilly — entering the house, assured them that 
 his men were only desirous of doing honor to the memory of the 
 lamented dead, they were all deeply touched by so public an 
 expression of kindly sympathy. 
 
 The Bishop, too, joined the funeral cortege, with many of the 
 chief men of the O’Reillys, and although the day was a stormy 
 one in the early spring, they followed the honored remains even 
 to the old diocesan graveyard of Kilmore where the vault of his 
 predecessors awaited him. And the solemn music of the BrefFny 
 minstrels was the dirge of the good old prelate, and the clansmen 
 of BrefFny paced with downcast eyes and arms reversed, after 
 the mourning friends and relatives, and when the body was laid 
 in the tomb, they insisted on firing a volley over it by way of a 
 parting salute, for they remembered that the good man there 
 consigned to earth had shown himself their friend when few of 
 his order or profession would have said a word or testified a 
 feeling in their behalf. 
 
 When, however, the vault was closed, and the echoing roll of 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 207 
 
 the musketry had died away amongst the neighboring hills, 
 Miles O’Reilly stepped forward, and, filled with thoughts of what 
 had been and what was to be, he exclaimed in Latin : 
 
 “ May the last of the English rest in peace !” 
 
 The musicians, catching his thought, struck up “ O’Neill’s 
 March,” one of the most popular tunes of the day, and to its 
 enlivening notes they marched out of the graveyard and resumed 
 their homeward way, satisfied that they had shown all proper 
 respect to the memory of a generous foe, yet elated with the 
 thought that no other should ever fill his office amongst them or 
 usurp the rights of their lawful prelates. 
 
 “ He was a good man,” said they one to another, “ for a Pro- 
 testant, but there’s' few of them like him , and, only God to spare 
 us our eyesight, we never want to lay eyes on a minister or a 
 bishop of his sort ” 
 
 “ It will not be our fault if ever one of them roosts in Kilmore, 
 anyhow,” rejoined another; “please the Lord their light is 
 quenched for good, — and it’s it was the unlucky light to us ever 
 since it was first lit at the fire below ! — glory and honor to Sir 
 Phelim, only give him fair play. — him and the O’Reilly and the 
 rest of them, — and they’ll get us back our rights, or they’ll know 
 for what !” 
 
 The spirit thus expressed by the clansmen of BrefFny, with the 
 entire, perhaps exaggerated confidence they had in their heredi- 
 tary leaders, was common amongst the lower classes of the sol- 
 diery, but in the minds of the chieftains and officers themselves, 
 the conviction was every hour gaining ground that their real 
 commander had not yet made his appearance on the scene of 
 action. But to go back a little . 
 
 When Sir Phelim was about making his retreat from Drogheda, 
 Sham us went to him one evening with a face of blank dismay, 
 and told him that the youth Angus was missing since the pre- 
 vious day, and was neither to be found dead nor alive. Now, 
 independent of all personal considerations, the lad’s services had 
 been of such a nature since his sudden appearance amongst the 
 men, that even the rough nature of Sir Phelim was touched by 
 this intelligence, and he gave Shamus orders to take ten or a 
 dozen men and make a strict search everywhere around the 
 
208 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 neighborhood. However anxious they all were, for Angus was 
 a general favorite, they might have searched long enough to 
 little purpose, had not some prisoners been taken that day from a 
 foraging party, and from them it was casually ascertained that 
 a young man answering to the description of Angus had been 
 caught prowling around that same old orchard which had proved 
 so fatal to poor Eman and his party. He had managed to get 
 in on the occasion of a sortie from St. James’s Gate, but refused 
 to confess what his intentions were. 
 
 Sir Phelim and others of the chieftains immediately surmised 
 that the poor fellow had taken this bold and venturous step, 
 hoping that by concealing himself till the fall of night, he might 
 succeed in opening some gate or door unobserved, and thus to 
 introduce a party of his friends, who, warned by former sad ex- 
 perience, might be able to surprise the garrison. Indeed, it was 
 found that he had intimated some such design to his friend 
 Shamus several days before, asking whether he thought it at 
 all practicable, but Shamus having, as he thought, laughed him 
 out of such a boyish notion, the affair was no more alluded to 
 between them, and Shamus forgot all about it until the myste- 
 rious disappearance of Angus brought it again to his mind. He 
 now bitterly reproached himself for not having acquainted, some 
 of his superiors at the time, with the romantic scheme which 
 now, in all probability, had brought destruction on the brave 
 youth. 
 
 Sir Phelim, after some deliberation, sent a herald with a flag 
 of truce to Sir Henry Tichbourne, proposing an exchange of pri- 
 soners; this, at first, was refused, and O’Neill, in his wrath, 
 swore that those in his possession, amounting to half a dozen or 
 so — some of them subaltern officers — should be hung before sun- 
 set in sight of the town-walls, 
 
 The fatal preparations were already made, and the temporary 
 gallows loomed up tall and spectral above surrounding objects 
 — the sound of funeral music, and the measured discharge of 
 musketry denoted the approach of the final moment, when the 
 West Gate of the town rolled slowly back, and out came a small 
 party of horse, the first man bearing aloft a white flag. On and 
 on they came towards the place prepared for the execution, and 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 209 
 
 as they drew near, the flag-hearer, detaching himself from the 
 others, rode forward and announced that Sir Henry Tichbourne, 
 having thought better of the matter, was willing to agree to Sir 
 Phelim O’Neill’s proposal in regard to the prisoners, and had 
 sent his for exchange. 
 
 “ Well for him he did,” said the chieftain curtly ; “ you see our 
 patience has no great stretch,” and he grimly pointed to the 
 gaunt, unsightly gallows. “Here you, O’Rourkes, bring out 
 the Englishers — ha, Angus, my good lad ! I am well content to 
 see you again !” 
 
 The Irish prisoners were now handed over, but still there 
 seemed some delay in regard to giving up the others. Sir Phe- 
 lim blustered and swore, and threatened punishment — the prison- 
 ers were delivered up, with one exception— a young officer of 
 dark, forbidding aspect, and a cynical expression of countenance. 
 Him the Leitrim men held fast, looking at the same time as 
 though no stretch of authority should induce them to give 
 him up. Sir Phelim’s ire began to rise, and some of the Nor- 
 man lords who were present looked eagerly for the solution of 
 so strange a proceeding. One or two of the Irish officers who 
 chanced to be near whispered to each other a solution of the 
 enigma. 
 
 “ What the fiend is this 1” cried Sir Phelim, angrily; “ let the . 
 gentleman go, with the rest, ye stupid varlets !” 
 
 “ If it’s pleasing to you, Sir Phelim, we’d rather not,” said 
 Manus O’Rourke, stepping forward ; “ this prisoner is ours — it 
 was we of Breffny-O’Rourke who took him, and we desire to 
 await our chiefs judgment in his regard ” 
 
 “ Who is he, then V* 
 
 “The son and heir of Sir Frederick Hamilton, against whom 
 every O’Rourke in Breffny has sworn revenge.” 
 
 “ Ha ! Hamilton — I know !” The chieftain turned his scathing 
 eye on the young ensign, who, on his part, looked as though he 
 thought his situation somewhat perilous. Still he returned the 
 glance with one of defiance rather than deprecation. 
 
 “ By the soul of Heremon,” said O’Neill slowly, “ but it grieveth 
 me to thwart you in this thing, Manus O’Rourke, for that brood 
 of vipers were well cleared out of your fair country, but mine 
 
210 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 honor — our honor, Manus, will not permit us to keep the strip- 
 ling now.” 
 
 “ How is that, Sir Phelim ?” demanded O’Rourke sternly. 
 
 “ Why, because it was from us the offer of exchange came, 
 and we then made no exception. Had I known in time of this 
 Hamilton being in your hands, by my faith he had gone to 
 Drumahair for your chieftain’s good pleasure — now when they 
 have sent all our prisoners, at our request, we cannot for shame 
 keep any of theirs in custody. No, no, Manus, it cannot be — 
 you will have some other opportunity — -justice can wait — soldiers 
 of Breffny, I appeal to your honor in this matter, hoping that 
 you will let this prisoner go with the others !” 
 
 “ It is hard, it is very hard, Sir Phelim O’Neill,” said the un- 
 comprom’sing Manus, iC still I acknowledge your honor is at 
 stake, and I am sure there is not an O’Rourke here who will hold 
 out against you !” 
 
 A sullen murmur was heard amongst the men of west Breffny, 
 but still none of them gainsaid the words of Manus. Dark 
 was the scowl, however, with which they regarded the son of 
 their enemy as with a smile, half of contempt, half of triumph, 
 he walked over to the party from town. 
 
 “ Ye have done well, men of Breffny,” said Sir Phelim, in a 
 husky voice, “ and by the sword of Nial it shall go hard with 
 me, an’ we bring not that savage Hamilton to justice ere the war 
 comes to an end. If I aid ye not in this matter, be my name 
 forgotten in the land where my fathers ruled ! * 
 
 A loud cheer from the O’Rourkes attested their sense of Sir 
 Phelim’s kind dispositions in their regard, and as the other clans 
 present caught up the sound it rolled far away into the distance, 
 along the level borders of the Boyne. 
 
 While O’Neill turned to speak with Angus, who stood, cap in 
 hand, awaiting speech of him, the Norman lords discoursed 
 amongst themselves of the scene they had just witnessed, 
 and more than one expressed his surprise at the unexpected 
 gentleness displayed by the northern leader. The main features 
 of the scene they were at a loss to understand, till, having ap- 
 plied to Manus O’Rourke, who was a lieutenant in their army, 
 for explanation, he gave them, with no softened coloring, an ac- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 211 
 
 count of the relative conduct of Sir Frederick Hamilton and the 
 O’Rourke of BrefFny. Hearing this, the lords of the Pale could 
 not help expressing their admiration of the generous forbearance 
 shown by the Clan O’Rourke on this occasion, when revenge was 
 a second time in their own hands, and even justice might seem 
 to authorize their detention of their prisoner. 
 
 But another surprise awaited these noblemen, in common with 
 the chieftains, their allies. Angus Oge had a singular story to 
 tell, though his captivity had been but of three days’ duration, 
 and as the night was closing in, with storm and darkness, Sir 
 Phelim invited all the officers present to go to his quarters to 
 hear what the youth had to say. Although Shamus had hitherto 
 kept in the background, he was not out of hearing, and, slily 
 availing himself of his privileged position in regard to his chief- 
 tain, he glided info the hall at Bewly amongst the crowd of lords 
 and gentlemen, and managed to hear every word of the story, 
 albeit that the narrator, overcome with the timidity natural in 
 such a presence, told his simple tale in low hesitating accents, 
 and with eyes that sought the ground. 
 
 “ I think I was as near death since I left here,” said Angus, 
 “ as one could be and escape it. There’s no more feeling in them 
 black-hearted soldiers of Tichbourne’s than there is in a whin-stone, 
 and their general is worse than any of them, Christ save us ! for 
 all you’d think to hear him talk he was a saint at the very least 
 — if he was cutting your throat, or blowing your brains out, he’d be 
 discoursing to you of the goodness of God, and the ways of right- 
 eousness, so that you’d think there was honey on his lips. When I 
 was taken before him in a condemned looking place they called the 
 Tholsel, he preached a sermon to me that Father O’Hanlon him- 
 self could hardly beat, but the last words spoiled all, for he told 
 me that I was to die that very day as a spy. 1 And now,’ said he, 
 knitting his black brows together, ‘ now go to the Lord Christ, 
 and beg of him to free your mind from the thick clouds of 
 Popish darkness. He will illumine you, and if you do but ask 
 Him. His light will conduct you through the dark valley.’ ‘ Why, 
 then,’ says I to myself, ‘ 1 wish you’d tell me something I didn’t 
 know before.’ Well ! there I was Sir Phelim, sorrowful enough 
 you may be sure — especially in regard to having missed my 
 
212 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 mark — and thinking that I must die like a dog without benefit 
 of clergy, and me shut up there in a dark hole without as 
 much as a glimpse of light. If it wasn’t for a pair of beads I 
 had, and that I made good use of them, I don’t know what on 
 earth I would have done, for I was falling into a kind of despair 
 with the fear and the dread that was on me — sure enough it 
 must have been the Blessed Mother of God that brought me 
 through, for myself thinks it was a miracle and nothing less.” 
 
 “ Well ! well !”. said Sir Phelim with manifest impatience, “ how 
 was it, boy 'l let us hear!” 
 
 “ I will, Sir Phelim, I’m just coming to it. The jailor was 
 just after telling me, for my comfort, that all the other Irish 
 prisoners were to be exchanged only me, and that I was to be 
 shot before sunset, when in comes another, and says he, ‘ no such 
 thing, — the fellow has better luck than honester folk ! — his life 
 is saved for this time ’ 
 
 “ ‘Why, how is that V says the jailor, and, though myself 
 didn’t dare to open my lips, you may be sure I was on thorns to 
 hear more. ‘Well,’ says the turnkey to the jailor, ‘ if you were 
 guessing for ever you’d never light on it. What do you 
 
 think of Lady coming herself to Sir Henry to ask pardon 
 
 for the varlet 1 — he said the name in a whisper almost, so that I 
 couldn’t hear it, and sorry enough I was for that same, for the jailor 
 himself cried out : ‘ Can it be possible 'l — well ! after that, I’ll 
 wonder at nothing — but I suppose Sir Henry couldn’t refuse her.’ 
 ‘ So he said,’ says the turnkey back again, ‘ for she asked it as a 
 favor that she’d never forget, and Sir Henry said as it was the first 
 she ever asked of him, he couldn’t refuse though he didn’t deny 
 but what it was sore against his will to spare the fellow’s life. I 
 heard a whisper amongst some of the soldiers,’ says he in a low 
 voice, ‘ that Sir Henry wouldn’t give in so readily, only for a 
 notion he has in regard to her ladyship’s daughter — a born 
 beauty, they say she is, and old as the general is, it seems he’s 
 looking out for a wife still.’ At this the two laughed, and the 
 jailor says winking at the other, ‘ I see — I see — that’s all plain 
 enough, but what the d — 1 put it in the old lady’s head to pe- 
 tition for a scurvy Irish traitor.’ ” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 213 
 
 “ That was just what myself wanted to know,” said Angus, “ so 
 I got as near as I could and cocked my ear to listen, hut I 
 wasn’t anything the wiser, for the other only shook his head and 
 said it was a mystery to him.” ‘ 
 
 Various names were suggested by the Norman lords and gen- 
 tlemen, but their guessing threw no light on the subject, and 
 Sir Phelim exclaimed in a snappish way : 
 
 “ We be just as much in the dark now as we were before — is 
 that all you can tell us regarding this dame of quality V' 
 
 “ Not so, Sir Phelim,” returned Angus with a smile, and he 
 glanced sideways at his friend Shamus ; “ before I left Drogheda I 
 had a visit from that same lady, a lady of noble presence she is, 
 too, and with her was the fairest maiden these eyes ever beheld.” 
 The arch youth paused and looked around, enjoying, as it were, 
 the surprise now depicted on every face, turning from one to the 
 other as their various ejaculations reached his ear. 
 
 “Ay, marry,” said he, “ the lady came to see me, and she told 
 me she felt herself much beholden to certain of the Irish chief- 
 tains, and she gave me a message for one in particular.” 
 
 “ And who might that be I” demanded O’Neill. 
 
 “The 0 Rourke of Breffny !” 
 
 “ The O’Rourke !” cried Manus, stepping eagerly forward. 
 “ Did she say O’Rourke 1” 
 
 “ She did, and as your lord is absent, I may give it to you, for 
 the lady said I might, in such case, deliver her words to any of 
 his kinsmen. She commends herself to Owen O’Rourke, and 
 sends him word by me, with kind and courteous greeting, that 
 for his sake, and in virtue of his request, she saved my life, beg- 
 ging that noble gentleman to believe that she holds his debt as 
 still standing, and will, with God’s help, do much more in pay- 
 ment thereof if so be that these troubles last much longer !” 
 
 • “I know now who it is,” said Manus O’Rourke, — “ it is ” 
 
 “Nay, speak not her name,” said Angus quickly, “ she charged 
 me to keep it secret, from all who knew it not already.” 
 
 “ Humph !” cried Sir Phelim, “ O’Rourke’s smooth face and 
 winning ways have made an impression on some soft-hearted 
 dowager of the Pale — what think ye, my lords I” 
 
214 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Nay, I pray you, SirPhelim, do not the noble lady injustice,” 
 said Manus eagerly ; “ the bottom of this affair is well known to 
 me, and she were as inhuman as her husband — from whose hands 
 God save us all — did she not feel grateful to Owen O’Rourke I” 
 
 “ Well ! well ! have it your own way,” said Sir Phelim *, “ your 
 secret must be respected for the present, we have other matters 
 to think of than ladies’ whims !” 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 215 
 
 CHAPTER XVLL. 
 
 11 Those high-built hopes that crush us by their fall !” 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 “ The wise and active conquer difficulties, 
 
 By daring to attempt them ; sloth and folly 
 Shiver and sink at sights of toil and hazard, 
 
 And make th’ impossibility they fear.” 
 
 Rowe. 
 
 Thus the hopes of taking Drogheda were for that time aban- 
 doned by the allied chieftains, much against the will of the Nor- 
 man lords who were extremely disconcerted by this unlooked-for 
 disappointment so soon after their coalition. The high expecta- 
 tions with which they had joined the army before Drogheda may 
 be gathered from a letter which they addressed, even so late as 
 the end of February, to Lord Clanrickarde. This letter was 
 dated from “the Catholic camp near Drogheda,” and explicitly 
 informed the politic and time-serving Marquis that the nobles of 
 the Pale had made common cause with the native Irish. 
 
 “ And we now give your lordship to understand that by God’s 
 assistance the work is, by the help of our neighbors of Ulster, 
 and by our own endeavors, in a fair way, we having already in 
 the field, about Dublin and Drogheda, about 12,000 able men, 
 and more expected daily, for the most part well armed ; and be- 
 sides we can assure ourselves of the good will and endeavors of 
 the rest of our Catholic countrymen throughout the kingdom.”* 
 
 It was painful, then, for these high-spirited noblemen, at 
 length thoroughly interested in the great national movement, to 
 be obliged to retreat before the first advance of Ormond. Still, 
 
 *Seo D’ Alton’s History of Drogheda , Yol. II., p. 243* 
 
216 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 as they said, they felt strong in the confidence that their cause 
 enlisted the sympathies of all the Catholics of the kingdom (with 
 the exception, they might have added, of those under the fatal 
 control of Lord Clanrickarde and such as he) and that, in retiring 
 from the plains of Louth, they did but bend for a season to the 
 passing storm. In common with all the native Irish they looked 
 eagerly forward to foreign succor, and still more confidently than 
 even their allies, they believed in the secret sympathy of the king. 
 This last was a dream of their own sanguine imaginations, based, 
 at least then, on no solid foundation, yet to it they clung as the 
 principal anchor of their hopes and prospects. 
 
 But although King Charles had no real sympathy with the 
 heroic struggles of his Irish subjects, there was a power now 
 coming slowly and majestically into the field which was worth 
 a thousand times more to them than any influence the faithless 
 monarch could have exercised. 
 
 The persecuted Church of Ireland, subdued and spiritless to 
 all appearance, and timorous in public action, had as yet made 
 no demonstration in favor of her gallant defenders. Now this 
 apparent timidity, or indifference, or whatever it might be called, 
 had passed away, and a synod of the Bishops was held at Kells, 
 very soon after the retreat from Drogheda, presided over in per- 
 son by the patriotic primate, Hugh O’Neill. Then and there the 
 undertaking of the confederates was first pronounced “just and 
 lawful,” and a blessing solemnly invoked on their arms. 
 
 The spirit which animated that august assembly in the ancient 
 city of Columba, went forth within a few weeks to every corner 
 and extremity of the kingdom, infusing new life and the fresh- 
 ness of hope into hearts that were beginning to grow cold and 
 despondent. 
 
 Messengers, some of them priests, were sent abroad to the 
 different Catholic countries, and Father Luke Wadding was ho- 
 nored with a special embassy. The Pope and his Catholic Ma- 
 jesty of Spain, and Cardinal Richelieu, then the ruling spirit in 
 France, were each notified of the position of the patriot Catholics 
 of Ireland. 
 
 The government, on the other hand, were' at length aroused 
 to action. Lord Ormond was sent northward, as we have seen, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 217 
 
 ■with orders to burn and ravage all before him. Had the Earl 
 been allowed his own way he would have followed Sir Phelim’s 
 army into Ulster, believing that, from their almost total want of 
 supplies, they would necessarily afford an easy victory to an 
 army such as that which was now at his command. The Lords 
 Justices, however, would not hear of his venturing beyond the 
 Boyne, being still governed by their selfish fears of leaving the 
 metropolis without sufficient prbtection. And yet to all men it 
 appeared that they might safely have permitted Ormond to carry 
 out his politic design, seeing that they had made Sir Charles 
 Coote governor of Dublin, with a large and efficient force at 
 his disposal, and that, under his able superintendence, the 
 defences of the city had been strengthened in every possible 
 way. 
 
 When summoned back from Wicklow to take command of the 
 garrison of Dublin, Coote had encountered the warlike clan of 
 the O'Tooles, assembled to bar his progress with such arms as 
 they could collect. To almost any other general, it would have 
 been a formidable sight to see these bold mountaineers ranged in 
 order of battle full on his path amid the wild fastnesses of their 
 native rocks. But to the ruthless and impetuous Coote nothing 
 presented any serious obstacle — fear and pity were alike strangers 
 to his bosom, and unfortunately his men were chosen from thousands 
 for qualities somewhat similar to his own, so that fearing neither 
 man nor devil, fire nor sword, they were never known to retreat 
 before any force, no matter how superior in numbers, and their 
 headlong charge was irresistible when their fiery old captain, 
 sword in hand, led them to the attack. 
 
 The Wicklow mountaineers, on that memorable occasion, 
 
 “ fought like brave men long and well,” 
 
 and many a hardy veteran bit the dust beneath the weight of 
 their vengeful arms, but weapons and skill were against them, and 
 that courage which springs from desperation, for, in addition to 
 •their usual ferocious valor, Coote’s men were then inspired 
 by the sense of imminent peril. After a hard and bloody con- 
 test, then, they at last were forced to give way, or rather to open 
 a passage for the red-coats, for no account of this affair says that 
 10a 
 
218 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 they retreated, but only that Coote and his bravos “ cut their 
 way through them.” Nevertheless, Sir Charles made his way 
 back to Dublin, and was there duly installed in the military gov- 
 ernment of the capital, to the terror and dismay of the Catholic 
 inhabitants. 
 
 With their precious persons, then, under the guardian care of 
 Coote, and the metropolis fortified on every side like a castle, 
 Parsons and Borlase might have dispensed with the immediate 
 presence of Ormond, but the terrific accounts of Sir Phelim 
 O’Neill’s doings met them at every turn, and filled their cowardly 
 souls with the meanest and most servile fears. Well knowing 
 what they deserved at the hands of Catholics, they could not 
 but regard their armed bands as fierce avengers, ready to deal 
 destruction on those who had driven them to rebellion. 
 
 The news of the coalition between the Catholics of the Pale and 
 /he native Irish, was, to outward appearance, a most unwelcome 
 •surprise to the Lords Justices, but in their hearts nothing could 
 have given them greater satisfaction. Their first step was a 
 key to their feelings in this matter. No sooner did they hear of 
 the rising of the Pale than they wrote to the English Parliament, 
 and got an act passed confiscating two millions and a half of the 
 estates of the Confederate Catholics, and this was shamelessly 
 held out as a certain means of remuneration for those who joined 
 in putting down the rebellion. No stronger inducement could 
 be offered than the fat lands of the Pale Counties, and hordes of 
 greedy adventurers immediately flocked around the standard of 
 the Justices — profuse in their professions of loyalty, but at heart 
 caring little for any cause, except that which afforded a chance 
 of amending their shattered fortunes. 
 
 Various rumors were at this time afloat with regard to the 
 Catholic lords and gentlemen of Munster, where a second Coote, 
 Sir William St. Leger by name, was goading the people on to 
 rebellion by the cruellest pecuniary exactions and the fiercest 
 religious persecution. Like the Normans of the Pale, however, 
 with whom very many of them were closely connected, the Ca- 
 tholic gentry and nobility of the southern province were loath to 
 relinquish their hopes of government favor. With the people the 
 case was widely different — bound by no ties to any particular party, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 219 
 
 buoyed up with no delusive hopes, and in the actual endurance of 
 all manner of oppression, they were only anxious to be led against 
 their tyrants. But their natural leaders, the Catholic aristocracy 
 of the land, having little real sympathy with them, feared nothing 
 so much as an outbreak which might possibly compromise them 
 with the Lords Justices. The threatening attitude of the people 
 and the unmistakeable signs of revolt everywhere becoming visi- 
 ble, excited the selfish fears of the Anglo-Irish magnates of the 
 province. At the head of these stood Lord Muskerry, the lineal 
 representative of the great McCarthys oi Desmond, but unhap- 
 pily, also, the brother-in-law of the Earl of Ormond. 
 
 Even as Gormanstown and Fingal had been, was still McCarthy 
 of Muskerry — a very loyal nobleman, indeed, anxious to keep 
 the peace at any cost, and willing to do anything and everything 
 rather than have his fair domains go in as a share of the forfeited 
 two and-a-half millions. 
 
 So, very early in the month of December, just about the time 
 •when the lords of the Pale were forming their patriotic alliance 
 with the Irish chieftains, away posted Donougli McCarthy, with 
 quite a large number of the first Catholics of Munster, to tell St. 
 Leger how fearful they were of the rebellious dispositions of the 
 people. There was no doubt, they said, that the hard usage to 
 which they were subjected would eventually drive them to take 
 up arms, if some immediate steps were not taken to keep them 
 in order. 
 
 “ And what the furies can I do ?” cried St. Leger roughly, 
 “ other than I do V* 
 
 “ It is true that you are doing your utmost,” said Muskerry, 
 “ but not so with others — and that is just the object of our 
 present visit. For my part, I am willing to raise a thousand 
 men and maintain them at my own expense, if so be that the 
 government will give them arms. Others of my friends here 
 present are willing to do in like manner, according to their 
 several ability, on similar conditions.” 
 
 “ What fools you take us to be, you hypocritical Papists !” was 
 Sir William’s answer ; “ do you think we would put arms in the 
 hands of our deadly enemies I” 
 
 “ Enemies !” repeated Muskerry, in a tone of surprise, only 
 
220 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 slightly mingled with resentment; “enemies, did you say ? — 
 surely you meant not the word, Sir William, and we gwing the 
 best proofs of our loyalty that men can give !” 
 
 “ Go to the Netherlands !” cried St. Leger, with brutal 
 
 vehemence, “ you’re all rebels at heart — ay, every cursed traitor 
 of your crew — go to ! I’ll none of your savage henchmen — send 
 them to him of the Red Hand !” And so saying, he walked into 
 an adjoining cabinet, slamming the door behind him, as though 
 to signify his utter dislike and contempt of his cringing visitors. 
 
 “ By the holy faith of my fathers which these heretics perse- 
 cute !” exclaimed one of the noblemen present, with startling 
 energy, “ I will do even as he says — never again shall my ser- 
 vices stink in the nostrils of foreign tyrants, for, an’ I send not 
 my people to O’Neill, they shall do his work here at home — so 
 help me the God whose Church I will henceforth serve and de- 
 fend at my life’s peril.” 
 
 “ Nay, be not so rash,” interposed Muskerry, seeing that most 
 of those present appeared to be of the same mind, “ do nothing 
 hastily ’ 
 
 But his words were little heeded in the stern determination 
 which St. Leger’s contemptuous treatment had evoked. The 
 half-slumbering spirit of patriotism, and the growing sympathy 
 with their struggling brethren in other parts of the country, till 
 then repressed by worldly prudence and expediency, burst forth 
 at that moment bright and vigorous, eager for action, and 
 ashamed of past tepidity. Even Muskerry himself caught the 
 genial flame, and resolved, at last, to take the stand which 
 his co-religionists had a right to expect from him. Thencefor- 
 ward the proud banner of the McCarthys was seen where it 
 ought to be, in the van of the Catholic arr'y of Munster, but, 
 unhappily, the day was far distant when its rich folds waved 
 over victorious bands. 
 
 In Connaught, the old heroic spirit of the native tribes awaited 
 but the spark to kindle it, and that was not long wanting. In the 
 Archbishop of Tuam of that day, the Connaught clans had a tower 
 of strength, for no truer patriot, no more fervent Christian than 
 Malachy O’ Kelly, breathed Irish air at that troubled period. 
 His influence had early roused the people of Sligo, and those 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 221 
 
 parts, to follow the example of their friends in Leitrim, and thence 
 on into Mayo, Roscommon and Galway, the healthful spirit of 
 resistance to oppression made its way, strong in the twofold 
 sense of right and might. But, alas ! the gigantic shadow of 
 De Burgo shed its blighting coldness over the fairest and most 
 promising portions of Connaught. Inaccessible alike to religious 
 enthusiasm and patriotic ardor, Clanrickarde, Catholic as he was, 
 continued all through that long and changeful period the firm 
 friend, and (not always) trusted confidant of the puritanical faction 
 who held the land and the people in thrall. 
 
 A cold, calm, passionless man was this (so-called) great Earl of 
 Clanrickarde — this head of the Norman tribes of Connaught — a 
 man whose sympathies were in every instance with the oppres- 
 sors of his country, and the persecutors of the faith he professed. 
 Never was man more completely governed by prudence, more 
 entirely politic and worldly-minded than Ulick Burke, who, like 
 James Butler, constituted one of the great historical figures of 
 that stirring drama. Like Ormond, too, Clanrickarde exercised 
 a fatal influence on the action of the Confederate Catholics, but, 
 of the two, the heaviest load of censure necessarily falls on the 
 professing Catholic De Burgo rather than the renegade Butler, 
 whose religion was after all kidnapped from him in his childish 
 days ere yet his judgment could take cognizance of the truths 
 of faith. 
 
 Had it not been for Clanrickarde, and his deleterious policy, 
 Connaught alone would have effected great things for the national 
 cause, for even as it was, deeds of heroism, the loftiest and most 
 praiseworthy, were achieved in various parts of Clanrickarde’s own 
 country, during the really stirring times which followed, as will 
 be seen in the sequel of this story. Meanwhile let us return to 
 take a parting glance at the labors of our principal leaders. 
 
 In the midland counties of Leinster, the genius and varied 
 accomplishments of Rory O’Moore were every day producing 
 great results. With the Normans of the Pale, his influence was 
 great and perceptible, while his hold on the native chieftains was 
 still as strong as in the first days of the confederacy. The senti- 
 ment of “ God, and our Lady, and Roger O’Moore” still retained 
 • much of its pristine warmth, notwithstanding the many reverses, 
 
222 
 
 TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and the grievous disappointments already encountered by those 
 whom his sanguine spirit had at first buoyed up with delusive 
 hopes. 
 
 Strange that with such favorable dispositions existing in every 
 part of the kingdom — with the English of the Pale — dogged and 
 stern in their resolves when once taken — armed in the cause — 
 with Connaught and Munster stirred to their very depths, and 
 great part of Ulster still in their own hands — with the blessing 
 of the Synod of Kells still echoing in their ears, and fresh in all 
 men’s minds — was it not strange that just at that particular junc- 
 ture — that is to say, towards the end of April, — the so-lately con- 
 quering army of Ulster — or rather the forces brought together by 
 the northern chieftains — should be on the very verge of dissolu- 
 tion, and merely holding together as it were on suffrance, with 
 little power for good to friends or harm to enemies. The sturdy 
 spirit of Sir Phelim, even, had at length given way to the united 
 pressure of disappointment, want of necessaries and protracted 
 failure. The unsuccessful attempt on Drogheda rankled in his 
 mind and depressed him more than he would willingly acknow- 
 ledge — for his vanity had sustained a severe wound in being 
 obliged to retreat before Ormond without striking even a blow, 
 after losing so many weeks around the old borough. 
 
 It was long before the other northern chiefs began to imbibe 
 Sir Phelim’s desponding spirit — affairs grew desperate indeed 
 when Sir Con Magennis, and Roderick Maguire, and Art McMa- 
 hon gave up hopes of success. 
 
 A meeting was held about the middle of April, in one of the 
 castles of Sir Phelim O’Neill, situated on the borders of Lough 
 Foyle. Most of the principal chiefs were present, and the avowed 
 object of their deliberations was the best means of extricating 
 themselves from the difficulties of their position. At first various 
 suggestions were made as to the raising of finances for carrying 
 on the war, some proposing one expedient, some another. 
 
 Sir Phelim listened with ill-concealed impatience, turning from 
 one to the other of the speakers with a lowering brow and a 
 flashing eye as he strode the long hall to and fro, stopping ever 
 and anon to hear some remark that struck him as forcible, or to 
 make some curt reply. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 223 
 
 At length, he turned short on Lorcan Maguire who had said 
 something about Owen Roe : “ In God’s name,” said he, “ let me 
 hear nothing of ‘ our friends abroad’ — I am sick of the very word. 
 They are all over-careful of their own safety, take my word for 
 it, to put their necks in danger by helping us. They are all in 
 too good quarters where they are, depend upon it, to come hither 
 in search of poverty and hardship. Know you, Lorcan ! the ex- 
 act amount of our resources at this present moment while you all 
 talk of Father Luke Wadding and Owen Roe, and the people up 
 the country, and such like fustian I Do you know, I say, any 
 of ye, what we have of a certainty to count on ?” 
 
 One expressed total ignorance on the subject, another made a 
 random guess, evidently to satisfy the impatient chieftain as much 
 as anything else, while a third inquired to what particular sup- 
 plies he had reference. 
 
 “ To what particular one,” cried Sir Phelim, in a tone half 
 fierce, half derisive ; “ why, they be all about on a par with us. 
 Take, for instance, our ammunition — ha ! ha ! ha ! Of a surety, 
 your Catholic powers and 1 our countrymen abroad’ have done 
 well for us in regard to that article — we have just a little more 
 than one keg of powder remaining, so judge how far that would 
 go against a regular army well supplied with all things needful. 
 By mine honor, an’ we ever take up arms again in this quarrel, 
 they must needs give us something else besides fair promises, 
 which, though very soothing to the ear, will do little in the way of 
 making head against a powerful enemy.” 
 
 “What is to be done, then?’ demanded McMahon; “are we 
 to stay here quietly awaiting the day when Ormond or perchance 
 Coote will be sent to visit us on our hearthstones ?” 
 
 “Not so,” said Sir Phelim ; “ rather than fall into the hands 
 of either — even the smooth-tongued Butler — I would hide my 
 head beneath yonder stream.” 
 
 “Shame, shame, Sir Phelim!” cried Magennis warmly; “let 
 no man hear such despairing words — all unmeet for warrior’s 
 tongue to utter, much less a Christian.” 
 
 “You who are both a warrior and a Christian, Con,” said 
 0 Neill with sneering emphasis ; “ do you propose remaining here 
 to await a lucky turn in our affairs — help, for instance, from 
 abroad 1” 
 
224 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Magennis shook his head sadly. “ Heaven direct us for the 
 best !” said he, “it is a hard alternative, but I fear we must 
 e’en seek some place of safety.” 
 
 “Just so,” cried Sir Phelim exultingly, while his brother Tir- 
 logh laughed outright; “ my notion is that we needs must place 
 the sea between us and the bloodhounds who will speedily be out 
 on our track.” 
 
 “ Sir Plielim!”- said Roderick Maguire in a reproachful tone, 
 “ bethink you what you say !” 
 
 “ I do, Rory, I do, and, before Heaven, it grieves my heart to 
 speak in such wise, but what can we do, man ! what can we do 'l 
 Bethink you of our only keg of powder, our empty coffers, and 
 our just as empty commissariat !” 
 
 Slowly and reluctantty, and with many a heart-rending sigh, the 
 necessity of flight was generally admitted — at least until such times 
 as the affairs of the insurgents assumed a more prosperous aspect 
 — and even the sternest and bravest of the chiefs could no longer 
 find any reasonable protest to enter against such a step. With 
 heavy hearts and downcast eyes they were about to separate, 
 sadly thinking that God only knew under what circumstances 
 they might meet again, or if they ever should. 
 
 All at once the door was thrown open and in rushed the youth 
 Angus, closely followed by Shamus Beg, the latter evidently 
 remonstrating with his friend on the imprudent step he was tak- 
 ing. After them stepped softly in a third individual, a dark, silent 
 young man, a soldier in O’Hanlon's company, between whom and 
 Shamus an extraordinary friendship had been observed to 
 exist from an early period of their military connection. This 
 young man was named Donough, and his influence over the fiery 
 clansman of Tyrone was by all remarked, but, like Angus Dhu, 
 nothing more was known as to who he was, or whence he came. 
 
 On this occasion both Shamus and Donough seemed to be 
 solely intent on restraining Angus within the bounds of prudence 
 and decorum, but the youth, evidently laboring under some 
 strange excitement, broke from their grasp and burst upon the 
 astonished chieftains like some wild and beautiful vision. 
 
 “Sir Phelim O’Neill!” he cried, in Irish, the tartan on his 
 breast heaving tumultuously with the force of his agitation, “ is 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 225 
 
 it true what I hear that the chiefs of Ulladh are giving up God’s 
 holy cause — the righteous cause of justice and revenge — giving 
 it up like old callioghs at the very first back-set that comes on 
 them. Is it true, Sir Phelim ! or is it not I” 
 
 “Angus! Angus!” whispered Shamus, “ for your life do not 
 speak so ! He will hang you as sure as death ! — oh Angus ! 
 what’s come over you V ’ 
 
 “ Let me alone, Shamus,” cried the excited youth, struggling to 
 free himself from the other’s friendly grasp, “he must and 
 shall answer my question, for it is the voice of God /” 
 
 There was the fire of inspiration in his dark gleaming eyes, 
 and his last words sounded strangely in the ears of the chieftains, 
 most of whom were strongly susceptible of religious feeling. 
 Even Sir Phelim, although less under the control of religion than 
 many of the others, felt a strange emotion stirring within him at 
 these singular words. 
 
 “ Angus !” said he coming forward, and laying his hand on the 
 youth’s shoulder, “ Angus, we cannot do otherwise — we have no 
 means of continuing the war !” 
 
 “ Say not so,” cried Angus Dhu in a solemn tone ; " the God for 
 whom you do battle does but try your faith — the help so long 
 delayed is even now at hand, and you will live to drive the 
 enemy before you as chaff before the wind — fly not — desert not 
 your post, as you fear the wrath of God — dare not one of you 
 cross the water, at this time, for, an’ you do, the land of Erin 
 you shall never see again. Courage, chiefs of the Gael ! this is 
 the darkest hour, but the dawn is close at hand, and a day of 
 glory and of brightness is rising over the mountains !” So saying, 
 he turned and darted from the room, followed by his two friends 
 silent and abashed. Strange to say, his words decided the chief- 
 tains to remain in the country and await the merciful designs of 
 God in their favor. The result wil be seen in our second part, 
 when we hope to lay before the reader scenes and characters 
 entirely new, yet still bearing on the fortunes of our “ Confeder- 
 ate Chieftains,” and the glorious work to which so many years 
 of their lives were devoted. 
 
 10 * 
 
 END OF THE FIRST PART. 
 

THE 
 
 CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 “ A combination and a form indeed, 
 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 
 To give the world assurance of a man.” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 The burning sun of a July day was some hours’ journey down 
 the western sky, and the shadows were beginning to lengthen 
 on moor and meadow in a pastoral district of Donegal County, 
 where the country assumes a less rugged aspect, and the moun- 
 tains. recede on either hand, leaving only a broken and undulat- 
 ing surface to mark their vicinity. In other years this so pic- 
 turesque region, naturally one of great fertility, would have been 
 clothed at that season with the golden gifts of Ceres awaiting 
 the reaper’s sickle, and the numerous orchards which nestled 
 away amongst its sunny knolls and swelling hills would have 
 groaned beneath the weight of heavily-laden branches, but now 
 nor waving crop, nor fruit, nor flower, graced the scene, for 
 war’s desolating footprints were everywhere visible, and the 
 country, far as the eye could reach, was a dreary, dreary waste. 
 The labors of man were nowhere visible, save where shattered 
 walls, and garden flowers run wild, and shrubs and fruit-trees 
 
4 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 bent and broken, gave evidence of former cultivation. Man had 
 been there, for his works were there in ruins, but man was there 
 no longer, and after even a cursory glance, the traveller — they 
 were then passing few — came to the sorrowful conclusion that 
 the fair scene was a savage solitude, lifeless and voiceless all. 
 Even the road which wound in a sort of serpentine fashion over 
 and around the hills and hillocks was now so blocked up with 
 accumulated rubbish, so broken and indented with deep ruts as 
 to be hardly passable, especially for strangers. 
 
 And strangers they must have been, for all their Irish costume, 
 the two gentlemen who, mounted on the small, shaggy ponies 
 for which that region was then as now remarkable,* were slowly 
 and with difficulty making their way through the momentarily- 
 recurring obstacles which impeded their course. Both were ar- 
 rayed in the picturesque costume of the native chiefs, with the 
 single exception that the barradh was replaced by a Spanish 
 hat, without feathers, descending in a point over the brows. 
 The cloak, which, as an indispensable part of the national cos- 
 tume, each wore, was of the shortest and lightest, so that even 
 the faint summer breeze lifted their folds, and left the richly- 
 ornamented jackets and embroidered leathern girdles of the 
 travellers full in view, with forms which, though cast in far dif- 
 ferent moulds, were both graceful in their symmetry, and indi- 
 cative of much personal strength. The one who rode foremost 
 was a man of some five-and-thirty years, or thereabouts, tall 
 and commanding in stature, and of rather grave aspect, albeit 
 that his fresh and somewhat florid complexion, with the spark- 
 ling light of his clear blue eyes, gave a character of youthful 
 buoyancy to a face otherwise calm and composed in all its 
 lineaments. There was the slightest possible stiffness about the 
 whole face and figure, though the one was singularly prepos- 
 sessing, if not handsome, and the other was, as I have said, 
 both graceful and athletic. Take him altogether, and he gave 
 you the idea of a man who had battled with the world, and had 
 come victorious from the struggle ; a man of earnest purpose, and 
 
 * I presume there are few of my Irish readers who have not seen, 
 or at least heard of, the Oushendall ponies. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 5 
 
 stern resolve, yet full of the kindliest and most generous sym- 
 pathies, lofty and pure in his aspirations, and having all his facul- 
 ties under habitual control. His companion was a younger, and, 
 perhaps, a more attractive individual, with a slashing, dashing, 
 soldierly air, and a dark handsome set of features illumined 
 by a pair of brilliant black eyes, so wild, and, at the same time, so 
 piercing that you shrank from meeting their searching glance. 
 Yet was there an air of such carelesss gaiety about the jauntily- 
 attired youth that you loved to look on him, you knew not why, 
 and as you looked, you would perchance say within yourself 
 that he reminded one of the more warlike troubadours of old 
 Provence, or of the ambitious striplings, half boy, half man, who, 
 in chivalrous times, were wont either 
 
 “ To follow to the field some warlike lord, 
 
 Or tune the lute iu gentle lady’s bower.” 
 
 And truly the elder of these cavaliers might well have been a 
 “ warlike lord,” but nor page nor squire ever bore him with 
 such lightsome air in his master’s company as did that hand- 
 some youth so richly attired withal, and so gracefully gay in 
 word and mien. 
 
 Yet graceful and captivating though he was, the younger gen- 
 tleman seemed under a certain restraint in the garments which 
 at first sight so well became him, and as he glanced occasionally 
 at the truis and hose, and the somewhat clumsy buskins which 
 encased his lower limbs, a smile of mischievous meaning curled 
 his thin lip. 
 
 The two had been discoursing, as well as the frequent inter- 
 ruptions of the toilsome road permitted, and their theme was the 
 all-engrossing one of the strangely-cbmplicated position of par- 
 ties in the hapless land of the Gael, as the elder cavalier patheti- 
 cally called green Erin. They both spoke in the Irish tongue, 
 the younger with the ease and fluency of a native, the elder with 
 a sort of hesitation and a slightly foreign accent, which told of a 
 protracted sojourn in other climes where the language of Ireland 
 was seldom, if ever, spoken. Good friends the two seemed to 
 be, however, and a perfect understanding appeared to exist 
 
6 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 between them, judging by the cordial warmth with which they 
 concurred in judging “men and measures.” It was only at 
 intervals and by brief snatches that they could carry on their 
 conversation, but when a smooth patch of road made itself visible, 
 they eagerly availed themselves of it to journey side by side and 
 resume the thread of discourse so often broken. 
 
 “ Then, by your showing,” said the elder gentleman, as the 
 other gained his side, after leaping his nag fairly over a pile of 
 rubbish, “ by your showing, gentle sir, the affairs ot the Ca- 
 tholic party are not altogether desperate as yet.” 
 
 “ Desperate did you say V ’ cried the young cavalier impa- 
 tiently, “I tell you no. So far, we have held our own — ay! 
 marry, and more than that, balancing our loss and gain ono 
 against the other. Of a surety, those of the government faction 
 — to wit, the secret abettors of the Parliament of England in this 
 country — are in worse plight than we, and have less to boast of, 
 and as for the king’s party, of which I wofild fain speak in 
 friendly terms, did truth allow (which woe is me ! it doth not), 
 as for them, their success, up to this time, is, as it were, a house 
 of glass, which one stroke of ours would shiver to atoms. Had 
 we but cannon and field pieces in any adequate number, we 
 could bring even the proud B utler to his knee with marvellous 
 quickness. You smile, sir stranger, but I tell you truly : Ormond 
 could not stand before us bad we but the things I mentioned.” 
 
 “ Nay, I know not that,” said the tall stranger with grave 
 emphasis, “ I fear me much that you both underrate my lord of 
 Ormond’s talents, skill in war-craft, and the resources which he 
 has at command. Moreover, there be others of the royal gene- 
 rals men of mark, and not unknown to fame. I have heard that 
 Stewart and Montgomery have done wonders here in the north, 
 with far inferior forces, against Sir Phelim O’Neill and his entire 
 strength, while in the other province Coote and Ormond carried 
 all before them, and every passing day, it would seem, 
 strengthens the hands of our enemies ; where in the onset we 
 had but the two generals last named to dread, we have now 
 many commanders of note to encounter. Inchiquin and Vava- 
 sour and Broghill, not to speak of others of lesser note, are 
 a powerful strength to the enemy ” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 7 
 
 “And what of that!” cried the other sharply ; “ if you come - 
 to speak of generals, we have those who need not fear to stand 
 before the best of them. Think you, noble sir, that we have not 
 gained of late even greater accessions of strength. A host of 
 noble and distinguished names already adorn our muster-roll, 
 and for every one they can boast, we can number ten.” 
 
 The stranger shook his head sadly. “ It is well,” said he, “ it 
 is very well to see the noble and the brave enrolling themselves 
 beneath the national standard, but of all those lords and honora- 
 ble gentlemen, what one is known to fame by feats of arms or 
 military skill % What have they done as yet, even in this matter, 
 to give us hope of future success V‘ 
 
 “ Much— much have they done,” cried the young man eagerly ; 
 “ were it not that you were a stranger in the country I would 
 marvel at your asking a question so insulting to the brave men 
 who have many times of late led the people on to victory — ay ! 
 and men of the Norman blood, too, for all the native chiefs were 
 wont to deem them over-cold and indifferent !” 
 
 “Humph!” said the other, affecting an incredulity which he 
 did not feel, “I should like to hear somewhat of these great 
 achievements. Perchance the late battle of Kilrush, by some 
 strange optical delusion, is set down by you hot-headed young- 
 sters as a victory ! — of that affair I have indeed heard, and my 
 cheek burned as I listened. I was assured by those whose word 
 I could not doubt, that Lord Ormond, with a force of barely 
 three thousand men, put Lord Mountgarret and Rory O’More to 
 flight at the pass of Mageny, with an army of eight thousand. 
 Call you that a victory, young sir 
 
 “Twit us not with that disastrous affair, I pray you,” said the 
 young cavalier with undisguised emotion ; “on that unhappy 
 day we lost full many a brave comrade, some even of high stand- 
 ing amongst us, but as God liveth, sir stranger, it was no fault 
 of our commanders, but was owing entirely to the want of pro- 
 per discipline in our forces, with the old complaint of little or 
 no artillery. I tell you our generals did what men could to 
 arrest the course of victory, but, alas ! the veteran, and well- 
 trained soldiers of Ormond and Tichborne, armed at all points, 
 were more than a match for our poor fellows, all unused to war 
 
8 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 as they were, and badly provided even with hand-arms. The 
 fates would have it as it was, and we had only to give in for the 
 time, but with God’s good aid, the stain of that day shall not 
 long rest upon our name — we shall not always be as bare as we 
 now are in regard to the munitions of war. My word for it, 
 Kory O’More, were there none other, will see that the disgrace 
 which befel us at Mageny be redeemed to our country’s credit.” 
 
 “ Now that you speak of him,” said the elder gentleman, 
 ** know you where speech might be had of him '? He escaped 
 unhurt, I am told, from that famous battle” — this was said with 
 a good-humored smile — “ but can you tell me what he has been 
 doing since] Surely, so much talent, and so many good parts, 
 together with so much patriotism, cannot lie rusting in idleness 
 at a time like this V* 
 
 “ Wrong not O’More so far as to suppose it,” said the youth 
 with generous warmth, as, having paced his little steed carefully 
 through the scattered fragments of a garden-wall which had 
 fallen outward on the road, he once more took his station along- 
 side of his companion ; “ Rory hath not been seen in public since 
 that disastrous day, but he is not the man to give up a cause so 
 lightly, and I warrant me he is working: like a mole under the 
 feet of our opponents. Silently and steadily O’More does his 
 work, and to him, under God, is due the vast organization which 
 even now embraces great part of the island. Many and many 
 a Norman noble, now devoted heart and soul to our interests, 
 would never have perilled life or fortune in the cause, were it 
 not for that same Rory O’More of whom your words, and still 
 more, your sneering tone, imply some doubt !” 
 
 It was with difficulty that the tall stranger suppressed a smile, 
 as certain memories from the past floated up to the surface of 
 his mind, but whatever his thoughts might have been, he chose 
 to keep them to himself, saying only that he was glad to hear 
 O’More had done so much. 
 
 “ But I pray you, tell me, good youth,” he said quickly, a3 if 
 to change the subject, “ what has been achieved by these com- 
 manders of whom you speak ] Drogheda I have heard of, and 
 Cork, Kilrush in like manner, ay ! and the re-capture of many a 
 northern stronghold by the royal generals, in so far that poor 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 9 
 
 Phelim Roe — excuse me,” seeing that the other looked surprised 
 — “ I mean Sir Phelim O’Neill — and his brother-chieftains here in 
 Ulster are all but in despair — failure, to speak in serious mood, 
 I have heard much of — but of success — at least to any extent — I 
 have yet to hear!” 
 
 “ By the rood, sir stranger,” cried the youth impetuously, “ I 
 know not what to think of you. Where have you been that the 
 • echo of our joyful shouts reached not your ear when Mountgar- 
 ret took Kilkenny, and his brave son, Edmund Butler, compelled 
 Waterford to open its gates to him'? Perchance you have not 
 heard, either, how Limerick hath been taken for us by Lord 
 
 Muskerry and Lord Skerrin ” 
 
 “ Thank Heaven !” muttered the stranger, “ the McCarthy spi- 
 rit is at last aroused — it was well nigh time — but,” raising his 
 voice, “ what boots the taking of a few cities, when all the open 
 country is in the hands of the enemy. What though Waterford 
 and Limerick be ours, when St. Leger lords it still over that 
 province ” 
 
 “ I cry you mercy, noble sir, he lords it no longer ” 
 
 “ How 1 — what mean you ?” 
 
 “ I mean that the old firebrand is gone some weeks ago on a 
 
 voyage to the other world ” 
 
 “ Bead, say you? is Sir William St. Leger, then, dead! ” 
 
 “ Ay ! dead as a door-nail !” 
 
 An exclamation of pleasure was on the stranger’s lips, but sup- 
 pressing it, he asked very quietly : “ Was he slain or what ?” 
 
 “ Not he, — -no arm of ours was so lucky as to execute ven- 
 geance on him — he died of — of Limerick /” 
 
 “How ? — what? — he died of Limerick — what manner of 
 disease may that be ?” 
 
 “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the arch youngster, exulting in the 
 thought that he had said a good thing, “ I see even travelled 
 beaux may be puzzled at times by a simple word. St. Leger died 
 of Limerick just as Queen Mary is said by the scribes to have died 
 of Calais — the old blood-sucker took its loss so much to heart — 
 coming in the rear of ever so many other mishaps, that his heart 
 broke — or at least what served him for a heart — it was red-hot 
 
10 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 iron, I rather think, — and off he went — to join Pluto’s court be- 
 low, most likely !” 
 
 “For shame, young sir,” said his graver companion, “such 
 manner of speech befits not such a theme — death is ever a 
 solemn subject, and mortal man may not judge his fellow — 
 even though he be— a St. Leger. If the man be gone to his 
 account, leave him to the Sovereign Judge of all. How stands 
 the king affected, that is, what do our friends here believe the 
 royal mind to be V’ 
 
 “ The royal mind, quotha! By the mass, if there be a royal 
 mind, it is so enveloped in coatings of divers kinds that the art 
 of man may not penetrate its manifold disguise. Still there are 
 amongst us men who, deeming themselves wondrous wise, do pre- 
 tend to fathom that same royal mind, ay, marry ! and to see amid 
 its tortuous windings a secret sympathy with our endeavors. For 
 myself, I have no faith in any such leaning of the king’s majesty 
 towards us, albeit that Sir Phelim here in the north, and Lord 
 Muskerry in the south,* do profess to hold commissions from 
 him ” 
 
 “ What say you 1 — commissions from the king !— can it be that 
 so wily a prince so far committed himself, at a time when his 
 enemies, the Puritans and Parliamentarians, had him encom 
 passed round about 1” 
 
 “ I tell you, sir cavalier,” said the young man earnestly, 
 “ there is not a Puritan of them all who has less liking for us at 
 bottom than his grace’s majesty. Why, it was but the other day, 
 as one might say, that, in his cringing address to the Parliament 
 
 * Warner tells a curious story, which I have never seen referred to 
 by any writer, to the effect that Lord Muskerry sent to Sir William St. 
 Leger by Mr. Walsh, an eminent lawyer of the national party, a 
 commission from the king duly stamped with the great seal, author- 
 izing him to collect forces, and to do whatever seemed expedient to 
 him, in support of the Catholic cause, thus identified with the cause 
 of royalty. Warner goes on to say that St. Leger was so convinced 
 of the authenticity of this document, that for that time he drew off 
 his forces and left Muskerry at liberty to follow out his plans. War- 
 ner’s Civil Wars , Book III., p. 189. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 11 
 
 of England, he demanded supplies to equip an army which he 
 meant to lead himself into Ireland to punish his ‘ seditious Popish 
 subjects.’ Ha ! ha ! good for him that the Parliament refused 
 to trust him. Neither men, money nor arms would they give him, 
 so that he was fain to stay at home and leave others to chastise 
 ‘ the pestilent Irish rebels another pet phrase of his when dis- 
 coursing of us. Nay, nay, never tell me of King Charles being 
 our secret friend. I question if even his queen, Catholic though 
 she be, has much interest in our struggle, apart from its bearing 
 on the position of her husband. Even Lord Gormanstown him- 
 self had, to my knowledge, conformed to that way of thinking 
 
 before his death — slowly and unwillingly he came to own it ” 
 
 “ Before his death !” repeated the stranger, with a start ; “ is 
 Gormanstown then dead 
 
 “ Dead ! ay, marry, is he,” replied the youth s#dly, “ he had 
 staked all on the success of our cause, and his heart was fixed 
 on the re-establishment of order and religion in this distracted 
 land, but his hopes were too sanguine, and the brief series of 
 disasters which followed the discomfiture at Drogheda, weighed 
 down his heart with a load of sorrow which speedily brought him 
 to the grave. Alas ! yes ! Gormanstown is gone from amongst 
 us, and sorely do we miss him at the council-table, ay ! and in the 
 field, for, with the weight of fifty years upon him, he was still 
 stout and active. But his prudence and his caution are our 
 heaviest loss ! God rest his soul in peace !” 
 
 “ Amen !” said the other with solemn fervor, and both raised 
 their hats from their brows, and then rode silently on for a short 
 space, as though each were pursuing some train of thought sug- 
 gested by the sad announcement just made. 
 
 “ Heaven help us !” said the elder traveller at length, and he 
 heaved a sigh ; “ what mournful traces doth not war leave behind 
 - it — ay ! even on the soil ! Truly this is a dreary road to travel — 
 God forbid there be many such in Ulster !” 
 
 “ And yet this is Phelim’s work !” said the younger gentleman ; 
 “ he vowed to have revenge for Island Magee, and, by St. Bren- 
 dan ! he hath kept his word — the enemy hath not had all the 
 slaughtering to himself, I promise you, for all that the chieftains 
 who commenced the work of revolution had no mind to shed 
 
12 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 blood — it was the hardest necessity that drove them to it. But 
 one thing is certain, to wit, that the worst doings of our Ulster 
 chiefs — even the fierce Phelim himself — do not equal in atrocity 
 the cruelties exercised by some of the royal — or rather the Pu- 
 ritan captains ” 
 
 “ Ay, marry,” said the other, turning quickly in his saddle, 
 “ all Europe rings with the monstrous deeds of Coote and his 
 colleagues ” 
 
 “ Ha, the hell-hound, his name was as a spell- word of evil from 
 which our bravest shrank in terror. I warrant me, the vault of 
 hell re-echoes with the sound at this hour — he has fallen under 
 the lash himself — ay ! hath he, and of a surety, the infernal tor- 
 turers have a long score to reckon with him — Christ save us! 
 what a cloud!” and he pointed to a mass of dense black vapor 
 which had been gradually gathering overhead and extending its 
 wings like some huge bird of prey, until the sun itself was 
 obscured, and seemed suddenly to withhold its light from the 
 earth below, over which the shadow of the awful cloud settled 
 down in darkness. What light remained was barely sufficient to 
 guide the travellers on their devious and difficult way, and to 
 make the scene still more ghastly, the forked lightning began to 
 pierce the threatening mass of vapor, and the air became all at 
 once so thick as to impede respiration. 
 
 “ Now God and His holy angels shield us from harm !” said the 
 elder cavalier, and raising his right hand he made the sign of the 
 cross on his ample forehead ; “ we are in for a thunder-storm, 
 and most likely a tornado after it — look around, my young 
 friend, and see if this wilderness contain no human dwelling. 
 For me, I have been straining mine eyes in vain with the same 
 intent since yonder ominous cloud began to obscure the heavens. 
 Would that I had taken the guide — but then I deemed the way 
 so short, and fancied I knew it so well — so I did, too, but alas ! 
 it is not the same— changed — changed — all — Heaven save us! 
 Boy ! boy ! see you no dwelling V’ 
 
 “ Boy !” repeated his companion with scornful emphasis, “ me- 
 thinks, sir stranger, you are over free ! One who has commanded 
 a troop of horse, ay ! and (though he tell it himself) seen some 
 service, must needs be other than a boy ! Mother of God , 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 13 
 
 what a scene ! — what a ghastly glare, and heard you ever such 
 thunder — it seems as though the end of things was at hand ■” 
 
 “ Ha ! who comes there V cried the other cavalier, as a third 
 horseman dashed up at neck-or-nothing speed, apparently reck- 
 less*f life and limb. 
 
 “ Your guide,” was the brief response, as the soldier, for 
 such he was, passed the travellers at a gallop, and reined in his 
 horse on reaching the front. “We at the castle knew what 
 manner of road lay before you, and fearing some evil might befal 
 you, thought it best to follow your footsteps, so as to be at hand 
 in case your memory failed you.” 
 
 “ Thanks, good fellow,” said the elder traveller, “ thanks for 
 your friendly forethought, but I see not now what you can do to 
 aid us — place of shelter there seemeth none, and the rain will 
 speedily pour down in torrents from yonder black cloud ” 
 
 “ Follow me !” said the guide, “ and we shall see — if my mem- 
 ory fail me not, there should be one dwelling inhabited some- 
 where hereabouts !” 
 
 The two gentlemen followed in silence, anxiously watching 
 the motions of their guide, who kept a few paces in front, peer- 
 ing on either side through the gloom, down into the ground, as it 
 seemed to them, hallooing through his closed hand ever and 
 anon. Still no answer came, and still the storm increased, and 
 the younger traveller waxed impatient. 
 
 “ Man !” he called out angrily from behind, “ what mummery 
 is this 1 I tell you, no living soul is within hearing — he were 
 worse than a fool who rested his hopes on such a chance ! By 
 my faith, Sir Phelim, I could wish your brawny self in my place 
 this hour, an’ you were, my good sir, you might perchance be 
 more sparing of stone walls hereafter — holy St.John! we are 
 in for another deluge !” 
 
 But just at that moment when the big drops began to patter 
 against the faces of 'the travellers and the thunder growled be- 
 hind them like a pack of wolves on their track, the wild halloo of 
 the guide was faintly responded to, as though from the bowels of 
 the earth, and in the midst of a pile of ruins a little back from 
 the road, a light made itself dimly visible, a moving, twinkling 
 
14 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 light, too, seeming as though carried in the hand of a person not 
 as yet visible. 
 
 “ Thank God, they’re here still,” said the guide in a soliloquiz- 
 ing tone ; “I knew not but it’s dead they might be by this time.” 
 
 “Enter in God’s name!” said a voice speaking the ^rish 
 tongue, from a yawning aperture in the wall, close to where the 
 elder traveller stood — so close indeed that he started at the un- 
 expected sound, and the equally unexpected sight of a female 
 form holding aloft a piece of blazing bog-wood. “ Shelter you 
 can have, if nothing more !” 
 
 “ Follow her !” whispered the guide, seeing the strangers hesi- 
 tate, “ within you have nought to fear — without, danger and may- 
 hap destruction are abroad.” 
 
 Nothing more was necessary, for the rain began to pour down 
 in torrents. Leaping lightly from their nags, which the guide 
 took in charge, the two gentlemen hastened after the unknown 
 damsel through what seemed to have been a flagged passage 
 leading, on the right, into a low chamber of narrow dimensions, 
 the stone roof of which effectually excluded the pelting rain, 
 while the total absence of anything like windows, although giv- 
 ing a tomb-like appearance to the place, served now to shut out 
 the lightning, and conveyed a sense of security that was very 
 acceptable to the travellers after their long exposure to the fury 
 of the elements. A wide open chimney occupied one entire side 
 of the little chamber, and on a low stool close to the hearth sat 
 an aged woman, cowering, July evening as it was, with out- 
 stretched hands, over a few half-burned brambles. Her face, as 
 she turned it towards the travellers, was ghastly pale, and old, 
 and wrinkled, and misery was stamped on every feature, yet the 
 silver-grey hair was deftly rolled bacJs from her high forehead 
 under a coif which, though of the coarsest texture, was scrupu- 
 lously clean. Her skinny arms, bare from the elbows, were 
 long, and lean, and yellow, but, what seemed strange to both 
 travellers, and they noticed it at once, was an antique ring of 
 the finest gold which glittered on the third finger of her left hand, 
 
 “ Mother !” said the younger female, after placing the strangers 
 on two rough blocks of wood which, except the stool before 
 mentioned, were the only seats to be seen j “ mother, give the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 15 
 
 word of welcome to these noble gentlemen who have taken shelter 
 here from the storm !” and so saying she placed her little torch 
 in a clay-socket over the hob-stone. By its light, the aged crone 
 carefully examined the faces of her guests, or rather that of the 
 elder traveller, on whom her eyes first fell, nor spoke, nor even 
 noticed his respectful salutation, till her scrutiny was accom- 
 plished. No emotion of any kind was visible on her withered 
 features, neither joy, surprise, nor even curiosity, but slowly 
 rising from her seat, she drew herself up to a height little to bo 
 expected from her previous crouching attitude, then bowing her 
 head with an air of almost queenly dignity, she said : 
 
 “Welcome, son of the Hy-Nial ! welcome to our miserable 
 dwelling ! — you come to us in storm and cloud as beseems one 
 so long foretold. May your coming bring back the sunshine of 
 prosperity to the mournful children of the Gael !” 
 
 “ Son of the Hy-Nial !” repeated the younger traveller, turning 
 in surprise to his companion who met his look with a grave 
 smile, then rose and returned the old dame’s salute with a rev- 
 erence due to her age ; “ son of the Hy-Nial,” said the young 
 
 man still looking at him, “ can it be that you are •” 
 
 “ Owen O'Neill, commonly called in these parts, as I am told, 
 Owen Roe.” 
 
 “I knew it,” said the old woman in -a voice now quivering 
 with emotion; “ I knew you were of the line of Con ! Judith”— 
 turning to her daughter — “ said I not that the champion of the 
 Red Hand was on his way to join the men of Erin 1 — I told you 
 I saw him in my dream last night — ay ! did I, and struggling 
 with a huge wolf, which he will speedily have to do, and that 
 not with one, but many — rejoice, my daughter, and smile as you 
 were wont that your mother’s heart may be gladdened !” 
 
 “ Colonel O’Neill is welcome,” said the young woman, coming 
 a step or two forward from the dark corner into which she had 
 retire 1 ; “ long hath his coming been looked for by the tribes of 
 Ulster, and now is their hour of sorest need !” 
 
 The tone and manner of the speaker gave singular signifi- 
 cance to her words, and were such as to attract the attention of 
 both the cavaliers. The younger could hardly repress an ex- 
 clamation of surprise, but O’Neill, habitually calm and cool, 
 
16 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 merely fixed his keen eye on the young woman, if young she 
 could be called with the impression of some thirty years legibly 
 stamped on her pale brow. There was little of youthfulness 
 remaining in her face or figure, nor was she what could be called 
 a beauty, but there was more than beauty, more than youth in 
 the dark depths of her radiant eyes, and the exquisite delicacy 
 of her fair Grecian features, expressive at once of mildness and 
 candor, together with a certain amount of firmness seldom seen 
 on so womanly a countenance. A heavy mass of rich brown 
 hair was gathered in a soft twist to the back of her head, leaving 
 its admirable conformation (as phrenologists would say) fully 
 exposed to view. Her figure was tall and of perfect symmetry 
 in its proportions, while every movement was marked by ease 
 and grace. Sooth to say, it was hard to reconcile the air and 
 bearing, the words and manner of either mother or daughter 
 with the extreme poverty indicated by all around them. The 
 dress of both was the coarse brown drugget, or “ linsey-wool- 
 sey” worn by the lowest classes of the peasantry, even that old 
 anl faded, although clean. Before any one had spoken another 
 word, Judith had withdrawn into her obscure station, and the 
 gentlemen Were both too well bred to follow her thither with 
 their eyes. 
 
 “ Thanks, good ladies,” said O’Neill after a moment’s silence, 
 “ thanks for your kind and courteous welcome.” 
 
 “ Ladies, good ladies !” muttered the crone in a half-audible 
 voice, as she slowly resumed her three-legged stool. “ Ladies — 
 ha! ha! ha!” and she croaked a sort of mocking laugh. 
 
 “ Nay, I beg to be excused from tendering thanks,” said the 
 younger cavalier with an assumption of gaiety that did not con- 
 ceal a feeling of bitterness lurking beneath. “ The welcome was 
 all for you — no word of kindness hath reached my ear, though I, 
 too, am of the Gael — in outward show, at least !” he added in an 
 under tone. 
 
 “ Not so, Sir John Netterville,” said the guide, who now 
 appeared from the dark passage, “ the feathers do not make 
 the bird — you were not of the Gael, noble sir, when you rode 
 with Dunboyne’s troop to the luckless pass of Mageny !” 
 
 “ Netterville ! Netterville !” repeated the old woman slowly, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 17 
 
 and turning, slie fixed her stih piercing eye on the now laughing, 
 blushing face of the young nobleman, “ methinks I should know 
 that name — alas, yes ! I once had a lover, a gallant Norman 
 knight from within the Pale — Rufus Netterville was his name, a 
 brother of my Lord Netterville.” 
 
 “ He was my grand sire, that Rufus,” cried the young man, 
 pale with astonishment, “ but tell me, in Heaven’s name, who are 
 you V' 
 
 “ You may well ask the question,” the old woman replied, as 
 she cast her eye around on her miserable abode ; “ young 
 man, you see before you — the widow of O’Cahan, the daughter 
 of Maguire !” Hearing this, even O’Neill was surprised out of 
 his usual self-possession. “ Alas, poor lady !” he exclaimed with 
 emotion, “ what a fall is yours !” 
 
 “ Hood Heavens !” cried Netterville, “ can it be 1 How — how 
 is it V’ 
 
 “ That my daughter will tell you, if perchance you tarry 
 longer!” 
 
 A peal of thunder shook the old walls at that moment, and 
 Netterville said with a gay laugh, “ this storm is wondrous kind, 
 you see, for it leaves us no choice !” O’Neill gave an anxious 
 glance down the long passage, but the sky was still dark and 
 threatening, and the heavy fall of the rain reached his ear even 
 there. However great his hurry might be, he saw there was 
 nothing for it but to stay and listen. Making a virtue of neces- 
 sity, with grave politeness he expressed his wish to hear the story. 
 
 “But first I would wish to know of my young friend here,” 
 said 0 Neill with much composure, “ whether it be customary for 
 the gentlemen of the Pale to assume the costume of the native 
 chiefs in token of adhesion to their cause 1” 
 
 “I understand you, Colonel,” Sir John quickly replied, “and 
 will answer your question by another : Is it customary with Irish 
 gentlemen of foreign reputation landing hither from Spain or 
 France to lay aside the uniform of the armies with whom their 
 fame and laurels were won, in token that they hold no further 
 connection with those friendly nations V’ 
 
 “ Aptly put, Sir John, but methinks a gentleman of such keen 
 wit might further ‘ understand’ that I, finding occasion to jour- 
 
18 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 
 ney alone over a long tract of country whose condition I know 
 not, may deem it more expedient to adopt the costume of the 
 native gentry and nobility, as likely r to attract less notice than 
 the uniform of a foreign army !” 
 
 “ Something similar is the case with me,” said Netterville in a 
 tone of levity that was clearly assumed, “ the only difference 
 being that my business is private and yours public. Are you 
 satisfied 
 
 O’Neill answered with a slight bow. He was not quite satis- 
 fied, yet too polite to say so, he turned again to Judith and with 
 a cheerful smile requested her to favor them with the promised 
 recital. 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 19 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 “ And underneath that face, like summer’s oceans, 
 
 Its life as noiseless, and its cheek as clear, 
 
 Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart’s emotions, 
 
 Love — hatred — pride— hope — sorrow — all, save fear.” 
 
 Fitz-Green Halleck. 
 
 Judith approached her allotted task with the air of one who 
 had but small liking for it. Without moving from her place in 
 the comer, she asked the guide if there was no likelihood of the 
 storm ceasing, and his reply in the negative appeared to give her 
 anything but pleasure. 
 
 “ It is ill dallying in a vault like this, hearkening to old stories,” 
 said she, “ when an oppressed country is groaning in sore tra- 
 vail. Nay, colonel, I meant no reproach,” seeing that O’Neill 
 reddened to the eyes, “I do but lament the necessity which 
 keeps you here. As for your companion, neither time nor tide 
 awaits his going hence, and I see he burns to have the strange 
 enigma of my mother’s fate solved. And yet the story is no- 
 wise. strange or uncommon in these latter days, and will take 
 but brief space of time to tell.” 
 
 “ Child!” said her mother testily, “ you mistake, the story is 
 of much interest.” 
 
 “ To us it is, mother,” and Judith smiled sadly. “ But not to 
 others.” 
 
 The gentlemen both hastened to express their extreme desire 
 to hear it, such as it was, and Judith, without further remark, 
 complied. In a clear, calm, passionless voice she told how her 
 mother, although betrothed to young Netterville (with whom she 
 had become acquainted during a visit to her maternal relatives, 
 the O’Reillys of Breffhy), was forced by her stern father to 
 
20 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 fulfil a previous engagement made by him on her behalf with 
 the chieftain of D ungiven ; how her husband, Brian O’Cahan, took 
 sides with the great Earl, and followed his fortunes all through 
 those disastrous wars which ended in ruin and defeat, leayng 
 Ulster a desert, and its noblest families beggars — “ ay, starving 
 beggars,” said Judith bitterly, “ as we can tell to our sad misfor- 
 tune. In the halls of Dungiven,* by the silver waters of the Roe, 
 my mother had long dwelt in such peace as the evil times would 
 allow, protected as well by the remoteness of her position as by 
 the strong arms of the clansmen left by my father, to guard his 
 home and the loved ones from whom cruel war kept him so 
 long absent. The years of the weary struggle passed — oh, how 
 tediously ! and new sacrifices were demanded of my poor mother, 
 for the three brave boys whom my father left as children, 
 were no sooner able to wield a weapon than they quitted their 
 mother one by one, to take their places by their father’s side 
 amongst the veteran warriors of the north. Alas ! their career of 
 arms was short — it was the will of Heaven that they should see 
 their old home no more — their first campaign was their last, but 
 my mother knew not of her loss — it was carefully kept from her 
 — till, at the close of the long, long, bloody war, when the star 
 of Tyrone had set, to all appearance, for ever, and the victor of 
 so many battles had bent his knee before the upstart Mountjoy, 
 
 * The Castle of Dungiven, one of the principal strongholds of the 
 noble house of O’Cahan (O’ Kane), is thus described by a writer in the 
 Dublin Penny Journal : “ The house, which is one hundred and fifty 
 feet long and twenty feet wide, is seated on a gentie slope, and front- 
 ing the southwest, and having a fosse and mounds for a defence in 
 front, and, at either end of the building, round towers, projecting a 
 little, and furnished with loop-holes for musketry. On the northeast 
 are two courts, each fifty yards in length and forty in breadth, through 
 which is the principal entrance ; the outer court is surrounded by a 
 low wall, having a reservoir of water within it ; the inner court, which 
 is rectangular, is defended by a wall twenty feet high, with embra- 
 sures, &c., and at each angle are square towers as flankers : on the 
 inside this wall is strengthened by an arched rampart, and runs round 
 three sides of the rectangle. The situation is commanding, and the 
 view3 around it truly admirable.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 21 
 
 when my father returned alone to his ancestral halls, foot-sore 
 and weary, with garments soiled and torn, and his stalwart 
 form bowed down with shame and sorrow, far more than years, 
 then it was that my mother asked for her boys, and was told 
 that they had fallen on the field of battle. Alas ! it was little 
 comfort for her to hear, from the lips of their father and their 
 chief, that they had died as became their lineage, died, too, in 
 the arms of victory, two of them at Benburb, and one at the 
 Yellow Ford when Bagnall’s haughty crest went down before 
 the might of the Red-Hand.” 
 
 “Woe is me !” muttered the old woman in a dreary, dreamy 
 voice, as she sat apparently but half conscious, with her eyes fixed 
 on the poor apology for a fire, which it seemed her business and 
 her pleasure to keep alive ; “ woe is me ! I deemed my loss a 
 heavy one — alas ! alas ! I l.ved to be thankful that my boys 
 were gone !” 
 
 Judith stopped and looked with tearful eyes on her mother, 
 and Netterville was breaking out into an expression of sympathy, 
 but the young woman, with grave dignity, motioned him to be 
 silent. 
 
 “ My mother loves not the language of pity,” said she in a 
 subdued tone, and she glanced furtively at O’Neill, whose eyes 
 were moist, though he said nothing ; “we of the old blood 
 have pride in proportion to our poverty, Master Netterville 
 — I mean, Sir John Netterville! — I told you, however, that 
 my mother lost her children — they were all she had at that 
 time. I have now to tell you that many months had not gone 
 by, when my father lost lands and livings, houses, castles, and 
 all, all that had been his, except the sorrowful partner of his 
 life, and the few faithful followers whom neither hunger, nor cold, 
 nor any other privation could detach from their lord and lady. 
 Every foot of land he had was confiscated to the crown, in 
 common with the domains of all the other chieftains, who had 
 taken part with O’Neill in the late war, and at fifty, Brian 
 O’Cahan found himself a houseless, homeless man, with a wife 
 enfeebled by sorrow and suffering, looking to him for that sup- 
 port and protection which the stout warrior had no longer to 
 give. Truly, it was a sad day when they turned their backs on 
 
22 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Dungiven Castle, and bade adieu for ever to the statelier halls of 
 Limavady,* and wandered forth in search of shelter, like unto 
 our first parents when driven from the shades of Eden.” 
 
 “ We thought we were leaving the Castle for ever — sure enough 
 we did,” said the old woman with a ghastly smile on her withered 
 features, “ for Brian said they’d be giving it and Limavady, too, 
 to some drummer or fifer of their army, to set him up for a lord. 
 But it seems they were afraid to leave the houses as they were, 
 for fear of O’Cahan taking them back some day or another — ■ 
 which between ourselves was just what he meant to do,’’ she 
 added, nodding with a confidential air to O’Neill. “ So they bat- 
 tered them down as well as they could, and woe is me 1 I was 
 fain to take shelter many a long day after in the old walls of 
 Dungiven with my daughter, poor Judith there. Child of my 
 heart !” and she turned her aged eyes on her daughter with a 
 look of ineffable affection, “ child of my heart ! she came to us in 
 our heavy sorrow ; two years after we left our home, she was 
 born in a hut on the outskirts of our former territory, and she was 
 but a fortnight old when her father was arrested on a fresh charge 
 of stirring up the people to sedition. Heaven help us ! that was a 
 black day to us, for the faithful few who had clung to us in our 
 poverty and destitution, fell before our eyes,, one after another 
 in the vain and rash hope of saving their chief from falling a 
 second time into the hands of the king’s soldiers. They fell one 
 by one, at the door of our hut, with a prayer for O’Cahan on 
 their dying lips, and over the pile made by their dead bodies on 
 
 Though the O’Cahans had a castle at Dungiven, yet the principal 
 residence of the chief was at Limavady (Lint an madhah), the dog’s 
 leap, a delightful spot on the banks of the Roe, about four miles below 
 Dungiven, where the river has sought out a narrow way between 
 lofty and approaching rocks ; the situation was happily chosen, and 
 affords no mean proof of the taste of these early chieftains. Nature 
 has there so assembled and disposed of her choicest features of 
 wood, and rock, and water, that they could derive or acquire but 
 little aid from art to heighten the charms of the scene. The last con- 
 siderable chief of the O’Cahans, being implicated in treasonable prac- 
 tices with O’Neill and O’Donnell, early in the reign of James I., was 
 seized, and his estates forfeited in the year 1607.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 23 
 
 our threshold, was Brian dragged forth with oaths and curses, 
 himself bleeding you’d think to death, from a wound he got in 
 the scuffle. My prayers, and tears, and cries were useless — they 
 would not so much as give him time to bid myself and the babe 
 farewell — he could only look at us and point to the blue sky- 
 
 above as they tore him away That was the 
 
 last we saw of him,” she added after a short pause, during which 
 all held their breath to listen — even Judith dwelt on her mother’s 
 words as though the tale she told was new to her ear. The old 
 woman said not another word, but relapsing into her former stu- 
 por, sat gazing as before on the dull, cheerless fire. 
 
 ‘'Like many another chieftain of our unhappy nation,” said 
 Judith, taking up the sad tale, “ Brian O’Cahan died in prison — 
 the wound he got on that fatal day was never dressed, and 
 that, with the other miseries he endured, put an end to his life 
 within a month. He died, and left my mother and myself — I 
 was then, as she has told you, but a few weeks old — to buffet our 
 way through the world as best we could. By that time, our 
 ancient dwelling was a ruin, battered and broken down by the 
 fierce, strong, Scottish soldiers who were left to work their 
 
 wicked will on the poor conquered Catholics of Ulster ” 
 
 Here a fierce ejaculation from the guide drew all eyes on him. 
 He had started to his feet, and stood with his right hand clenched, 
 his cheek and brow glowing crimson red, and his eyes glaring 
 like those of a tiger. With his strong muscular proportions, he 
 certainly looked a formidable object, but while the gentlemen 
 regarded him in utter amazement, Judith, approaching him, laid 
 her hand on his shoulder, and said in a soothing tone : 
 
 “ Donogh, my poor boy ! what ails you V’ 
 
 “ What ails me V’ he repeated in a fierce, wild way, still with 
 eyes fixed on the opposite wall, as though some cause for his agi- 
 tation was there visible. “ Woman ! woman ! why ask me that !” 
 Suddenly recollecting himself, however, he added with a strong 
 effort at self-control, and a sort of hysterical laugh that was 
 painful to hear: “Oh then, nothing at all ails me, — nothing 
 only a kind of an inward cramp that I take now and then — God 
 help me ! isn’t it sure to come on me at the wrong time. I ask 
 your pardon, noble gentlemen, especially the colonel there, and 
 
24 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 yours, daughter of O’Cahan — for the start I took out of you, 
 and the unseemly hole I made in your story.” 
 
 By some strange impulse, O'Neill and Judith exchanged 
 glances, but neither made any remark on Donogh’s intrusive 
 “ cramp.” Netterville, solely intent on the story, begged of Ju- 
 dith to go on, muttering something at the same time not very 
 flattering to the guide. The latter, although the words were in- 
 audible, appeared to understand their import, for he instantly 
 said, in a tone half ironical, half respectful : 
 
 “ It was just such another cramp, Sir John, as the one that 
 seized y u at the battle of Kilrush, when that young friar ap- 
 peared so suddenly before you, and was off* again, like the shot 
 of a gun, as I heard you tell Rory O’More.” 
 
 “ You heard !” exclaimed Netterville, turning quickly on his 
 seat, his cheek blanched with emotion ; “in God’s name, who 
 are you I stay — now that I look at you — do you not belong to 
 Sir Phelim’s army 1” 
 
 “ To Sir Phelim’s army — O’Hanlon’s company — your honor is 
 right !” 
 
 “ Ay ! methinks I have seen you often in company with 
 O’Neill’s right hand man, Shamus Beg, I think they call him !” 
 
 “ Very likely,” said Donogh very coolly ; “ we often march to- 
 gether — but that’s neither here nor there — the colonel wants to 
 hear her ladyship’s story !” 
 
 “ And the storm begins to subside,” said Judith, who had been 
 to take a look at the weather, “ when it ceases, my tale ceases, 
 too, so that I must needs make short work of what remains. 
 Dungiven Castle being in ruins, as I said before, the wife and 
 daughter of its owner were suffered to dwell unmolested within 
 its roofless walls ; certain of our own people who had taken 
 refuge from the fury of the soldiery in the woods around, came 
 by night and formed a shelter for us, with the branches of trees, 
 around one of the fireplaces in the former banqueting hall. 
 These faithful followers, so long as they were suffered to remain 
 in that neighborhood, took care that my poor mother was well 
 provided with fire-wood, which they nightly placed within her 
 reach, together with a share of such miserable food as they 
 could procure for themselves. In fact, they watched over us 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 25 
 
 with the tenderest care, and served ns with even more devotion 
 than if my mother were still mistress of Dungiven and Limavady.” 
 
 “ I was mistress of Dungiven !” said the mother, looking round 
 as before with her strange smile, “ I had it all to myself, and 
 what more could I desire I” 
 
 “ True for you, mother,” observed Judith, “ your power was 
 absolute there, though you had only me, a little child, to rule. 
 But the precious time is passing ; such was the place, and such 
 the circumstances in which my earliest years were passed, and 
 you may well imagine that in a scene so wild, so strange, so lonely, 
 I grew up just as wild, and strange, and lonely — the child of 
 nature, of solitude, and of sorrow. I need not tell you that one 
 of the first impressions stamped upon my heart was hatred of 
 English tyranny ” 
 
 “ It were strange an’ it were otherwise,” said O’Neill, speak- 
 ing almost for the first time ; “ were it only your Rapparee* 
 friends in the woods, they would teach you that. But how, or 
 where, fair mistress, found you the stores of knowledge which, I 
 see, so enrich your mind I where learned you to discourse in 
 such wise as now you do I” 
 
 “ Ah !” sighed Judith with a sudden change of manner, “ that 
 belongs to another portion of my story which were over long 
 now to tell. Suffice it to say that for the little book-learning I 
 
 * Long before the war of 1641, the scattered remains of the broken 
 clans of Ulster, driven after the wars of Elizabeth’s and James’s 
 time, into the woods and bogs for refuge, were known by the names 
 of Rapparees and Tories — outlawed and deprived, by the provident 
 care of the British Government, of every means of support, the.v ne- 
 cessarily lived by plunder. Made desperate by want and inspired by 
 the burning thirst of revenge, they became a bold and reckless race, 
 being formidable to the well-fed foreigners who were snugly located in 
 their former holdings, and even the proud legions of England were 
 made full often to feel the vengeful power of the despised Rapparee. 
 During the whole of the eleven years’ war, which commenced in ’41, 
 the Rapparees did good service at times to the Catholic army, 
 harassing the enemy by a sort of guerrilla warfare which they carried 
 on on their own account, but generally in connection with the confed- 
 erate forces. 
 
 12 
 
26 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 possess, I owe it to a loved friend and cousin, now, alas ! no 
 more — I mean the Lady O’Neill, wife of Sir Phelim. By chance, 
 she discovered us in our dismal dwelling, whose walls my mo- 
 ther affected so much as to prefer their shelter even to that of a 
 royal palace — and at first she would by no means consent to 
 leave them, but the persuasions of that true friend were so ur- 
 gent, and above all her representations as regarded me and the 
 teaching I ought to have, that at last my poor mother gave her 
 consent, and we both were taken by the Lady Nora to Kinnard 
 Castle, where for twelve happy years we found a home. I was a 
 tall young damsel of eighteen or thereabouts, when we first 
 crossed the threshold of that house, knowing nothing of books, 
 and little of the world ; I was thirty in years, and older still in 
 mind and heart, when cruel death deprived us of our best 
 friend and most dear benefactress — the Lady Nora died, and a 
 few weeks after her death, we were again without a home — 
 worse even than before,” she said, after a pause, and with a 
 heightened color, she added, “ for even the shelter of our old 
 ruin was no longer burs to enjoy.” 
 
 “Why, how could that bel” demanded Netterville ; “did the 
 government forbid you that, too 
 
 “ Nay, nay,” said Judith, “the government took but little note 
 of the existence of two poor helpless women such as we. Colonel 
 O’Neill,” said she rising and pointing with a gesture of command 
 down the long passage ; “ yonder is the clear sky again — the 
 storm is past — need I remind you that time presses, and that 
 many eyes are strained looking for your coming 'l Depart in 
 God’s name, though it ill becomes the daughter of O'Cahan to 
 speed the traveller from her mother’s hearth !” 
 
 61 You are right, lady,” said Owen with that calm dignity which 
 belonged to him, “ you are right, and I thank you. One thing 
 
 I would fain know, nevertheless, before I go hence ” 
 
 “ And I,” said Netterville, in his gay, thoughtless way, “will 
 not stir a step from here till I have learned whether Sir Phelim 
 turned you out of doors — or what — if he did, by the rood ! he shall 
 answer for such black deed !” 
 
 O’Neill’s deep, earnest eyes were on Judith at the moment, and 
 she felt that they looked what the more reckless Norman had 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 27 
 
 spoken in plain Irish. But Judith O’Cahan did not choose to af- 
 ford further information. Drawing herself up with an air of dig- 
 nity that made Netterville smile, whilst O’Neill thought it well 
 "became her, she said : 
 
 “ I know not of any right you have, Sir John Netterville, to 
 dive farther into our affairs than we choose to lay them open to 
 you. I have told you all that I am willing to tell, — what remains 
 could have no interest for you.” 
 
 “Nay, Judith,” said the old woman, “as you have told so 
 much, I would have you tell all. What shame is it to you or me 
 that you cannot listen to Sir Phelim’s smooth speeches I This 
 English gentleman asked if Sir Phelim turned us out of doors — 
 not so, young sir, not so, — but rather would he have kept us in 
 his home for life. I were well content to have staid on his 
 terms, for surely even O’Cahan’s daughter could not look higher 
 than the lord of Tyr-Owen, but Judith closed her ears and her 
 heart against him, and I besought her only to speak him fair for 
 a while, and that mayhap either he would tire waiting, or she 
 think better of the affair, but she told me she would rather die 
 a thousand deaths than become Sir Phelim’s wife. What could 
 I say after that, for my child’s happiness or misery is mine, too , 
 so when the rough chieftain found she was in earnest in refusing 
 to marry him, he stormed and swore, and said he would have her 
 whether she liked it or not. We thought it was time to move, 
 after that, so we left himself and his castle, and the ghost of my 
 poor cousin Nora, Heaven be her bed ! that people said was 
 haunting him eveiy night of his life, and out we went again 
 on the wide world to hide our heads wherever we could. Our own 
 old place we dared not go to, for there Sir Phelim would be sure 
 to Sad us, — if Judith was willing, I would have gone with her to 
 some of the chieftains of our kindred and craved protection, but 
 Judith would hear of no such thing, for she said it would but 
 breed dissension amongst the chiefs when it most behoved them 
 to keep together It were ill rousing the lion from his lair, 
 Judith says, or thrusting others within reach of his claws ” 
 
 “Mother! mother!” cried Judith with sudden vehemence, 
 “ wherefore speak in such wise of matters that were better buried 
 in oblivion 1 Donogh, my good lad, bring the horses to the road.” 
 
28 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Donogh instantly vanished, and both the cavaliers standing up, 
 prepared to resume their journey. There was a cloud on O’Neill’s 
 brow, and a flush on his cheek that showed some strong inward 
 emotion, but of what nature it was, none but himself might 
 know. As for Netterville, he swore a good round oath that one 
 day or another he would brand Sir Phelim with the disgrace of 
 such unmanly persecution. 
 
 “ Nay, Sir John !” once more put in Judith, “ I beseech you 
 that you never upbraid him with it. My mother and I can never 
 forget that his roof gave us shelter and protection when few 
 would dare to give us either, — for years long we eat his bread 
 and were welcome guests at his hospitable board — it would 
 shame me, too, to have my name so mentioned — and by stranger 
 tongue ! — no ! no ! — if indeed you would befriend the friendless 
 daughter of O’Cahan forget that you ever saw her — ever heard 
 her hapless tale !’ 
 
 “ She is right, my friend,” said O’Neill earnestly; “ any inter- 
 ference of ours would but harm those we meant to serve. Come, 
 let us go !” 
 
 “ Not till I have heard,” said his mercurial companion, “ by 
 what strange chance these ladies fixed on such a dwelling ” 
 
 “It was not chance,” Judith replied, “ we had often heard Sir 
 Phelim boast of the desert he had made of the English settle- 
 ment, which he said had been a pestilent nest of Protestant 
 bigotry and all manner of injustice towards the natives of the 
 country for miles around who professed the old faith. Many a 
 time and oft did we shudder at the picture he was wont to draw 
 of its solitude and desolation, but we remembered it with joy and 
 hope when forced to flee from Kinnard Castle and the land of 
 Owen. Hither we came, like Noah’s dove, seeking rest for our 
 wearied feet, and lo ! having found it, here we abide — buried, as 
 it were, in a dreary tomb, yet still untrammeled by ties which 
 were chains of burning iron — to one of us at least !” 
 
 “ As for this noble dwelling,” said the mother, with a touch 
 of sly humor little to be expected, “ it was not Sir Phelim that 
 left it as it is — it was a fire that broke out in it some three years 
 agone, — one fine summer’s evening when all the Protestant 
 grandees for miles round were assembled in the large room 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 29 
 
 which those Englishers called the c best parlor.’ There was a 
 grand young English lady from somewhere within the Pale on a 
 visit here at the time ” 
 
 “Good God!” cried Netterville, pale with emotion, and gasp- 
 ing for breath, “ who was the owner of the house 1” 
 
 “ It belonged to the Protestant minister,” said Judith, regard- 
 ing the young man with a surprised look ; “ it was what they call 
 the manse o:r glebe-house.” 
 
 “ And the young lady from the Pale 
 
 “ She was, I believe, a beauty, and the daughter of a great 
 man ” 
 
 “ Ay ! great in wickedness, if in nothing else. I know all 
 about him, — but can this be the house of which I have heard so 
 much'? If so,” he added in an under tone, “ I marvel not at its 
 desolation. But how say you, fair lady 1 — the noble damsel of 
 whom you speak was, then, the sister, or rather I think you said, 
 the niece, of Master Hatfield, the minister 1” 
 
 “ Nay, I said not that,” said Judith with a quiet smile, “ but 
 you say it, and of a surety you seem to know more about the 
 matter than do I. For us, we might have taken little note of 
 what fell out amongst the unneighborly Englishers, were it not 
 for a heroic deed performed, on that occasion, by one of our 
 own kin !” 
 
 “Who was thatl” said Netterville, speaking in an abstracted 
 tone and manner. 
 
 “ Our right noble kinsman, Maguire of Fermanagh. Passing 
 the house with a few retainers just when the fire was at its 
 height, and hearing the people crying on every side, that the 
 fairest maiden in Leinster was still somewhere within the house, 
 and mus,t perish in the flames if not speedily rescued, Connor 
 did but wait to learn from some of the company the spot where 
 the lady was last seen, and, immediately darting in, he appeared 
 almost in the twinkling Of an eye, bearing in his arms the mo- 
 tionless form of the English beauty wrapped in his heavy cloak. 
 Amid the cheers and joyous shouts of the crow T d of spectators, 
 Maguire placed his fair burden in the arms of her rejoicing rela- 
 tives. He had found her in that death-like swoon just within 
 the door, where she had fallen in a fright and remained unno- 
 
30 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 ticed in the general confusion, when each thought only of self- 
 preservation, and all who were so fortunate as to keep their 
 senses, rushed in wild affright from the burning building. The 
 brave chieftain had not himself escaped without some injury, 
 but little recked he that the beauty of his brown silken tresses 
 was gone, or that his face and neck were sadly scorched : so 
 long as he had saved the lady from a cruel death he thought not 
 of himself. To say the truth, the minister and all the rest were 
 very thankful, and would have had Maguire go with them to one 
 of the nearest houses to have dressing for his burns and other 
 needful refreshment, but Connor had little liking for that com- 
 pany, and would not by any means consent to tarry when once 
 he perceived the lady coming to herself.” 
 
 Both the gentlemen were about to speak, but the old woman 
 •was beforehand with them. “ You forgot to tell Judith that his 
 uncle Lorcan, who was with Connor, hurried him away as soon 
 as the damsel opened her mouth to thank him.” 
 
 ‘ And why so V ’ demanded Netterviile with strong emotion. 
 
 “ Because he said there was that in her eyes that boded no 
 good to one of his race. To make sure, he made the sign of the 
 cross between Connor and the damsel, and after that, he had no 
 more trouble; the Maguire did his bidding like a little child. 
 Well for the Clan Maguire that its chief had Lorcan at his elbow 
 that day, for it took one like him that has knowledge from the 
 other world to see aught of evil in so fair a form as they say 
 that lady had.” 
 
 Netterviile was strangely agitated, and muttered unintelligible 
 words to himself, as he looked around the dreary habitation. 
 “ Thrice accursed walls !” were the only words that caught the 
 ear, and even so much was not meant to be heard, for the young 
 man, as if recollecting himself, glanced around with nervous 
 trepidation, then broke into a wild, unmeaning laugh. 
 
 “By my faith, now, that is a pretty story,” said he with bois- 
 terous gaiety ; “ ’twas a good beginning for my Lord Maguire, 
 and, as the old saw says, a good beginning maketh a good end- 
 ing. Yet, methinks, the lord of Enniskillen (which proud title 
 I hear he did assume) hath not as yet much to boast of. Pity 
 the rack and the dungeon should follow on so fair a track. 
 
THE CONFEDEKATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 31 
 
 Noble ladies, deign to accept my poor thanks for your hospita- 
 ble entertainment ” 
 
 “Nay, speak not of it, Sir John!” said Judith with a lofty 
 grace that sat as well upon her as though a royal roof covered 
 her head ; “ an’ you mean what you say, your thanks are not due 
 to us but rather to the friendly shelter of these walls — an’ you 
 speak derisively, I have but to say, that the poverty of your en- 
 tertainment is not our fault, but our misfortune. Farewell, Sir 
 John Netterville ! I have heard much of you from your friend 
 and kinsman, Rory O’More, who hath much hope of you as 
 a true champion of freedom — see that his hopes be not mis- 
 placed, for, believe me, a dreary doom worse, Sir John, than 
 even the rack or the dungeon, awaits the recreant who is false to 
 his Grod ! adieu, young sir, Heaven speed you on your way !” 
 
 So astonished was the Palesman at the singular words and the 
 still more singular manner of the speaker, that he left the place 
 without farther speech to any one, though his pale lips were still 
 to be seen moving in commune with himself. His abrupt depar- 
 ture was not unobserved by the ancient lady, whose dignity was 
 sorely hurt by his omission of such parting salute as she deemed 
 requisite. 
 
 “ Times are strangely altered,” said she, “ when the grandson 
 of Rufus Netterville deigns not to say farewell to Eveleen 
 Maguire — see what it is, Judith, to be old and poor !” 
 
 But her daughter was too much intent on other matters to 
 notice either the manner of the knight’s departure or her mother’s 
 oifended dignity. The moment Netterville was out of sight, 
 O’Neill anxiously inquired whether the Maguire referred to was 
 the same who lay imprisoned in Dublin Castle. 
 
 “ The very same,” Judith replied; “ you have heard, then, 
 Colonel O’Neill,' of what befell him and McMahon V’ 
 
 “ Surely I did, fair mistress,” and he smiled, “ nay, even to 
 poor Costelloe’s unlucky attempt at caricaturing in the Justice’s 
 hall. I was told, too, of the torture inflicted on both those<gen- 
 tlemen,” he added in a more serious tone, “ the which was not 
 over pleasant to hear, but we of the conquered race are happily 
 well exercised in the virtue of patience, and must needs pocket 
 
32 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 many things, which others would resent without a moment’s 
 delay.” 
 
 “ Can nothing be done,” said Judith anxiously, “ on behalf 
 of those noble gentlemen — is there no way of effecting their 
 
 release 
 
 “ I know of none at the present moment,” O’Neill replied 
 with habitual caution, “ but the chances of war may perchance 
 turn in their favor when we least expect it.” 
 
 “ If you cannot assist them,” said Judith, “ their case is hope- 
 less.” Looking up at the moment she saw a smile on the colo- 
 nel’s face, which somehow brought a faint blush to her own pale 
 cheek, and she quickly added in a more reserved tone, drawing 
 back a step or two at the same time : 
 
 “ This young Norman knight — pardon me, colonel, if I ask 
 where he joined your company, or what you know of him ?’ 
 
 “ Surely you may ask,” said the colonel, regarding her with 
 increasing surprise, “ although I be little used to be thus catechised 
 by ladies. I was journeying hither alone from Doe Castle where, 
 for the present, I have left my companions in arms — relying on 
 my memory for safe conduct to Charlemont Castle, and when 
 within a mile or so of entering this now desert region, I came 
 up with this Netterville, as he was making inquiries of a tall 
 peasant whom I took for an O’Dogherty, regarding the road 
 hitherward. Both being clad in this treasonable fashion, as you 
 see, we naturally exchanged a friendly greeting, followed by 
 some cursory remarks on the weather and other such common- 
 place matters, when, finding that our road lay in the same direc- 
 tion, we agreed to travel together, the more willingly when we 
 heard of the present state of this district. That was the first I 
 ever saw of Sir John Netterville, or he of me, so far as I know.” 
 
 “ Trust him not !” said Judith with startling vehemence ; “ he 
 is fickle as the wind, or I much mistake, and there is a fearful 
 fountain of hate welling up within him that may one day work 
 evil to others besides its present object. See you not that he 
 now hates Maguire — no one can tell, then, how soon that hatred 
 may extend itself to all who are Maguire’s friends. Believe me, 
 oh champion of the Gael ! no man of his blood ever yet espoused 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 33 
 
 in good faith the cause in which you are about to draw your 
 sword.” 
 
 “ Heaven grant you be not a prophetess, fair lady !” said 
 O’Neill thoughtfully, as he took her hand with an air of profound 
 respect ; “ much depend on these Palesmen at this hour, an’ they 
 are but sincere in their present endeavors they may do good ser- 
 vice — for me, I would fain believe them so — but — but — •” he 
 stopped and hesitated. 
 
 “ Little said is soon mended,” put in Judith with a smile that 
 lit up her pensive features; “God be with you, colonel,” she 
 added still with the same bright look, as he shook her hand at 
 parting, “ an’ we never meet again on earth, the memory of 
 this hour shall be with us in our solitude, — that it was given us, 
 poor and lonely women, to welcome Owen O'Neill to the land 
 which, under God, he is commissioned to free, we shall ever es- 
 teem as a signal vouchsafement from on high — go your ways now, 
 in God’s name, and I pray you overlook the delay caused by my 
 woman’s prattle ” 
 
 “Nay,” said the colonel gallantly, as he approached to take 
 leave of the old lady ; “ nay, surely, I esteem not that delay 
 unprofitable — much may it aid the cause hereafter — ay, marry, in 
 more ways than one ! Wife of O’Cahan, faro you well ! In your 
 prayers forget not Owen O’Neill or those who go up with him to 
 battle for the right, and believe me your affairs shall not be 
 unremembered by me. More I say not now ! — farewell ! ’ and 
 he turned to leave the vault when the sound of loud and angry 
 voices on the outside made him stop to listen. 
 
 “ Merciful Heaven !” cried Judith, “ it is his voice ; oh ! mo- 
 ther ! mother ! hear you that 1” 
 
 “ Child, I do,” said the aged parent, “ but I fear him not now — 
 there be one present whom he must obey — fear not, daughter, for 
 God himself taking pity on our misery, hath brought this meet- 
 ing about.” 
 
 Before the colonel could even ask what it all meant, a hoarse, 
 mocking laugh re-echoed through the vault, the clank of heavily- 
 ironed boots was heard approaching, and a man’s voice cursing 
 the obscurity of the place. “ By my faith, Sir John Netterville,” 
 added the grumbler, “there be no Norman of the Pale fit to 
 
34 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 stand between me and my liking ! ha ! ha ! a stripling, with 
 scarce more than woman’s strength, to tell Sir Phelim O’Neill 
 that he needs must do his bidding — an’ I had no mind to enter, 
 foolish boy, I would see the matter out were it but to spite you.” 
 
 “ Sir Phelim, you shall answer for this !” cried Nettervillw 
 behind him in the passage. 
 
 “ Answer ! to be sure I will, whensoever you choose.” He sud- 
 denly stopped, and the mocking laugh died away in his throat, 
 for before him, full in the red torchlight, stood Owen O’Neill, his 
 tall form drawn to its fullest ^height, and an angry frown knitting 
 his brow. So unexpected was this apparition that the turbulent 
 knight of Kinnard was struck dumb for a moment. Not even the 
 sight of Judith and her mother, although his eye wandered to 
 both, could draw off his spell-bound attention from the figure 
 before him. 
 
 “ Have I the honor of seeing Sir Phelim O’Neill 1” said the colo- 
 nel in a keenly sarcastic tone, after the pair had eyed each other 
 a few moments in silent scrutiny. 
 
 “ Such is my name ; what may yours be V* 
 
 “ Somewhat like unto your own — I am Owen O’Neill.” 
 
 “ I thought as much, for smooth though your face be, the 
 seal of our race is on your brow, and its fiery spirit burning in 
 your eye. Be you welcome !” — and he reached out his hand 
 which Owen took with an air of condescension that must have 
 Jbeen galling to the pride of his overbearing kinsman — “ my errand 
 abroad to-day was to give you a meeting, and conduct you to 
 the presence of the chiefs assembled atCharlemont Castle. Good 
 sooth, I little thought to find you like Achilles of old amongst 
 the petticoats ! As for the ladies” — there was a sneering em- 
 phasis on the word — “ I marvel not to see them so located or in 
 such a condition, for I know them to affect the company of owls 
 and bats. Save you, good mother, and you, fair Judith ! I’ faith, 
 a goo lly dwelling you have chosen — the minister’s, as I hope to 
 eat my supper — ho ! ho ! ho !” 
 
 “ Better the company of owls and bats than that of recreant 
 knights,” said Judith proudly, “ and better a thousand times this 
 desolate ruin and freedom than castle or bower and servile 
 chains.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 35 
 
 “Well said, Judith,” quoth Sir Phelim, with another burst of 
 laughter ; “ you were ever glib with that tongue of yours — a 
 pretty hen old madam is, and a dainty chicken you — good sooth, 
 I much admire the flight you took and your wings cut so closely. 
 I wish you joy of your liberty !” The ironical tone in which he 
 spoke was not lost on his kinsman, nor yet the sinister look 
 wherewith he regarded both mother and daughter, the latter 
 especially. 
 
 “ Sir Phelim O’Neill !” said Owen with the calm, mild dignity 
 of a master-spirit, “ I much rejoice to meet you in this presence. 
 This young gentleman and I,” pointing to Netterville, who stood 
 by in sullen silence, “ being obliged by the storm to take shelter 
 here, heard with amazement, and, I must say, with indignation, 
 (towards whom you may guess !) the story of these ladies’ 
 wrongs. I now wish you to understand that henceforward I will 
 have my eye on them — mark my words, Sir Phelim ! — and the 
 man w’ho dares insult their poverty, be he friend or foe, shall 
 answer to me for the outrage. Nay, no blustering, cousin mine,” 
 seeing that Sir Phelim was getting up a display of passion. “ I 
 am not the man to be bullied — swaggering will not do with me. 
 I am willing to forget what is past, in this matter, but only on 
 condition that you leave these ladies free to do as they list.” 
 
 “ By the soul of Heremon !” said Sir Phelim, in a tone of 
 affected good humor, “ you make over free for the length of our 
 acquaintance. Who made you the champion ot these ladies V’ , 
 “ My knightly honor,” rejoined Owen, “ and the fame and 
 honor of our house — also my respect for the memory of a brave 
 and unfortunate chieftain. But here we may not longer tarry — 
 I have told you my mind on this head, and as you value my good 
 will see that you keep it in mind !” 
 
 Sir Phelim nodded a sort of assent, and glancing furtively at 
 Judith, said as he turned to lead the way out: “ No need for all 
 this pother — the birds are not worth the trouble of catching 
 them. Good betide you, noble dames, for all Sir Phelim O’Neill 
 cares ; ye may wed these two so valorous knights when ye list, 
 ay, the precious pair of you !” 
 
 “ Lead on !” said Owen sternly; “ no jesting at our expense — 
 nay, Sir John, heed not his idle words — lead on, Sir Phelim — • 
 
36 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 we follow.” The knight saw fit to obey in silence, and the other 
 gentlemen having once more exchanged a parting salute with 
 the recluses, all three sallied forth into the clear sunlight, where 
 a party of Sir Phelim’s followers were in waiting. The cheers 
 wherewith they greeted the appearance of Owen Roe O’Neill 
 made the desolate valley ring, and sent a thrill of joy through 
 the heart that seemed cold and passionless. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 37 
 
 CHAPTER. III. 
 
 ** No ! when the battle rages dire, 
 
 And the roused soul is all on fire, 
 
 Think’st thou a noble heart can stay 
 Hate’s rancorous inpulse to obey 7” 
 
 Mrs. Holford’s Margaret of Anjou. 
 
 “ What shall he be ere night 7 Perchance a thing 
 O’er which the raven flaps his funeral wing!” 
 
 Byron’s Corsair. 
 
 It was three months before the date of the events recorded in 
 our last chapter, when the long dreary season of winter had 
 passed away, and spring-time gladdened the earth, sending -the 
 rills and rivulets laughing on their way, and making the woods 
 and meadows vocal with the song of birds. The cuckoo, “ har- 
 binger of spring,” made the woods of Carrick resound with her 
 one welcome note, and the lovely Suir was more radiant even 
 than its wont in'silver sheen bedight. All without and around 
 the ancient castle of the Butlers was bright and balmy, fresh 
 and fragrant as the April day could make it, and the day was 
 the loveliest of the season, just such another as queer, quaint old 
 Herbert lovingly eulogizes : 
 
 “ Swe t day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 
 The bridal of the earth and sky,” 
 
 yet, for all the beauty of the outward scene, there was little of 
 joy or “ sweet content” within that lordly dwelling. The Count- 
 ess sat with her infant daughter in her arms — in those good old 
 times even a Countess thought it nowise vulgar to be seen with 
 her children on her right honorable knee or even clasped in her 
 
38 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 je welle I arms — so the Countess sat with her infant on her knee 
 at an open window, and although her eyes wandered at times 
 over the fair scene without, it was not that she enjoyed its beauty, 
 or dwelt upon its charms. Deep sadness was seated on her lofty 
 brow, and albeit that Elizabeth of Ormond was not much given 
 to the “melting mood,” a close observer, had there been any 
 such, might have noticed a tear now and then stealing down her 
 cheek as she bent over the slumbering babe on whose face she 
 gazed so fondly. And wherefore was the noble lady sad on that 
 bright spring morning when all nature was glad 1 Alas ! she 
 deemed her dejection not without cause, for she knew that the 
 dawn of that fair day had seen her lord set out from Dublin with 
 a gallant army to wage war against the Confederate forces of 
 Leinster. Whatever Ormond might be unto others, to her, at 
 least, and to his children, he was all that a husband and father 
 ought to be, and dreary was the void which his absence ever left 
 in the domestic circle. But what was the tedium, the weariness 
 of absence to the heart-wearing fears of a soldier’s wife when 
 her husband went forth 
 
 “ — To the wars, to the red field of fight,” 
 
 where death w r as certain to many and esQape to none. What 
 though helm and plume, and pennon gay, and the tramp of war- 
 like men made a gallant show as Ormond’s army moved along, 
 or that Ormond himself waved the proudest plume and wore the 
 noblest mien — it mattered not to the loving and pitying heart of 
 Elizabeth, for her eyes were not gladdened by the proud array, 
 while her soul was full of the bitter thought that the stately 
 form of her husband might at any moment be struck down by 
 the rude pike of some low-born hind. And to do the Countess 
 justice we needs must tell that her sorrow was not altogether of 
 a selfish nature. Her sympathies were still in great part with 
 the Catholics struggling for their rights, and she wished that 
 Ormond had not been sent on what she justly considered a mis- 
 sion of destruction. 
 
 “ Alas ! alas !” sighed the lady, “ that a heart so generous as 
 Ormond’s to all besides should be so hard and pitiless in regard 
 to the Catholics ! — child ! child !” and again her tears fell on the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 39 
 
 infant’s face, “ to think that your father should be made to 
 play the part of a Coote, an Inchiquin, and a Broghill ! Oh ! 
 woe is me, that his children should inherit the curse of an op- 
 pressed nation ! — -what, Emmeline ! are there tidings so soon ? — • 
 you seem excited.” 
 
 “No tidings from the Earl, madam, that I know of,” said the 
 person thus addressed, a pale but very lovely girl who had just 
 entered thqproom in what appeared no small trepidation. 
 
 “From whom, or where, then?” demanded the Countess with 
 a searching glance at her pallid face ; “ some news I read on 
 that tell-tale face — out with it, pretty one ! be it what it may ! — 
 stay — let me look at you — tell me, Emmeline ! have you heard 
 from Dublin ?” 
 
 “ That have I not,” the fair girl replied, “the news concerns 
 us all — not as your ladyship seems to suppose, only myself. 
 Prepare yourself, madam, to hear what I would that other lips 
 than mine had to tell.” 
 
 Hearing this the Countess laughed. “ Why, lady-bird, an’ the 
 news affects not my absent lord, nor another whose name we 
 name not, how can it concern us all ?” 
 
 “ Think a moment, gracious madam! and your keen wit may 
 remind you of other dangers to be apprehended now even by 
 ourselves !” 
 
 “Great God! you cannot mean the approach of the — of the 
 rebels? — speak, Emmeline, — do you mean that?" and firm and 
 self-possessed as the Countess usually was, she turned pale and 
 actually trembled. 
 
 “ Madam, I do mean that,” the girl replied ; “ little as we 
 looked for their coming, it appears they are close at hand. 
 Hearing, I suppose, of your lord’s departure from Dublin this 
 morning on the Leinster campaign, they have taken it into their 
 thick heads to be even with him, by revenging themselves on * 
 his family and the walls of his castle. Truly, such a barbarous 
 device well becomes traitorous rebels! But your ladyship is 
 faint. I pray you summon up that high courage which I know 
 you to possess — let me summon your attendants — nay, madam 
 it may yet be possible to escape !” 
 
 “Not so, Emmeline, not so, — there is none — none — none — my 
 
40 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 heart tells me we are all to perish — or worse— worse — and you, 
 too, daughter of my dearest friend ! that you should be here to 
 share our wretched fate •” 
 
 “ But, madam, they will not, perchance, dare ” 
 
 “ I tell you they will dare all — too glad to revenge themselves 
 on James Butler whom they look upon with deadlier hate as a 
 renegade from their religion ! Heavens above ! they are in the 
 park — they surround the house even now ! Emmeline ! go you 
 to my children — gather them together, with all th<? women of 
 the household, and I will join you anon when I have conferred 
 with the captain of the guard.” 
 
 Some half dozen of terrified female domestics, now rushed 
 unbidden to their lady’s presence, bemoaning the sad fate which 
 awaited them, and refusing to believe that escape of any kind 
 was still possible. A few words of stern command from the 
 Countess had the effect of stopping their clamor, at least, and 
 with an assurance that all hope was not yet lost, she dismissed 
 them with the infant to join the general assembly of the house- 
 hold convoked by her orders. Emmeline still lingered, and the 
 Countess, forgetful of her previous request, seemed desirous to 
 have her remain. 
 
 “ Could we but see any of their leaders,” said the Countess 
 anxiously, as she moved somewhat nearer one of the windows, 
 “ we might the better guess what awaits us ; who, think you, are 
 they V’ 
 
 “ One of them I know, at least,” said the fair Emmeline from 
 the recess of another window ; “ sees not your ladyship the But- 
 ler arms on yonder flag 
 
 “ Child, you are right,” said the Countess, and she drew a long 
 breath like one much relieved; “ Mountgaret is there — oh! re- 
 creant scion of the Butlers !” 
 
 . The door of the apartment just then opened, and a message 
 was delivered from the officer in command of the garrison re- 
 questing permission to speak with her ladyship. 
 
 “ I was just going in search of you, Captain Jameson,” said 
 the Countess with a condescending bow, “ with a view to ascer- 
 tain whether it were possible to hold the Castle against yonder 
 rebels. I fear me much that from • an over sense of security, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 41 
 
 still more than his frequent absence, my lord the Earl hath not 
 given due attention of late to the defences of the house. How 
 is it, Captain 'l Be the chances for or against usT’ 
 
 “ Against us, madam, as far as I am able to judge,” returned the 
 gentlemanly officer, the same whom we have seen retiring from 
 the service in disgust because of the wanton cruelties of Coote. 
 
 My good lord hath, as you say, somewhat neglected the affairs 
 of the garrison, notwithstanding that I made bold to remind him 
 by letter of the same more than once or twice. Having the de-* 
 fence of the kingdom in hand, it is little wonder if he forgot to 
 examine into the capabilities of this his noble Castle for sustain- 
 ing a siege.” 
 
 “ He deemed it nowise likely,” said the Countess, “ that the 
 rebels should make such head here in Munster under the eye of 
 stout St. Leger, but, wo is me ! that his wonted prudence should 
 fail in such wise, knowing that the chief lords of the country 
 are now in open rebellion — know you the strength of the enemy, 
 Captain 1” 
 
 “ That I have not been able as yet to ascertain, madam, but I 
 should judge it to be considerable since they make bold to at- 
 tack this Castle of Carrick, and likewise from the officers of dis- 
 tinction whom I see with them.” 
 
 Here the trumpet sounded for a parley, and Captain Jameson 
 hastened to the ramparts. During his short absence, Lady Or- 
 mond went to see her children, and calm their infant fears, 
 excited to agony by the senseless ravings of their English attend- 
 ants, to whose terror-stricken fancy the clansmen of Munster 
 assumed the proportions and almost the propensities of the giants 
 of nursery lore. Leaving the Countess to reassure the frighten- 
 ened children, and equally frightened domestics, as best she 
 might, in the presence of the awful fact that “ Mountgarret’s 
 men” were in untold numbers round the house, let us return to 
 the fair Emmeline thus left alone. 
 
 During the brief colloquy between the Countess and Captain 
 Jameson the young lady had kept her station in the window, 
 watching intently the movements of the besiegers. All unnoticed 
 by her were the furtive glances of admiration sent in her direc- 
 tion by the Captain, who was not unknown to her, although it 
 
42 
 
 TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 happened that she was to him. Whatever her thoughts might 
 have been, she kept them to herself, but no sooner had Lady 
 Ormond left the room, than she began to commune with herself 
 in a half audible tone. 
 
 “ Of a surety, an’ the Castle be taken, as I much fear it will, 
 for I see they have no lack of cannon or aught that is needful 
 — an’ the place be taken, my presence here might make it go 
 hard with the Countess and her dear children. Whatsoever treat- 
 ment they fnay have a mind to give to Lord Ormond’s family, 
 mercy I could not look for at their hands. And yet” — her beau- 
 tiful face brightened for a moment, but the ray of light passed 
 quickly away — “ few there are among their motley host like 
 unto him . No ! no ! I will not, cannot risk the chance of draw- 
 ing deadlier vengeance on my honored friend and her helpless 
 children. But how — how — to escape unseen! Try it I must, 
 however, relying on God’s assistance. Now for a disguise — God 
 direct me which to choose !” 
 
 Meanwhile the Castle had been summoned to surrender in the 
 name of the Catholic army of Munster, to which Jameson replied, 
 as a brave officer should, that if they desired to have it they 
 must take it, for given up willingly it never should be — so loug 
 as a man remained to defend it. 
 
 “ Then you are willing to expose Lady Ormond and her family 
 to the dangers of a siege V y said an officer, evidently of rank, 
 who, with a herald bearing a white flag, approached within ear- 
 shot. 
 
 “ The Countess is much beholden to you, for your kind consi- 
 deration,” made answer Captain Jameson, with cool irony, “ but 
 she prefers rather to run such risk, trusting to the strength of 
 these walls, than to ” 
 
 “ To what 1” demanded the Irish officer sternly ; “ I am ready 
 to pledge my word of honor that in case you give up the castle 
 quietly, her ladyship and every member of her household shall 
 have safe convoy to Dublin or wheresoever she may please to 
 appoint. An’ you rashly resolve to hold out, the consequences 
 be on your own head. We are not ignorant, as you may 
 suppose, of your actual strength, and are, therefore, not to be 
 deceived by idle boasting. Our strength you see, or rather you 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 43 
 
 do not see its full extent, but, believe me, it is more than suffi- 
 cient to take Carrick Castle — ay ! even were Ormond himself of 
 the garrison ” 
 
 Jameson’s practised eye was not slow to perceive that this at 
 least was no idle boast, for no one knew better than he that the 
 strength of the building was more apparent than real. Had not 
 the safety of Lady Ormond and her children been in question, he 
 might have ventured to hold out in hopes of succor, but the 
 stake was too heavy to be risked on his own responsibility, and 
 he felt that under the circumstances, it was his painful duty to 
 capitulate. The Countess was of the same opinion, notwithstand- 
 ing her unwillingness to have it told that Ormond’s Castle was 
 in the hands of the rebels. Charged with full power to capitu- 
 late in the name of Lady Ormond, the captain returned to the 
 ramparts. The herald still waited without, and the officer who 
 had beforb spoken, immediately rode up, accompanied by two 
 others. 
 
 “ Before the noble Countess of Ormond can entertain any pro* 
 posals,” said Captain Jameson, “ she desires to know whose word 
 it is that she has to depend upon for safety and protection !” 
 
 “ I had thought,” returned the officer proudly, “ that yonder 
 heraldic device,” pointing to the flag already noticed by those 
 within the castle, “ had sufficiently informed the wife of James 
 Butler. An’ she needs must have a name, tell her it is Colonel 
 Edmund Butler who commands these forces — being so. little in- 
 formed on the subject,” he added, in a sarcastic tone, “ Lady Or- 
 mond may require to be told that Lord Mountgarret is my father 
 — and — I am his son ! — she will, I hope, deem my plighted word 
 sufficient security — but, hark you ! sir, we are somewhat pressed 
 for time, and must be so far wanting in courtesy as to demand a 
 speedy answer !” 
 
 In a very few minutes the Captain returned with a definitive 
 answer that Elizabeth of Ormond was well content to trust in the 
 honor and good faith of her much-esteemed cousin, Colonel But- 
 ler, whose proposal she would willingly accept, hoping that in 
 his hands the castle should sustain as little injury as- might be. 
 
 The Colonel was only too happy to take charge of the place 
 on such terms, “ although,” as he jocularly remarked to Lord 
 
44 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Skerrin who was with him at the moment, “ my fair kinswoman 
 may make her mind easy on that head, inasmuch hs, with God’s 
 Jielp, the care of the house shall never more rest on her should- 
 ers — her much-esteemed cousin ! — ha ! ha ! truly, the noble Coun- 
 tess hath small cause to esteem any of our house at this present, 
 seeing that my father hath taken her castle of Kilkenny, and 
 his son her castle of Carrick ! Fitzpatrick !” to a young lieuten- 
 ant near him, “ have the goodness to see what is going forward 
 around yonder postern ! our men seem in a sort of commotion 
 there. Stay, I will e’en see for myself.” 
 
 Before the Colonel had reached the sally port, he was met 
 by some of his own men with a prisoner wnom they had taken 
 lurking in the shade of the walls, and who craved speech of the 
 Irish commander. 
 
 “He is a retainer of the house,” said one of the soldiers in 
 Irish. 
 
 “ So I perceive,” said the Colonel,” but what is your business 
 out, good fellow V’ 
 
 “ That will I tell your noble lordship full quickly,” replied the 
 Ormond servitor in a voice trembling either with fear or some 
 other emotion, “an’ you grant me a private hearing — I like not 
 the looks of these followers or yours, and what I have to say 
 may not reach their ears !” 
 
 “ A deserter, by St. Bridget's girdle !” said Fitzpatrick aloud to 
 a brother officer, and the word went round from man to man 
 with a boisterous roar of merriment, as the stout clansmen 
 of Munster and the equally stout Normans of the Pale eyed 
 with contempt the fragile and drooping form of the youthful 
 prisoner. 
 
 There was something in the tone and manner of the lad which 
 attracted the Colonel’s attention, and perhaps excited his suspi- 
 cions, so, telling the same party wno had taken him to follow at 
 a little distance, he dismounted and led the way to where a 
 clump of trees screened them from observation. 
 
 “ Speak on now — I listen !” said the Colonel, “ but first I 
 would see your face.” 
 
 “You would know me none the better, though you saw it. 
 You suspect some disguise, and you are right— I am not what I 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 45 
 
 seem, but rather a distressed damsel coming to claim the knight- 
 ly protection of Colonel Butler !” 
 
 “ An’ you come from within the Castle,” said the officer with 
 a polite bow, trying at the same time to catch a glimpse of the 
 face under the slouched hat, “an’ you come from within the 
 Castle, fair lady, you might surely have spared yourself this trou- 
 ble, seeing that my ‘ knightly protection,’ as you say, is already 
 
 pledged for the safety of the female inmates ” 
 
 “ It is well, and I joy to hear it, Colonel,” said the lady, “ but 
 unhappily I have reason to fear that my presence, if known to 
 your people, would endanger the safety of which you speak- 
 lienee it is that I am here.” 
 
 “ Who, in God’s name, are you then 1” cried the Colonel in 
 surprise, “ that you hold yourself beyond the pale of Irish honor 
 or generosity V* 
 
 Drawing a step or two nearer, so as to lessen the chances of 
 being overheard, Emmeline — for she it was — gave her name and 
 parentage in full. 
 
 Colonel Butler heard her with a blanched cheek and an omin- 
 ous start. “ By our Lady ! but that alters the matter !” — he said 
 with a thoughtful air — “ I marvel not that you feared to fall into 
 the hands of Catholic soldiers. The knowledge of your lineage 
 might tempt them sorely, but as God liveth, lady, they would not 
 harm you — no, not even your father’s daughter.” 
 
 “ Still I would rather not trust them, Colonel !’* 
 
 “ I tell you,” said the chivalrous Butler, .somewhat nettled at 
 her want of confidence, “ I tell you, fair mistress ! there is not a 
 man in yonder force, that would harm a hair of your head, were 
 I even to tell them who you are, if so be that they knew you had 
 thrown yourself on us for protection.” 
 
 “ I implore you, Colonel Butler, put them not to what they 
 
 might deem so hard a test ” 
 
 “ How would you have me dispose of you,” interrupted the 
 Colonel — “ I see my presence is again required — lady, speak your 
 wishes !” 
 
 “ An’ it so please you, gallant sir, I would be sent to the nun- 
 nery in the town within, until such time as I can safely be con- 
 veyed to Dublin.” 
 
46 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ That is just where I purpose placing the Countess and her 
 family,” said the Colonel, “until I have heard from my lord ox 
 Ormond. I pray you excuse me for a moment !” Calling to one 
 of the men whom he had stationed near, he desired that Sir John 
 Netterville might come to him. The message had hardly time 
 to be delivered when that young officer made his appearance, 
 with a gay : “ What would you, Colonel 
 
 “ I am about to honor you with a mission of trust, Sir John,” 
 the Colonel replied with a good-humored smile. Lowering his 
 voice almost to a whisper, he told him : “ You are to convey this 
 prisoner without loss of time to the convent in Carrick. Take 
 a small party with you for escort — or stay — yourself will be 
 quite sufficient with one attendant to bring back the horse we 
 send with the prisoner — there be little danger of a rescue — ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! — you understand me, I hope !” 
 
 “ Not over well, Colonel, but your bidding shall be done. By 
 my faith, though, the errand is not so honorable as you would 
 have me believe — at least, on the face of it !” And he glanced 
 with a humorous eye at the somewhat shabby exterior of the 
 serving-man of the house of Ormond whom he, a knight and a 
 noble, Avas ordered to escort. A horse was quickly prepared for 
 the prisoner, and, to the no small amusement of his brother offi- 
 cers, Netterville trotted off as his guard to the town. 
 
 To say the truth the young noble was not altogether pleased 
 at being selected for what seemed so ridiculous a mission, and, 
 to the great satisfaction of his charge, he spoke not a word dur- 
 ing their brief journey. When the old bridge was passed, and 
 great part of the main street of the town, the knight drew up at 
 the gate of the convent, on the corner of one of the cross streets, 
 and then it was that his prisoner raised the slouched hat and 
 disclosed to his astonished escort features indelibly engraved 
 in his heart. 
 
 “Now, Sir John Netterville,” said the lady with a bright blush 
 on her delicate cheek, “ now, you can claim admission for me. 
 I own it did seem rather foolish, escorting a lacquey of the house 
 of Ormond to a convent for protection, but now I hope you are 
 satisfied that Colonel Butler really meant to pay you a compli- 
 ment. For my own part, I am much beholden to you — indeed, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 47 
 
 Sir John, I am — and would to God I might in any way contribute 
 to make you ha&py — hut that the fates have forbidden ! — fare 
 you well ! Sir John Netterville ! my father himself may. one day 
 thank you for this most signal service !” 
 
 “ Great Heavens ! is it you then — you, Emmeline — whom I have 
 had near me so long ! — cruel as you are, you will not go without 
 telling me what this means — najq I implore you, tell me ! — alas ! 
 how little dreamed I that yonder castle of the Butlers held so 
 rich a prize ! But tell me why this secret departure — why this 
 ha.se disguise'?” 
 
 I In very few words Emmeline explained, and by that time the 
 aged portress had hobbled to the door, asking through a small 
 grating who waited without. Being told that a lady was there 
 for whom Colonel Edmund Butler demanded shelter and protec- 
 tion, the venerable dame waddled away again, but returned in a 
 few moments with a message that the reverend mother was only 
 too happy to oblige Colonel Butler. The key grated in the rusty 
 lock, and Emmeline threw herself lightly from the horse, and 
 after exchanging a friendly farewell with the knight, stepped 
 across the threshold, forgetful of her disguise. It was only 
 when reminded of it by the old woman’s exclamation of surprise, 
 that she unbuckled her girdle with a smile, and the borrowed 
 feathers falling off, she stood before the guardian of the gate in 
 a rich but sober female costume. A grunt of satisfaction escaped 
 the lips of the fat portress, as she closed the door on the young 
 knight, and shut in, it might be, for ever from his eyes, the 
 graceful form of Emmeline, the long and vainly loved. 
 
 Two hours after, Carrick Castle was delivered to the Confeder- 
 ate force, the Countess of Ormond, her children and servants, 
 sent for the present to the Convent, over which a strong guard 
 was placed, and the garrison permitted to march out in good order 
 and betake themselves whither they listed. 
 
 Messengers were instantly dispatched by Colonel Butler to 
 Lord Ormond acquainting him with what had taken place, and 
 desiring to know whither he would have his family conveyed. 
 It was the evening of the following day when Lieutenant Fitz- 
 patrick returned with the answer to the Castle, now the head- 
 quarters of the Confederates in that section of the country. 
 
48 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Lord Ormond, he said, when he did, at length, overtake him, 
 refused to receive Colonel Butler’s epistle, alleging that he could 
 hold no communication with rebels. Nettled at this, the reckless 
 young officer told him very bluntly what had happened, asking 
 in an ironical tone whether his lordship would condescend, after 
 that, to read the Colonel’s letter. 
 
 “ Not on any account,” was the answer, which the Earl took 
 care should be heard by many of his officers ; “ my wife and 
 family are in God’s keeping, and even for their sakes, I may not 
 encourage rebellion by holding written communication with 
 them.” ^ 
 
 “ This is your lordship’s final answer'?” 
 
 “ It is, so help me Heaven !” 
 
 “ Let me tell you, then, my lord earl,” returned the hot- 
 blooded young Ossory man, “ you may reckon over much on 
 Colonel Butler’s generosity and forbearance. Sending such an 
 answer you surely must forget the number of blackened walls 
 and ruined homesteads which mark your track !” 
 
 “What said the Earl to that?” demanded the Colonel with 
 ominous composure. 
 
 “ He said I would do well to keep my tongue from wagging so 
 glibly, and bade me to be thankful that I was suffered to escape 
 with impunity; commanding me at the same time to quit his 
 presence instantly, a command which I had no temptation to re- 
 sist, knowing that you were anxiously awaiting an answer.’' 
 
 Colonel Butler, although some years younger than his kins- 
 man, Ormond, was not without a share of Ormond’s prudence, 
 so that when questioned by Lord Skerrin and others of the offi- 
 cers as to what he purposed doing, he merely answered that his 
 mind was not yet made up. Early next morning, however, he 
 repaired in person to the Convent, and having told the Countess 
 of her husband’s heartless conduct, he ended by saying : 
 
 “ Your ladyship and all those of your company, are, however, 
 free, — free to go where and when you will. We, at least, war not 
 against women and children.” 
 
 “ Colonel Butler,” said the Countess with much emotion, 
 
 “ Elizabeth of Ormond thanks you, and will be mindful of your 
 generosity while her heart continues to beat.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 49 
 
 “ Oh recreant scion of the Butlers !” said Emmeline softly at 
 her elbow, and the arch girl shook her finger playfully in the 
 face of her noble friend, “ even recreants, you see, are at times 
 exceeding useful!” Then aloud, she, too, tendered her best 
 thanks to the Colonel. 
 
 Half an hour after that, Lady Ormond with her young friend, 
 her children and servants, were journeying rapidly towards 
 Dublin, escorted by a troop of Irish cavalry. What thoughts 
 coursed each other through the mind of those two Protestant ladies 
 as they travelled in safety under such protection the reader may 
 easily imagine. 
 
 Four weeks had barely passed away after the taking of Car- 
 rick Castle, when Emmeline and her mother were summoned 
 from a saloon of Dublin Castle, crowded with the beauty and 
 fashion of the metropolis, to receive, at their own gate, a mourn- 
 ful cortege, bearing home the body of the husband and father 
 from the scene of his tragic end — a tyrant even in his own 
 family, the man had not one fond heart to mourn his loss, yet 
 the manner of his death was so awfully sudden, and the tidings 
 came so unxexpectedly, that all were filled with horror, if not 
 with grief. The pale sorrow-worn wife, however, who might 
 well have considered his death a boon, could not help remember- 
 ing with a softening heart the thirty odd years they had past 
 together, and the sunny days of her early married life ere the 
 pursuit of arms had developed the latent cruelty of her consort, 
 and made his heart hard to all human pity. His two sons, men 
 of strong robust frame and iron will like their father, were too 
 fully imbued with his spirit not to feel a burning thirst for 
 revenge, and (if that were possible) a deadlier hatred of the 
 already detested Catholics. Such were the varied feelings of 
 the mother and her sons, but for Emmeline, the only daughter 
 of that house, what she felt was not so easily defined, and more- 
 over it lay farther beneath the surface. 
 
 It was a strange sight to see the stately matron and her beau- 
 tiful daughter receiving that grisly corpse ; they radiant with 
 jewels and floating, as it were, in a mist of rich lace and gauzy 
 silk,* the dead wrapped in his bloody war-cloak, his grey locks 
 
 * We are told by Walker, quoting aa English author, that the 
 
 13 
 
50 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 matted with gore. His sons, too, in their brilliant court-uni- 
 form, presented a strange contrast with him whom they had so 
 often followed to victory, as they stood there side by side with 
 folded arms and knitted brows looking sternly down on the 
 unsightly form before them. Oh! it was a strange scene, a 
 sad and solemn scene, its awful silence seldom broken by word 
 or groan, or sigh. Passion was at work under various forms in 
 the depth of every heart, but its workings were kept far down 
 below the surface by the stern strong will that governed each. 
 
 It was night when the corpse was brought home, and accord- 
 ing to the custom of those people then, as now, it was laid out 
 in solemn lonely state in one of the principal apartments, with 
 two great wax tapers at the head and two more at the feet. At 
 the lonely hour of midnight, when the weary watchers in the 
 ante-room w r ere fast asleep, Emmeline stood like a white-robed 
 spirit by the couch of death, her pale face looking paler still 
 under the long tresses of fair silky hair which hung over her 
 shoulders in wild disorder. Her eyes were stony and fixed as 
 those of a statue, and her clasped hands rested against her 
 bosom — the whole figure motionless and silent as though no 
 breath of life warmed the heart within. 
 
 At last the beautiful lips parted and a sigh, a deep-drawn sigh, 
 came forth, and another moment’s pause, and Emmeline spoke 
 in a low murmuring voice like the whisper of ocean-shells : 
 
 “ Fattier, blame me not if my words were prophetic ! — thou 
 knowest, oh! author of my days ! that it was a fiendish act, and 
 the groans of his anguish rent my heart asunder — but still — still 
 — I was wrong — oh ! how -wrong to speak such bitter words for 
 a father’s ear ! — alas ! alas ! I deemed not then that the dark 
 hour was so near at hand ! God pity you, my father, as you lie 
 there with a mountain weight of blood upon your soul and the 
 curses of so many widows and orphans ringing on the midnight 
 
 Irish court-dress of that day was peculiarly rich and even splendid ! 
 “ Here,” says Howell, the writer in question, “ here is a most splendid 
 court kept at the Castle, and except that of the Viceroy of Naples, I 
 have not seen the like in Christendom. — Walker on the dress of the 
 Irish ) p. 60. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 51 
 
 air around you ! We loved not, oh father ! thou wouldst not 
 have us love thee, but oh ! my heart is breaking with the thought 
 that I — I thy only daughter — did as it were evoke this untimely 
 end ! To my dying day I shall have this dismal sight before 
 min e eyes, as the heart- wrung groans of one too well beloved are 
 ever in my ear — oh ! that eye could see or ear could hear no 
 more ! — oh ! that this heart were as cold and pulseless as thine 
 now is ! But, great God, who visiteth the sins of the fathers on 
 their children, I must e’en wait till thy rigorous justice hath 
 been satisfied in my regard ! Father ! farewell ! if it afford thy 
 vengeful spirit aught of consolation, know that the daughter who 
 gave thy paternal heart such a deadly wound is as miserable as 
 even thou couldst wish !” 
 
 Stooping down she kissed the ghastly brow of the sleeper, 
 and muttering to herself, “ I might not, dare not, would not kiss 
 him thus, were he not dead — dead !” She glided again through 
 the ante-room, where the hired watchers still slumbered on, and 
 unseen, unheard, reached her own apartments just as a fierce gust 
 of wind shook the doors and windows of the old house. All that 
 night the wild storm howled without, moaning dismally in the 
 passages and wide chimneys, and making all within the house to 
 shudder. It seemed as if legions of tortured ghosts were keep- 
 ing watch and ward over that lifeless body, shrieking for ven- 
 geance on the parted soul — and little wonder if they were in 
 shadowy crowds around, for it was Sir Charles Coote that lay 
 there dead !* 
 
 * The ancient town of Trim was, as Carte quaintly observes, “ tho 
 tragic stage whereon he (Coote) acted his last part.” Brewer, in his 
 Beauties of Ireland , gives the following account of the death of Coote : 
 “ Whilst the town was possessed by the parliamentary party, in 1642, 
 it became the scene of a skirmish that proved fatal to Sir Charles 
 Coote, of ensanguined memory. The Irish beset the town, at the 
 break of day, in a tumultuous party, said to have been 3,000 strong. 
 Sir Charles, on the first alarm, issued from the gate, at the head of a 
 few horse soldiers, leaving others to follow as quickly as they could 
 muster. In the charge which he made upon the assailants, Coote was 
 shot dead, and it was thought that the ball was discharged by one of 
 his own troopers.” 
 
52 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 “ Oh heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ! 
 
 Is there no arm on high to shield the brave ? 
 
 Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains, 
 
 Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! 
 
 By that dread name, we wave the sword on high 
 And swear with her to live — with her to die ! ’ 
 
 Campbell’s Pleasures of Hope. 
 
 On the 10th day of May, just three days after the tragical 
 end of Sir Charles Coote, the patriot prelates of Ireland, with 
 very few exceptions, came together by previous appointment in 
 the ancient city of the Butlers, to deliberate with such of the 
 lay-lords as could conveniently be present, on the affairs of the 
 pending struggle. After many days of calm and prayerful deli- 
 beration, during which divers wise rules and regulations were 
 devised and ordained, a solemn scene took place in the old Ca- 
 thedral Church of St. Canice, when all the lords, temporal and 
 spiritual, and all’ the Catholic knights and gentlemen then within 
 the city, assembled by appointment to take the oath of associa- 
 tion, drawn up by the bishops as a bond of union between the 
 so-long conflicting races now embarking in the same glorious 
 cause. 
 
 It was evening, and the last beams of the setting sun were re- 
 flected in all the colors of the rainbow in diagonal lines verg- 
 ing towards the high altar from the richly-stained windows facing 
 westward. “ The young May moon,” dimly visible in the azure 
 firmament, waited but the withdrawal of the more brilliant lumi- 
 nary to shed in her mild rays on the tesselated pavement and the 
 time-worn walls, and the solemn assembly of the holy, the 
 brave, and the noble. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 53 
 
 Many tapers were burning on and around the grand altar, vo- 
 tive offerings from the knights and nobles present to Our Lady 
 and good St. Canice; and their light fell on the calm, collected 
 features of the bishops and other dignitaries of the Church as 
 they occupied the stalls and benches of the chancel. Without 
 the rood-screen in the spacious nave, stood a crowd of the noblest 
 and bravest of the land, most of them men of Norman blood, 
 for the summons to take the oath had not as yet reached the Irish 
 country, whereas Kilkenny being one of the chief cities of the 
 Pale, its Catholic lords and gentry were there in numbers. Al- 
 most the only noble of Irish extraction present was Lord Mus- 
 kerry, but of the spiritual lords, the highest dignitaries were of 
 the old blood, although very many of the inferior orders of the 
 clergy were of English extraction. But there was one Irish 
 chieftain present, who might well look with a swelling heart on 
 that proud array, for the organization now at length assuming 
 tangible shape had been first conceived in his fertile brain, and 
 owed more of its present strength to him than to any other liv- 
 ing man. That chieftain was Rory 7 O’More, who, with his con- 
 stant friend, Plunket, stood in a corner just behind where Lord 
 Muskerry sat with the banner of MacCarthy hanging in heavy 
 folds above him. 
 
 It were hard to describe O’More’s thoughts when, just as the 
 first ray of moonlight streamed in through a window opposite, 
 Hugh O’Neill, the venerable primate, ascended the steps of the 
 altar, and, after a short but touching prayer, gave utterance to 
 the solemn words* which each one present repeated after him, 
 holding up their right hands. 
 
 * The oath of association taken by the Confederate Catholics was 
 
 as follows : “ I do profess, swear, and protest before God, and 
 
 Ilis saints and angels, that I will, during my life, bear true faith and 
 allegiance to ray Sovereign Lord, Charles, by the grace of God, King 
 of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, and to his heirs and lawful 
 successors ; and that I will, to my power, during my life, defend, up- 
 hold, and maintain all his and their just prerogatives, estates, and 
 rights, the power and privilege of the Parliament of this realm, the 
 fundimental laws of Ireland, the free exercise of the Roman Catholic 
 faith and religion throughout this land ; and the lives, just liberties, 
 possessions, estates, and rights of all those that have taken, or that 
 shall take this oath, and perform the contents thereof ; and that I will 
 obey and ratify all the orders and decrees made and to be made by 
 
54 
 
 TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Thank God,” exclaimed O’More, with that fervor which be- 
 longed to his character, as he and Plunket quitted the Church 
 side by side, and turned in the direction of the river to enjoy a 
 moonlight stroll on its verdant banks ; “ thank God, Plunket, 
 things begin to stand on a more solid foundation — much hath 
 been already done by this synod ” 
 
 “ Truly y$s,” said Plunket, “ this oath was happily devised — 
 pray Heaven it answer the intent of its pious framers and clasp 
 the old and new Irish together for so long as this struggle lasts ! 
 An’ the vessel fall to pieces again, before our enemies are brought 
 to terms, the condition of the people will be worse than it ever 
 hath been.” 
 
 “ Marry, so think I, but, pri’thee, Richard, let us not give 
 way to gloomy imaginings now when all seems bright and of 
 good promise. I would there had been more of the old blood 
 present, so that the voices of all blending in that solemn vow, 
 the bond of union might be henceforward and for ever cemented 
 with brotherly love. What thinkest thou, keen lawyer as thou 
 art, of these rules already drawn up and the ordinances made V ’* 
 
 the Supreme Council of the Confederate Catholics of this kingdom, 
 concerning the said public cause ; and I will not seek, directly or indi- 
 rectly, any pardon or protection for any act done, or to be done, 
 touching this general cause, without the consent of the major part of 
 said council, and that I will not, directly or indirectly, do any act or 
 acts that shall prejudice the said cause, but will, to the hazard of my 
 life and estate, assist, prosecute, and maintain the same. 
 
 “ Moreover, I do further swear that I will not accept of, or submit 
 unto, any peace made, or to be made, with the said Confederate 
 Catholics, without the consent and approbation of the general assem- 
 bly of the said Confederate Catholics, and for the preservation and 
 strengthening of the association and union of the kingdom. That 
 upon any peace or accommodation to be made or concluded with the 
 said Confederate Catholics as aforesaid, I will, to the utmost of my 
 power, insist upon and maintain the ensuing propositions, until a 
 peace, as aforesaid, be made, and the matters to be agreed upon in 
 the articles of peace to be established, and secured by Parliament. 
 So help me, God, and His holy Gospel.” 
 
 “ Sueh,” says Rev. Mr. Meehan in his Confederation of Kilkenny , 
 “ such was this solemn oath, or ‘ fsedus,’ which gave a distinct appel- 
 lation to those who bound themselves by it, and whom we are 
 henceforth to know as the Confederate Catholics of Ireland.” 
 
 * The following enactments were made by this Council, “ for the 
 conservation and exercise of this union,” viz. : between all “ Irish 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 55 
 
 “ It would ill become me to find fault with them,” said Plun- 
 ket with his humorous smile, “ seeing that they be in part my 
 own bantlings. However, such as they are, methinks no Ca- 
 
 peers, magistrates, noblemen, cities, and provinces.” Their wisdom, 
 moderation, and entire fitness for the object in view, must strike all 
 who read them : 
 
 I. Whereas, the war which now in Ireland the Catholics do main- 
 tain against sectaries, and chiefly against Puritans, for the defence 
 of the Catholic religion, — for the maintenance of the prerogative and 
 royal rights of our gracious King Charles, — for our gracious Qu^n, 
 so unworthily abused by the Puritans, — for the honor, safety, mid 
 health of their royal issue, — for to avert and repair the injuries done 
 to them, — for the conservation of the just and lawful safeguard, 
 liberties, and rights of Ireland, — and, lastly, for the defence of their 
 own lives, fortunes, lands, and possessions ; — whereas this war is un- 
 dertaken for the aforesaid causes against unlawful usurpers, oppressors, 
 and the enemies of the Catholics, chiefly Puritans, and that hereof 
 wo are informed, as well by divers and true remonstrances of divers 
 provinces, counties, and noblemen, as also by the unanimous consent 
 and agreement of a 1 most the whole kingdom in this war and union, — 
 we, therefore, declare that war, openly Catholic, to be lawful and 
 just ; in which war, if some of the Catholics be found to proceed out 
 of some particular and unjust title — covetousness, cruelty, revenge, 
 or hatred, or any such unlawful private intentions — we declare them 
 therein grievously to sin, and therefore worthy to be punished and 
 restrained with ecclesiastical censures if, advised thereof, they do not 
 amend. 
 
 II. Whereas the adversaries do spread divers rumors, do write 
 divers letters, and, under the King’s name, do print proclamations, 
 which are not the King’s, by which means divers plots and dangers 
 may ensue unto our nation ; we, therefore, to stop the way of untruth, 
 and forgeries of political adversaries, do will and command that no 
 such rumors, letters, or proclamations, may have place or belief until 
 it be known in a national council, whether they truly proceed from the 
 King, left to his own freedom, and until agents of this kingdom, here- 
 after to be appointed by the National Council, have free passage to 
 his Majesty, whereby the kingdom may be certainly informed of his 
 Majesty’s intention and will. 
 
 III. We straightly command all our inferiors, as well churchmen 
 as laymen, to make no alienation, comparison, or difference between 
 provinces, cities, towns, or families ; and lastly, not to begin or for- 
 ward any emulations, or comparisons whatsoever. 
 
 IV. That in every province of Ireland there be a Council made up, 
 both of clergy and nobility, in which council shall be so many persons, 
 
 # at least, as are counties in the province, and out of every city or nota- 
 ble town, two persons. 
 
 V. Let one general council of the whole kingdom bo made, both of 
 the clergy, nobility, cities, and notable towns, in which council there 
 shall be three out of every province, and out of every city, one ; or 
 
56 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 tholic can cavil at any of them. The formation of the councils 
 is a grand stroke, a capital stroke, friend Roger, and as for the 
 other several ordinances, they serve, if other purpose they had 
 not, as a sort of creed for our National Confederation. I tell 
 thee, Roger,” said Plunket warming with his subject as he the 
 more considered it, “ I tell thee, the work already done by this 
 assembly of lords, temporal and spiritual, will make amends to us 
 — ay ! an hundred times over — for that unhappy affair of Mag- 
 eny. Nay, never look so downhearted, Roger ! that was a heavy 
 blojf t God knows, but the wound it gave the nation happily 
 reached no vital part. See you not how full of life we are — ay ! 
 in truth, vigorous and lusty as the mountain roe, and as ready 
 to overleap all manner of obstacles that lie between us and 
 freedom. Think no more of it, Roger, there was no blame at- 
 tached to any who fought there ” 
 
 “ Still, Richard, you must own it was discouraging, to say the 
 least of it. Think of all the noble gentlemen whose names are 
 covered with the disgrace of that action. There was Mount- 
 garret himself, Dunboyne and Skerrin, Sir Morgan Cavanagh, 
 O’Byrne, and lastly, my humble self. Such a show of men an 1 
 officers of note, and all for nothing — worse than nothing. Ah ! 
 Plunket, men may talk as they will of numerical strength, but, 
 after all, discipline is the main thing — we Irish were taught a 
 fearful lesson at that same bridge of Mageny, to wit, that vast 
 
 where cities are not, out of the chiefest towns. To this council the' 
 provincial councils shall have subordination, and from thence to it 
 may be appealed, until this National Council shall have opportunity 
 to sit together. 
 
 VL Let a faithful inventory be made, in every province, of the 
 murders, burnings, and other cruelties which are permitted by the 
 Puritan enemies, with a quotation of -tho place, day, cause, manner, 
 and persons, and other circumstances, subscribed by one of public 
 authority. 
 
 VII. We do declare and judge all and every such as do forsake 
 this union, fight for our enemies, accompany them in their war, de- 
 fend, or in any way assist them, to be excommunicated, and, by these 
 presents, do excommunicate them. 
 
 VIII We will and declare all those that murder, dismember, or 
 grievously strike, all thieves, unlawful spoilers, robbers of any goods, 
 to be excommunicated, and so to remain till they completely amend 
 and satisfy, no less than if they were namely proclaimed excommuni- 
 cated!” — Meehan’s Confederation of Kilkenny , p. 30. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 57 
 
 bodies of men are but an incumbrance on the field of battle if 
 they be not well trained and well accoutred.” 
 
 “ How, think you, will Clanrickarde and those of his party 
 take our ordinances 1” said Plunket, partly with a view to 
 change what he knew was a painful subject. 
 
 “Not over well, I imagine, seeing that no alternative is left 
 them but excommunication, if so be they persevere in their 
 present abetment of the enemy’s courses.” 
 
 “Excommunication quotha!” repeated Plunket with that 
 caustic humor which ever characterized him; “ methinks, Roger, 
 such Catholics as Ulick Burke take little heed of spiritual cen- 
 sures —so long as they be not debarred from government favor, 
 or the emoluments of office, the bishops may curse them £ bell, 
 book, and candle-light,’ without troubling their digestion in the 
 least ! — may God confound all such white-livered, time-serving 
 knaves, say I !” 
 
 “I do heartily admire your honest indignation, Richard 1” 
 said O’ More with his genial smile; “albeit that you may judge 
 my Lord Clanrickarde over harshly — I am told here that an 
 effort will shortly be made by some of the bishops to bring him 
 over to his rightful place in this struggle — let us wait to see 
 what effect their remonstrance will have before we judge the 
 Earl with such pitiless severity! But hark! is not that the ninth 
 hour sounding from the old clock of St. Canice 1 By my word, 
 Richard, it is, — we have tarried over long, you see, beguiled by 
 the beauty of earth and sky, and the No re’s tremulous reflection 
 of yonder planet’s silvery beams — Muskerry and Mountgarret 
 and the rest will deem us somewhat indifferent counsellors, an’ 
 we try their patience in this wise !” 
 
 “ The fault is yours, good friend mine,” rejoined Plunket with 
 a laugh ; “ sooth to say Madam Luna hath no such charms for 
 me, that for her dear sake I would take to wandering, ghost- 
 like, amongst the night-shadows. A soul full of poetry like 
 yours must needs do homage to the queen of night, but a man 
 of prose such as I, hath more fondness for the busy, bustling, 
 matter-of-fact daylight, when all the world is up and doing. 
 However, Roger, my good fellow, an’ you quicken your steps, 
 so as to reach the Swan before our noble friends’ patience be 
 
58 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 exhausted, we may e’en have business of some import on hands 
 to-night, touching matters to be brought before the synod 
 to-morrow.” 
 
 O’More was no less anxious than his friend to reach the place 
 of appointment, whither they were invited to meet the lay-lords 
 of the council at a supper given by Lord Mountgarret, for the 
 avowed purpose of conferring together on the further proceed- 
 ings of the deliberative body. Yet still the brave chieftain could 
 not repress a heavy sigh as the old tavern* broke on his view at 
 the turn of one of the abrupt angles in which Kilkenny, like 
 most ancient cities, abounds. He was thinking, as Plunket 
 rightly guessed, of that other such preliminary night-meeting 
 'which ended in the capture of McGuire and McMahon. 
 
 “ Forgive me, Richard, if I appear gloomy and despondent — 
 it is not from any fears anent the success of our cause that I now 
 heave the sigh, but my heart is ever heavy when I bethink me 
 of those two gallant friends of ours cooped up within the four 
 walls of a dungeon at such time as this when most the country 
 needs the swords and strong arms of her sons — nothing know- 
 ing, nothing hearing of what passeth amongst us their friends 
 and comrades, other than what their jailers may see fit to tell 
 them — oh, friends ! friends ! brave and generous and true- 
 hearted ! shall these eyes ever behold ye again 7 shall your 
 long-shackled limbs ever bear ye again in freedom over the 
 green fields where ye sported but few short months ago, light- 
 some and swift as the red deer of the mountains 7” 
 
 They had just reached the door of the Swan, and Plunket 
 who was himself catching the infection of his friend’s melan- 
 choly, was not sorry to exchange his sole companionship for the 
 cheerful, animated, and somewhat noisy crowd already occupy- 
 ing the Swan’s best apartment. Happily for all concerned, no 
 untoward occurrence came to mar the social enjoyment of that 
 
 * Lest our readers should be in any degree scandalized at the place 
 chosen for such an entertainment by such a company, it may be well 
 to observe that the word hotel had no place in the vocabulary of our 
 ancestors, nor had the word tavern the same signification that it now 
 has. Inn and tavern were the common names applied to all houses 
 of entertainment. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 59 
 
 evening, which was long looked back upon by the gallant gen- 
 tlemen there assembled as a pleasant oasis in the desert of long- 
 protracted warfare. Few such festive evenings fell to the lot of 
 many there in after times ! 
 
 Before the synod broke up towards the end of that month of 
 May, another grand and more general assembly, both lay and 
 clerical, was called for the following October, in the same good 
 old city of Kilkenny. Agents were immediately despatched anew 
 to the different Catholic Courts of Europe, soliciting assistance ; 
 foreign merchants were invited to export munitions of war to 
 Ireland, and artizans skilled in the manufacture of arms were 
 likewise offered every encouragement to induce them to take 
 up their abode in the districts occupied by the Confederate 
 forces.* Copies of the rules and regulations so far made were 
 sent to all the Catholic noblemen and gentlemen throughout the 
 kingdom, with a manifesto declaratory of the ends and objects of 
 the Confederation just formed. 
 
 It was about the end of that same month of May that two 
 gentlemen of noble mien might have been seen one evening 
 pacing to and fro the length of the flagged way leading 
 through the Upper Castle Yard in Dublin City. The massive 
 gates opening on Cork Hill were not yet closed for the night, 
 but there was none the greater bustle in the narrow old court 
 lying so darkly in the evening shades between the massive walls 
 of the Castle, for, during that stormy time of civil commotion, the 
 citizens were not permitted, as they were before, and are since, 
 to make the Castle Yards, Upper and Lower, a short cut to the 
 streets below. The few straggling soldiers visible in the Yard 
 were evidently careful not to come within hearing of the earnest 
 discourse carried on in a low voice between the two individuals 
 just mentioned, and even the sentries pacing their weary rounds 
 on either hand, appeared equally willing to keep as far from 
 them as their appointed limits would permit. Both gentlemen 
 had that about them which denoted military as well as civil 
 rank, although but one had anything distinctive in the costume 
 which so well became his lofty mien and graceful form. His 
 
 * See Meehan’s Confederation of Kilkenny , pp. 30, 31. 
 
60 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 dark handsome features are not unknown to us, nor yet the 
 bland smile of condescension wherewith he listens — deigns to 
 listen, as it were, to the deep, full, measured tones of his com- 
 panion. Such a smile was never seen, save on Ormond’s face, 
 and Ormond it surely was. But who, then, was he who walked 
 so long by the proud Earl’s side in friendly converse, nor seemed 
 in anywise overpowered by that nobleman’s stretch of conde- 
 scension in granting him so long an audience 'l Quite at his 
 ease he appeared to be, with his plumed hat thrown back some- 
 what from his broad, massive brow, and his mail-gloved hand 
 laid at times on the Earl’s shoulder, as though to enforce con- 
 viction. There was a quiet consciousness of equality in the gen- 
 tleman’s whole demeanor towards Ormond, although he had 
 neither the exquisite - polish, nor the insinuating address of that 
 accomplished courtier. Yet he, too, was a tactitian in hjs way, 
 and as a statesman was even then considered as not inferior to 
 Ormond himself, while in social rank he was fully his equal. 
 Indeed the British empire at that day contained not any noble- 
 man of greater account, for he was no other than Ulick Burke, 
 Earl of Clanrickarde, the great Palatine of the West, the cautious, 
 calm, wily politician, who, belonging to the Catholics by reli- 
 gious profession, still adhered to the cause of their enemies, and 
 managed to maintain a high repute amongst them by his utter 
 detachment from his natural friends, and entire devotion to the 
 views and wishes of their oppressors. He it was who thus ac- 
 companied Ormond in his evening walk, and it was hard to say 
 which was the more astute politician, which the keener observer 
 of men and things. Still there were some essential points of dif- 
 ference between their characters, for while Ormond was entirely 
 devoted to his own interests, and made all others subservient to 
 them, Clanrickarde was honestly and heartily devoted to the ser- 
 vice of the king his master, and what he considered the cause 
 of order — more sincere than Ormond, he was also much less skilled 
 in the art of dissembling, and could by no means descend to 
 intrigue or flattery to carry out his honest, though fatally erro- 
 neous views. In person, Clanrickarde was like Ormond, tall and 
 commanding, but the Connaught magnate was of larger propor- 
 tions and more robust frame than he of Ormond, and although his 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 61 
 
 features were regular and well formed, they wanted the chiselled 
 smoothness which belonged so peculiarly to the other. Take 
 them as they stood, those two great Anglo-Irish lords, Cl^prickarde 
 was the larger and more athletic, perhaps the more imposing, 
 while Ormond was immeasurably his superior in grace and ele- 
 gance, and all manner of personal attraction. 
 
 Clani ickarde had been giving an account of his recent success 
 in bringing the refractory town of Cuahvay into subjection, and 
 the manifold troubles arising to him from the want of proper 
 supplies, which latter business had brought him to Dublin, 
 although, as he said, he could ill spare even one day from the 
 arduous cares of his government. 
 
 “ Truly your lordship hath no enviable post there,” said Or- 
 mond at the close of the narrative ; “ you have a turbulent crew to 
 deal with in that same Galway of yours. Much did we hear of 
 the good and peaceable dispositions existing amongst all classes 
 in your lordship’s country, but, by my halidome, I was never 
 deceived by those rumors, knowing well the stuff whereof those 
 old Norman tribes are made — they are at heart both proud 
 and Papistical, opposed to all authority but their own, and well 
 content to let the Irishry spoil and harry all the country round 
 so long as they leave them masters within their fourteen gates 
 and towers !” 
 
 “ They are in truth what you say,” rejoined Clanrickarde, 
 “ yet I hold that Willoughby* is not without his share of blame 
 in regard to the recent disturbances. He is as fierce and cruel 
 as a tiger, and as obstinate withal as a donkey, so that a man 
 can no more bring him to reason than he could teach yonder 
 post to walk. It is little short of madness, as I take it, to fix 
 such overgrown boys as he in places of trust. Truly yes, the 
 townsmen of Galway are, as you say, proud and hard to manage, 
 but an’ I were left to deal with them as in former years, I war- 
 rant me they had never made common cause with the Irish 
 
 * Captain Willoughby, who then commanded the fort of Galway, 
 was the son of Sir Francis of that name, who was appointed Governor 
 of Dublin Castle very soon after that meeting of the Privy Coimci* 
 which wo introduced him to the reader. 
 
62 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 enemy whom they hate as they do the Evil One. Many a 
 pretty piece of negotiation hath been spoiled for me of late by 
 the hot-bjooded rashness of that same spawn of the Parliament, 
 for no sooner would the slightest difficulty arise between any of 
 his soldiers and the townspeople, than, bang into the town, came 
 down shell and shot, whereupon the citizens would at once 
 break off all communication with me, send my messengers back 
 in disgrace, and take to starving and otherwise annoying the 
 garrison in the fort. I tell you, my lord of Ormond” — and stop- 
 ping in his walk, he made Ormond do the same by placing his 
 large hand like a grasp of iron on his shoulder — “ I tell you, 
 an’ the city and fort of Galway be now in the hands of the 
 government, small thanks are due to their pet Willoughby, for 
 all that they kept him so well supplied with things needful 
 while Clanrickarde was left to shift for himself and his poor 
 people as best he might.” 
 
 “ Nay, my good lord,” said Ormond in his soft, soothing 
 way, “ methinks you are over hard upon the government ” 
 
 “Hard!” repeated Clanrickarde with unwonted vehemence; 
 “before God I say it, James Butler, it hath seemed to me at 
 times that the Lords Justices desired nothing more than to 
 drive me from the king’s service, and force me into the ranks of 
 rebellion — otherwise, had they never treated my poor services 
 with such base ingratitude, or taken so little pains to provide me 
 with munitions of war and other such matters as I stood in need 
 of for his Majesty’s behoof. You know not, my lord, the straits 
 whereto I have been reduced in order to hold that western 
 country for the king, or the insults I have been forced to pocket 
 from the disaffected. Why, it was but last week that my Castle 
 of Auglianure, situate in a wild district of Connemara, was 
 coolly taken possession of by a party of the O’Flahertys. num- 
 bering no more than fifty or thereabouts.” 
 
 “ The O’Flahertys are up, then V* questioned Ormond. 
 
 “Up! ay, marry, are they, and for the matter of that they 
 were never down , save in so far or so long as authority and 
 strength could keep them so. Arrant traitors are they every soul 
 of them, and it needeth but a spark at any time to set their 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 63 
 
 whole country* in a blaze. I would the Castle had been burned 
 to the ground rather than fall into their hands.” 
 
 “ Methinks,” said Ormond with his equivocal smile, “ that 
 wish is unbecoming in the mouth of so loyal a nobleman. The 
 Castle may yet be retaken from the Papist enemy, and stand us 
 in good stead, whereas an’ it were burned, there were an end 
 of it !” 
 
 “Humph! talk is cheap,” observed the western Earl rather 
 testily ; “ your lordship knows little of these O’Flahertys. An’ 
 the worshipful Lords Justices supply me not in far other fashion 
 they have yet done, it will be long ere I or mine set foot within 
 the walls of Aughanure. Young Murrough na Dhu O’Flaherty, 
 who led the party against it, and in one hour’s fighting took the 
 Castle and made prisoners of its garrison, in the name, forsooth, 
 1 of the Catholic army’ — he, I tell you, Earl, will hold it against 
 all comers, unless, as I said, God moveth the hearts of those in 
 power to set me on a proper footing for war. Though young 
 in years, Murrough na Dhu hath the courage of a lion, and the 
 arm of a blacksmith — a youthful Hercules he is, I wot me well, 
 with a soul all on fire for what he deemeth the cause of religion 
 and country. Take Aughanure back from his hands ! — by my 
 knightly word, it might try the skill of Ormond himself to do it 
 in that wild, unapproachable region !” 
 
 “ Good my lord,” said Ormond, without appearing to notice 
 the mention made of his own name ; “ good my lord, there seem- 
 eth to be an evil spirit at work amongst the young men of your 
 country. Not to speak of this fierce O’Flaherty, there hath been 
 wild work going on amongst them of late, as we have heard here 
 in Dublin !” 
 
 “ Oh ! your lordship hath reference to that mad prank played 
 some weeks since, by certain young men of Galway City, in re- 
 gard to the taking of an English ship ! — truly that was a feat, all 
 things considered. But as I told you before, it was all the work 
 of Willoughby. Ilis idle threats and violent aggressions drove 
 
 * Nearly the whole of Jar-Connaught belonged of old, and conse- 
 quently of right, to this princely sept, whose chiefs were dispossessed 
 to make room for the De Burgos. 
 
G4 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 the townspeople to desperation, and fearing that all who pro- 
 fessed the old faith might any day be turned out of the city, like 
 unto the Catholics of Cork and Youghal, if not slaughtered in 
 cold blood, a number of bold, reckless, crack-brained youths 
 did attack and finally capture a ship laden chiefly with arms and 
 ammunition, which had been lying some days in the harbor wait- 
 ing to land her stores for the use of the fort.* By that means 
 these desperadoes got possession of firearms and other war-stores 
 in plenty, which things they had not in any quantity before. ’ 
 
 “ And then ” 
 
 “ And then, my lord, they went in a body to the Church 
 of St. Nicholas and vowed all manner of loyalty — lip-loyalty, we 
 needs must think — towards his gracious Majesty, with entire de- 
 votion, however, to the cause of rebellion. Truly God and St. 
 Nicholas must have turned a deaf ear to such orisons as they 
 put up ! — whosoever rebels against lawful authority, the Lord will 
 not surely hold him guiltless !” 
 
 It was well for Ormond that Clanrickarde saw not the mocking 
 smile which played around his finely-curved lip at the moment, 
 else had the western autocrat never again laid bare his thoughts 
 before the keen scrutiny of that wily lord. Having his eyes fixed 
 at the moment in another direction, he saw not the face of his 
 companion, and went on quickly with what he had been saying. 
 
 “Issuing from the Church, those rebels, with the mayor, I 
 grieve to say it, at their head, took possession speedily of all the 
 gates, declaring that they would hold the town for King Charles 
 and the Catholic army until such time as God sent them relief. 
 Knaves and hypocrites——” 
 
 “ Shame, shame, shame, Clanrickarde ! — traitor to God and His 
 holy faith, dost thou dare thus to stigmatize the faithful and the 
 true I” 
 
 Thus spoke a deep, stern voice, almost, it would seem, at the 
 Earl’s elbow, and turning fiercely he demanded : 
 
 “ My lord of Ormond, was it thou that spoke V’ 
 
 “ By my life, it was not !” the Earl replied with very sincere 
 astonishment, and both peered into the deep shade whence the 
 
 * This fact is historically true, to the im mortal honor of old Galway. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 65 
 
 voice appeared to have issued. Not a living soul was there visi- 
 ble, and Clanrickarde exclaimed with a shudder : 
 
 “ The devil himself, then, must be in it, for the voice was 
 close to my ear !” 
 
 “ What ho, there ! — close the gates instantly ! — secure the 
 traitor, whoever he be !” 
 
 Lord Ormond’s command was quickly obeyed, but not before 
 an aged mendicant presented himself at the gate nearest to the 
 two noblemen* soliciting charity in the professional whine that 
 marked his class then as now. 
 
 “ Get you gone, old scare-crow,” cried the proud Earl, raising 
 his mailed hand, “ or I strike you as you may not relish. Get 
 you gone, I say, this be no place for beggars ! * 
 
 “ True for you, my noble master,” the old man whined again 
 as the massive gate was closed -against him; “ God reward you 
 — as you deserve, — for sure it’s your own good-looking face that 
 covers the black heart !” 
 
 “ What is the scoundrel muttering 1 ’ exclaimed Ormond. 
 
 “ He is complimenting your lordship on your goodness of 
 heart !” Clanrickarde replied with such a laugh as was seldom 
 heard from his lips. “ Nay, man, waste no time looking after 
 him , — let us rather seek my invisible friend, an’ he be within 
 these limits S 4 ’ 
 
 A burst of merriment from without the gate caused the two 
 lords to start, and the voice of the nendicant was heard to say : 
 “ A comical sight it surely is to see my lord of Ormond and the 
 Papist Earl of Clanrickarde playing hide-and-seek together this 
 bright May evening V ’ 
 
 The heavy gate was thrown open again, and Ormond himself, 
 for once forgetful of his dignity, rushed out followed at slower 
 pace by Clanrickarde, but the beggar had disappeared, and it 
 were worse than useless to seek him amongst *the crowd of citi- 
 zens whom the beauty of the night had tempted abroad. 
 
 Before twelve o’clock that night messengers from within the 
 city were far on their way to Kilkenny with an account of all 
 that could interest the Confederate leaders in the foregoing con- 
 versation. 
 
 During the following week a very strong remonstrance was 
 
G6 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 addressed to Lord Clanrickarde, bearing the honored signatures * 
 of three illustrious bishops belonging to his own section of the 
 country.* Malachy of Tuam, Francis of Elphin, and John of 
 C'lonfert were the names affixed to the eloquent and forcible ap- 
 peal in which nought was left unsaid that might touch the heart, 
 or awaken the slumbering conscience of the Earl. But Clan- 
 rickarde was not to be moved from his strange and anomalous 
 position, and thenceforward the Confederates, both lay and cler- 
 ical, gave him up in despair. 
 
 * In the West, three bishops .... addressed a remonstrance 
 to the Earl of Clanrickarde, importuning him to join the national 
 cause, “which was,” in his opinion, “ grounded upon wrong and bad 
 foundations ” In vain did Mountgarret and the bishops endeavor to 
 convince him that he was helping to ruin his country. “ No argu- 
 ment,” said they, “ though you should write it in our very blood, will 
 ever persuade the J ustices your affections are sincere, while you bear 
 about you those marks by which they distinguish such as they have 
 appointed for perdition. Let it not come to you to sprinkle your an- 
 cestors’ graves with the blood of such as will sacrifice themselves 
 in the justifiable cause.” — Clanrickarde' s Memoirs , 117, quoted by 
 Meehan. * 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 “ 0, he sits high in all the people’s hearts ; 
 
 And that, which would appear offence in us, 
 
 His countenance, like richest alchymy, 
 
 Will change to virtue, and to worthiness.” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 The day succeeding Owen Roe’s arrival jyas a busy, bustling 
 day in and around Charlemont Castle. The chiefs who had been 
 there some days awaiting his coming were now engaged with 
 him in earnest deliberation on the measures to be taken in order 
 to co-operate effectively with the Confederate forces of the other 
 provinces. By common consent Colonel O’Neill was placed in 
 the seat of honor as president of the council, and near him sat 
 Sir John Netterville with a smile half serious, half playful, curl- 
 ing his thin lip. Opposite Owen, at the further end of the long 
 table which served as a council-board, the burly form of Sir 
 Phelim occupied the other “ seat of honor,” as Sir Phelim’s air 
 of official arrogance plainly expressed. Yet the swaggering air 
 of consequence was but assumed at that particular time, for 
 poor Phelim was sadly sensible that the sceptre was departing 
 from him and for ever. Little as he had seen of his kinsman, it 
 had sufficed to show him that factious opposition to his author- 
 ity — if supreme authority were given him — would be worse than 
 useless, and Sir Phelim, with all his violence of temper, and im- 
 periousness of manner, when inferiors or even equals were in 
 question, was not at all the man to resist the influence of a mas- 
 ter mind placed by the will of the chiefs in authority over all. 
 
 Glancing around the table from end to end we recognize many 
 an old acquaintance, old but unforgotten. Familiar they are to 
 us as the first actors in the great rebellion, but they were not so 
 to Owen O’Neill, whose keen eye scanned the features of each 
 
68 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 in turn with the rapid, scrutinizing glance of ojae accustomed to 
 read such books. Happily his own face brightened as he looked, 
 for, whatever else he saw in the faces around him, he read in all 
 the same fixed and settled purpose, the same longing to be up 
 and doing, now that there was once more hope of something to 
 do. 
 
 Amongst the many chiefs there assembled, there were but 
 two of those who had been guests at McGuire’s board on that 
 fatal night when he and McMahon had fallen into the toils of 
 the enemy. Philip O’Reilly and Tirlogh O’Neill were these two, 
 and heavy were the hearts of both as the joyous hilarity of that 
 scene arose before them. A shade of sadness was on O’Reilly’s 
 calm face, and as he turned involuntarily to speak his thoughts 
 to Art McMahon who sat next him, his voice trembled with emo- 
 tion as memory brought back the young, buoyant, jovial coun- 
 tenance of poor Costelloe — the last sight he had of him. What 
 O’Reilly said to McMahon Owen Roe O’Neill heard not, but 
 guessing from the expression on the face of either chieftain the 
 thoughts which filled the soul of each, he addressed himself to 
 McMahon : 
 
 “ Chieftain of Uriel,” said he, “ be not cast down with mourn- 
 ful recollections — there is still hope for your brother, and even 
 were there none, you have cause to rejoice in that the first sacri- 
 fice of propitiation was demanded and accepted from your noble 
 and ever faithful house.”' 
 
 “ Alas ! Colonel,” replied the chief sadly, “ you speak as one 
 who never had a brother — you know not, cannot know how I 
 loved that light-hearted brother of mine, and oh God ! to think 
 what torments he hath undergone since last mine eyes beheld 
 him — had he fallen in honorable warfare, ay ! though it were 
 but in the Spanish wars,* methinks I could resign him into the 
 hands of Providence without a sigh, but this living death to 
 which he is doomed — nay, talk not to me of being resigned’’ — 
 this to O’Rourke who was seated near him — •“ I cannot, will not 
 be resigned while my only brother languishes in a noisome vault 
 of Dublin Castle. Oh ! the heavy, heavy sorrow !” 
 
 * Costelloe McMahon had served with distinction in the Spanish 
 army. - 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 69 
 
 “Heavy it may be, Art,” said the princely O’Rourko with a 
 deep-drawn sigh, “ but — but — the load is not all your own to 
 carry — others have had brothers — oh, how dear ! — and lost 
 them, too, since this war began !” 
 
 The touching sadness of O’Rourke’s tone was well understood 
 by all, and many a hand was raised to dash away the trickling 
 tear from eyes little used to weep. O’Neill had heard, since his 
 arrival, the story of O’Rourke’s wrongs, and now seeing the sub- 
 dued anguish so visible on the chieftain’s noble features, with his 
 stem repression of all outward emotion, his heart warmed to 
 him, and he said within himself : 
 
 “ Ay ! there is a man tit to lead others, for surely he well doth 
 govern himself,” and involuntarily he bowed his head before the 
 majesty of sorrow so plainly stamped on the chieftain’s brow. 
 
 “ You speak truly, Owen O’Rourke,” cried Roderick Maguire 
 with that impetuosity which, unlike his brother, ever distinguish- 
 ed his words and actions ; “ we all have our crows to pluck with 
 the truculent Lord Justices, and their minions — for me I can- 
 not think of these things without feeling for my trusty skene — 
 had I mine own way, Colonel O’Neill, we should long ere now 
 have marched straightways to Dublin and burned the city over 
 the heads of our cowardly tyrants an’ they gave us not back our 
 brothers safe and sound ” 
 
 “ Ay, marry,” said his uncle Lorcan with the solemn dignity 
 which he thought became his age, “ were it not for the warnings 
 received from the guardian spirits- of our house, me thinks Rory 
 would have led his own followers on that rash enterprize — is it 
 not so, nephew V’ 
 
 “ Nonsense, uncle,” was the irreverent and somewhat indeco- 
 rous answer, “ what care I for the spirits or their warnings, and 
 that I have told you full many a time !” 
 
 “ Have a care, nephew, have a care,” and the old man shook 
 his white head with a warning gesture ^ “ your speech is far other 
 than becoming — the spirits who have care of us are not to be 
 lightly spoken of, as you may one day be brought to confess. 
 Heed not his rash words, Colonel O’Neill, — he is young and hot- 
 headed, but a brave fellow withal, as the Englishers in these 
 parts can toll to their cost — a child he is in wisdom, honored sir, 
 
70 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 but, take an old man’s word for it, he can do a good man’s work 
 when the falchion is in his hand and the Puritan enemy before 
 him !” 
 
 “ That were easy to believe,” said 0 Neill, courteously, “ even 
 though the testimony were less worthy of credence — it is but to 
 look at Roderick Maguire and we see the noble courage of his 
 race stamped on every feature !” 
 
 “ Courage alone is little worth,” observed Rory with a reprov- 
 ing look at his uncle ; “ an ounce of your experience, Colonel, is 
 worth a pound of it ; however, that will come in time, an’ the 
 enemy Jiold out.” 
 
 During this incidental conversation many of the chiefs had 
 been discussing in a low, suppressed voice the relative merits of 
 the different commanders already in the field. Some made hon- 
 orable mention of Mountgarret, others thought Muskerry the bet- 
 ter officer, while others still were inclined to give General Barry 
 the first place, as being, they maintained, the most successful cap- 
 tain who had yet appeared on the side of the Confederates. 
 “ Witness,” said McMahon, “ his recent capture of Liscarroll 
 Castle.* That I take to be the noblest achievement of this war 
 as far as it hath gone yet. Nay, nay, O’Hanlon, I understand 
 your gesture — you would remind me of the taking of Newry by 
 our friend here present — the which I have not forgotten. That, 
 however, was partly a surprise, as Iveagh himself will own, but 
 this new feat of Barry’s — ” 
 
 “ Is, as you say, McMahon, the greatest thing done yet,” said 
 the generous chieftain of Iveagh, “ and I am free to admit that 
 Barry is a brave and skilful officer, but I am much mistaken if 
 a greater than he hath not come amongst us — ay, and one of ,our 
 own race, too.” 
 
 A murmur of applause greeted this speech, and Netterville 
 laid his hand on Owen O’Neill’s shoulder, as though he would 
 
 * Belonging to Sir Philip Percival. Lord Inchiquin declared it the 
 strongest castle he had seen in Ireland. General Barry took it after 
 a siege of thirteen days, although the ground around was so marshy 
 that, in order to bring his guns within range, be was forced to dis- 
 mount them. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 71 
 
 have said : “ Thou art the man !” But O’Neill little heeded the 
 act, for his eyes were at that time rivetted on a tall, dignified 
 personage who had just made his appearance at one of the side 
 doors, and stood there looking on with a sort of paternal smile 
 on his thin dark features. Before any movement on his part 
 had revealed his presence, several of the chiefs called out simul- 
 taneously : “Bishop M £ Sweeny of Kilmore !” and instantly all 
 were on their feet, bowing reverentially to the smiling prelate as 
 he greeted them collectively with the sign of the cross. 
 
 “ Welcome to Charlemont, my lord,” said Sir Phelim advanc- 
 ing with a surly attempt at condescension, “ albeit that I know 
 we are indebted for the favor to the arrival of my honorable 
 kinsman.” 
 
 “ I deny it not, fair sir,” said the lordly prelate, as his eye, 
 running round the stately circle, rested on OwenBoe ; “ I am, as 
 thou knowest, a man of peace, and am out of my element in the 
 company of warrior-men. If I am here now, it is with serious 
 intent affecting the country’s and the church’s weal. I need not 
 ask which is Colonel O’Neill,” that officer was already bending 
 low before him, and when he at length raised his head, the good 
 bishop stood a moment looking fixedly on his face, then laying 
 his hand on his shoulder, he said with much emotion : 
 
 “ Bless you, my son, bless you, soldier of the cross !” and with 
 his thumb he made the sacred sign on the high, smooth forehead 
 of the chief. 
 
 “ Will your lordship honor us by taking a seat at our board V 1 
 said O’Neill respectfully; “ if so, mine is at your service!” and 
 leading him up the room he would have placed him in the presi- 
 dential chair which honor the bishop declined. 
 
 “ I pray you excuse me, Colonel, but my right reverend 
 
 brother of Cloglier must needs be here ere long, and ” 
 
 “ Your right reverend brother of Clogher is much beholden to 
 your lordship,” said a cheerful voice from the still open door, 
 “ but, on the old principle of first come, first served, the seat is 
 yours beyond all doubt. I might have got the start of you, my 
 
 lord, were it not for a mishap which befel Malachy ” 
 
 “How! whatl” exclaimed the chieftain of Uriel, advancing 
 
72 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 with a flushed and anxious countenance ; “ no evil, I trust, hath 
 come unto him — how is it, my lord V ’ 
 
 “ Nay, cousin, the matter is not so serious that you need be 
 disturbed in mind” — and the prelate smiled with that good humor 
 which made him so generally popular — “ it was but that having 
 met a red-haired woman at our starting this morning, the which, 
 you know, Art, he deemeth to denote ill luck,* and being unable 
 to persuade me to return with him and commence the journey 
 anew, the poor fellow betook himself home again in much dis- 
 tress of mind for that I, a bishop, should be obstinate in running 
 the risk of some mishap. Neither could I, by any means, reason 
 him out of his own notion, and so home he went, notwithstand- 
 ing his unwillingness to see me depart without attendance.” 
 
 “ And I say it here in presence of all these noble chiefs, and 
 I ask McMahon an’ it be not so, — that your lordship is no more 
 fit to journey alone in these perilous times than a child of a year 
 old. If you weren’t as simple as a child with all your learn- 
 ing, you’d be as feared of meeting a red-haired woman the first 
 thing in the morning as myself or any one else.*’ 
 
 When the chieftains had enjoyed their hearty laugh at Ma- 
 lachy’s expense, for Malachy himself was the speaker — that grave 
 individual bowed all round with a most deferential air ; and 
 again his solemn voice was heard : 
 
 “ Save you kindly, noble Chiefs of Ulladh, it isn’t among the 
 likes of you the likes of me should open his mouth, and I 
 wouldn’t set foot in the room with you all to the fore, no, not for 
 a mint of money, only when once I got sight of his lordship 
 there, I kept him in view till he camo in here, and then I thought 
 I might as well take a peep at what was going on, and see if I 
 could get a sight of the great O’Neill that was so long spoken of 
 in prophecy.” 
 
 With the condescending grace of a polished gentleman, O'Neill 
 advanced and reached his hand to Malachy, to the no small sur- 
 prise of the simple follower of McMahon who looked as it’ he 
 doubted the reality of so glorious a vision. A few kind words 
 
 * This superstition is common amongt the peasantry of the northern 
 province. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 73 
 
 from the colonel, however, and a smile of encouragement from 
 the bishop and the chief whose eyes he sought for confirmation 
 of his doubts, set the poor fellow at rest on that head, and with 
 a gesture expressive of wonder and delight he bowed himself 
 out of w}iat he considered the most august presence in the land 
 of Ireland. 
 
 The presence of the Bishop of Clogher did not appear to 
 excite quite the same enthusiasm amongst the chiefs as in for- 
 mer times it did, and it might be that the prelate felt that, for 
 his manper indicated the slightest possible degree of reserve, a 
 thing all unusual with him, and, as people thought, foreign to 
 his frank and hearty character. In the bearing of the chiefs 
 towards him there was now nothing more than the respect due 
 to his high office, but whatever it was that had brought this 
 change about, no one appeared willing to have it observed by 
 Owen O’Neill, or Sir John Netterville. Bishop McMahon, as the 
 senior of his right reverend brother was, therefore, placed in the 
 chair of authority, and then the council was formally opened by 
 Sir Con Magennis, who, rising from his seat with much dignity, 
 requested Colonel O’Neill to state what his hopes were with re- 
 gard to present and future succor from abroad. 
 
 Owen Roe O’Neill was no orator — few military leaders are — 
 but his views, clearly conceived, were clearly expressed in a 
 concise and forcible manner, which, together with the calm dig- 
 nity of his mien and his perfect self-possession, was sure to 
 impress favorably all those who heard him. Being thus called 
 upon, he arose, and, bowing to the bishops, then around to the 
 chiefs, he stated, in as few words as possible, what his expecta- 
 tions were with regard to foreign aid. 
 
 “ I myself,” said he, “ have with me one hundred officers of good 
 standing, whose experience will profit us much — also arms and 
 ammunition for a force of a thousand men or thereabouts — these 
 await my orders at Doe Castle, in Donegal, which we succeeded 
 in taking from those who held it for the enemy.” 
 
 As soon as he could make his voice heard above the loud 
 chorus of applause which greeted his ears on every side, O’Neill 
 resumed his discourse with the same composure as before : 
 
 “ Cardinal Richelieu,” said he, “ as I learn from under his own 
 14 
 
74 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 hand, is at present fitting out some ten or twelve vessels for our 
 support, the which will reach our waters, if nothing adverse 
 happen to them, early in the coming autumn — his Catholic 
 Majesty of Spain gives ine his royal word that the ship which he 
 hath given to convey us hither, shall speedily he followed by 
 others laden with all things needful for our uses, and I have it 
 from the mouth of one whose word none of you will, methinks, 
 doubt, that is Father Luke Wadding — that the Holy father, out 
 of his small means, is about to send to his children of Ireland 
 such subsidies of money and arms as will surprise them.” 
 
 This announcement, with the mention of Wadding’s name, 
 called forth another burst of applause, louder and more pro- 
 longed than before, and, by the time it was ended, Sir Phelim 
 O’Neill was on his legs, and scowling with one of his blackest 
 looks on the assembly. 
 
 “ This, or something like it, have we heard full often ere now,” 
 said he, “ ay ! before ever a sword was drawn or a pike raised 
 against the enemy. Strange to say, not one of these fine promises 
 was ever fulfilled, and we were none the better that ever I could 
 see, for our foreign expectations — pshaw ! far-off cows have long 
 horns, and it may well be that the great Richelieu and Philip of 
 Spain, not to speak of the Pope of Rome, have their hands so 
 full at this present moment as to leave little room for our affairs. 
 Methinks, with all respect for potentates and people beyond seas, 
 that every chief here present hath in his own proper person 
 done more for the cause than we can ever reasonably expect 
 from tliemJ' 
 
 “ That no one will gainsay, cousin mine,” said Owen kindly, 
 “ and may Heaven forget me when I forget what hath been done 
 by you all ! Still the war hath now reached a stage when for- 
 eign aid is necessary to us — how otherwise could we think to cope 
 with Ormond, Inchiquin, Broghill, Vavasour, young Coote, and 
 other captains of high renown in the south, east and west, with 
 Stewart, Cole, and Montgomery here at your very doors — all 
 more or less provided now with the means of continuing the 
 war 1 Of Monroe’s force in Carrick I speak not now, for, what- 
 ever be the object of the Parliament of England in sending them 
 thither, they appear at present little disposed for active service. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 75 
 
 With the generals I have mentioned already in the field, and every 
 prospect of speedy aid from England for cur enemies, what could 
 we do without officers to train our raw and undisciplined forces, 
 and arms and ammunition to put in their hands when they are 
 taught to use them 1” 
 
 Some cutting remark of Sir Phelim’s was stopt short by Philip 
 O’Reilly, who hastened to prevent what he knew might breed 
 discord. 
 
 “ That we stand in sore need of help from abroad, Colonel 
 O’Neill, no one here doubts, that we shall have it in due time, 
 is, I think, well nigh as certain — we came not hither to discuss 
 that point, but rather, it appears to me, to choose a leader for 
 our future operations. How is it, friends and brother chieftains, 
 and ye, our reverend lords ! are we come together with that 
 intent, or are we not 1 ” 
 
 “ Surely yes,” was the simultaneous answer. 
 
 “ Let my lord of Clogher, then, of his goodness, put it to the 
 council whether we have found the man to whom all will cheer- 
 fully yield obedience,” 
 
 “ Chieftains of Ulster,” said the bishop rising with the dignity 
 which became his office, “ the. war which you were the first to 
 undertake for the sacred cause of religion and liberty has, with 
 the blessing of God, become general throughout the nation. 
 Like the mustard-seed spoken of in the Gospel your attempt has 
 been followed by so great results that we may liken it to a 
 mighty tree overshadowing all the land. The whole country is 
 astir; the princes and chiefs, and tribes of the old blood are not 
 less active or less zealous in the cause than the chivalrous 
 sons of the stranger” — and turning his head, the prelate bowed 
 slightly to Sir John Netterville. who, rising from his seat, returned 
 the graceful and welcome compliment with a profound reverence. 
 “ The enemy, too, is putting forth all his powers,” resumed the 
 bishop, “ for a last desperate effort. It behoveth us, then, to 
 place a man at our head — we of this northern province — who may 
 turn our resources to good account, and do credit to us before 
 friends and foes. Such a one stands now before you in the per- 
 son of Colonel Owen O’Neill, a man who hath the skill and the 
 prudence to marshal our clans and lead them on to victory. His 
 
76 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 veins are filled, moreover, with the blood of Con, and the glory 
 of the Hy-Nials is his by birthright.” 
 
 “ In the name of our holy mother, the church,” said Bishop 
 McSweeny with that impressive solemnity which ever character- 
 ized him, “Ido hereby nominate Colonel O’Neill as the chief 
 captain of our northern army.” 
 
 “ And I, too, my good lord,” said he of Clogher, “ well know- 
 ing, as doth your lordship, the opinion of our reverend brethren 
 of the episcopate on this head.” 
 
 “ Chieftains of the North !” said Sir Con Magennis, rising in 
 his turn, “ it is now for you to confirm, as I know you will, the 
 appointment just made in the name of that church for whose 
 freedom still more than our own we draw the sword.” 
 
 “ Before we proceed farther in this matter,” said Owen Roe 
 with his usual calmness and self-possession, “ I would know of 
 my honored and valorous cousin here present whether he is 
 willing to resign in my favor that command which he hath held 
 in your army — it is surely not under this roof,” and he pointed 
 upwards, “ that the services of Sir Phelim O’Neill can be 
 overlooked !” 
 
 “Well said, Owen,” cried Tirlo^h, taking the word from his 
 brother’s mouth ; “ there was a day when but to speak of Charle- 
 mont or Dungannon in these parts made men cheer till their 
 throats were hoarse for Sir Phelim O’Neill. Forsooth! times are 
 changed, and though tQngues can wag glibly in praise of the 
 Norman Barry and other such mongrel whelps, there be none 
 to say a word for Phelim O’Neill, or the towns and castles he 
 was wont to take.” 
 
 Many of the chiefs started up at the same moment, eager to 
 protest against Tirlogh’s ill-mannered allusion to their brethren 
 of the Pale, but Sir John Netterville was already on his feet, his 
 fine face covered with a crimson glow, and an angry frown knit- 
 ting his usually sunny brow. 
 
 “ Chieftains and noble gentlemen,” said he, “ I have listened 
 with much interest to the several speakers, and looked forward 
 to the result of your deliberations with unmixed satisfaction, 
 knowing as I do that this gallant officer will be in himself an 
 accession of strength to our common cause. Had a thunderbolt 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 77 
 
 fallen in our midst I could not have been nore astounded than I 
 was by the speech of the gentleman from Tyrone. It is my 
 pride and privilege to know General Barry, and I beg to assure 
 Master Tirlogh O’Neill that Norman though he be his heart is 
 centred in this cause — ay, truly, to the full as rhuch as though 
 all the blood of the Hy-Nials were in his veins — he is my cousin, 
 I am proud to say, and the term ‘ mongrel whelp’ I cast back in 
 the face of him who spoke it. Purer blood is not within the 
 Pale than that which courseth through the veins of Robert 
 Barry.” 
 
 “ I know not an’ there be any pure blood within the Pale,’* 
 retorted the fiery Ulsterman, but before he could add another 
 word, both the bishops enjoined him to keep silent, and with the 
 air of a surly, disappointed mastiff, he was fain to take his seat, 
 but Sir Phelim was up in an instant. 
 
 “ I would know,” said he, “ before we go farther in this mat- 
 ter, by what right Sir John Netterville is here present. But sel- 
 dom do we see those of his race in these northern wilds of ours. 
 I demand his business whatsoever it be — for without business he 
 came not here !” 
 
 “ Business I have, Sir Phelim,” replied Netterville proudly, 
 “ but other tongue than yours must needs put the question ere I 
 answer it” — and turning he bowed to Colonel O’Neill 
 
 “ An’ your coming,” said Owen, “ have, as I opine, aught to 
 do with the affairs of the Confederation, we will hold ourselves 
 obliged, fair sir, an’ you name it.” 
 
 “ There is at once my errand and my credentials,” said Net- 
 terville, as he handed an unsealed document to O’Neill, request- 
 ing him to read it aloud. It was a letter from Lord Mountgar- 
 ret, president of the Supreme Council, to Sir John Netterville, 
 requesting that young knight to ascertain by a journey into the 
 northern territories in what state of preparation the chieftains 
 were, what aid might be expected from them, and whether Colo- 
 nel O’Neill, so long looked for, had as yet arrived to take com- 
 mand of the northern army. 
 
 Sir Phelim was about to speak, but Bishop McMahon arose 
 and with a dignified gesture motioned him to keep his seat. 
 
 “ Here, then, Colonel, is another appointment,” said the Bi- 
 
78 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 shop with a cordial smile ; “ the Supreme Council, you see, 
 hath already fixed on you for the northern leader — Chieftains 
 of Ulster, I need not ask if you be of the same mind — the 
 Church hath spoken by two of her prelates, the National Coun- 
 cil by its President — for you the final decision is reserved — I 
 pray you stand up, and whosoever is willing to have Owen Roe 
 O’Neill for general of the Ulster forces, will hold up his right 
 hand.” 
 
 Instantly all were on their feet, and of all the chieftains pre- 
 sent not one refused to hold up his hand save Tirlogh O’Neill, 
 for Phelim himself did as all the others, although there was a 
 scowl on his brow that portended no good. All eyes were 
 turned on the fierce Tanist of Tyrone, but before any one could 
 speak, his brother approached him behind and whispered in his 
 ear, “ For my sake do it, Tirlogh !” when all at once the sinewy 
 hand shot upwards, but the effort was too much for poor Tir- 
 logh, and covering his face with his left hand he fairly burst 
 into tears, and the stout man sobbed like a petted child. 
 
 More than one of the chieftains manifested a wish to speak to 
 the brothers, but the bishop made a sign for them to take no 
 notice, and after a moment’s pause he spoke again : 
 
 “ Chieftains, it is well,” said he, u we are now to consider Co- 
 lonel Owen O’Neill as commander-in-chief of all the forces to be 
 raised in this province. Duly appointed we hold him to be ” 
 
 “ Not yet, my lord,” said a deep voice from the door just 
 behind the bishop’s ; “ another word remains to be spoken and 
 by me !” 
 
 “And who are you?” demanded the prelate, turning quickly 
 round to where all eyes were already fixed on a good looking 
 young man who had just entered. He was clothed in a truis 
 and jacket of grass-green hue, with a leather belt encircling his 
 finely moulded form, and a glittering skene thrust in behind its 
 clasp. On his head was the graceful and becoming barradh, but 
 strangely enough his right arm was encircled above the elbow 
 by a broad fillet of the coarsest brown drugget, with a large 
 patch right on the front of the arm. 
 
 A shout of welcome recognition from many of the chiefs 
 greeted the apparition, while Netterville, approaching Owen Roe, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 79 
 
 whispered in his ear : “ Good heavens ! ifc is our guide of yester- 
 day, hut how metamorphised !” 
 
 “ I know it,” said O’Neill, “ but, hist! he speaks !’* 
 
 “ In the name of the Rapparee force of Ulster, whose un- 
 worthy Captain I am, I do hereby give to General Owen Roo 
 O’Neill the full and entire command of that body — though I say 
 it, he may find their aid most effective, as Sir Con Magennis, Sir 
 Phelim, and others of the chiefs will bear witness !” 
 
 To the surprise of all, O’Neill — stranger to the country as he 
 might be considered — instead of slighting or mocking at this 
 new appointment, advanced to Donogh and took his hand, say- 
 ing in all sincerity : 
 
 “ I accept the offer, friend, and will look to your force as one 
 of the main supports of our future action ! Acting in conjunction 
 with our disciplined forces, you may and will do us good ser- 
 vice !” 
 
 Netterville felt much inclined to laugh, but there was that in 
 the bearing of the young Rapparee leader, for such Donogh was, 
 that, coupled with the respectful manner of O’Neill and the 
 chiefs, sobered down even his levity, and placed him on his guard. 
 Having said what he deemed necessary, Donogh bowed with an 
 air of dignity that surprised Netterville, and quietly resumed the 
 place whence he had stepped forward. 
 
80 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 “ The fiery soul abhorr’d in Catiline, 
 
 In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine : 
 
 The same ambition can destroy or save, 
 
 And make a patriot, as it makes a knave.” 
 
 Pope’s Essay on Man , 
 
 “ Tho’ thy slumbers may be deep, 
 
 Yet thy spirit shall not sleep ; 
 
 There are shades that will not vanish, 
 
 There are thoughts thou canst not banish.” 
 
 Byron’s Manfred. 
 
 The Council, or rather the meeting, had not yet broken up, 
 when by the side of the Rapparee Captain, where he stood lean- 
 ing on the handle of his pike leisurely watching the proceedings, 
 there appeared another individual similarly dressed and accou- 
 tred, Avith the single exception of the head-gear which, instead 
 of the hanging cap worn by Donogh, was a small round cap of 
 scarlet cloth, tastefully ornamented with a black feather which, 
 as the young Rapparee was wont to boast, had not long before 
 shaded the haughty brow of an English officer, slain by his hand 
 in the battle of Kilrusli. Having exchanged a silent nod with 
 his captain the new-comer calmly waited, as it would seem, the 
 close of the deliberations. Silent they both stood, until Sir Phelim 
 had been forced into resigning his authority to his kinsman, 
 when the younger of the Rapparees spoke out in a voice so clear 
 and distinct that it rang through the vaulted chamber like a 
 trumpet : 
 
 “ More than that must you do, Sir Phelim O’Neill ! — the sword 
 of the great Hugh rests in your gift — it belongs to Oaven Roe in 
 the high decrees of heaven !” 
 
 All eyes were instantly turned on the speaker, and Sir Phelim 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 81 
 
 exclaimed with a burst *>f indignation : “ Before God, it is Angus 
 Dhu, whom I did heretofore so highly favor — I see he hath a 
 knack of feigning madness at times — beware, rash youth ! how 
 you anger me now, — 'beware, I tell you ! — for, by the Book! fal- 
 len as you deem me, I will speedily have that dainty head of 
 yours hoisted on a pike an’ you address me in such wise — ay, 
 though fifty Owen Roes were to the fore !” 
 
 “ You shall do as I bid you,” said Angus solemnly, “ and that 
 within the hour, or the Green Lady* shall walk under a thick 
 veil this night ” 
 
 “ Angus ! Angus ! this to my chief'?” cried a reproachful voice 
 from behind, and Shamus Beg rushing in breathless caught his 
 friend by the neck as though he meant to strangle him. It was 
 in love, however, not in anger, as his words proved : “ I told 
 you to have nothing to say in it,” said Shamus, while the big 
 tears of anguish streamed down his rough cheek ; “ you often 
 said you’d do anything in the world for me, and still you wouldn’t 
 do this — oh Angus ! brother of my heart !” and he grasped his 
 two hands and looked steadily in his face, “how could you for- 
 get that what you say to him is said to Shamus 
 “ I did not forget, Shamus !” the youth replied with deep feel- 
 ing, “ but what Heaven wills man must do — that sword was 
 
 never meant for the hand of Phelim the cruel ” 
 
 “ Angus !” cried Shamus with rising anger, “ I cannot stand 
 this — we must fight, an’ the one mother had borne us, if you 
 dare to say such words again !” 
 
 “ Let the boy alone, Shamus,” said Donogh with the quiet 
 consciousness of high authority ; “he hath told us things to come 
 many times ere now, and I will not that you cross him in this 
 matter, for he knows well what he says, take my word for it !” 
 Shamus grumbled a little, but for some reason known to himself 
 thought fit to retire without more ado. 
 
 * The Green Lady of the O’Neills is, or at least was, a generation 
 or so hack, well known in the ancient territory of the Hy-Nial. Like 
 all the great families of Celtic origin both in Scotland and Ireland, 
 the O’Neills had, or were supposed to have, this guardian spirit to 
 preside over their destinies. 
 
82 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 All eyes had been attracted by this strange scene, and many 
 of the chiefs smiled to each other as they remembered the former 
 meeting which Angus had in like manner interrupted, stemming 
 with his single voice the fast-rolling current of their faint-hearted 
 fears. Even the bishops looked the anxious curiosity which they 
 did not care to express. 
 
 Owen Roe alone manifested neither surprise nor curiosity, 
 whatever his inward emotions might have been, although an at- 
 tentive observer might have noticed a heightened color on his 
 cheek. 
 
 Tirlogh O’Neill, almost beside himself with anger, called upon 
 his brother to have the daring intruder committed to the dungeon 
 immediately, but Angus only smiled. 
 
 “ Sir Phelim will do no such thing,” said he ; “ he knows my 
 words are not of wind — answer me, Phelim MacHenry ! will you, 
 or will you not, do as I say 
 
 “ Now, by my mother’s honor, boy !” said Sir Phelim with 
 passionate warmth, “ you are either mad or something worse. 
 How could I give up the sword of Hugh to one who hath the 
 bend sinister on his coat of arms'?” 
 
 “ What does he say V’ inquired Angus, whose skill in heraldry 
 w r as evidently but small, yet seeing the alarm which these words 
 had excited amongst the chiefs, the uproarious applause where- 
 with Tirlogh greeted them, and the perturbation visible for 
 the first time on the face of Owen Roe, the youth knew full 
 well that their import was of the most serious nature. . 
 
 “ He says,” whispered Donogh, guessing the meaning of the 
 words from Sir Phelim’s manner, “ he says, what we all know 
 for truth, and more’s the pity, that there’s a cross in Owen’s 
 blood, and for that reason he couldn’t give him the great Earl’s 
 sword !” 
 
 “ Heed him not, chiefs and nobles !” cried Angus darting*for- 
 ward, just as Owen had placed himself in front of his kinsman 
 with a kindling eye and a blushing cheek ; “ heed him not — I 
 tell you again Owen Roe must have the sword of Hugh, ay ! 
 must he, and the holy bishops here present shall bless it for his 
 use. Sir Phelim, go fetch the sword hither !” 
 
 “ I will not — may not — must not !” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 83 
 
 “ You shall, and may, and must, as I win prove to you in half 
 a dozen words, an’ you will give me private audience for so long 
 as I may speak them ! ” 
 
 There was that in the eye, the dark, flashing eye of the young 
 Bapparee, as he fixed it full upon him, which made Sir Phelim 
 somehow sensible that it was his own interest to give the re- 
 quired audience, especially as Donogh said in his calm, impress- 
 ive way : 
 
 “ An’ you take my advice, Sir Phelim, you will do as the lad 
 wishes !” 
 
 “ Sir Phelim,” said Owen, stepping before him as he rose 
 to leave the room, “ Sir Phelim, you have insulted me in a way 
 that, according to the usages of men of honor, blood only could 
 expiate — still, as no one here, methinks, will doubt my courage, 
 I will not so far forget the sacred precepts of Him whom first of 
 all I serve as to bear you ill-will on account thereof ; neither 
 would I willingly commence this war, which I consider a holy 
 one, by giving an example of dissension, that, too, with one of 
 my own blood. It was, however, an unkind cut, Sir Phelim, as 
 little honorable to you as to me — go now, cousin, if it so please 
 you !” 
 
 Sir Phelim withdrew in some confusion, and d uring his ab- 
 sence little was said, all being equally interested in the result of 
 the mysterious interview going on. Ten minutes had scarcely 
 elapsed when Sir Phelim returned alone, with the fateful sword 
 in his hand, the rich jewels on its hilt flashing up a ghastly light 
 on a face from which every tinge of color had vanished. Tirlogh 
 jumped from his seat with an exclamation of indignant surprise, 
 and reaching his brother with a bound that made his long sword 
 clatter in its sheath, he laid his hand heavily on his shoulder. 
 
 “ Phelim ! you shall not do it,” he said vehemently ; “ you dare 
 not do it !” 
 
 “Tirlogh! I must ,” his brother replied in an under tone; 
 “ trouble me not farther, an’ you love me !” And on he marched 
 towards the head of the table where he placed the sword before 
 the bishops with a poor attempt at a smile. With a heart-break- 
 ing sigh poor Tirlogh threw himself on his seat once more ; he 
 saw that his brother’s fiery spirit was governed by some stern law 
 
84 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 of necessity, but liis fierce, impetuous nature could not brook 
 what he deemed such abject submission, while his strong frater- 
 nal affection dipped the barbed arrow in deadliest poison. 
 Still, as he murmured to himself, his chieftain’s will was law, ay \ 
 more binding than law could ever be. 
 
 It was a solemn sight to see when the bishops standing, as all 
 the chieftains did likewise, Bishop MacMahon called Owen Roe 
 before them and delivered to him the sword of Hugh O’Neill. 
 
 “ Take this sword,” said the prelate, “ and use it as becometh 
 a Christian soldier, in fair and legitimate warfare against the op- 
 pressors of God’s faithful people, never in any selfish or private 
 quarrel, nor to do the bidding of passion. Take it and use it 
 even as the sword of Gideon was used of old, but see that it be 
 with Christian prudence and Christian forbearance, not in anger 
 or in malice, lest you sin before God !” 
 
 “ It may be,” observed Bishop M ‘Sweeney, “ that the great 
 leader who wielded that weapon so valiantly, was not always as 
 mindful as he ought of the jealous God in whose interests he 
 fought, and hence his fall, when all the Catholic world deemed 
 him to stand most securely. Profit by that awful warning, 
 Owen O’Neill, so that to you it may be given to steer our bark 
 to the port of safety, which is civil and religious liberty in this 
 realm! Bless you, my son, bless you!” and again he laid his 
 hand on the noble head bent before him, for Owen had knelt to 
 receive the sword. The Bishop of Clogher imitated the example 
 of his reverend brother, and after some further cousultation on 
 the military movements to be undertaken, the meeting broke up, 
 and the chiefs (due honor being first done to Sir Phelim’s hospi- 
 tality) betook themselves to their respective territories to forward 
 what men they could for Owen’s new army, the head-quarters of 
 which were for the present fixed at Charlemont. 
 
 By that evening’s waning light, Owen Roe and Sir John 
 Netterville were pacing together the lofty battlements of the 
 Castle, discoursing of many things, and pausing often to enjoy 
 the beauty of the evening, both being unconsciously soothed 
 and calmed by the hushed repose of the scene around, and the 
 deep shadows settling down on the dark-rolling river below. 
 Much was O’Neill interested in the military operations of the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 85 
 
 Southern and Eastern Confederates with whom Netterville had 
 so long been acting, and he listened with a soldier’s ear to the 
 tales which the young Norman knight loved to tell concerning 
 the heroic deeds of Dillons and Cusacks, Aylmers* and Barry s, 
 and many another fine old family of the English Pale. As the 
 moon rose over the towers of the old fortress, throwing their 
 shadows far out over the Blackwater, and giving grace and 
 beauty to the homely old town of Charlemont, lying just 
 beneath the Castle, on its opposite banks, the Irish general and 
 the Norman knight leaning over the parapet, beguiled the hour 
 with this so pleasant converse. The deep silence of the hour 
 was nowise broken by the measured tramp of the sentries on 
 the ramparts, and no sound was heard from the town beneath 
 save that of 
 
 “ The watch-dog’s voice that bay’d the list’ning moon.” 
 
 Many a tale of horror young Netterville had told relating to the 
 savage butcheries of the miscreant Coote, and O’Neill listened 
 with a sickening heart, not always able to repress the natural 
 expression of indignation and disgust, although habitually 
 guarded in all his words and actions. 
 
 “For all Sir Phelim’s poor opinion of us, Anglo-Irish,” said 
 Netterville, “and though he have no better name for us than 
 ‘ mongrel hounds,’ we have, putting one thing with another, done 
 our fair share of the work since the day of our covenant with 
 Roger O’Moore and the other Irish on the hill of Crofty.” 
 
 “ Who doubts it, my friend I” said O’Neill frankly, and he laid 
 his hand on the knight’s arm ; “ no, not even my kinsman, 
 Phelim, though he do snarl and snap at times. He is at heart 
 too much devoted to the cause not to feel the full value of our 
 indebtedness to our gallant brethren of the Pale !” 
 
 “ However that be,” replied Netterville, “ we ourselves know 
 full well that we have had the brunt to bear in many a trying 
 hour of peril, when Sir Phelim and his Northmen were far away, 
 
 * Sir Andrew Aylmer, who did good service to the Catholic cause 
 during these long wars, was the brother-in-law of the Earl of Ormond, 
 having married one of Sis sisters, as Lord Muskerry did another. The 
 other two were consecrated to God in holy religion. 
 
86 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 little thinking of our need. Spanish bred as you are, general, 
 you must have heard of Lough Ree of the Shannon.” 
 
 “ Surely yes, Sir John, I know it well by name.” 
 
 “ Well, the islands in the lake, and the Kilkenny* shore ad- 
 joining, were, and are still, subject to the powerful house of Dillon, 
 who have dotted the land with religious institutions of various 
 kinds wheresover their sway extended. Not to speak of the 
 noble Abbey on Hare-Island, around whose now mouldering 
 walls the departed Dillons sleep in peace, there is, or was, till 
 lately, on Saint’s or Nun’s Island, almost within hail of the other, 
 a Convent of Poor Clares also founded and protected by the same 
 noble family. It was a house of refuge to all the poor and dis- 
 tressed for miles around on mainland and island, and all men 
 deemed it safe from the incursions of any of the contending 
 parties. So little danger was apprehended, indeed, that even 
 the hereditary protectors of the house thought it nowise neces- 
 sary to burden or disturb the good Sisters by placing a garrison 
 iu or near the convent, and lulled in false security the saintly 
 daughters of St. Clare pursued their works of mercy, and dreamed 
 away their meditative hours in the still seclusion of their insular 
 dwelling. Alas ! that so blissful a calm should be so rudely 
 broken ! The good religious were in their chapel chanting the 
 Vesper service when a party of English soldiers from the garrison 
 of BallinaclofFy, on the adjoining shore, burst into the Church, 
 and — oh, my God ! shut out from mine eyes the scene that fol- 
 lowed,” and starting from his half- recumbent posture the young 
 nobleman began to pace the rampart to and fro in a fit of un- 
 conquerable emotion. * 
 
 “ What !” said Owen O’Neill in a choking voice, “ they dared 
 to ” 
 
 “ Dared !” cried Netterville, “ dared ! I tell you, General 
 O’Neill, they dared to do the work of devils — sooner could I tear 
 the tongue from my head than say what they did , but you may 
 guess it from my silence. Having glutted their demoniac rage in 
 every possible way, the wretches set fire to the convent and 
 
 * This place is situated in the county of Westmeath, and on the 
 eastern borders of Lough Ree. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 87 
 
 marched away, little thinking what was to follow. Oh, virgins 
 of the Lord ! they deemed ye unprotected, and as having none 
 to avenge your wrongs ” 
 
 A deep groan from Owen Roe made Netterville look towards 
 him. His head had sunk between his hands, and his whole 
 frame trembled with suppressed emotion, yet he spoke no word, 
 perchance could not speak. Before the knight could utter ano- 
 ther word, a rough voice spoke out almost at his elbow, and Sir 
 Phelim stepped forth from the shade of a buttress into the clear 
 moonlight. 
 
 “ It is a piteous tale, Sir John,” he said with the vehemence 
 which belonged to his character; “would to God I had been 
 there with a score or so of my O’Neills — methinks, an’ we came 
 not in time to save the poor nuns, we would settle accounts with 
 the devil-begotten Puritans ” 
 
 “ The account was settled,” said Netterville coldly. 
 
 “ How was that?” asked Owen Roe, roused from bis painful 
 reverie as well by the abrupt appearance of his kinsman as by 
 the announcement just made. 
 
 “By whom?” cried Sir Phelim; “ prithee, man, tell us all 
 about it ere we lose patience.” 
 
 “ It were ill losing what you never had,” muttered Netter- 
 ville to himself, and glancing with a half contemptuous air at 
 Sir Phelim, he turned to Owen Roe. 
 
 “You will be glad to hear, General, that although your valiant 
 kinsman here was not within a hundred miles or so of the bleak 
 Shannon shore when this black deed was done, Bertie and his 
 troopers* escaped punishment none the less. Returning to' the 
 shelter of their fortress, and being already intoxicated with the 
 mad indulgence of their brute passions, the ruffians must needs 
 quaff potations deep and long after their day’s work. The usual 
 precautions for the safety of the fort were, of course, neglected 
 on that night ; even the warder on the walls and the sentry at 
 
 * This fiendish act was perpetrated by a party of soldiers from the 
 neighboring castle of Bsllynacloffy, under the command of Captain 
 Bertie, brother to the Earl of Lindsay. See Brower’s Beauties of 
 Ireland , vol. II., p. 246. 
 
88 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 the gate were heavy-headed with much drink and kept their 
 posts unlieedingly. It was just when the orgies within were 
 loudest and highest that Hubert Dillon rushed in with some 
 eighty or a hundred of his followers, and falling on the ruffianly 
 crew of revellers, cut them down without mercy, so that, as chro- 
 nicles tell, hardly a man of them escaped. ‘ The mongrel 
 whelps,’ Sir Phelim, proved themselves of true blood in that 
 hour of retributive justice !” 
 
 “ Marry they did,” quoth Sir Phelim gleefully, “and for the 
 sake of those same Dillons I am content to crave your pardon, 
 Sir John Netterville, for any unseemly words that may have 
 escaped me. I am a rough spoken man, young sir, and some- 
 what hot-blooded, but, i’ faith, I am not the man to keep malice, 
 let my enemies say as they will. How now, cousin I” 
 
 But his cousin made no answer, being in fact out of hearing 
 of the question, though still within sight. He had followed to the 
 other end of the rampart a figure which he had observed in the 
 shade behind Phelim’s back, beckoning him to go thither. Hav- 
 ing reached the extreme e^d, at a spot where no sentry was within 
 sight or hearing, the figure approached for an instant, and whis- 
 pered softly but distinctly : 
 
 “Be not surprised if you see a ghost this night, and be sure, 
 sure that you note well its actions. Keep a light burning in your 
 chamber all night. Farewell and God be with you !” 
 
 The speaker was no other than Angus, whose mysterious in- 
 fluence over Sir Phelim Owen had witnessed with surprise. 
 Fain would he have detained him a moment, but his faint 
 and low “stay, young man !” was apparently unheard, for An- 
 gus came no more. He had glided round a projecting angle, 
 and was nowhere to be seen. Nor did Owen Roe see him 
 again during his stay at the Castle, which was necessarily of 
 some weeks’ duration. 
 
 The entertainment provided by Sir Phelim that evening for 
 those whom he regarded as his guests, was worthy of his far- 
 famed hospitality. A few of the neighboring chiefs, amongst 
 whom was O’Hanlon, had accepted Sir Phelim’s invitation to 
 remain for the night, and altogether there were some ten or 
 twelve assembled at supper. A jovial party they were, too, and 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 89 
 
 well inclined to do honor to the feast before them, with the sin- 
 gle exception of Owen Roe who, at all times temperate and even 
 abstemious, wsts on that night graver and more thoughtful even 
 than his wont, to the no small surprise of the other guests who 
 naturally expected to see him somewhat elated by the flattering 
 reception given him, and the auspicious opening of his career in 
 Ireland. 
 
 Tirlogh O’Neill, too, was more silent than living man had ever 
 seen him, and there was a sullen frown knitting his shaggy brows 
 that made one shrink from looking twice at him. More than once 
 during the eveuing, he took occasion to renew the subject of Sir 
 Phelim’s superseded command in a way that gave infinite alarm 
 to the sage O’Hanlon and others of the guests. But they little 
 knew the stuff that Owen Roe was made of when they deemed 
 him capable of being provoked to anger by the petulant taunts 
 or scoffs of Tirlogh O’Neill. 
 
 “ Here’s to you, Phelimy Roe,”* said Tirlogh, as he raised a 
 brimming bumper of the wine of Bordeaux ; “ you’ll still be 
 general-in- chief amongst us of Tyr-Owen, any how — and where- 
 fore not, I want to know, when King Charles himself, God bless 
 him ! gave you full authority in these parts, not to speak of what 
 belongs to the O'Neill ”• — a triumphant glance at Owen Roe gave 
 point to the words, but, to Tirlogh’s great surprise, Owen was 
 smiling and composed, Plielim abashed and disconcerted. The 
 look which the knight gave his brother was expressive of any- 
 thing but gratitude or satisfaction, and poor Tirlogh cut but a 
 sorry figure as he glanced uneasily from Owen to Phelim and 
 from Phelim back to Owen. 
 
 Netterville noting well the relative effect of the words, thought 
 it a good joke, although he knew not for his part what it all 
 meant. With the natural buoyancy of youth, he exclaimed 
 gaily : “I would that same commission of Sir Phelim’s was more 
 extensively published. We, of the Pale, have heard much con- 
 
 * Sir Phelim O’Neill had also the soubriquet of Roe or red, in aliu- 
 eion to his florid complexion, bestowed on him by his own and neigh- 
 boring clans. By the name of Phelimy Roe he is still spoken of in 
 the north country. 
 
00 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 cerning it, but, I grieve to say, there be many so skeptical as to 
 doubt its existence. Nay, be not wroth, Sir Plielim, for, by mine 
 honor, I mean no ill — I do but say what I have many times 
 heard.” 
 
 “ They lie in their throats,” cried the knight of Kinard leap- 
 ing to his feet, his face all on fire with fierce, ungovernable pas- 
 sion ; “I say they lie in their throats who say I have no commis- 
 sion from the king. As well might they say there be no king to 
 give one.” 
 
 “ Alas ! the day,” said Owen Roe in a dreamy, abstracted tone, 
 “ they may have that to say with truth ere long, an’ things go 
 on as they do in England. God protect the royal Stuart, for 
 surely he is in the hands of the Philistines, though mayhap he 
 know not of his danger !” 
 
 “ Let him look to it then,” said O’Hanlon gruffly ; “ he hath been 
 playing a double game, and deserves to fall between two stools, as 
 the saying is. Double dealing seldom serveth for much good, 
 and that same King Charles is full master of that art, or Teague 
 O’Hanlon is no true man !” 
 
 “ I like not your speech, fair sir,” said Netterville* tartly ; “ the 
 faults of a sovereign, an’ he have them like other men, rest be- 
 tween him and his God. We Catholic knights and nobles might 
 well leave abuse of our liege lord to the cropped-ear’d prigs of 
 the Scotch Covenant, whose detestation of ‘ the man , Charles 
 Stuart ,’ must needs point him out as the friend of Papists. Nay, 
 never look so cold on me, friend Teague,” he gaily added, see- 
 ing the chieftain’s face darken, “I have seen you too often at 
 the head of your clan fighting ‘for God and King Charles’ 
 lightly to suspect you of disloyal thoughts. Porgive me, O’Han- 
 lon, I did but jest !” 
 
 “ More fool he or we to peril life for so faithless a prince,” 
 Owen muttered to himself, and then rising he craved Sir Plie- 
 lim’s leave to retire on the plea that his health permitted not 
 late vigils. 
 
 “ But the commission, General !” cried Netterville as he shook 
 hands across the table with the good-natured O’Hanlon whose 
 anger was never either very violent or of long duration, “ let 
 us have a sight of it ere you go !” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 91 
 
 Sir Phelirn expressed his willingness to show it, at the same 
 time muttering a curse between his teeth, but Owen begged to 
 be excused, saying that another time would do as well for the 
 gratification of their common curiosity. 
 
 “ An’ you be advised by me, Sir John,” the general added as 
 he past his seat, “ you will follow my example and retire imme- 
 diately. Proposing, as you do, to set out betimes in the morning, 
 you will need a long night’s rest.” 
 
 With a ready perception of his friend’s motive, the young Nor- 
 man gracefully declared his willingness, and, after some faint ob- 
 jections fropi their host, both were shown to their respective 
 apartments, Netterville by Tirlogh, Owen O’Neill by Sir Plielim 
 himself. 
 
 It was the best sleeping-room in the Castle that in which Owen 
 was lodged, and albeit that curiosity had but a very small share 
 in his composition, he certainly did make a brief inspection of 
 the spacious chamber with its old-fashioned furniture, even be- 
 fore he knelt to perform his nightly devotions. The room was 
 curiously wainscotted with Irish oak, black and polished as 
 ebony; the large mirror, surmounting an antique toilet-table, 
 was framed in the same, and the narrow, high-backed chairs 
 and the four-posted bed with its canopy of rich crimson velvet, 
 all were in perfect keeping one with the other, so that the cham- 
 ber, rich and tasteful as it was, had a gloomy and somewhat 
 ghostly look. Still the bed looked so tempting, with its cool, 
 fresh, snowy linen, that the general gave himself little trouble 
 about the sombre character of the place, and, leaving the lamp 
 burning on the table,, according to the mysterious instructions 
 of the young Eapparee, he lost no time in seeking repose. 
 Much he wondered at the singular warning given him by Angus, 
 although so far was he from attaching any importance to it that 
 he laughed at the bare idea of a ghostly visitation. 
 
 He had been some hours asleep, and the night was already 
 far spent, when his light slumbers were broken by the door 
 creaking on its rusty hinges, and starting up on his elbow, he 
 saw crossing the floor a tail figure in a short white garment 
 barely reaching below the knee. The lower limbs were bare, 
 and brawny limbs they were, to be sure ; no wonder that they 
 
92 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. * 
 
 should, gentle reader, for the sinewy limbs and the thick head 
 of reddish, curling hair and the massive features were those of 
 the real, substantial Phelimy Roe, the knight of Kinard himself, 
 walking in his sleep, and no spirit, as Owen saw at a glance, 
 and seeing, he smiled. 
 
 The eyes of the figure were wide open, and, at first sight, 
 would appear fixed on the opposite corner of the room, whither 
 the naked feet were turning their steps. But no, there was no 
 consciousness, all the motions were mechanical. 
 
 Owen, as may well be imagined, watched the figure with 
 curious eyes. Not that he remembered Angus’s injunction at 
 the moment, but from the natural impulse of curiosity. Walk- 
 ing slowly to that corner .of the room which was concealed from 
 Owen’s view by the foot-hangings of the bed, Sir Phelim ap- 
 proached a tall, old-fashioned escrutoire which had hitherto 
 escaped the general’s notice. The latter, leaning from his bed, 
 now eagerly watched the motions of the somnambulist, who, 
 having slowly raised the lid of the antique desk, began groping 
 and fumbling through the secret drawers and shelves within, 
 muttering drearily to himself as he did so, and shaking his head 
 as one grievously disappointed. 
 
 “Gone! gone!” he said in a voice loud enough for Owen to 
 hear, “ gone to the grave and the worms, mayhap, with old 
 Toby Caulfield. I would I had it to convince these prying 
 churls — they say I forged it, but they lie, — they lie — I forged 
 it not — thou canst bear me witness, old lord, an’ thy spirit be 
 anywhere here — but stay — let me whisper — tell not that hypo- 
 critical, long-faced kinsman of mine — tell him not the cun- 
 ning device whereby I tricked the chiefs and people into belief. 
 Ay ! it was a pretty conceit — thou sayest well — an’ what if I 
 did borrow that old deed of thine, or rather the seal, for mine 
 own use — the end was a good one, and thou, stern old royalist 
 as thou ever Avert, could not anywise object to it, seeing that 
 we be the king’s liege subjects, deny it who may ! — go to, old 
 man, name not the murder to me — of that I am guiltless, any- 
 how, — as God liveth I am. For the other, it is done, and cannot 
 be undone— only keep it from Owen Roe — the secret of this 
 unlucky commission, and all will go well — it were a thick veil 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 93 
 
 surely on the face of the Green Lady, the disgrace which that 
 disclosure would bring on our house. The hoy is right — it must 
 be avoided — come what may !” 
 
 So saying, he closed the desk with a heavy sigh or rather 
 groan, and crossing the floor without turning to the right hand 
 or the left, glided from the room as noiselessly as a spirit. 
 
 What Owen learned from all this we can but guess, for his 
 thoughts on the subject he kept to himself then and ever after. 
 
 
94 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 “ Love will find its way 
 Thro’ paths where wolves would fear to prey." 
 
 Byron’s G-iaou? 
 
 “ How little do they see what is, who give 
 Their hasty judgments upon that which seems.” 
 
 Southey. 
 
 Nearly the same July sun that gilded the green pennon of 
 Owen Roe when its folds first rustled in the sea-breeze over the 
 keep of Doe Castle, saw the long-imprisoned chieftains of Fer- 
 managh and Uriel brought forth from the cells where their eyes 
 had almost forgotten how to look and their limbs how to walk. 
 Silently, and, as it were, stealthily, their prison-doors were 
 opened, and guarded on either side by a soldier, each was led 
 forth bound and manacled. Again, after the lapse of nine 
 weary months, tha friends looked upon each other, and oh ! the 
 thousand, thousand thoughts to which that glance gave utter- 
 ance. It was but for a moment, however, that this mute inter- 
 change of feeling lasted, for a troop of cavalry and a whole bat- 
 talion of infantry were in waiting to receive the prisoners from 
 the Constable of the Castle, whose duty it was to give them up. 
 
 “ By my faith,” said McMahon with a melancholy smile as he 
 noted the imposing array, “ by my faith, Connor, we be no such 
 pitiful wights after all. This guard of honor surely befitteth 
 rather our birth and former estate than the beggarly rags of our 
 present livery. What think you, brother in misfortune 'l Doth 
 it not seem over much respect for two ragged jail-birds like our- 
 selves V’ And casting his eyes down over the tattered remains 
 of his once gay costume, he laughed lightly and scornfully. 
 Maguire acknowledged the witticism of his friend by a faint smile 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 95 
 
 and an admonitory gesture, but word spoke be none. His more 
 pliant, and (it might be) more susceptible mind, bad lost its 
 former spring and assumed the gloomy cast of surrounding ob- 
 jects ; dull and spiritless, and, to all appearance, dead to hope 
 was the once haughty chieftain of Fermanagh, his fine counten- 
 ance pale, and wan, and haggard, his long brown hair. matted 
 and dishevelled. It were hard, indeed, to recognize in him the 
 gay, good-humored, and ever-attractive Lord Maguire of our 
 earlier acquaintance, the proud and sensitive, yet warm-hearted. 
 Oh ! it was a sad sight to look upon that wreck of manly beauty 
 an d high estate, and to think of the cause for which he suffered, 
 the cause of eternal truth and justice. McMahon, more robust 
 in body and more stubborn in mind, had also a mercurial light- 
 ness of heart which no amount of suffering could altogether 
 subdue, and with these peculiar characteristics he had borne up 
 like a giant under the pressure of his hard lot. True, his cheek 
 had lost its roundness, and with it the fresh color borrowed from 
 the “ breezy heath” of his native Uriel ; neither had his clear 
 blue eye the same mirthful twinkle as in former days, though its 
 light was still unquenched, and its bold, free look ever the same. 
 The garments of both were, as poor McMahon’s jest indicated, 
 sadly the worse for wear, being identically the same in which 
 they were captured so many months before. 
 
 Sir Francis Willoughby, Governor of the Castle, quickly made 
 his appearance on a balcony, and gave the stern order to 
 “ march !” 
 
 “ March !” repeated McMahon, “ where to, I pray you, good 
 sir 1 That question have we asked full often since the order 
 reached us, but as yet no man hath made us the wiser.” 
 
 “ It boots ye little to know,” replied the stern governor, “ the 
 knowledge may come over soon. Captain Hardy, the hour hath 
 struck — move on, sir !” 
 
 “ Not yet, Sir Francis, an’ it please you,” said a voice un- 
 heard before ; it was that of one of Coote’s troopers, who, dash- 
 ing into the court-yard at full speed, delivered a message from 
 Sir William Parsons, then on a visit at Blackrock, to the effect 
 that the prisoners were to be remanded to their cells for half 
 an hour’s space, or an hour, if needful. 
 
96 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ For what purpose, knowest thou V' demanded Willoughby. 
 
 “ It hath pleased the Lord Justice to impart so much know- 
 ledge unto me,” the young soldier replied, touching his morion 
 at the same time in military style ; “ rumors have reached him 
 that the Lord Maguire here present hath of late manifested 
 more loyal sentiments, and, desirous ot encouraging any such 
 laudable dispositions on the part of these pestilent rebels, he, of 
 his great wisdom and clemency, sendeth hither the worshipful 
 and godly gentleman, Master Osee Judkins, with intent to learn 
 by private converse, from either or both prisoners, in what way 
 they stand affected now towards the righteous cause.” 
 
 At this McMahon laughed outright, and Maguire was just on 
 the point of uttering an indignant denial of any such change as 
 that ascribed to him, when a voice, barely audible to himself, 
 whispered at his side in Irish : “ Let them think so — say no- 
 thing” — and passing him like a shadow swept the dark-robed, 
 Dutch-built figure of Master Osee Judkins, for whom the sol- 
 diers made way right and left, till, arrived opposite the balcony, 
 he posted himself in front of the Governor, and thus delivered 
 himself : 
 
 “ May it please you, Francis Willoughby, to send back these 
 recusants to their respective places for one hour, or less, as the 
 case may be, until such time as I have ascertained to the satis- 
 faction of that righteous ruler, William Parsons, what change 
 may have taken place in their traitbfous and bloody dispositions. 
 It hath pleased the Lord to afflict him this morning with a 
 grievous flux, by reason of which he may not venture abroad.” 
 Hearing this McMahon laughed heartily: “Pray Heaven,” 
 said he, “ all the evil humors of the man may find vent in that 
 same flux !” 
 
 A stern rebuke from Judkins only made the reckless Ulster- 
 man laugh the more, and he was about to say something not 
 very complimentary to any concerned, when the harsh, loud 
 voice of Willoughby arrested his attention : 
 
 “ Remand the prisoners for an hour — -give Master Judkins 
 access to them separately in their cells. Captain Hardy will 
 send a messenger to delay the ship for the time specified.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 97 
 
 “ Ship !” repeated McMahon ; “ are you sending us, then, be- 
 yond seas — mayhap it be to England !” 
 
 “ I see you are as good at guessing as at portrait-painting, 
 Master Irishman,” said Hardy advancing, “but no more talk, 
 an’ you are a wise mail, — 'Soldiers, take them in, but remain 
 here under arms !” 
 
 If any one looked around at that moment for the trooper who 
 had brought Sir William’s message, it would have seemed as 
 though he vanished into thin air, although the presence of his 
 horse fastened to a post at the rear of a sentry-box might, had 
 he been observed, have suggested the idea that the rider must 
 be still about the premises. 
 
 Little recked the bold trooper though his horse were seen, for 
 in attendance on Master -Juikins he- had passed on to the inte- 
 rior of the Castle, on and on, even to the cells wherein the 
 * friends were again lodged, heavily ironed as they were. 
 
 What passed between Master Judkins and Maguire is not 
 ours to tell, but the success of the embassy may be inferred 
 from the fact that after a conference of some fifteen or twenty 
 minutes, carried on in so low a tone that the trooper listening 
 without could not catch a word of it, Maguire all at once burst 
 forth into what appeared a perfect frenzy of indignation, and 
 the worshipful and godly Osee Judkins called loudly for help. 
 The turnkey, also waiting without, hastened to open the door, 
 none too soon, it appeared, for the bodily safety of Sir William’s 
 ambassador, threatened with a blow from the chained hands of 
 Maguire which might, as he justly feared, have sent him to tho 
 shades below. 
 
 “Secure this madman,” said Judkins in breathless trepida- 
 tion ; “ he will hear nothing from me— nothing, nothing — the 
 other may be more reasonable — him will I try as in duty bound, 
 — but, alas !” — and he sighed heavily — “ I much fear the result 
 will be the same — perverse and unregenerate are they all — all — 
 alack ! alack ! for the sinful bonds that hold them fast in the 
 evil way !” 
 
 “ Out, out upon you, canting knave !’’ cried the wrathful 
 chieftain ; “ ap’ I had you within reach of my arm, your prating 
 were cut short, I tell you ! — ay, marry, go to McMahon, with 
 15 
 
98 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 your pious twaddle, — he will teach you to go errands for Par- 
 sons — and to us ! — off with you !” 
 
 “I pray you, good fellow,” quoth the agitated Judkins, “show 
 me with speed to the lodging of the other — an’ he he not more 
 tractable than this individual, my mission will profit William 
 Parsons but little. 0 Rome! Rome! Babylon the new! how 
 fearful are the spells of thy foul magic !” 
 
 And groaning piteously the good man betook himself to the 
 cell occupied by McMahon at no great distance, the turnkey 
 walking before. By some curious oversight that functionary 
 forgot to turn the key on Maguire, or perchance he deemed the 
 presence of the fierce-looking soldier better than bolt or bar. 
 It so happened that Coote’s terrible troopers were at that parti- 
 cular time a portion of the city garrison, so that they were often 
 on guard about the Castle, and might, therefore, be almost indi- 
 vidually known to the officials. However it was, the young sol- 
 dier was left alone at the door of Maguire’s cell, and, to that 
 nobleman’s great surprise, the footsteps of the others had hardly 
 died away when he addressed him in a low, tremulous voice, 
 drawing his sword at the same time so as to deceive prying 
 eyes : 
 
 “ Connor Maguire, they are taking you to England, fearing 
 a rescue.” 
 
 “ Ha, then, an’ such be their fear,” said the chieftain, a flush 
 of joy suffusing his pale face, “ it denotes strength and success 
 on our part— accept my thanks, oh Heaven !” 
 
 Much affected by this utter forgetfulness of self, the soldier's 
 voice trembled still more when he spoke again: “But you ask 
 not who I am that come to you in friendship under such guise 
 as this,” pointing to the ball-coots* curiously emblazoned on his 
 scarlet doublet. “ Ay, look well at me — look into mine eyes — is 
 their language that of a foe!” 
 
 Maguire started and drew back a pace: “What — the lady 
 Emndeline here, and in such wise bedight !” 
 
 “ Heed not the fashion of my garments, Connor Maguire, but 
 hearken to the words which I have perilled all to speak. Hast 
 
 * The well-known cognizance of the Coote family. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 99 
 
 heard from the gentleman just gone how matters stand with the 
 Confederates, which name I hear hath been assumed by those of 
 your party V ’ 
 
 “ Little or nothing did that gentleman tell me of what I so 
 much desire to know — other business brought him here.” 
 
 “ Ay, marry, I guessed as much,” said the disguised fair one 
 with a strange smile ; “ well, then, hear me : the Catholics are 
 everywhere up in arms, save only in Galway, where Lord Clan- 
 rickarde had power to hold them to their good behavior.” 
 
 “ God confound him !” Maguire exclaimed through his closed 
 teeth. 
 
 “ For shame, my lord, to speak so of so honorable a noble- 
 man ! — but let it pass ; youf Church hath at last declared openly 
 for the Confederates.” 
 
 “ That is well !” “ __ 
 
 “ And, as I hear, blessed their arms ” 
 
 “ Better still — what more — what of this Council of Kilkenny 
 that I have heard derided and scoffed at by the jailors V 1 
 
 “ It consisted of the bishops and many lay-lords — they 
 appointed local and provincial councils all over the land, with 
 one Chief, or Supreme Council, as they term it, to which all the 
 others are subject. Many other laws and regulations were en- 
 acted, but I know them not, or could take time to tell them an* 
 I did. One thing I know : Lord Mountgarret is President of the 
 
 Supreme Council ” 
 
 “ Humph !” 
 
 “And a general assembly of the estates — so the phrase goes — 
 
 is to meet again in October in the same city ” 
 
 “ It is very well ! The Normans of the Pale are heartily into 
 the matter 1” 
 
 “ Heartily ! — good sooth they are, as I could testify, did time 
 permit — suffice it to say, they are, as it would seem, almost to a 
 man, head and ears implicated in the rebellion — between them 
 and the old Irish much hath been done for the cause which you 
 affect — the greater part of Munster is in their hands, so, too, 
 
 with Connaught ” 
 
 “ But what of the North V ' 
 
 “ Rebellion begins to raise its head again ’ 
 
100 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Ay, I was duly informed here,” said Maguire "bitterly, “ that 
 the great Ulster army was broken up and the chiefs hiding in 
 holes and corners — what hath wrought such a change V’ 
 
 “ The arrival of a certain Colonel O’Neill from Flanders or 
 somewhere there — at least so they say here in Dublin !” 
 
 “ What! Owen Roe?” cried Maguire with joyful eagerness. 
 
 “ I believe they call him so.” 
 
 “ Now, God be praised for that news,” ejaculated the chieftain 
 fervently — and he raised his tearful eyes to heaven. “ Phelim, 
 I know, would do his best,” he murmured to himself, “ but he 
 was not — is not the man to marshal a host and keep men to- 
 gether,” — then raising his voice he said, “ accept my thanks, 
 fair Emmeline !” 
 
 “ I admire your patriotism,” said the lady with a faint blush 
 on her delicate cheek ; “ and your thanks are valued as they 
 ought, but in this last sad -hour — moment I should say — when 
 discovery may be my death, and yours may be nearer than you 
 think — are we to part as ever before V 
 
 “ Emmeline,” said the chieftain with a quivering lip and a 
 downcast eye, “ daughter of our enemy ! what wouldst thou have 
 me say ?” 
 
 “ Alas ! Connor, that parent of mine who was thine enemy is 
 beneath the sod, the other is thy friend, and the enemy of no 
 living creature.” 
 
 “ Your father dead ! — Sir Charles Coote dead ! How 1 — when V* 
 
 “ I may not, cannot tell thee now — moments are too precious 
 — say only, ere we part, most likely, for ever, dost thou still re- 
 gard Emmeline Coote in no other light than as the daughter of 
 a foeman ?” 
 
 Maguire bit his lip till it was colorless as his cheek, but no 
 word of answer came. 
 
 “ Say !” resumed the lady with that startling vehemence which 
 now and then marked her manner, “ say, Connor Maguire, am I 
 still an enemy? — I who, with intent to serve thee, have laid 
 aside full many and many a time the garments of my maiden- 
 hood and donned such unwomanly vesture as to make my cheek 
 burn with shame— I who have braved danger, ay ! and death, 
 even on the field where death was rifest, watching and waiting 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 101 
 
 for some turn of affairs favorable to your chance of escape — I 
 who have closed mine ears to the voice of love and looked coldly 
 on the best and bravest when they bent before me — I who am 
 here — here — within these fated walls to look once more upon 
 your face and win a word of kindness from your lips before they 
 take you hence ” 
 
 “But whither do they take us, Emmeline 1 — tell me that, I 
 implore thee !” 
 
 “ Whither but to England, to London, most like to the Tower 
 to await a trial.’* 
 
 “ It is well,” said the chief, drawing himself up proudly, “it 
 is well they deem us of so great importance, but as for trying us 
 in England, that they may not, dare not do — such trial were 
 mockery !” 
 
 “ I tell thee, Connor, they will do and dare all things — law is 
 as nought in their hands, for their will is the law in this land, 
 this party of the Parliament — but answer my question while 
 time permits — already in the distance I hear heavy footsteps — an’ 
 they have time to return from Blackrock, whither, I know, they 
 have sent, we are all lost. Is thy heart still hardened towards 
 her who hath watched at the door of this thy dungeon / ay ! the 
 long night through, sharing thine anguish though all unknown to 
 thee — dost thou still regard her as an enemy, the daughter of a 
 hated race, who hath never regarded thee but as the preserver 
 of her life V’ 
 
 It seemed as though a sudden pang here seized upon the lady’s 
 heart for all at once she stopped and turned ghastly pale. Ma- 
 guire saw the change with alarm — he knew not that it was the 
 sting of conscience which quivered in her heart, as hateful mem- 
 ory recalled the night of his arrest and the part which the un- 
 bridled spirit of revenge had made her play. But the generous 
 heart of Maguire was never prone to suspicion, and her ominous 
 threat on that fatal night, and the scathing mockery of her 
 greeting: subsequent to his capture were at that moment forgot- 
 ten — her love, wild, passionate, and unquenchable, was alone 
 remembered. 
 
 For a moment he stood irresolute in accordance with the usual 
 indecision of his character, but a glance at the beautiful eyes so 
 
102 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 intently fixed upon him, and the trembling,, eagerness expressed 
 in every perfect feature of tho face before him, at once unsealed 
 bis lips and sent a warm glow to bis sunken cheek. 
 
 “Emmeline,” said he, “ this is neither the hour nor the place 
 to make professions which in my case were but empty sounds. 
 This only will I say” — he paused — glanced again at the bright- 
 ening orbs to whose witchery he had never been insensible, and 
 went on in quick, hurried accents : “ This only will I say — I am 
 not — nor ever was — ungrateful, and were I still Chieftain of Fer- 
 managh — ruling as a prince the broad domains of my fathers, 
 instead of a poor, despised, ragged captive far from home and 
 friends — then should the Lady Emmeline hear from me, what 
 now were shame to speak — go, too lovely and too loving ! — fair- 
 est of Saxon maidens ! go — leave me — forget Maguire, and be 
 happy !” 
 
 “ Oh Heaven ! I thank thee,” murmured the lady with pas- 
 sionate fervor, and the tears, so long pent-up, streamed unheeded 
 down her peachy cheeks ; “for this moment have I lived, and 
 even death were welcome now, could we but die together. But 
 no — he shall be saved, come what may. Connor Maguire, this 
 moment repays me for all— all I have suffered, all I have done. 
 But enough hath been said. We must act now. Here, divest 
 thyself quickly of those garments and don these !” — and tearing 
 off her doublet and trunk hose she flung them into the cell, 
 without changing her own costume in aught, for duplicates of 
 the articles aforesaid appeared underneath. “ Leave your tat- 
 tered vesture in the cell,” whispered Emmeline, “and come 
 forth as quick as may be !” So saying she retired some paces 
 from the door, and drawing her long sabre anew, took to pacing 
 to and fro in the passage as though on guard. 
 
 “ Emmeline,” whispered the chief, “ what is thy purpose 1 — 
 explain, if thou wouldst have me do thy bidding !” 
 
 “ I would save thee — or die with thee — haste — haste !” 
 
 “ But how 1 What wouldst thou do V* 
 
 “ Clothe myself in thy cast-off garments and remain in thy 
 place !” 
 
 “ And I r 
 
 “Will escape as Coote’s trooper an’ thou delay not too long l" 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 103 
 
 “ Never, never,” cried the generous chieftain, with the air of 
 one not to he moved from his purpose; “never, and leave thee 
 for a victim. Begone, Emmeline, this moment begone — for me 
 there is no hope — but thou — oh, fly ! fly ! an’ thou lovest me !” 
 
 “ It is too late — oh, Connor ! Connor !” 
 
 “Hast said thy say to the prisoner, young sir 7” demanded 
 the deep, authoritative voice of the turnkey, who at that moment 
 appeared with the respectable Judkins, the latter crest-fallen 
 and silent, doubtless the effect of his double disappointment ; 
 “ hast said thy say, for the hour is all but expired, and both 
 must be given up on the instant ” 
 
 With a heavy sigh and a despairing look at the object of her 
 romantic passion, ere the door was closed upon him, the fair 
 Emmeline sheathed her sword, and followed the official. Master 
 Osee Judkins brought up the rear, muttering to himself words 
 that to a practised ear would have sounded strangely like Latin, 
 with this interpretation : 
 
 “ Give them help, 0 Lord, from Thy holy place, and from Sion 
 protect them !” 
 
 Reaching the courtyard, and questioned by Willoughby him- 
 self as to the success of his mission, the grave gentleman shook 
 his head sadly, observing that the great clemency of his patron, 
 William Parsons, was, in the case of these recreants, thrown away 
 — literally pearls thrown before swine, “ the which, thou know- 
 est, Francis, is set down as folly in the Book of books.” 
 
 But Willoughby was in no mood to descant on Scriptural 
 philosophy, and he roughly admonished the “reverend seignor” 
 to betake him whence he came, without more ado. 
 
 “ I’ll warrant me thou art some newly-arrived place-hunter 
 from beyond the Channel,” said he, “ arraying thyself in the 
 solemn garb of the covenant the better to hunt down a good 
 fat quarry here amongst the Irishry — go to, old meddler, — or 
 rather, look to him, soldiers, till, my messenger return. -Mean- 
 while, bring forth the prisoners once more, waiting the Lord 
 Justice’s will in their regard !” 
 
 Great was the consternation of all present when the messenger 
 returning stated that Sir William Parsons had entered into no 
 negotiations with the prisoners, nor had sent any message to 
 
104 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 them whatsoever, but was, on the contrary, exceedingly wroth 
 that their shipment had been delayed on such pretence. He, 
 moreover, commanded Willoughby to look closely after the 
 audacious impostors, w r ho must have had some treasonable motive 
 for such an act. 
 
 Orders were instantly issued for the gates to be closed and 
 the traitors secured, but alas ! Judkins was gone — the place that 
 knew him late, knew him now no more, and equally vain was 
 the search for “ Coote’s trooper,” horse and man had both van- 
 ished, none could tell how. 
 
 In the utmost trepidation, Sir Francis sent once more for the 
 prisoners, doubtless fearing that their mysterious visitors had 
 kidnapped both of them, by means of some Popish glamoury 
 or other. To his great relief they were speedily brought, forth, 
 and without further delay were placed in the centre of the 
 column and marched to the Bridge-foot, where the good ship 
 Royal Charles waited to receive them. 
 
 “ Fare thee well, Sir Francis !” cried McMahon at parting ; 
 “ I commend to thy favor the worshipful and godly Osee Judkins 
 — an’ thou takest a friend’s advice, thou wilt send him on an 
 embassy to the Council of Kilkenny.’ 
 
 “ Sirrah, dost thou dare to mock me vociferated Willoughby. 
 
 “ Sirrah in thy teeth, Willoughby ! I defy thee !” 
 
 These were the last words poor McMahon spoke on Irish soil, 
 for the armed minions of the government tore him away, and 
 when the final moment came he was dragged with his friend on 
 board the ship ; his heart was too full for parting speech. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTER VIII.' 
 
 “ Shout for the mighty men, 
 
 Who died along this shore — 
 
 Who died within this mountain’s glen ! 
 
 For never nobler chieftain’s head 
 Was laid on valor’s crimson bed, 
 
 Nor ever prouder gore 
 Sprang forth than theirs who won the day 
 Upon thy strand, Thermopylae !” 
 
 Rev. George Croly. 
 
 “ Tho’ gentle in her hearing, yet, of all the rude crew there, 
 
 Not one would dare uncourteously to treat that lady fair.” 
 
 Owen Roe was at all times an early riser, and on the morning 
 following the ghostly visitation related in a preceding chapter 
 he was out reconnoitering the vicinity of the Castle, and the 
 town of Charlemont, long before the roseate glow of the dawn 
 had faded from the eastern sky. With the practised eye of a 
 military leader he had noted every brake, and bush, and knoll on 
 either side of the river, in anticipation of some future occasion, 
 and having traversed the narrow limits of the town, making 
 observations as he went, he was hurrying along through the de- 
 serted little main street, anxious to reach the Castle before the 
 inhabitants began to stir, when a blithe voice hailed him from the 
 river side with a gay “ God save you, General !” 
 
 “ And you, too,” O’Neill responded with right good will as the 
 young Rapparee Captain gained his side from the bank whose 
 hawthorn bushes had concealed him. 
 
 “ You’re early out, I’m proud to see,” observed Donogh ; 
 “ Commanders like you and me,” he added with an arch smile, 
 “ should never let the sun catch them a-bed. Now that’s one 
 thing Sir Phelim had need to learn if he ever means to do much 
 
106 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 for king or country. He’s entirely too fond of the bed, General, 
 not to speak of something else that's just as bad — or worse” — 
 and he made a motion of his hand as though draining a goblet. 
 
 Although convinced in his heart that there was but too much 
 truth in what the young man said, still Owen O’Neill was not 
 the man to encourage such discourse from a mere stranger. 
 
 “ Excuse me, friend,” he said in a firm but very gentle tone ; 
 “ Sir Pbelim, thou knowest, is my kinsman, and being so, I 
 would rather not hear of his faults — if faults he have. This 
 Castle is a place of some strength, but I perceive it stands in need 
 of some repairs.” 
 
 “ Ay, for the reasons I told you of,” replied Donogh, “ your 
 honorable kinsman hath not done much to strengthen it.” 
 
 “ Knowest thou the exact strength of the Scotch in these parts 1” 
 O’Neill asked abruptly. 
 
 “ It were hard to say.” the Rapparee replied in a voice so 
 unsteady that the General looked at him with surprise, and was 
 amazed to see every feature of his comely face in convulsive 
 motion ; “ pardon me, General,” he said, or tried to say, but fur- 
 ther he could not go. 
 
 “But why this agitation, young friend 1" O’Neill anxiously 
 inquired. 
 
 “ One day thou shalt know all,” was the faint reply, “ ay ! 
 and mayhap before long, but ask no farther now. General,” he 
 said with a sudden change of manner as a new idea struck him ; 
 “ General, wouldst wish to see our lodgment in the woods, and 
 make acquaintance with my comrades 
 
 “ Methinks I would,” O’Neill replied after a short pause, 
 “ provided they knew not of my coming — I would see them in 
 their ordinary life.” 
 
 “ Thou shalt see them, then.” 
 
 “ What, now 1 Is your encampment, then, so near 1 
 
 “ I said not now," said Donogh with recovered composure ; 
 “night will best show you what manner of men they be who 
 follow my banner” — again he smiled — “ so an’ it pleaseth thee, 
 noble sir, to come with me for some hours when the shades of night 
 cover the earth, I will show thee what knight or noble never 
 saw save those of our own blood !” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 107 
 
 “ Thanks, good friend,” said the General ; “ I will gladly take 
 thee at thy word. We part here, I think, or art bound like 
 myself for the Castle V* 
 
 “ Truly yes,” laughed the Rapparee ; “ I mean to break my 
 fast at Sir Phelim’s expense — this musket of mine” — pointing to 
 the one which hung over his shoulder — “ hath brought down 
 nothing this morning yet. But, tell me, General, and excuse 
 me, an’ I make over free — what thinkest thou ot that gay Nor- 
 man knight who left here yester-morn V’ 
 
 “ Marry, he seemeth a gallant gentleman, and well affected 
 towards the good cause. More I know not of him. But thou, 
 Donogh, if such be thy name,” the Rapparee nodded, “thou 
 and he had met before — what of him V ’ 
 
 “ In sooth I know but little,” the young man replied, “ but 
 that little would make me fearful of trusting him too far. Not 
 that I would doubt him now, for he is, as thou sayest, a gallant 
 gentleman, and his father, the old Lord Netterville, I have seen 
 dealing heavy blows with his own good sword on some of Or- 
 mond’s fellows at that unlucky .pass of Mageny ; but still, Gen- 
 eral, I would not trust the son while he turned on his heel ” 
 
 u And wherefore not, Donogh V' 
 
 “Why, an’ it please you, General, there’s a lady in the way, 
 and hard fortune to them for ladies ! but it’s they that keep the 
 world in hot water, anyhow ! Now, this Sir John Netterville 
 suspects — and, between you and me, I think he’s not far wrong — 
 that the beautiful lady he has an eye on, thinks more of Lord 
 Maguire than she does of him — didn’t you see how the venom 
 was spewing out of him when the O’Cahan ladies told how the 
 young chief saved her life 1” 
 
 O’Neill nodded assent. “ Well, then,” resumed Donogh, 
 “ when the black drop is in him that way, it will show itself 
 maybe when you least think it. If ever the Lord of Fermanagh 
 gets out of prison, an’ that lady and he come together — which 
 God in Heaven forbid, — for she comes of a rascally breed — then 
 I wouldn’t give a snap of my finger for Sir John Netterville’s 
 good will towards us Irish.” 
 
 “ There may be something in what you say, friend,” said 
 O’Neill with a thoughtful brow, for he was thinking how Judith, 
 
108 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 too, had warned him on this head ; “ in any case, this young 
 knight is not, or never may be, subject to my command — our 
 paths are widely different, Donogh. But hark ! the trumpet 
 from the walls — to rouse the garrison, most like.” 
 
 The lady-moon had not yet showed her silver disk above the 
 horizon that night when Owen Roe O’Neill and his trusty guide, 
 having crossed the bridge at Charlemont, and traversed the then 
 scarcely formed village of Moy, sped on their way with light- 
 some step through the heathy moors of Tyrone, in the direction 
 of Benburb, following the course of the river. Little conversation 
 had passed between the two, for O’Neill was busy with his own 
 thoughts and speculations, and Donogh, through respect, kept 
 some paces in advance. Reaching the old Castle of Benburb, even 
 then a gray ruin lone and unlovely, untenanted save by the 
 bird of night, Owen Roe suddenly stopped and fixed his eyes 
 on the old fortalice. Grand and commanding it looked, seated 
 high on its rocky throne, with its solitary tower and its shattered 
 outworks clearly reflected in the winding stream, while the 
 moonlight brought out in strong relief the Cyclopean structure 
 of the time-worn and war-worn edifice.* 
 
 “ What building is this T’ demanded the General. 
 
 “ That — oh ! that is Benburb Castle,” the guide carelessly re- 
 plied ; “ I thought you knew it, General.” 
 
 “ I guessed as much,” said O’Neill, his eyes wandering eagerly 
 over the storied scene. “ In dreams,” he murmured as if to 
 himself, “ 1 have visited ere now the Blackwater’s banks — Ben- 
 burb, and Portmore, and the Yellow Ford are as places I have 
 often seen. Ay ! surely that is Benburb Castle, even such as 
 I saw it in a vision of the night when the great Hugh stood be- 
 fore me and uttered words concerning this nation which mortal 
 lips may not speak again.” 
 
 “ Good Lord !” said Donogh to himself, and he moved some 
 steps away; “good Lord! he’s taking to the ghost of Hugh 
 
 * This ancient stronghold of the O’Neills is composed entirely of 
 huge boulders, apparently from the river’s bed, joined by no cement 
 of any kind. This peculiarity of construction gives Benburb Castle 
 a look of still greater antiquity than it really possesses. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 109 
 
 O’Neill, — and may be it isn’t right for me to stay so near. In God’s 
 name I will, though, for sure I promised to take him to the wood, 
 and I’m bound to keep my word. Blessed Mary ! what a tongue 
 he has when he comes to us^it ! Now I’m sure Phelimy Boe 
 could no more discourse that way than he could fly. I’ll move 
 a little farther, anyhow, for sure if I heard the spirit’s voice it 
 was all over with me. Still, if I could only catch one word from 
 the great O’Neill of all — even if he be a ghost — but no — no — if 
 the voice froze my blood and the heart in my body, who would 
 do what I have to do — what must be done 1 Sure it isn’t a poor 
 gerslia that would do it 
 
 Thus soliloquizing, Donogh leaned his arm on a broken wall, 
 and, keeping his eye on the General, to see that no harm befel 
 him, he sank into a train of thought, very bitter and very pain- 
 ful, judging by the contortions of his usually mild face, and the 
 lurid light which flashed at times from under his darkly frowning 
 brow. 
 
 Meanwhile, O’Neill stood contemplating the Castle and the 
 river, and the river’s banks. Lost in the thick-coming memories 
 of the past, the glories of his warlike ancestors, the tales of their 
 noble achievements, drank in his earlier years from the lips of 
 his exiled father, these, with the old, old story of the nation’s 
 wrongs and the people’s sufferings, all came rushing on his mind, 
 and, bowing his stately head, as though under the influence of 
 some mighty presence, he stood motionless as a statue. 
 
 “ And this is the Blackwater V’ he said within . himself, 
 “ the frontier-line of the land of Owen, the impassable barrier 
 against southern raid, the boundary which Saxon might not 
 cross and live ! — the river which hath witnessed, above all others, 
 the heroic deeds of the sons of Nial — thou — thou — old stream, 
 the god-made threshold of their broad domains — thou reflectest 
 to my mind, as clear as in a mirror, the martial exploits of Hugh, 
 and Shane, and Donald of illustrious memory,* and many an- 
 
 * The valorous exploits of poor Shane O’Neill against the myrmi- 
 dons of English oppression are well known to most readers, and the 
 Donald here mentioned was the same who, in a preceding reign, 
 treated as a royal sovereign with the Spanish monarch, soliciting aid 
 for I v land. 
 
110 
 
 TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 other princely chief of my race who upheld in his day the cause 
 of country and religion. Oh river, now so bright in the fair 
 moon’s ray, well have the Saxons named thee JZlacJc* for a black 
 stream hast thou been to them/^rfla! ha! thou art not yet so 
 black as thou shalt be, an’ God spare me life. An’ it be given 
 me to rule this land and this people, there remain yet other 
 pages of thy story to be turned over, oh stream so fateful to the 
 children of Nial ! And thou, crumbling relic of our house’s 
 greatness, weird witness from the past, I greet thee with respect. 
 Should success attend mine efforts, thy age shall be renewed — 
 thou shalt grow young again like the eagle, and thy now de- 
 fenceless walls bristling with the captured cannon of the enemy, 
 thou shalt, as of old, keep watch and ward over the passes of 
 the river. Fare thee well, Benburb ! my heart is stirred within 
 me, I know not why, as I look upon thee, and my soul is on fire 
 for high emprise — shades of my fathers ! I follow in your foot- 
 steps ” 
 
 “ I knew it,” muttered the Rapparee leader who had heard 
 distinctly these latter words ; “ I knew he wouldn’t talk so with- 
 out the best of company. I would he were safe away from here, 
 for the icy breath of the dead will pierce the marrow of his bones 
 — but what am I saying — sure he isn’t like other men at all — • 
 him that was so long foretold in prophecy — isn’t it half a spirit 
 he is himself 'l The ne’er a matter, he’s flesh and blood, anyhow, 
 so I needn’t fear him !” And with that he advanced towards 
 O’Neill with a dete: mined air, as one who felt proud of a victory 
 over himself. 
 
 Dexterously and discreetly avoiding all allusion to what he 
 had seen or heard, Donogh met the General with an encomium 
 on the beauty of the night as though he had been lost in ad- 
 miration. 
 
 “ Isn’tfthat the beautiful moon all out, General 7 and did you 
 ever see so many stars 'l myself was trying to count then? there, 
 but it’s what they seemed to be making their game of me for 
 
 * O’Sullivan, as quoted by Mitchel, says that the Eoglish gave 
 the name of Blackwater to this fine river on account of the many de- 
 feats sustained hy them along its banks or in its vicinity. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 the ne’er a one of them would stand still a minute hut winking 
 and blinking at me up there and popping their bright heads in 
 and out till I was fairly bothered and had to give it up entirely. 
 Are we for the Brantree now'?” 
 
 “ The Brantree!* the Brantree!” 0 Neill repeated like one in 
 a dream ; “ methinks I should know that name — it was of evil 
 repute, was it not, in the olden time 'l — the Brantree Wood ! yes, 
 yes, a place of shelter for the robbers and outlaws of the coun- 
 try ” 
 
 “ Have a care. General, what thou savest,” whispered Donogh; 
 “ hedges and ditches have ears at times, and the Brantree is not 
 to be meddled with lightly — still, I see the place is not unknown 
 to thee, and this I tell thee that there be those hereabouts who 
 even now give it no better name.” 
 
 They were passing at the moment an old, old graveyard, with 
 a church in the midst seemingly as old, and O’Neill somehow felt 
 a desire to linger a moment at the gate. Not so with Donogh, who 
 was passing rapidly on, having, it would seem, no sort of fancy for 
 the lone dwellings of the dead. Just as they passed the gate, 
 however, a cracked female voice was heard to issue from the 
 shadow of its deep archway. 
 
 “ Why, then, Donogh, is it to pass Eglishf you’d be doing, with 
 the great O’Neill from abroad, and not stop a minute to show 
 him where so many of the children of Nial rest 'l For shame, 
 Donogh ! I thought you had more gumshin in you. It’s an ill 
 compliment you’d be paying the spirits that have waited . long 
 for him to revenge their wrongs.” 
 
 “ Who can that be cried O’Neill in surprise. 
 
 “ Hush, hush,” Donogh whispered again, then raising his voice 
 he said in a soothing tone : 
 
 * The Brantree Wood is, or was, even in the last generation, an ex- 
 tensive woodland tract not many miles from Benburb — most probably 
 a remnant of the wide-spreading forests for which Tyrone was once 
 famous. Many wild traditions concerning it wore common amongst 
 the people. 
 
 t I have slightly changed the topographical position of old Eglish, 
 but the other facts are correct. 
 
112 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Sure you couldn’t suspect me of the like of that, Granny 1 
 I was for taking the General to the brow of the hill above where 
 he’d have a good look at the place.” 
 
 “ Bring him hither, I tell thee, that I may have a good look at 
 him!” 
 
 “ We must do as she bids us, General,” said Donogh to his 
 wondering companion; “ no one thinks of gainsaying granny.” 
 
 “ I am quite willing,” said Owen Roe, and the two approached 
 the gate. 
 
 “ Stop there,” said the cracked voice, “ there where the moon- 
 light is full on his face — there now — that will do !” 
 
 Owen Roe stood still as directed, and looked curiously into the 
 arch, now partially illumined by the moon’s rays shining through 
 the thick oaken bars of the gate. At first he could see only a 
 dark crouching thing in the farther corner. Slowly, slowly, it 
 began to move, and raising itself up a foot or two higher, it ap- 
 peared a little old woman leaning on a stick, with the hood of 
 her red cloak thrown over her head so that only occasional 
 glimpses could be had of the withered face beneath. Yet 
 O’Neill did not fail to note that there was something more than 
 ordinary in the bold, firm lines of that wrinkled visage, and the 
 small dark eyes that gleamed out so wildly from under the red 
 hood. 
 
 “ Stand back there, Donogh,” said the weird hag, “ keep 
 your own place, my boy, in this presence.” The Rapparee did 
 as he was bid, and O’Neill, who had braved death on many a 
 field and in many a shape, felt a strange awe creeping over 
 him, for he knew that the keen old eyes were reading his soul 
 through the features of his face. Silent they all three were for 
 a brief space, and then the strange old woman drew a long 
 breath and spoke, as though to herself: 
 
 “ He will do,” she said, nodding her aged head as though the 
 fate of the nation rested on her nod ; “ he will do, anyhow — 
 Phelimy Roe may go — shake himself — I see the brightness on 
 his brow, — that is the blessing of God, — and there’s the quiet- 
 ness, too — that is the good conscience — ay ! and there’s the 
 grandeur and the loftiness of the high blood of Nial — and the 
 strong arm and the fleet limbs — surely, yes, there is the man to 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 113 
 
 bring the past and the future together and make the sad days of 
 bondage and mourning like unto the bright days of old — ay ! 
 that is the man for whose coming I waited, and now I care not 
 how soon I go to my fathers here within ! Long have I watched 
 the sleep of the sleepers in the dark hours when only themselves 
 were near me, waiting for the man that was promised — now, I’ll 
 go home — home — home !” — and so saying, out she stept into the 
 clear moonlight on the road, supporting herself on her knotted 
 oaken staff. “ There now,” she hoarsely muttered, ££ there’s the 
 gate to you — son of my race, take old Mabel’s blessing, ere she 
 go hence forever ! These eyes have seen the great Hugh in the 
 height of his splendor, and alas ! in the depth of his sorrow, too 
 — I lived to see Owen Roe, the O'Neill of God’s making, and so 
 my race is run.” 
 
 Owen Roe would have gladly questioned the old woman who 
 had ££ seen the great Hugh,” but his first attempt was unsuccess- 
 ful, for she "waved him off with the air of one who must be 
 obeyed, and tottered down the road, muttering gloomily to her- 
 self. She had not gone many paces, however, when a new 
 thought seemed to strike her, and she turned her head half 
 round. 
 
 £ ‘ Donogh,” said she, ££ I need not tell you to obey him in all 
 things, and to fight till death against the enemies of God’s peo- 
 ple — but this I want to tell you : Keep close watch over them 
 you know — the lamb can’t be safe while the wolf is near the fold 
 — so to God and you I leave them !” 
 
 ££ Granny ! Granny !” cried Donogh in some trepidation, ££ they 
 are not depending now on poor fellows like me and mine ; the 
 General here has taken them in charge from the very first — so 
 there’s no fear of them with God’s help and his — there’s a muz- 
 zle on the wolf already !” 
 
 ££ Praised be the Lord, that makes my mind easy !” and turn- 
 ing again to the road, the aged crone moved away with an un- 
 steady faltering step. O’Neill stood looking after her for longer 
 time than he was conscious of, spell-bound, as it were, by her 
 strange, weird look, and ways not less strange. He was roused 
 by the respectful voice of Donogh at his side : 
 
 “ General,” said he, ££ for all granny was so wishful that you’d 
 
114 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 see it, I don’t know if you’ll care much about the place. When 
 you saw herself, you saw the greatest curiosity I ever knew 
 about Eglish — barring the bell ” 
 
 “ The bell ! what bell !” 
 
 “ Why, a bell that rings underground in it whenever one of 
 your name of the real old stock without any mixture is brought 
 for burial.* The minute the corpse is carried inside the gate, 
 the bell begins tinkle, tinkle, but as if it was away ever so far, 
 and there it keeps ringing with a silvery sound till fhe grave is 
 closed. 
 
 “ Did } T ou ever hear it yourself, Donogh 1” O’Neill interrupted 
 with a most incredulous smile playing about his mouth. 
 
 “ Well ! I can’t say I did, General, but there’s them living in 
 the neighborhood that did hear it.” 
 
 “ I wish I could hear it myself,” said Owen Roe, as he turned 
 from the gate after a hasty survey of the old cemetery 5 “ hear- 
 ing, like seeing, is believing, thou knowest, Donogh. However, 
 an’ we mean to visit the Brantree this night, I would we were 
 on our way. Not but what I could stand longer,” he said within 
 himself, “ contemplating yonder quiet scene where so many of my 
 kindred sleep in peace under the moonlit sod.” And he looked 
 back with a parting sigh. 
 
 The word was all that Donogh needed, and again the pair ad- 
 dressed themselves to the road. Few words passed beetwen them 
 until, having ascended the steep hill, they found themselves on the 
 outskirts of the forest ; dark and mysterious it lay before them, 
 with the moonbeams flickering here and there through the open- 
 ings in the thick foliage above. 
 
 “ Welcome to the Brantree, General !” said Donogh, as they 
 stepped into the deep shade ; “ there’s a path here that will take 
 us some distance, if you will just follow me, or — give me your 
 hand, and I’ll lead you on !” 
 
 “Thanks, friend,” said O’Neill, “but I will not trouble thee 
 so far — now that my eyes are accustomed to the gloom, I can 
 perceive the pathway by the help of those occasional glimpses 
 of light from above.” 
 
 * This story is current with regard to more than one graveyard in 
 the old Celtic parts of Ulster. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 115 
 
 “ In former times,” observed Donogh, as they made their way 
 slowly through the bushwood, “ we had not come even so far in 
 without a challenge. From the time that the chieftains raised 
 their banners and the power of the stranger was broken in the 
 land, the dwellers in the woods gave themselves but little 
 trouble keeping sentry, for indeed it’s roaming abroad they 
 used to be through the fields — but of late since things began to 
 go against us, and Sir Phelim and the other chiefs weren’t able 
 to hold their own, we were forced to take to our old quarters — 
 with God’s help, though, the tables will soon turn again — - — ” 
 
 “ Who goes there 1” said a rough voice almost close to them. 
 
 “ The best of friends, Murtagh,” replied Donogh 3 “ are you all 
 alive here 1 ” 
 
 “ Ay, ay, Captain, alive and kicking.” “ Kick away, then, and 
 good luck to you !” 
 
 The path which had hitherto guided the progress of our 
 travellers now disappeared, or rather they turned away from it 
 in a diagonal direction into a a deeper and still darker portion 
 of the wood where rocks piled on rocks at times rose up before 
 them. 
 
 “ Who comes here V’ demanded another voice from behind a 
 projecting fragment of rock. 
 
 “ The pike’s point,” was the answer. 
 
 “ Sharp as ever — pass on !” 
 
 “ Now, most noble sir,” whispered Donogh, “we’re near our 
 journey’s end. I hope you’ll not be disappointed in regard of 
 what you came to see ; at any rate, it will be something new !’ 
 
 As yet there was no sign of any living being, nor a glimpse of 
 light, for there the moonlight never made its way, and Owen 
 Roe began to wonder how he could be so near an encampment 
 when all at once his guide stopped short, and said in a loud 
 cheerful tone that woke the echoes of the woods : 
 
 “ General Owen Roe O’Neill, welcome to the Rapparee Camp !” 
 
 At the same moment a sight burst on the General that in all 
 his experience of camps he had never seen — a sight both new 
 and startling. A glade of the forest was before him, or rather 
 a rocky woodland dell, into which the unclouded moon, now 
 high in the heavens, shed down her floods of silvery light. A 
 
116 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 mighty rustling, as of a forest shook by the storm, followed 
 upon Bonogh’s greeting, and" from out the dark shades all 
 around, and down from the shelves of the rocks, men, strong, 
 stout, stalwart men, came bounding together on the green 
 sward, while others who had been lying sprang to their feet, 
 so that the place was literally alive with men. Some were at- 
 tired in the saffron-dyed garments distinctive of the Irish kern of 
 that and former days, a garment the voluminous folds of which* 
 gave formidable breadth to the figure of the wearer ; others wore 
 the national truis and cochal formed of various materials, but 
 in general of showy and mixed colors ; while some again *were 
 scantily clad in the coarsest cloth wrapped around them some- 
 what after the Indian fashion. Most of the heads had no other 
 covering than their thick gJibbe of long hair, others had high 
 round caps made of the skin of various animals, while not a few 
 were seen with silken or velvet barradhs, and even plumes were 
 not wanting to catch the moon’s ray as their owners stood in 
 conscious superiority amid the strange associates which oppres- 
 sion and the wild thirst for revenge had given them. 
 
 “ Shoulder your pikes !” cried Donogh, and instantly a for- 
 est of those formidable weapons shot up gleaming in the moon- 
 light air. That was the Rapparee’s salute. 
 
 “Behold our General — Owen Roe O’Neill!” said their Cap- 
 tain again ; “ he has come to visit us in our wild-wood home, 
 desiring to do us honor !” 
 
 “ He is welcome ! — Cead mille failthe !” went forth from every 
 tongue, and the sound was like the ocean-surge rumbling amid 
 the rocks. 
 
 What O’Neill felt at that moment it were not easy to describe, 
 but a few burning words he spoke, words of strength, and hope, 
 and power, which made the Rapparees forget their usual and 
 not unnecessary caution, and a wild and long-continued cheer 
 awoke the startled echoes of the place, and roused the red deer 
 from their midnight lair. 
 
 “ I have given him command over you in your own name !” 
 
 * We are told that from twenty to thirty ells of this dyed linen 
 were sometimes employed in the fabrication of one of these garments. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 117 
 
 said Donogh ; “ are you content to do his bidding in all things — 
 sons of the Gael, say 1” 
 
 “ We are content,” spoke the deep many-toned voice again. 
 “ By our father’s wrongs and ours, we will faithfully serve 
 him !’* 
 
 “For God and holy Ireland !” said Owen Roe in a tone of 
 deep feeling. 
 
 “ For God and holy Ireland !” the homeless multitude re- 
 sponded. 
 
 “It is well said,” spoke a voice from the farther side of the 
 glade, a voice which made Owen O’Neill start, for soft and femi- 
 nine it was, although clear and distinct, and moreover it sounded 
 strangely familiar to his ear. 
 
 “ Comrades, fall back right and left,” said the Captain. The 
 wood-kern instantly obeyed, and a still stranger scene was pre- 
 sented to the eyes of the foreign bred descendant of the Hy- 
 Nials. Under a sort of awning, skilfully and neatly formed by 
 the interlaced branches of the forest trees, seated in rustic state 
 on a primitive-looking chair well adapted to support her feeble 
 frame, the aged Lady O’Cahan occupied the most prominent 
 position. By her side stood her daughter, whose voice it was, as 
 O’Neill rightly judged, that had so lately fallen on his ear. A 
 score or two of women, wild, gypsey-like figures, yet many of 
 them worthy studies for the painter, or the sculptor, were 
 grouped around the aged lady, all, however, at a respectful dis- 
 tance, the moonlight giving to the whole scene a rich and pic- 
 turesque character. 
 
 “ Do mine eyes deceive me,” said O’Neill, “ or are those the 
 ladies of Dungiven I” 
 
 “ Even so,” replied the Rapparee Captain ; “ we found that ever 
 since their hiding-place was discovered they were watched day 
 and night, and the fear began to come over them again, so I 
 thought, and so did themselves, that it was not safe to be there 
 any longer, and the boys here went to work and made the 
 finest litter ever you saw of the branches of the trees, and brought 
 their ladyships home.” 
 
 “ And it is to the Rapparees they come for protection V ’ 
 
118 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Why, to be sure it is, General, and where else would they 
 go — there’s not a man you see there that wouldn’t lose a thou- 
 sand lives, if he had so many, to save them from hurt or 
 harm.” 
 
 And truer words were never spoken, for there , at least, Judith 
 and her mother reigned as queens. 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 119 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 “ And many an old man’s sigh, and many a widow’s, 
 
 And many an orphan’s water-standing eye — 
 
 Men for their sons’, wives for their husbands’ fate, 
 
 And orphans for their parents’ timeless death ■” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 - “ To trample on all human feelings, all 
 Ties which bind man to man, to emulate 
 The fiends, who will one day requite them in 
 Variety of torturing.” 
 
 Byron’s Two Foscari. 
 
 It was a pleasant renewal of acquaintance when Owen Roe 
 was conducted by Donogh to a seat near the Lady O’Cahan, who 
 rose with dignity to receive him, and extended her hand with as 
 lofty an air as though she stood under the silken canopy as of 
 old on the dais in Dungiven hall. To O’Neill’s respectful saluta- 
 tion, Judith only bowed and said: “ Welcome to the Rapparee 
 camp, son of the Hy-Nial !” 
 
 “ Chieftain of Tyr-Owen !” added the old woman. 
 
 “ Nay, madam, not so,” said O’Neill quickly ; “ such proud 
 title belongeth not to me — I am simply, Owen Mac Art, en- 
 dowed by the favor of the good people of these parts with the 
 style of General — however unworthy I be to bear it! But 
 chieftain of Tyr-Owen I am not — never can be !” 
 
 “ Chieftain of Tyr-Owen I say thou art — or soon shall be.” 
 The aged lady repeated with solemn emphasis : “ Before yonder 
 moon puts forth her horns again the sept shall have a new ruler, 
 and one shall sit in the chair of Royalty* whose feet have never 
 
 * The ancient coronation-chair of the O’Neill’s on the Rath of Tul- 
 loghoge. The seat of it was, in former times, the famous Lia Fail , 
 
120 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 yet pressed the grass of Tulloghoge ! Believe my word, for the 
 voices of the night have made it known unto me !” 
 
 “ Dominus Vobiscum, fratres /” said a voice from behind one 
 of the rocks, and Malachy na Soggarth stept out just in time to 
 prevent the commotion following on the unexpected sound. He 
 was accompanied by a nephew of his whom all recognized as 
 one of the holy confraternity of Rapparees. The fame of Mala- 
 chy had long ago reached beyond the limits of McMahon’s coun- 
 try, and no sooner was his name whispered around than a murmur 
 of kindly greeting was heard on evary side. 
 
 “ Welcome, Malachy,” said the Captain advancing with a 
 smile to shake him by the hand ; “in good hour thou earnest 
 hither, but what wind bore thee to the Brantree 1’ 
 
 “ By my word, good sir,” said the panting follower of McMahon, 
 “ I had hard work to get here, as Looney there can tell you. 
 But still I wanted to see what the place looked like when you’d 
 be all at home, the which I had often heard the boy say was a 
 fine sight entirely. When the bishop and myself came down to 
 Charlemont to the great meeting, I thought as I was so near I’d 
 go to Lough Derg* before I went home. So I just let his 
 
 or Stone of Destiny, afterwards removed to the royal abbey of Scone, 
 in Scotland, and now, it is believed, in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 * There are few of our readers unfamiliar with the name of this 
 famous little lake — a very small one it is, too — situate amongst d eary 
 hills in the county of Donegal. As containing the island which enjoys 
 the possession of St. Patrick’s Purgatory, the Lough is and has b-;en 
 for many centuries an object of veneration, not only in Ireland, but in 
 other Catholic countries. Speaking of Lough Derg a modern tourist 
 observes : “ On the ridge where I stood, I had leisure to look around. 
 To the southwest lay Lough Erne, with all its isles and cultivated 
 shores ; to the northwest Lough Derg — and truly never did I mark 
 such a contrast. Lough Derg under my feet — the lake, the shores, 
 the mountains, the accompaniments of all sorts, presented the very 
 landscape of desolation ; its waters expanding in their highland soli- 
 tude, amidst a wide waste of moors, without one green spot to refresh 
 the eye, without a house or tree — all mournful in the brown hue of 
 its far-stretching bogs, and the grey uniformity of its rocks ; the sur- 
 rounding mountains even partook of the sombre character of the place, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 121 
 
 lordship go back his lone for this once, especially as the chief 
 was with him. I mean to start for the Island* now, by the peep 
 of day the morrow, but first I thought I’d see how matters stood 
 here, now that we’re in a fair way for another brush with the 
 enemy.” 
 
 Casting his slow glance around, Malachy’s eye now lit on Lady 
 O’Cahan, and off went his cap at once with a “ God and the 
 Virgin save you, lady !” Neither she nor her daughter was 
 known to him, but he well knew by the rough respect paid to 
 them that they were branches of some fallen tree that had tow- 
 ered high in its day. 
 
 O’Neill next came under Malachy’s observation, and then his 
 surprise was at the height. Bowing down as low as he could 
 without losing his equilibrium, he drew himself up again to his 
 full perpendicular, and, for once, lost the use of his tongue. 
 
 “ What, Malachy McMahon here V’ said O’Neill with a pleas- 
 ant smile; “ are you a Rapparee, too, Malachy V’ 
 
 “A Rapparee! your lordship!” Malachy exclaimed in no 
 small trepidation ; “ me a Rapparee ! me that wouldn’t have 
 the heart to kill a chicken ! a poor Rapparee Td make !” 
 
 “ No, General, said Donogh advancing, “ Malachy isn’t so 
 unlucky as to have any title to that name.” 
 
 “ Unlucky ! how is that, Captain I” 
 
 “ Why, you see, there’s ne’er a one of us here that hasn’t a 
 commission from the enemy.” 
 
 “ A commission from the enemy — what may that mean I” 
 “Well! it’s a word that doesn’t sound well,” said the young 
 
 their forms without grandeur, their ranges continuous and without 
 elevation. The lake itself was certainly as fine as rocky shores and 
 
 numerous islands could make it ” 
 
 * The Island, so called by way of distinction, is the largest of 
 tho:e which dot the reddish surface of Lough Derg (i. e. the red lake). 
 It is called the Station Island, as most of the stations are performed 
 there. In a cave of this world-famed island is the renowned Purga- 
 tory of St. Patrick, the scene of Calderon’s great poem. On this 
 island are situate the chapel, priest’s house, &c. Ou the Saint’s Island, 
 one of lesser extent, are the ruin3 of an ancient priory. 
 
 16 
 
122 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Captain, “but still it's true — there’s not a man here that hasn’t 
 his license to fight from one or other of the Puritan generals !” 
 
 O’Neill was at a loss to understand his meaning, and Donogh 
 hastened to explain with a bitter laugh. “ Now,” said he, “ Gen- 
 eral O’Neill, what I mean is this : there is not one of us pike- 
 men here who hath not a dismal score to settle with these ac- 
 cursed strangers, a debt as binding on our consciences as one of 
 red gold — ay ! and a thousand times more so. Stand forward, 
 Florry Muldoon ! and tell the General what hath made you a 
 Rapparee !” 
 
 The person addressed, a tall and venerable-looking man of 
 some sixty odd years, advanced, with his pike on his shoulder, 
 and spoke in a deep, husky voice : 
 
 “ The wife of my bosom and the children of my love — my 
 two fine sons and three daughters, the flower of the country side, 
 were butchered by a party of Montgomery’s soldiers before mine 
 eyes — ” he stopped — he could say no more. 
 
 “ Did they only butcher them all, Florry 1” said another veteran 
 pikesman by his side, — a fierce-looking man of stalwart frame, 
 still erect and firm. 
 
 “ Wasn’t that enough 1” said the other, turning short on him. 
 
 “ It was , Florry, sure it was, enough to make you a sworn 
 Rapparee, but it wasn’t so bad but what it might be worse. Now 
 I had only one daughter — only one — and there’s many here can 
 tell you what Nora O’Boyle was — it wouldn’t become me to say 
 it anyhow, — me that was her father — well ! that darling of the 
 world — the best child that ever broke the bread of life — one of 
 their officers laid an eye on her as she was washing clothes at 
 the river with some neighbor women, and — and — they took her, 
 so they did, and they threw her over one of their cruppers all as one 
 as a bag of oats, and they put a gag on her mouth, and carried 
 her off, and hilt or hair of her we never seen till after her poor 
 mother died of a broken heart, and then she dropped into us 
 one black day without knowing where she was going, for— for — 
 the wits had left my lanna entirely. Och, boys, boys, wasn’t it 
 a wonder I kept my own — wasn’t it I — nor I suppose I wouldn’t 
 either, only that I tried to keep myself cool and quiet on account 
 of the work that was before me. And I did part of it already— 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 123 
 
 faith I did so, for that devil’s limb of an officer was pointed out 
 to me not long after by one who had seen him taking the gersha 
 away, and I gave him his oats — ha ! ha ! ha ! I’ll go bail he’l 
 he as quiet as a lamb for the time to come.” 
 
 “ Why, what did you do, Pete 1” said his Captain much in- 
 terested, as were all who heard the sad recital. 
 
 “ Do ! — oh, then, I did plenty ! — I clove him to the belt with 
 this brave hatchet of mine — do you see it, Captain 1 — it’s my 
 companion ever since by night and by day, and will, as long as 
 there’s a hell-hound of them Puritans on Irish soil to be hunted 
 — oh faith, yes, Nora O’Boyle was well revenged, and shall be 
 better, if I am spared !” 
 
 “ And you, Diarmid !” said the Captain to a tall, athletic young 
 man, with a frank, good-natured countenance, on which no trace 
 of strong passion was visible, “ what brought you here V’ 
 
 “ It’s easy told, Captain,” the young Rapparee replied with a 
 sudden change of manner — a ruffling, as it were, of the smooth 
 surface ; “ I had two young brothers, as promising boys as you’d 
 see in a summer’s day, and Stewart’s soldiers hung them like 
 dogs from one of the trees in our own haggard 
 
 u Hung them !” repeated O’Neill in horror; “ and why, good 
 friend, I pray thee 7” 
 
 “Why, General, the soldiers stopped to water their horses 
 near our house where the poor fellows were fishing, — for fun for 
 themselves the Sassum dergs began to poke at the boys with 
 their bayonets, calling them ‘ Papist brats’ and all such hard 
 names. At last one of my brothers — poor Connor — told them 
 they had better leave off their tricks, or Sir Phelim might have 
 a word to say to them — with that they made at the two, though 
 one of them never opened his lips to say them ill, and they tore 
 the clothes in flitters off their backs and made ropes of them to 
 hang them!” 
 
 “ And where were you, Diarmid, when that was done T’ said 
 Judith from behind. 
 
 “ Your ladyship may well ask the question,” said the young 
 man turning quickly and bowing very low ; “ my father and 
 myself were at the bog a mile or so off, cutting turf — if we had 
 been on the spot, it’s like we couldn’t have saved the gorsoons, 
 
124 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and it’s like, too, that I wouldn’t he here now to tell the tale— 
 but — ” he paused to take breath, and a dark scowl settled on 
 his brow — “ but, we’d have done for the hangmen , anyhow, if 
 nothing more. Still and all, I have one comfort,” he added 
 with a ghastly smile, “ if they escaped us, others of the murder- 
 ing crew did not — we’ve brought down some of their highest 
 heads since then, and though I am alone now, — for the old 
 father is at rest long ago in Tynan mould, — there’s strength 
 enough in this arm” — and he held up his brawny right arm — “ to 
 do the work of two !” 
 
 “ Your story is bad enough, Diarmid,” said another young fel-> 
 low, a strapping Tyrone mountaineer, coming forward, “ but 
 wait till you hear mine.” 
 
 “ Ay ! ay !” said many voices, “ hear what Denny has to tell. 
 His is the worst of all.” 
 
 “ I had a kind loving mother once,” said the tall Rapparee in 
 a gloomy voice, “ and I had but her — we two were alone in the 
 world, and it’s little either of us cared for the world, so long as 
 we had one another. Well ! my poor mother was very fond of 
 her. beads and her prayers, and when I used to be away from 
 home she’d spend most of her time in a sort of a cave in the 
 hill-side where there was an altar made of clay with a big flag 
 over the top, where Mass was said of an odd time before day- 
 light in the morning when any priest came the way. There was 
 an old wooden cross up over the altar, you see, and my mother 
 and some others of the neighbors would go there when they 
 could to say their prayers on account of the cross and the altar 
 and Mass being said in it at times. But that didn’t last long, 
 for one of the black nebs* that lived almost in the door with us, 
 happened to find out the secret, and doesn’t he watch his oppor- 
 tunity till Mass was a-saying the next time, and then off he goes 
 to Castle-Stewart and brings a party of the red-coats and — and 
 they made a fire at the mouth of the cave — and smothered every 
 soul in it — ay ! priest, people, and all !” 
 
 He got over the last part of his recital with much difficulty, 
 
 * This name was often given by the Catholics of Ulster to the stern 
 Puritans their neighbors. 
 
TIIS CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 125 
 
 for the words were choking him, and when he had ended, he 
 clenched his ponderous fist and ground his teeth like a tiger 
 athirst for blood, then, as if unable to endure the sight of mortal 
 man, he turned and rushed into the depth of the forest. 
 
 “ Poor fellow !” said one of his comrades looking after him, 
 “ lie was away at the time with Sir Phelim’s army near Drogh- 
 eda.” 
 
 “ Great God ! how terrible — how piteous are these tales !” cried 
 Owen O’Neill, his features betraying the extent of that emotion 
 which he cared not to express ; “ was ever people so wronged, so 
 outraged as this V ’ 
 
 “ And remember what I told you at the start, General,” said 
 Donogh in a husky voice, “ that every one of us here has cre- 
 dentials from the enemy. You see now what kind they be, and 
 may guess from that what manner of soldiers the wood-kern 
 are, and why it is that they hate us as they do. We stink in 
 their nostrils, and no wonder. However, General, I think you 
 have heard enough to convince you that you may trust a Rap- 
 paree at any hour or in any place. Slieve Gullian there beyond 
 will move from its old stand before one of us betrays the cause.” 
 
 A deep murmur of applause now ran through the assembly, 
 and the very pikes on the men’s shoulders made a clatter by way 
 of accompaniment. 
 
 “ You have spoken only for the men, Captain,” said Judith 
 O’Cahan from her place beside her mother ; “ let me remind the 
 General that all these helpless females have similar tales to tell. 
 The daughters of the land are, it may be, the most aggrieved, in 
 that they must perish, these woful days, when deprived of their 
 natural protectors, and turned out on a bare, desolate country, 
 where those who would befriend them have not the power or the 
 means.” 
 
 “Ay,” said the old man Florry Muldoon, “just look at the 
 old madam, and think of what she was !” 
 
 “Let that pass, I pray you,” said Judith haughtily ; “ our 
 wrongs are known to General O’Neill, and we love not to hear 
 them told over !” 
 
 The pride of her princely lineage tinged the pale cheek of 
 O’Cahan’s daughter, and made her averse to have the dark pages 
 
126 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 of her house’s latter fortunes held up for the inspection of a 
 multitude. 
 
 This O’Neill saw, and he well understood the feeling. “ Friend 
 Donogh,” he said, hastily addressing the Captain, “ I am anxious 
 to learn what score you have against the Sassenach. You told 
 me but lately that I should one day know it all — is the time yet 
 come 
 
 This question produced a startling effect ou Donogh. The 
 blood rushed to his face, then back again to his heart, and left 
 him pale and livid as a corpse. A sudden faintness came over 
 him, too, and he grasped the arm of Angus Dhu who stood near 
 him at the moment. 
 
 “Poor boy! poor boy!” ejaculated Malachy, “there’s a weak- 
 ness coming over him — is there any water at hand 1” 
 
 “ Ay, oceans of it,” said Donogh, mastering himself by a vio- 
 lent effort, and no little amused by Malachy’s compassionate 
 demand for water ; “ were you wanting any I” Turning to O’Neill 
 before the slow organs of Malachy had prepared an answer, the 
 young man said : 
 
 “ Although I’d a’most as soon take the earth from over them 
 and leave all comers to look upon their mouldering remains as 
 to tell over the black, horrid murder of my nearest and dearest, 
 still, I’ll do it at your bidding, General O’Neill, to let you see 
 what devils in human form you have to deal with. You have 
 heard surely of Island Magee I” 
 
 “Heard of it, Donogh! ay, marry, have I — all Europe hath 
 rung with the name, and the horror of that massacre hath made 
 the blood in even royal veins to run cold — it moved the inmost 
 heart of Christendom.” 
 
 “ Well ! General, on that night of woe, I lost father and mother, 
 sisters and brothers — well nigh all I had in the world ” 
 
 “ Except one little bit of a gersha ,” said a voice from the out- 
 skirts of the crowd, “ and no thanks to the Sassum dergs if you 
 didn’t lose her, too.” 
 
 “ True for you, Shamus !” cried Donogh quickly, for the voice 
 was well known to him ; “ God knows, and I know, and Aileen 
 knows, too, who it was that saved her. That’s Sir Phelim’s 
 foster-brother, General,” dropping his voice to an under tone. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 127 
 
 * 
 
 “ And is he one of you 7” 
 
 “ Well, no, General, he never took the oath, nor nobody asked 
 him, but he comes and goes as he lists amongst us, for a truer 
 comrade or a braver soldier never shouldered a pike. You might 
 depend your life to him, though I don’t say but he has a little 
 coolness towards you on account of your stepping into Sir Phe- 
 lim's shoes. You might as well touch the apple of his eye as 
 touch his chief in aught.” 
 
 “No blame to him for that.” said Owen in the same low tone, 
 “ but,” raising his voice, “ you said most of your family were 
 slaughtered on that fatal night.” 
 
 “ I did, General, and though I say it myself, there wasn’t a 
 happier or a more united family from here to there, nor one more 
 comfortably situated — that is, for poor people — than Corny 
 Magee's /” He stopped — his voice was lost in choking sobs, but 
 any further words of his were superfluous at the moment, for, 
 at the mention of that name, so often told over in the sad story 
 of the massacre, a wild shout, a yell of execration for the per- 
 petrators of the black deed, burst from the war-like Rapparees, 
 making the rocks and the old woods ring again. Before the 
 sound had died away, Donogh sprang on a ledge of rock near 
 him, where the moonbeams shone full upon his light yet athletic 
 figure and his now strongly agitated countenance. Tearing off 
 the stripe of brown drugget from his arm, he held it up to the 
 view of all. 
 
 “ And there,” said he, “ mark those stains — they are the min- 
 gled blood of my parents — this was a piece of my mother’s 
 kirtle — it is now, and shall be to my latest breath, the badge of 
 my office as avenger of my race ! General, I pray you, excuse 
 me,” he said in a faint voice, as he reached his side again, amid 
 the oft-renewed groans of the fierce multitude, “ my heart is 
 oppressed, and my brain throbs as though it would burst my 
 head — I must e’en lay me down a brief space or the senses may 
 go from me entirely ! Angus, good boy, see if you can’t find 
 somewhat to offer the General in the way of eating or drinking !” 
 So saying, and leaning on the arm of Shamus, who had darted 
 through the crowd for the purpose, the young Captain withdrew 
 into the neighboring thicket, where his couch of heather had 
 
128 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 • 
 
 been spread by careful bands. After a few moments, Sbamns 
 came back, with the Captain’s orders for the men to betake 
 themselves to rest. A few minutes more and the moonlight 
 glade was as silent and lonely as though the Rapparees were 
 miles away. The women quickly followed the example of the 
 men, and betook themselves to the place set apart for their ac- 
 commodation, viz., a sort of sylvan saloon inclosed, where the 
 rocks and trees left it open, by a rude screen of wicker-work. 
 
 Before they retired, these amazons of the woods did not fail to 
 compliment the so-long expected leader, whose personal ap- 
 pearance and general demeanor they had been criticising amongst 
 themselves, “after the manner of women,” to his decided ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 General O’Neill was much too polite, and, we must add, too 
 devoted an admirer of the sex, to receive such a manifestation 
 with even a show of indifference, and the smiling condescension 
 wherewith he thanked his fair friends for the expression of 
 their good opinion quite won their hearts. There was not one 
 of them, matrons or maids, who would not have sworn on the 
 Book that fine summer night that Owen Roe would have the 
 country cleared of the foreigners in “ less than no time.” 
 
 But there were those who spoke or stirred not whose opinions 
 would have carried more weight, and when, last of all, Judith 
 offered her arm to her mother, without even a word of encour- 
 agement, he felt disappointed he scarce knew why. 
 
 “ Lady O’Cahan,” said he, approaching her with the most 
 profound respect, “it grieves me more than I can say to leave 
 you and fair Mistress Judith in such unsafe quarters.” 
 
 “ Say not unsafe, I pray you,” said Judith with the earnest- 
 ness which belonged to her character; “I tell you, we deem 
 ourselves as safe here, surrounded by these wild, outlawed men, 
 as we would under cover of my father’s ramparts in the days 
 when they were high and strong. There is not one of these 
 brave poor fellows that would not die to save us !” 
 
 “ They have been the best of friends to us,” muttered the aged 
 lady in her strange dreamy voice, “ an’ we ever come to have a 
 home, none of them shall want a shelter were they bann’d an 
 hundred times over.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 129 
 
 “ Heaven bless you, madam,” said Donogh coming forward, 
 “ it's well we know what’s in your heart for us, and sure you 
 needn’t make so much of the little we ever did for you — the black 
 stranger couldn’t do less, if he had e’er a heart within him ! 
 Well, General, I suppose you'd be wishful to get back now — it 
 will be broad day before we get to the Castle.” 
 
 “I want to lie down, daughter,” said the old woman faintly, 
 “ the old bones of me are tired — tired — oh ! age — old age, when 
 thou and poverty come together, ye are poor, poor mates — 
 poor, poor mates ! Fare thee well, Owen 0 Neill, and take an 
 old woman’s blessing.” 
 
 “ God and the saints protect thee,” whispered Judith, as she led 
 her mother back into the woods. “ Let me hear full soon of the 
 inauguration on Tulloghoge — an’ the clan will have it so, see that 
 you oppose it not. The 0 Neill , thou knowest, ever holdeth the 
 balance here in Ulster !” 
 
 
130 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 “ To the common people, 
 
 How he did seem to dive into their hearts, 
 
 With humble and familiar courtesy !” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 “ What fate imposes, men must needs abide ; 
 
 It boots not to resist both wind and tide.” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 A week or so after Owen Roe’s visit to the Brantree, a funeral 
 train was seen wending its way amongst the hills and hillocks of 
 that undulating district contiguous to old Eglish. The cortege 
 was long and imposing in its character, for the clansmen of Tyr- 
 Owen who bore the honored name of O’Neill were there in large 
 numbers, and the martial regularity of their step and the gay 
 costume so well known in the northern wars, gave a military air 
 to the procession ; but for the crowd of wailing women that fol- 
 lowed next to the bier, (a sort of two-wheeled car commonly 
 used then and long after by the peasantry,) one might have sup- 
 posed that the dead was one of the warriors. Few would have 
 guessed that it was the half-crazed “ Granny the gate”* whom 
 the O’Neills were bearing to her last resting-place amongst the 
 dust of her progenitors. Yet so it was, and the death of that 
 lonely old woman was sincerely mourned by the kind-hearted and 
 unsophisticated children of the soil who had done all that her 
 demented state would allow to make her last days comfortable. 
 
 * This custom of giving soubriquets from personal habits or pur- 
 suits has come down even to the present generation in the rural dis- 
 tricts of Ireland. It is clearly borrowed from our own “ Celtic 
 Tongue,” and has a strange sound in that imported from beyond the 
 Channel. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 131 
 
 And soon the procession was largely increased by many of the 
 outlawed tenants of the Brantree, anxious to pay their tribute of 
 respect to the blood that had filled the veins of Granny. Their 
 captain, however, was not to be seen, for, long before the hour 
 appointed for the funeral, he had gone in the train of Owen Roe 
 miles away on an exploring expedition. It so happened that 
 they reached the churchyard wall just as the gate was thrown 
 open to admit her who had so long kept 'watch and ward thereat. 
 Alighting from their horses, they followed the funeral into the 
 graveyard, and strangely enough, from the moment the gate 
 was opened, the low tinkling of a bell was heard distinctly, fall- 
 ing soft and silvery on the ear like the voices of long-departed 
 friends heard in dreams of night. The cry of the keeners was 
 instantly hushed, and the clansmen bowed their heads to listen. 
 
 “ Now, General,” whispered the Rapparee Captain, “ what did 
 I tell you — you believe my word now, do you not V* 
 
 “It is very strange,” replied O’Neill, musingly. “ But,” he 
 added, speaking to himself in an under tone, “ supernatural 
 agency is out of the question — a mystery there must be in it, 
 and I would I might fathom it.* It sounds like a church-bell,” 
 he said to Donogh ; “ hark !” 
 
 “It is even so, noble sir, and we simple country folk take it 
 for a warning to be mindful of God’s service, I-n days when 
 there were no priests to be had here — even worse times than our 
 own — they tell me that that was the meaning the people took 
 from the sound of these- churchyard bells, and hearing them 
 they thought of the Church and the Holy Mass and the Priest in 
 his robes, and they promised to be always faithful to religion, 
 and to do what it taught them, and they looked forward to bet- 
 ter days to come.f God knows where the sound comes from !” 
 he added, with the simple earnestness of a believer. 
 
 * Let no proud skeptic scoff at these innocent traditions and soul- 
 soothing superstitions, peculiar to a faithful, unsophisticated people, 
 circumstanced as our pious forefathers were. They are the super- 
 stitions of a Christian nation, long ground down by the persecuting 
 arm of heresy. 
 
 t The story current amongst the peasantry is that some venturous 
 
132 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Meanwhile the interment proceeded, and while the nearest 
 relations of the deceased were filling up the grave, the solemn 
 and sweet tinkling of the invisible bell formed a strange accom- 
 paniment to the dull, heavy sound of the earth falling on the 
 rough coffin. 
 
 Superstition had but little hold on the mind of Owen Roe, and 
 yet the tinkling of that churchyard bell made no slight impres- 
 sion upon him, and came often on his ear in after years amid 
 the roar of battle and the deafening crash of artillery. 
 
 When the last shovelful of earth was laid on the grave the 
 knell ceased, and each having breathed a short prayer for the 
 eternal repose of poor Granny, quitted the churchyard in silence, 
 leaving the lone old watcher of the gate to sleep her last sleep 
 in peace. Once outside the gate, the presence of Owen Roe was 
 noticed by a wild cheer of joyous recognition, and the clansmen, 
 supposing him to be there through respect for the old blood, 
 pressed eagerly forward to shake hands and express their un- 
 bounded satisfaction. And the new-made general, the foreign 
 officer of rank, exchanged a courteous greeting with each, and 
 received their gratulations with evident pleasure, well pleased, as 
 he said, to shake the hands that were to aid in working out the 
 deliverance of their country. He was glad to make the ac- 
 quaintance of so many of his kith and kin,” as he adroitly 
 phrased it. 
 
 When Sir Phelim heard of his kinsman’s appearance at, what 
 would now be considered a pauper funeral, he burst into a loud 
 laugh, and declared that Red Owen must be mad — mad as a 
 March hare. When a few days had past, and Shamus came to 
 tell him that he heard of nothing wherever he went but the 
 goodness of Owen Roe and the gra he had for the old stock, 
 and how he showed it more in the little time he was among 
 them than others that were bred and born on the spot and had 
 a better right to look after the people. 
 
 persons in after times, seeking to find out the secret of “ the under- 
 ground bell,” dug up the consecrated earth till they came upon it, 
 and lo ! what should it be but the bell of a neighboring monastery, 
 buried there ages before, during the spoliation following on the Re- 
 formation. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 133 
 
 “ Didn’t I tell you now,” added Shamus with a sagacious and 
 exulting nod, “ didn’t I tell you the gentleman from abroad 
 wasn’t so mad as you thought in regard to the funeral 1 Take 
 my word for it, Sir Phelim, he’s as sharp and as cute a man as 
 ever stepped in shoe leather. He never does anything without 
 knowing w r ell, well what he’s about.” 
 
 “ I wish he was in Flanders back again!” said Sir Phelim 
 in a petulant tone, which made his foster-brother laugh. 
 
 “ He’s not, then, nor won't be, so we must only make, the 
 best of it, and not be fretting about what can’t be helped. But 
 listen hither, chief!” and Shamus drawing near, stood up on his 
 toes (for his stature, as his sobriquet of beg implied, was some- 
 what of the shortest) to whisper in Sir Phelim's ear : “ I’m 
 afeard they’ll be for making him the O’Neill !” 
 
 “ They dare not !” cried the chief with one of those sudden 
 fits or bursts of anger to which be was subject ; “ they dare not, 
 ingrates as they are !” 
 
 “ I tell you they will dare, and that before long !” 
 
 “ By the shrine of Ardmacha an’ they do, I will — I will — ” 
 
 “ You will — what V’ 
 
 “ Kill all before me — I will, by the holy rood !” 
 
 “ Ha ! ha ! ha ! that sounds well, my chief,” said the privi- 
 leged foster-brother, and, were this foreign O’Neill not to the fore, 
 you might get the better of them, but what do you think he and 
 all the others would be doing while you’d be killing ? No, no, 
 Sir Phelim dear, think better of it, and you will see that the 
 only way for you to hold your own is to keep cool and quiet — ■ 
 as quiet as a cat watching a mouse, and rub people down as 
 smoothly as Owen Roe does. Humor them in little things, and 
 they’ll give you your own way in great things.” 
 
 “ I’d scorn it, Shamus,” said Sir Phelim vehemently ; “ I’d 
 scorn to make so little of myself. Even to keep the power 
 and the name I wouldn’t do it — I leave such tricks to this 
 Spanish-Irish cousin of mine. But in the matter of the chief- 
 tainship, I tell you, Shamus O’Hagan, that I’d sooner they’d cut 
 off this right arm of mine than give him that title — him a for- 
 eigner and — a bastard !” 
 
 Whisht, whisht, Sir Phelim, darling,” said Shamus anxiously, 
 
134 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and in a whisper; “ for the love of God don’t say the like of that 
 — they'll — they’ll — oh, Mother of God ! they’ll do everything — 
 they’ll have your life !” 
 
 “ My life !” repeated the chief scornfully ; “ let them try it — 
 I should like to see them ! — but an’ they did seek my life, in 
 the foulness of their ingratitude, they might, perchance, have it 
 — but the title of O’Neill — the headship of the clan — never, never, 
 never — so help me Heaven and this strong right arm ! — let the 
 spawn of a bastard breed look to it ! Low, indeed, were the 
 chieftainship of Tyr-Owen fallen when it rested on the shoulders 
 of Owen Mac Art!” 
 
 “ God and the Kinel-Ovven will decide that !’’ 
 
 “Eh, what 7 ? — did you speak, Shamus V' cried Sir Plielim 
 with a start. 
 
 “ Is it I, Sir Plielim 1 — why, no, I didn’t — the Lord save us !” 
 and Shamus stood with open mouth, and a comical expression 
 of wonder on his broad face, looking hither and thither and all 
 around, but no human being save themselves two was visible in 
 the close paddock where Shamus was training a promising young 
 colt as a war-steed for his chief. The place was surrounded by 
 a high stone wall, here and there overhung by hawthorn and 
 elder bushes, and Sir Phelim darted off in one direction to see 
 whether the bushes contained an eaves-dropper, while Shamus, 
 letting go the halter, left Brian Boromhe to kick up his heels 
 and enjoy a canter round the paddock, while he scrambled to 
 the top of the wall to make a survey of the premises. But nor 
 man nor woman, beast or bird was discovered by either, save 
 only a solitary magpie sitting far up on the topmost bough of a 
 tall beeeli-tree, which in beauty and in breadth graced a corner 
 of the enclosure. 
 
 “ I’ll tell you what it is, Sir Phelim,” said the foster-brother, as 
 the two stood together again, panting and sweating after their 
 fruitless chase, “ if I had a gun loaded with a piece of silver, I’d 
 shoot that devil of a mag, for I’d almost swear it was it that 
 spoke, and you know” — lowering his voice — “ the witches are 
 as plenty as blackberries round here. I’ll go bail now if one 
 could only bring dow r n that unlucky bird, it would turn into an 
 ill-favored old hag. There’s plenty of them, between ourselves, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 135 
 
 that have no liking for your four hones, God forgive them ! But 
 think no more about it, Sir Phelim dear ! just watch now how 
 beautifully I’ll bring this fellow to his knees — when he gets the 
 word you’ll see he’ll pop down all as one as a Christian !” 
 
 “ You’ll do what all the Danes in Ireland weren’t able to do, 
 then,” observed Sir Phelim, with an attempt at pleasantry all 
 unusual with him. 
 
 “What is that, Sir Phelim'?” asked honest Shamus, whose 
 faculties were never of the sharpest. 
 
 “ Why, you say you can bring Brian Boromhe to his knee, 
 and that’s more than they could do with all the power they had 
 — but there’s Thorlogh making signs to me from the gate — now 
 look to it, Shamus, that you go not blabbing amongst the neigh- 
 bors in regard to what has passed.” 
 
 “ I’ll make no promise of the kind,” said Shamus gruffly as 
 he turned away ; “I’d thank people to keep their advice for 
 them that needs it.” 
 
 But Sir Phelim was already out of hearing, and Shamus was 
 alone with Brian Boromhe and the magpie, who indubitably 
 kept her perch for no good, as Shamus thought, and her perse- 
 vering chatter gave him no little annoyance, as might be seen 
 by the uneasy glances which he threw in her direction from time 
 to time, muttering to himself certain objurgations not very 
 complimentary dither to magpies or old women, between whom 
 Shamus had established a connection in his own mind, based on 
 the supposition already hinted at. 
 
 From his brother Sir Phelim learned that a tumult had arisen 
 amongst the soldiers in his Castle of Dungannon which only his 
 own presence could quell. Carefully keeping the secret from 
 Owen Roe, to whose arrival he at once attributed this commotion, 
 the impetuous knight set out in a towering passion for Dun- 
 gannon, with Shamus and some score or two of his followers. 
 
 The waning moon was near her setting and the dawn close at 
 hand when the trumpet announced the chiefs return to Charle- 
 mont. It was remarked by those who gave him admission that 
 there was a ghastly paleness on his usually florid countenance, 
 and a nervous tremor in his voice and manner, all of which led 
 to the supposition that things had not gone well with the sturdy 
 
136 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 kniglit at Dungannon. On questioning his attendants, however, 
 this notion was found erroneous, for, on the contrary, Shamus 
 and his fellows gave a most satisfactory account of their lord’s 
 demeanor — unusually firm and self-possessed, his passion at the 
 start notwithstanding — and of the little trouble he had had in 
 bringing the men to subjection. What, then, must have caused 
 the unaccountable change in Sir Phelim’s manner, the strange 
 depression, the wild restlessness of look and gesture ? Many a 
 question was put to Shamus on the subject, but Shamus either 
 knew, or affected to know nothing of it. 
 
 The surprise oi the garrison was at its height when it became 
 known that Sir Phelim ha 1 sent messengers out the first thing 
 in the morning to summon the clansmen to a meeting within the 
 week at Tulloglioge, on a day and hour specified, to transfer the 
 chief power of the sept to Owen Roe O’Neill. The latter had 
 hardly completed his brief soldierly toilet 'when he was invited 
 to walk abroad with the chief, and could scarce believe his ears 
 when Sir Phelim, with that grim courtesy which he well knew 
 how to assume at times, addressed him in this wise : 
 
 “ I wish to inform you, General O’Neill, that before the week 
 is out you may expect a change here of some importance — to all 
 of us !” 
 
 “ Of what nature, may I ask 
 
 “Of a nature, General Owen, to elevate your social standing 
 by more than a cubit’s length, and lower mine in a like mea- 
 sure.” This was said with a bitterness that could not escape the 
 other’s penetration. He probably suspected what it meant, but 
 chose to affect ignorance. 
 
 “ An’ you favor me no ; '. with some further enlightenment, 
 cousin mine, I can by no means fathom your meaning.” 
 
 “ I did not think you had been so dull, you Spanish-Flemish- 
 Irislimen.” 
 
 “ Nay, Sir Phelim,” said Owen somewhat haughtily, “ I came 
 hither at your request, apparently to receive some intelligence 
 at your hands, an’ you choose to keep it to yourself, do so in 
 God’s name, but spare your taunts — they are unworthy a chief- 
 tain and a gentleman.” 
 
 The lofty air with which Owen spoke was not without its effect 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 137 
 
 on Sir Phelim, and his own weaker, although more blustering, 
 nature involuntarily gave way before it. 
 
 “ When you are called upon, General O’Neill,” he said in a 
 subdued tone, “ to receive, a few days hence, the highest honor in 
 Clan Owen’s gift, say not that Phelim O’Neill kept you in the 
 dark concerning it !” 
 
 Without another word he walked away, leaving his kinsman 
 at a loss to understand what powerful agency it was, that had 
 brought him to such a frame of mind. 
 
 During the next three days Owen had little opportunity of ob- 
 serving the workings of his kinsman’s mind, and at the end of 
 that time half a dozen gentlemen of the O’Neills came in form to 
 the Castle to announce the sovereign will of the Clan Owen in re- 
 gard to this new and stately branch of the family tree. He was 
 to repair, on the following day at high noon, to the royal rath of 
 Tulloghoge, there to receive the insignia of power and the hom- 
 age of the sons of Nial. Sir Phelim, too, was summoned, but he 
 flatly refused to go, saying that he washed his hands of them 
 •and their affairs from that day out. Tirlogh, on the contrary, 
 intimated in his usual gruff way his intention of being present. 
 
 “ I’ll break your neck an’ you do,” cried Phelim, with sudden 
 passion, and he shook his clenched fist at him. 
 
 “That would be no so easy matter, rhelim,” replied the 
 younger brother with a grim smile; “ however, an’ you wish me 
 not to go, then go I won’t, for, let who may have the white wand, 
 you’ll still be my chief, anyhow — interlopers may come with 
 their treacherous smiles and undermine you in the love and 
 affection of your people, but, by the shield of Eoghan More, 
 there shall be one man of your clan who will never bow to an- 
 other O'Neill while the pulse beats in your heart, old fellow !” 
 
 These bursts of fraternal affection were so strong on the part 
 of Tirlogh, that when circumstances brought one out, all present 
 were more or less touched, and the fierce clansman himself was 
 so moved on the present occasion that he aro^e, kicked his seat 
 out of the way, and rushed from the room, leaving Sir Phelim 
 with a countenance of comical distress, as though he could hardly 
 restrain his tears, but fain would appear to laugh, and treat the 
 matter as a joke. Genuine, unsophisticated feeling is ever sure 
 
138 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 to command respect, and notwithstanding the ludicrous gestures 
 of the rough chieftain in trying to conceal his emotion there was 
 not one of the spectators disposed to laugh. As for Owen he 
 arose from his seat with a face expressive of the kindliest feel- 
 ing, and crossing the floor to where his kinsman sat, he grasped 
 his hand in silence. Nor was honest Phelim insensible to this 
 delicate expression of sympathy, for he returned the friendly 
 pressure and with a quivering lip articulated some words of 
 gratitude. 
 
 At last the hour arrived when Owen Roe attired for the occa- 
 sion in the full costume of a Celtic chieftain, such as we saw 
 him wear on his journey from the coast, but that now the Span- 
 ish hat was replaced by the national barradh — was conducted by 
 the chief men of the clan to the seat of royalty on the rath 
 of Tulloghoge, and the Kinel-Owen, the stout gallowglass and 
 the hardy kern, were ranged around in a vast circle, the inner 
 ring of which was composed of the old men of the sept, fathers 
 in their generation. Behind and on either side the newly-elect- 
 ed chief, were grouped the various chiefs tributary to the house 
 of Nial, some of them, however, represented by their proxies ; 
 and O’llanlon, the hereditary marshal of the Hy-Nial princes, 
 stepped forth and placed in the hand of Owen the w’hitewand of 
 power and laid upon his shoulders the scarlet cloak of royalty, 
 and the princes and the warriors and the aged men bowed down 
 "before him, and hailed him as chief of the Kinel-Owen. Strange 
 to say, amongst the chiefs was seen Sir Phelim of Kinard, but 
 he bowed not with the rest, nor did homage at all, other than 
 by advancing when the ceremony was over and shaking the new 
 chief by the hand. At this sight a wild, enthusiastic cheer burst 
 from the multitude, and rang through the grand old forest — that 
 cheer was for Sir Phelim O’Neill, and such a cheer had his name 
 never before drawn forth even in the hey-day of his power. It 
 was the expression of popular admiration for this unexpected 
 and graceful display of generosity. Truly it was marvellous, all 
 things considered. 
 
 Of all the sons of the Kinel-Owen there assembled, not one 
 knew the secret of Sir Phelim’s abdication, as it might be called. 
 Shamus Beg was the only mortal to whom it had ever been re- 
 
TELE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 139 
 
 vealed, and that with an injunction of inviolable secrecy. Little 
 did any of the clansmen t^ink that it was the Green Lady who 
 had wrought the wondrous change when, on his moonlight jour- 
 ney from Dungannon, she met him at a cross-road where he 
 stopped to await his followers who had fallen a little behind, and 
 charged him in her deep sepulchral voice to resign the chief power 
 immediately in favor of Owen Roe, under pain of the most fear- 
 ful penalty. 
 
140 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 “ Shall we resign 
 
 Our hopes, renounce our rights, forget our wrongs, 
 
 Because an impotent lip beneath a crown 
 Cries, * Be it so V ” 
 
 Sir A. Hunt. 
 
 “ All thj|t the mind would shrink from of excesses, 
 
 All that the body perpetrates of bad, 
 
 All that we read, hear, dream, of man’s distresses, 
 
 All that the devil would do, if run staik mad — 
 
 Was here let loose.” 
 
 Byron’s Don Juan. 
 
 Leaving Owen Roe for a brief space to the arduous duties of 
 his new office, and the great work of organizing such an army 
 as he wished to have out of the raw levies sent by the different 
 chiefs, we will, with the reader’s good leave, take a passing 
 glance at the ancient City of the Tribes, the grand old Queen of 
 the West. In all Ireland there was neither town nor city which 
 had borne more or done more for the national cause than Gal- 
 way of the Normans during the short time which had elapsed 
 since her brave people were driven into open rebellion. What 
 with the cold temporizing policy of their powerful neighbor 
 Clanrickarde, who was governor of the city and county, and the 
 ruthless persecution of young Willoughby, the commander of the 
 fort, the tribes of Galway, thoroughly Catholic as i^y were, had 
 no easy card to play. The insurrection had made considerable 
 progress in almost every other part of the kingdom before Gal- 
 way raised the standard of revolt, and this backwardness was 
 owing, not to any indifference on the part of the inhabitants, or 
 any want of sympathy with their brethren in other parts, but 
 solely because of the wily machinations and insidious policy of 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 141 
 
 “ the great Earl,” as those of his vicinity were wont to call him. 
 The almost canine ferocity of Willoughby, and his diabolical ha- 
 tred of everything Catholic, rendered him the scourge of the 
 city, and placed him in open antagonism with the people even 
 when the influence of Lord Clanrickarde maintained a superficial 
 peace. But fierce passions and strong prejudices (not to speak 
 of righteous desires or fixed principles) were at work beneath 
 the upper surface, and Galway was, as Clanrickarde well knew, 
 in the condition of a mine which needed but a match to blow it 
 into combustion. Every few days, or at most, every few weeks, 
 little explosions were taking place in various parts of the city 
 and its vicinity, which, though amounting to little in themselves, 
 were quite sufficient to alarm the ever-watchful loyalty of Clan- 
 rickarde. In fact that nobleman was kept in a most unenviable 
 state of excitement, ever fearing, and with reason, a tremendous 
 outbreak on the part of the citizens, and never able to rely 
 upon Willoughby who only kept faith with Papists for just so 
 long as it suited his purpose. In the endless difficulties which 
 arose between the city and the fort, Clanrickarde was of course 
 the umpire, and it often happened that he was hardly settled 
 within the strong walls of Oranmore or Clare-Galway,* after 
 bringing these unmanageable neighbors to terms, when presto ! 
 came a message from the city complaining of some new insult 
 on the part of the governor, or vice versa. Now it was that the 
 soldiers in the fort above had been amusing themselves throwing 
 shell and shot into the city to the great danger and serious de- 
 triment of the citizens ; St. Nicholas’ Church, or St. Francis’, or 
 St. Augustine’s had been grievously injured by the wanton fire 
 from the fort, or perchance some of the wives or daughters of 
 the townsmen had been kidnapped and otherwise ill-treated by 
 the soldiers. Again it was Willoughby who lodged the complaint 
 that the turbulent townsmen had cut off his supplies and .refused 
 to let his men pass through their limits. Sorely puzzled was 
 Uiick Burke, with all his skill in strategy, to preserve even a 
 
 * Two of the principal fortresses of the De Burgos. Oranmore is 
 situate ou a peninsula, or rather promontory, stretching far out into the 
 beautiful bay of Galway. 
 
142 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 show of peace between such refractory neighbors, and there were 
 times when he was strongly tempted to throw up his office in 
 disgust. But, alas ! who then would keep the sturdy Galway men 
 to their good behavior, and with bit and bridle bind their jaws 
 for the safety of the king’s lieges ? Who but he could in any 
 way control them, and in case he withdrew from his onerous post 
 what was to keep them from joining the rebels ? So reasoned 
 Ulick Burke, and with the spirit of a martyr he resolved to bear 
 all things rather than yield such a triumph to the enemy. So 
 long as Willoughby had the best of the quarrel, and that they 
 could, between them, keep the bold spirit of the townspeople 
 within bounds, all was well, but the bare possibility of seeing the 
 Confederate colors flying from the high places of the old town 
 was gall and wormwood to “ the white-livered De Burgo,” as his 
 fellow-Catholics were wont to style him. Not his the heart to 
 glory in the noble spirit oozing out day by day from the pores of 
 the fair city, the patriotism which not all his power, backed by 
 the tyranny of Willoughby, could entirely repress, and the chi- 
 valrous deeds achieved within and about the city for the sacred 
 cause of liberty and religion. With Clanrickarde, the gallant 
 band of young men who boarded and captured that English ship 
 in Galway Bay to the great advantage of their party were noth ■ 
 ing better than marauders, the O'Flaherties, and the Condons, and 
 many another warlike sept who were up in arms for God and 
 the right were “pestilent rebels” well worth a hempen coid 
 every man of them. Oh ! Ulick Burke ! great wert thou and 
 esteemed wise of men in thy generation, yet fool that thou wert, 
 in thy mistaken loyalty, thou didst lick the hand that smote thee, 
 and fawn on those who thirsted for the blood of thy best and 
 truest friends, the priests and prelates of that Church which thou 
 didst wrongfully call mother ! Ulick Burke of Clanrickarde ! a 
 fearful load hast thou on thy soul against the great day of reck- 
 oning, oh thou ! who might have done much to succor those who 
 struggled to the death against oppression and intolerance, but 
 instead thereof didst lend thy powerful aid to the tyrant and the 
 persecutor ! The Church, thy poor outraged suffering mother, 
 judged thee in thy day, and Christ her spouse judged thee beyond 
 the grave according to thy deserts, let us then spare our indig- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 143 
 
 cation, and endeavor to write and read thine acts with pa-tience. 
 Pity we may not afford to such a man for he chose his path with 
 his eyes open and walked his tortuous way regardless alike of 
 admonition, threat or censure, ay ! even the dread censures of 
 the Church ! 
 
 On a certain night about the end of July of that year of 1642, 
 a stranger of noble presence arrived at the Castle of Oranmore 
 in the questionable disguise of a boatman from the Claddagh 
 shore opposite. Some half dozen of those brave fellows had 
 ferried him over, and woe betide the “ covenanting carl” who 
 dared to question the identity of any one in their company. For- 
 tunately, however, none such were to be found in that vicinity, 
 and Clanrickarde’s followers were too well accustomed to the 
 unceremonious visits of the Claddagh men to refuse free ingress 
 to any of their number. Assuming th§ rough and somewhat 
 discourteous manner of the fishermen, the stranger in question 
 told his comrades to remain in the courtyard “ till he’d give his 
 message to the great Earla." 
 
 “ By the shield of Clanrickarde !” said a burly Connemara 
 man, who, with a score or so others of the Earl’s retainers, was 
 lounging about the courtyard, “ by the shield of Clanrickarde, 
 boys, that comrade of yours is more of a land-lubber than I ever 
 thought to see a Claddagh man. I wouldn’t give a traneen for 
 all the fish he ever took.” 
 
 “ Husht!” said another, “maybe it’s the admiral he’d be!” 
 
 “ You're no conjurer anyhow,” observed one of the fishermen 
 
 “ Why not, ma bouchal V' laughed the good-humored moun- 
 taineer. 
 
 “ Why, because if you were, you’d never make such a guess 
 as that. Our admiral’s face tells its own story wherever he 
 goes, and with God’s help he'll never be taken for a land-lubber. 
 No, no” — and approaching closer to the group of soldiers, he. 
 lowered his voice almost to a whisper — “ there’s one in his coat,” 
 pointing over his shoulder to the door by which the strange* 
 had entered the Castle, “ that’s far above the admiral.” 
 
 Sundry exclamations of surprise followed this speech. “What! 
 above the admiral !” .cried the man who had first spoken, “ and 
 a Claddagh boy says it V* 
 
144 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ He must be a priest,” observed a wiseacre, whose word was 
 law amongst his comrades. 
 
 “ Higher than that,” the fisherman replied, shaking his head. 
 
 “ Good Lord ! can he be a bishop 
 
 “ Have a care what you say, Evven!” whispered one of his 
 comrades to him who had last spoken. 
 
 “Never mind,” cried several of the others, “if there’s a place 
 in Ireland’s ground these evil days where that name is sacred, 
 it is here— here" — aud he stamped his foot on the old pavement ; 
 “ the De Burgo may join hands with the bloody sassum an’ it 
 lists him, but those who follow his banner have a spirit above 
 such meanness, as he may find some day to his cost !” 
 
 “ Well said, Terence,” responded a gigantic halberdier from 
 Joyce’s country; “so long as we’re only teaching manners to 
 the proud Normans of the town abroad Phil Joyce is both ready 
 and willing, for God sees we owe them many a grudge — but when 
 it comes to pointing as much as a finger at the Catholic army, 
 God’s blessing be with it ! oh ! faith, I’d as soon turn on the old 
 mother at home — I’m thinking it’s backwards our arms would 
 work — a wow !” 
 
 “ An’ he be a bishop,” said one of the soldiers, “ you’ve a right 
 to let us know, Shan !” addressing one of the boatmen, “ for 
 sure you know well enough it’s not often we have the chance of 
 seeing one here — that is, of late days, since Ulick More began 
 his colloguing with the devil’s chickens !” 
 
 “ Sure we knew you’d be overjoyed to hear it,” the Claddagh 
 
 man made answer, “ an’ that he'd be as safe among you as ” 
 
 “ As he’d be in the Claddagh, Shan,” put in' the tall Joyce 
 countryman, “ an’ that’s as much as I could say.” 
 
 Meanwhile an interview of a far different kind was going on 
 within the Castle. In a circular chamber occupying the second 
 floor «*f one of the turrets, Clanrickarde stood with reverent mien 
 in the presence of that mysterious boatman who occupied a seat 
 near the centre of the room. It was strange to see the haughty 
 Palatine in scarlet doublet and silken hose, bowing down before 
 the wild-looking fisherman in the brown linsey-woolsey tunic 
 and truis of the same rude texture, as the latter raised his hand 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 145 
 
 with a menacing air and knit his shaggy brows till the fiery orbs 
 they shaded were only visible by their light. 
 
 “Curse me not, good my lord!” said De Burgo soothingly; 
 “ bethink thee enough of that hath been done ere now !” 
 
 “ I would curse the father who begot me, did he stand in thy 
 shoes, Ulick Burke,” the visitor replied with stern emphasis, 
 rising to his feet at the same time ; “ yea, were that father 
 whom I loved and honored to play into the hands of God’s 
 enemies as thou dost, and lend them help to trample down still 
 lower those of his own faith, nay, to crush them as vile worms, 
 I would hold him as an enemy, and avoid speech of him as I 
 will henceforth do in regard to thee — an’ there come not a change 
 in thy words and a.tions !” 
 
 “ That may never be, then, my Lord Archbishop,” said Clan- 
 rickarde proudly ; “no power on earth could draw me aside from 
 
 the allegiance due to my lawful prince ” 
 
 “Fool! fool!” cried the excited prelate, “what of the alle- 
 giance thou owest to God — the King of kings V' 
 
 “ I serve Him when I serve the ruler He hath placed over me,” 
 Clanrickarde replied coldly. 
 
 “ But who is to judge how that matter stands 'l Tell me, Lord 
 of Clanrickarde, is it not the spiritual rulers of God’s people — 
 
 the ministers of fts altars — the expounders of His will 1 ” 
 
 “ I know not that — in this case.” 
 
 “ I tell thee, my lord earl, it is so in every case — ay, marry, 
 and thou knowest it, too ! — woe — woe unspeakable to the man 
 who, professing the Catholic faith, wilfully closes his ears to the 
 counsels and admonitions of the Church ! But time is precious 
 and other duties call me hence ! W e may meet no more on 
 earth, Earl of Clanrickarde, but I would not willingly give thee 
 up as lost — thou on whom we so much relied — thou who hast 
 the power to lend a hand to thy oppressed fellow-Catholics — say, 
 oh say, wilt thou not aid us in our struggle for liberty — for 
 liberty, nay ! for life — wilt thou not, oh chief of the Clan Rick- 
 ard 7 ? — 'nay, nay, thou wilt not refuse a prince of the Church 
 suing to thee thus lowly on behalf of an oppressed people — nay, 
 nay, thou canst not !” And seizing both the Earl’s hands the 
 prelate leaned forward and peered with his keen dark eyes into 
 17 
 
146 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 the half-averted face of De Burgo, as though seeking to read 
 the answer there. 
 
 Coldly, and with little or no emotion, Clanrickarde made answer : 
 “ I have sworn allegiance to King Charles, and while breath is 
 in my body I mean to keep it inviolate. I pray you, good my 
 lord, trouble me no more, but take this as my final answer.” 
 
 “ And thou still persistest in keeping aloof from our Confedera- 
 tion, and taking counsel of our enemies V ’ 
 
 “ I do, so help me God ! and in my poor judgment even your 
 grace might do well to follow my example. It ill becometh the 
 prelates or pastors of the Church to preach rebellion !” 
 
 “ Silence, man !” said the prelate suddenly, and with such 
 vehemence that Clanrickarde started and drew back a pace ; 
 “ silence, I say ! dare not to utter such words in my presence ! — 
 traitor to God and His holy Church, faithless, cold-blooded, time- 
 serving Christian, dare not to dictate to the hierarchy of this 
 martyr-nation. I tell thee, proud minion of a deceitful prince, 
 friend and ally of the murderer Willoughby, that the rudest 
 kerne who follows the standard of the Catholic army is worth a 
 thousand such as thee for all thy pompous titles, and the God 
 whom he serves, and for whom he sheds his blood, will exalt 
 him in the latter day, when thou shalt be like^Judas ‘ in thy ap- 
 pointed place.’ I say not where that place will be — it is for 
 thee to look to it. Fare thee well, lord, when next we meet it 
 may be on the field of battle— — ” 
 
 “ Good Heavens, your grace cannot mean that you would per- 
 sonally take up arms V’ cried Clanrickarde following to the door. 
 
 “ That do I mean and nought else. When such as thou ae- 
 sertest thy rightful post, even such as I must advance into the 
 gap. Pray Heaven it be my lot to fall in a cause so holy and so 
 j ust — but, alas ! I am not worthy of the martyr’s crown — poor, 
 frail, sinful man that I am !” 
 
 Mastering himself with that facility which grew out of long 
 habit, Clanrickarde hastened after the prelate, praying him to 
 partake of some refreshment. 
 
 “ Not a mouthful,” he replied, “ not a mouthful of meat or 
 drink that belongs to thee shall ever cross my lips — no, no ; I 
 will sup at the Clad lagh on fish and oaten cake with a draught 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 147 
 
 of water — thy wines and viands were poison to me — and, more- 
 over, Ulick ! no Christian may eat or drink within thy walls from 
 this time forward — by a statute of the Council of Kilkenny, as 
 thou knowest, any one aiding or abetting the enemy doth by 
 his own act incur the penalty of excommunication. Mayhap 
 thou knowest not that V’ he added with bitter irony. 
 
 “ I knew it,” the Earl replied, “and am much surprised at 
 the uncharitable rashness of those who deal so freely in anethe- 
 
 mas — shining lights they are truly ! ” 
 
 “ May God enlighten your eyes, anyhow,” said the Archbishop 
 as he stepped into the court and beckoned to his trusty CJad- 
 dagh men — “ blinder art thou than the bat that wings his cir- 
 cling flight at eve around these towers !” 
 
 “ God help me !” muttered the Earl to himself as he saw his 
 men bowing down on either side to crave the blessing which 
 the good prelate, seeing himself discovered, was not slow 
 in bestowing ; “ God help me, even mine own retainers have 
 little heart for the service put upon them in these evil times. 
 See how reverently they bow to that seditious prelate — a plague 
 on them for sea-bears that brought him thither, they must be 
 pretty sure of these fellows of mine when they let them so easily 
 into the secret — still I know not but it may be as well. Oh ! that 
 I could weed such noxious plants out of our hierarchy, then 
 would the flame of rebellion soon die out in the land !” 
 
 Of this there was little likelihood so long as the agents of the 
 turbulent and intolerant English Parliament were sent in the 
 king’s name into Ireland with ample powers to do what mischief 
 they could, in short to kill and destroy indiscriminately not only 
 all that bore the name of Irish, but such of the English as did 
 not immediately attach themselves to them. In accordance with 
 the policy carried out by the Lords Justices from the very begin- 
 ning, all manner of cruelty and injustice was exercised towards 
 the people of the country, evidently with the intention of foment- 
 ing a rebellion so lucrative to those righteous rulers. Thus 
 Monroe, Stewart, Montgomery, and their confreres in the north, 
 Coote and Inchiquin, Cork and Broghill in the other provinces, 
 and, though last not least, Willoughby in Galway, carried on the 
 war in the true "Spirit of extermination, sparing neither age, sex, 
 
148 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. ' 
 
 nor condition. Now tlie sole object Clanrickarde had in view 
 was what he called “ putting down the rebellion and restoring 
 peace to the country.” and in this he was foiled at every turn 
 by the (to him) unaccountable aggressions of Willoughby. No 
 sooner had he, with infinite trouble, patched up some venomous 
 quarrel between Willoughby and the incensed Catholics, than 
 the former, without any known reason, issued out upon the adja- 
 cent country, robbing and murdering all before him, and spread- 
 ing ruin and desolation wherever he went, or, perchance, on the 
 most trivial pretext, discharging fire and shot into the town 
 below, sometimes for a whole day without intermission, until 
 the burghers were roused to fury and ready to risk all in an 
 attack on the fort. News of these things reaching the Earl at 
 Oranmore (for he was fain to keep near the city), post haste 
 he went to accommodate matters once again, cursing in his 
 heart the brutal ally whom the fates had given him in his gov- 
 ernment, and Willoughby, in return, hated Clanrickarde as he 
 bated all who bore the name of Catholic, and slily laughed in 
 his sleeve at the notion of the great De Burgo being his hench- 
 man to command, and a right useful tool for all purposes. Not 
 content, however, with thwarting the wily statesman in his 
 pacific endeavors, good Captain Willoughby sent off a secret 
 dispatch to the Parliament in London to have an auxiliary sent 
 him on whose aid he knew he could well rely in forcing the 
 “ over-patient asses of Galway to gallop off into open rebellion, 
 the which would better agree with the malice of their hearts 
 than this sneaking hang-dog pace at which they were kept, 
 forsooth, by Clanrickarde’s bridle.” 
 
 With this laudable intent, then, Willoughby’s “ familiar” sum- 
 moned came, in the person of an English admiral, Lord Forbes 
 by name, with an entire fleet at his command. Early in the 
 month of August the good people of Galway town, the bay 
 shores and the islands were astounded by this unlooked-for and 
 most unwelcome apparition, and none more so than Lord Clan- 
 rickarde, who felt hurt and offended that such a step had been 
 taken without consulting him as governor of the county. He 
 immediately sent to ascertain the admiral’s intentions and re- 
 ceived such an answer as made him more incensed than ever ; 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 149 
 
 in fact, plainly intimating that he, as a Papist, had no right to 
 put such questions, and that he should learn, perchance, sooner 
 than was pleasing what brought him there. 
 
 The gentle measures employed by this new agent to bring 
 the Galway burghers to a proper state of subjection may be 
 found in the next chapter. 
 
150 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Where, where, for shelter shall the guilty fly, 
 
 When consternation turns the good man pale V* 
 
 Young’s Night Thoughts . 
 
 “ He saw — and, maddening at the sight, 
 
 Gave his bold bosom to the fight ; 
 
 To tiger rage his soul was driven ; 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 The pale man from his land must fly^ 
 
 He would be free— or he would die.” 
 
 It was the seventh day of August when Lord Forbes with 
 his squadron made his appearance in Galway Bay to the great 
 satisfaction of Willoughby and his Puritan garrison in the fort, 
 with whom he immediately exchanged signals. The terror and 
 consternation with which the people bordering on the coast 
 beheld the approach of this English fleet were but too well 
 grounded, as the result showed. Without the slightest provo- 
 cation of any kind, or any hostile demonstration whatsoever, the 
 admiral dispatched a number of boats to the Clare coast filled 
 with armed men, who, landing, burned and destroyed several 
 villages, slaying the defenceless inhabitants without mercy 
 wherever they came in their way. 
 
 This sort of exercise, although, doubtless, very pleasing to the 
 ruthless strangers, and productive of much amusement to the garri- 
 son of the fort as they watched the work of destruction from 
 their elevated po t, was not at all to the liking of the natives, 
 who, Irish and Papists as they w r ere, had no fancy for such en- 
 tertainments got up at the expense of their lives and properties. 
 Even Lord Clanrickarde was not over well pleased w r hen mes- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 151 
 
 senger after messenger arrived at the Castle in quick succession 
 with news of the devastation going on. There was one little 
 reason that made the great and wise Ulick peculiarly averse to 
 Forbes’s mode of pacification, and that was that the villages 
 destroyed, and, indeed, most of the country thus laid waste, be- 
 longed, as it happened, to himself. In a state of commotion 
 very unusual with him he ordered out a yacht and proceeded in 
 all haste to visit the admiral, supposing that half a d®zen word s 
 of advice from him would be amply sufficient. Great was his 
 surprise, and greater still his indignation when Forbes cut his 
 dignified remonstrance very short, with a rough assurance that 
 the work he complained of was but beginning, for that, “ with 
 God’s good aid, it was his intention, as it was also his instruc- 
 tions. to slay as many of the children of wrath and perdition as 
 avenging justice sent in his way.” 
 
 “ Is Lord Forbes aware that I am a Catholic 7” demanded 
 the Earl sternly. 
 
 “I have heard as much,” replied the ungracious admiral with 
 something like a smile on his vinegar face. “ I will give you the 
 benefit of the doubt arising from your well-known loyalty — I will 
 judge you by your acts rather than your profession — and do, 
 therefore, consider you as entitled to certain immunities.” 
 
 “ Immunities ! what immunities, I pray your lordship V ’ 
 
 “ Why, immunity from detention, for instance,” replied the 
 Scotch lord with the same sinister smile as before ; “ think 
 you I would suffer an undoubted Papist — any other, in fact, but 
 my Lord Clanrickarde” — and he bowed with ironical respect — 
 “ to quit this ship — alive 7” 
 
 “ My Lord Forbes !” said the Earl haughtily, “ an’ such be 
 your manner of jesting I like it not, nor do I deem it becoming 
 in your circumstances. An’ you knew it not before, or other- 
 wise are oblivious of the fact, I would remind you that I am 
 ruler in these parts, appointed by the king’s majesty.” 
 
 “ And I would remind you, my Lord of Clanrickarde,” repl'ed 
 the caustic Admiral, “ that I am ruler in these waters — for so 
 long as it listeth me to remain — holding from a higher power 
 still ” 
 
 “ I pray your lordship to explain that latter phrase,” said the 
 
152 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 self-possessed Clanrickarde; “ I know of no higher power in this 
 realm than that which I have named — to wit, Charles, King of 
 England, *’ and he reverently raised his plumed hat from off his 
 brow. 
 
 “ I hold from the Parliament of England,” Forbes returned 
 with an ironical smile at the graceful gesture which at once 
 expressed the other's loyalty and his high court breeding. 
 
 “ You shall answer for this, my Lord Forbes,” said Clanrickarde 
 angrily ; “ such an insinuation as your words convey no subject 
 of King Charles may or ought to hear.” 
 
 “ Better the Parliament surely than the Pope,” retorted the 
 Scotchman, bitterly. 
 
 ‘ I came not here to bandy words,” said the Earl coldly, “ but 
 rather to give you an advice which you will do well to follow. 
 In case you persist in your insane course, I wish you to un- 
 derstand that you do it at a risk, seeing that the people of these 
 parts are now peaceably inclined and disposed to live as good 
 and loyal subjects, forgetful of all that hath been done to them 
 by Captain Willoughby and his men here of late ; this is owing, 
 I tell you plainly, to my humble endeavors, the which hath cost 
 me infinite trouble and much cost — an’ you now, with the aid of 
 Master Willoughby, disturb this so happy state of things by pro- 
 voking the king’s lieges to break the peace, I say, you will bo 
 responsible for all the consequences — are you willing to run this 
 risk r 
 
 “ I will do as I please,” replied Forbes very shortly ; “ I know 
 the work before me and I will do it, with Heaven’s aid. What 
 ho ! there, my Lord of Clanrickarde’s yacht! — I pray your lord- 
 ship to excuse me,” he said with mock courtesy, “ but your visit 
 hath already outstript your welcome.” 
 
 “ Suffer him not to depart,” said a harsh, stern voice from 
 behind the admiral; “accursed be thou an’ thou sparest even 
 one of these Ammonites — smite him, Henry Forbes ! ay, even 
 with the edge of the sword !” And the speaker advancing, 
 broke upon the astonished vision of Clanrickarde in the guise of 
 a Puritan preacher, fierce, wild, gaunt, and enthusiastic, with 
 a fire something akin to insanity gleaming or rather shooting 
 from his large, angular-shaped eyes. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 153 
 
 “Softly, softly, Mr. Peters,” said Forbes in the most persua- 
 sive tone he knew how to assume, and he placed his hand before 
 his strange chaplain to bar his farther progress in the direction 
 of the Papist lord, — “ softly,” he repeated, lowering his voice to 
 a whisper, “ it were unsafe to harm him. An’ thou lovest me, 
 keep thy mouth closed till he be out of hearing. Nay, I will 
 have it so — I will explain when he is gone hence.” 
 
 Lord Clanrickarde could not catch the words, but he guessed 
 their import, and it amused him no little to see the rampant 
 fanaticism of Peters so far outstripping the wily caution of his 
 no less intolerant patron. As he descended the ship’s side, he 
 heard the chaplain pronounce a stern anathema on the sinful 
 “ compliance,” as he phrased it, of the Admiral. 
 
 “ A heavy judgment will fall upon thee, Henry Forbes,” said 
 the meek Christian minister, “ for as much as thou couldst have 
 cut off one of the heads of this monster, even Popery, and did 
 not, — yea, when he was delivered unto thee, this double-faced 
 minion, that thou mightest execute judgment upon him — in that 
 thou didst not smite him with the edge of the sword, I say unto 
 thee thou hast sinned grievously, and incurred the sentence of 
 wrath ! So, he goeth hence in his pride, that man of evil ways, 
 goeth hence to do the will of the tyrant Charles Stuart — yea, 
 verily, he laughs — laughs at thy wicked compliance to the 
 enemy — avaunt, servant of the evil one” — and he shook his 
 clenched fist at the Earl now speeding over the water in his 
 graceful little bark — “ I spit upon thee,” he called out in a still 
 louder voice, “ and will bear testimony against thee with all the 
 strength of my body as a whited sepulchre full of all unclean- 
 ness. Avaunt, son of the scarlet woman who sitteth on the seven 
 hills !” 
 
 Clanrickarde only smiled at this rhapsody, the more so as he 
 saw Forbes endeavoring, with ail his might, to keep the furious 
 preacher within some bounds of decency, but the threatening 
 gestures of the man did not escape the keen eyes of the Earl’s 
 retainers in the boat, and their indignation was so strongly ex- 
 cited, that it required the positive commands of their lord to 
 keep them from shooting him. 
 
 “Not so, friends,” said the politic Earl, “not so — I hold the 
 
154 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 man as of unsound mind, and esteem him more an object of pity 
 than of anger. Lower your muskets, I charge ye !” 
 
 It was not without reluctance that the Connaught men obeyed, 
 but when de Burgo declared his will it was not to be disputed, 
 with impunity, and so the rabid chaplain of the fleet escaped for 
 that time. 
 
 Whether the Earl’s surmise as to Peters’ saneness of mind 
 was correct or not, that worthy had so fast a hold on the under- 
 standing of his patron that in most cases he moulded him to 
 his own purposes. Hence it was, and under such guidance, 
 that the good citizens of Galway and the people of the adjoin- 
 ing country were hunted to death as enemies, nay, rather as 
 outlaws, by the horde of merciless fanatics who manned the 
 fleet, men to whose breasts compassion was a stranger, and 
 charity a word unknown. Willoughby and his garrison troopers 
 were a scourge to the old city, but Forbes and his Scotch fanatics 
 were as fiends incarnate, inventing in their monstrous cruelty 
 and detestation of the Irish such works of horror as make the 
 flesh creep on one’s bones to think of. 
 
 Who can imagine the horror and dismay of the Catholic peo- 
 ple of Galway when news came into the city that St. Mary’s 
 Church, situate in the west suburbs,* was in the hands of the 
 Puritans. From its peculiar situation, on the crown of a hill 
 sloping downwards to the bay, and commanding the whole of 
 the west suburbs, with a portion of the city proper, this edifice 
 attracted the notice of the Scotch admiral, who, perceiving at a 
 glance its importance as a military post, without loss of time 
 threw a garrison into it, and mounting his guns on every avail- 
 able point, opened a cannonade on the city. At the same mo- 
 ment, as though they acted in full concert, the cannon from the 
 fort raked the streets of the devoted city, whose people were 
 guilty of no other offence than a too close adherence to the pacific 
 counsels of Lord Clanrickarde. They professed loyalty and prac- 
 
 * Those who have read Maureen Dhu will remember the situation 
 of this Church, being identical with that of the Dominican Priory, so 
 often referred to in that story. It still bears the name of St. Mary’s, 
 and is the parish Church of the Claddagh. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 155 
 
 tised neutrality ever since the noble effort of the young men 
 had been quashed by the machiavelian policy of that most wily 
 statesman and cold-hearted politician. The guns of Willoughby 
 and Forbes spoke the thanks of their Puritan rulers for the 
 humble submission of the Galway tribes. 
 
 How the proud Lynches, and Browns, and Blakes, the merchant 
 nobles of Galway, cursed the easy credulity which had made 
 them the dupes of Clanrickarde, as the shell and shot from the 
 opposite extremities raked the city from end to end, the cross- 
 fire from the fort and, oh wo of woes ! from St. Mary's holy hill, 
 sweeping the streets and avenues of the old town ! How the 
 women and the old men and little children crept, under cover 
 of projecting walls and archways, and through by-lanes, to the 
 shelter of the churches where they had worshipped God in 
 peace in days not long past, and how fervently they prayed to 
 the good St. Nicholas, St. Francis or St. Augustine, as the case 
 might be, to hear their sorrowful supplications, and protect them 
 from the fury of those who were athirst 'for their blood ! For 
 many days their prayers seemed to avail not, and heavier 
 grew the hearts of these helpless petitioners as time rolled cn 
 and succor came not, and the ear of heaven seemed closed 
 against them. As for the stout burghers of Galway, little recked 
 they that bomb and mortar were dealing death around ;-«£ear was 
 unknown to their brave hearts, and every shot that re-echoed 
 through their streets, every one of their fellow-citizens stricken 
 to death, did but add new fuel to the flame kindled in their souls 
 by recent events. The fighting men of the city were one and all 
 filled with the spirit of those who captured the English ships in 
 their harbor, and the gallant young men who accomplished that 
 feat were now in the changed circumstances of the city, almost 
 deified by the populace, who before had regarded them, through 
 the loyal medium of Clanrickarde’s judgment, as “ dangerous 
 and seditious.” Now things were all changed, and the City of 
 the Tribes was at last thoroughly identified with the national 
 cause, thanks to the laudable exertions of Willoughby and his 
 new naval auxiliary. 
 
 The-municipal council of the city was sitting one day in earnest 
 deliberation, with the patriotic mayor, Richard Martin, at their 
 
156 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 head. All at once a tremendous commotion was heard outside, 
 and the aldermen starting to their feet looked each other in the 
 face, as though fearing what they dared not utter, that the Puri- 
 tans had broken into the town. While they stood deliberating 
 what course they should take for the protection of life and pro- 
 perty, if so be any chance of protection remained to them, the 
 door was flung wide open, and in rushed a wild, yet warlike 
 figure, arrayed in the ancient Celtic costume. Surprise made 
 those men of Galway pale, as the warrior stood panting before 
 them, for seldom indeed were Galway stones pressed by the 
 foot of the dispossessed chieftain of Ir-Connaught, the bold, im- 
 petuous young leader, Murrough na DTiu. All knew his dark, 
 handsome face, but no one cared to speak his recognition, for 
 had they put their thoughts in words it would have been in the 
 phrase of fair Eleanor’s father addressed to young Lochinvar : 
 
 “ Oh ooms’t thou in peace, or coms’t thou in war,” 
 
 for sooth to say the warlike O’Flaherties were deemed no safe 
 neighbors by the Norman burghers of Galway town. Nor was 
 the chiefs appearance, or his gestures on the occasion, by any 
 means calculated to re-assure t hem. 
 
 Before any one else had spoken he spoke himself. “ Men of 
 Galway !” said he in his own rich and musical tongue,* “ why sit 
 ye here in idle parley when the foul fiend is working his will at 
 your very doors by the hands of yonder Scotch imps of his 1” 
 
 “ We know it, brave chief!” said the mayor dejectedly, “ but 
 what can we do with such overwhelming odds against ug 1 Even 
 now are we met to consult together if perchance anything could 
 he done on behalf of our poor city, but as yet God hath not en- 
 lightened us on that head. Alack ! alack ! we know full well 
 what is going on on either side of us !” 
 
 “ Still I tell you,” cried the chieftain, “ you know it not — ha ! 
 hear ye those shouts of wrath and vengeance % Ay! ay! they 
 may shout till their throats are hoarse but avail it will not — come 
 hither, Richard Martin” — and seizing the astonished mayor by 
 
 * The Connemara Irish is said to be about the purest vernacular of 
 that tongue. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 15? 
 
 the arm he drew him to the still open door, the others following 
 as though by instinct — “ there — look towards the west ! — see you 
 that flame V’ 
 
 “Great God! I do, what may it mean! Are they burning 
 the Claddagh 1 — the fire seemeth in that direction ! Alas ! alas ! 
 for our brave poor fishermen ! that surely is their village !” 
 
 “Not so,” replied O’Flaherty in a strange hoarse voice; “ not 
 so, Richard Martin ! Wouldst know what food it be that feedeth 
 yonder lurid flame, I will tell thee. It is the bones of the dead 
 and their mouldering coffins and the flesh that the worm hath 
 spared in the earth below ■” 
 
 “ Merciful Heaven ! what mean you ?” 
 
 “I mean that these earth-born devils, finding themselves un- 
 able to come at you or me, or such other wild animals, did dig 
 up the dead from their graves in St. Mary’s churchyard, and 
 having first enjoyed to their hearts’ content the pleasant recrea- 
 tion of kicking and smashing the poor remains of mortality, they 
 have e'en made a bonfire of them,* the which, Mayor of Galway ! 
 your eyes may see. Ha! ha ! that smoke is black, and thick, 
 and heavy, — little w r onder, for methinks it cometh from hell’s 
 fire !” 
 
 Various exclamations of horror escaped the listeners, then more 
 numerous than at first, as people were coming from all direc- 
 tions to the Town Hall hoping to have their curiosity gratified 
 as to the cause of this new commotion, forgetting the danger to 
 which they were exposed. O’Flaherty was not slow to fan the 
 flame which his tidings had enkindled, and his burning words 
 roused the men of Galway into sudden and vigorous life. The 
 lethargy into which they had of late fallen vanished at the touch 
 of this new magician, and the hot old blood of Galway arose in 
 fury, ready to do and dare all things whatsoever the so-lately 
 dreaded O’Flaherty advised. Elated at the thought of having 
 
 * This hideous fact is historically true. All the historians of that 
 period, as well Protestant as Catholic, mention this sacrilegious deed 
 of Forbes. See Hardiman’s Hist Galway, Warner’s Civil IFars, &e., 
 &c. Would any but a Puritan commander ever devise such an act of 
 sacrilege, so horrible, so useless to the perpetrators ? 
 
158 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 so gallant a chieftain for their leader, the citizens cried out that 
 the fort must be taken. To this, however, the mayor objected 
 as a rash and unsafe step, and Murrougli na Dliu, after a mo- 
 ment’s thought, took the same view of it. 
 
 “ It were but to ensure the destruction of your city and a fear- 
 ful loss of life,” said he, “ to attack the fort now — while that 
 devil-begotten Forbes is in front of us with his fleet — but wait, 
 my friends, wait till he departs hence and, my life for it, Wil- 
 loughby and his hornet’s nest shal« be scattered to the winds — 
 leave the matter to me, friends and fellow-Catholics, as ye have 
 so far honored me, and, by the bones of the outraged dead on 
 yonder hill, this plague-spot shall be taken from your midst — 
 ay ! were Clanrickarde himself within it !” 
 
 “ But bethink thee, good youth,” said the mayor, laying his 
 hand on the chieftain’s shoulder, “ that ere Forbes move hence 
 the greater part of our poor citizens may meet their death ! were 
 it not better to stir at once I An’ the fort were silenced, we 
 could easier defend ourselves against the fire from St. Mary’s 
 Hill.” 
 
 “ We may not do it, Richard Martin !” the chief replied as he 
 glanced upwards at the commanding fortress ; “an’ we did, it 
 would but draw on your city a terrible vengeance from yonder 
 accursed fleet — wait, I tell you, we shall have our opportunity 
 an’ we be not rash. Fare ye well ! I must home to my own 
 people to prepare them for giving that support which you may 
 need.” 
 
 He was moving away regardless of the discontented murmurs 
 of the populace, when the mayor again addressed him. 
 
 “ Murrough O’f'laherty, you are brave and generous or report 
 belieth you — much have you done in your own person for the 
 righteous cause — may we depend upon your assistance or rather 
 your guidance 1 — you will not fail us in our need 7” 
 
 “ I have said it,” Murrough made answer, drawing himself up 
 to the full height of his lofty stature; “ when did a prince of the 
 O’Flahertys fail to redeem his plighted word 7 Brave hearts 
 have ye here within your city, and with God’s good aid, we shall 
 take the fort as easily as they took a ship of war, against odds 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 159 
 
 still greater ! Once more, farewell, and God be with ye till we 
 meet again.” 
 
 For two whole weeks after that was Galway exposed to the 
 double cannonade, and her harassed inhabitants already began 
 to think of capitulating, for Lord Clanrickarde, as usual, was 
 negotiating for what he called “ peace.” Anxiously the citizens 
 looked towards the far mountains of Jar-Connaught, but no war- 
 like band was seen to issue thence, nor did Murrough appear to 
 redeem his promise. Despair was taking possession of the 
 mayor and the aldermen, and they had all but determined on 
 following the Earl’s advice on his promise of obtaining favorable 
 terms for them; but better things were in store for the suffering 
 townspeople. All at once the prayers so long offered up in vain, 
 as it would seem, were heard above. Without any apparent rea- 
 son for so doing, Lord Forbes moved off with his fleet one fine 
 day, making no one the wiser as to why lj3 went, and before 
 Willoughby hal recovered the shock of his ally’s unaccountable 
 disappearance, Murrough n% Dim was again in the city, this 
 time with a company of his chosen men, and being immediately 
 joined by the bravest and most experienced of the citizen sol- 
 diers, they took the fort by storm, put its garrison to the sword, 
 and demolished the walls that they might never again harbor 
 an English garrison. Strange, and not less creditable than 
 strange, is the fact that Willoughby was included in the terms of 
 capitulation and suffered to escape to England. 
 
 How different were the conduct of the people’s enemies had 
 they a popular leader in their hands, even less obnoxious than 
 Willoughby ! 
 
160 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 “ The keen spirit 
 
 Seizes the prompt occasion, — makes the thoughts 
 
 Start into instant action, and at once 
 
 Plans and performs, resolves and executes !” 
 
 Hannah Moke. 
 
 “ Night closed around the Conqueror’s way 
 And lightnings show’d the distant hill, 
 
 Where those who lost that fatal day 
 Stood few and faint, but fearless still.” 
 
 Moore’s Irish Melodies. 
 
 Whilst the Puritan admiral was wreaking his impotent fury, 
 as we have described, on the mouldering bones of the Claddagh 
 villagers in St. Mary’s churchyard, General Barry was advancing 
 with a large army into the county of Cork, where the principal 
 places of strength were in the hands of the enemy, foremost 
 amongst whom was the Earl of Cork with his seven warlike sons, 
 all officers of some note. Lord Broghill, the third in age, is al- 
 ready known to the reader as one of the best captains of that 
 day, and of the others, Lord Kinalmeaky, although young in 
 years, was already noted for his savage ferocity* which appears 
 to have endeared him to his amiable parent, for we find that 
 illustrious and most successful adventurer writing to the Earl of 
 Warwick after one of the engagements which had proved fatal 
 to the Confederates : 
 
 “And now that the boy hath blooded himself upon them, I 
 hope that God will bless him ; that as I now write but of the 
 killing of an hundred, I shall shortly write of the killing of 
 thousands.”* 
 
 * Smith’s History of Cork. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 161 
 
 Such was the spirit which actuated the Puritan geneials of 
 that day, and such were the men, bold, brave, cruel and unprin- 
 cipled, with whom the Confederate leaders had to deal. The 
 seaports of the noble county of Cork were chiefly in the hands 
 of the Puritan generals, as was also the greater portion of the 
 interior, but Robert Barry was not the man to shrink from diffi- 
 culties which his own valor and prudence might surmount, and 
 thus in a hopeful spirit he undertook this Cork campaign. 
 Passing rapidly through the country, and dexterously avoiding 
 the various detachments of the enemy’s forces scattered over the 
 district, he took many of the strongest castles from the hands of 
 the Puritans, amongst others Sir Philip Percival’s famous Castle 
 of Liscarroll, as the reader has already seen. Although the cap- 
 ture of this fortress was justly esteemed a great triumph for the 
 Confederates, still there were those amongst Barry’s officers who 
 considered it a loss of time, especially as Annagh Castle, another 
 of Percival’s, with some other fortresses in that county, were 
 besieged at the same time, which necessarily weakened the Ca- 
 tholic forces. But Barry would not hear of passing so much as 
 one stronghold that could or did shelter a Puritan band, and 
 notwithstanding the singular dispatch wherewith he took them 
 one after the other, weeks of very precious time were lost. 
 Flushed with conquest, Barry unhappily forgot to attend to what 
 was passing around him. 
 
 The last day of August had arrived, and the victorious gene- 
 ral was still projecting the seizure of other castles. At evening 
 he stood with one of his officers, surveying from a distance the 
 fine old fortalice of Cloghleigh, seated on a commanding emin- 
 ence, and he said to his companion that with God’s blessing they 
 should call it theirs before the week ended 
 
 “ An’ you do, General Barry, you will rue it all the days you 
 have to live,” said a quiet-looking gentleman of middle age, who 
 under favor of his Celtic costume had approached the outskirts 
 of the army unperceived, and dismounting from a smooth nag, 
 whose bridle hung carelessly over his arm, he joined the two 
 officers with the air of one who felt himself their equal. 
 
 “ How is that, friend V’ said Barry with a start. 
 
 “ Why, your scouts are not worth much or you would know 
 
162 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 ere now that Inchiquin is within a few hours’ journey with a 
 force far superior to yours.” 
 
 “Say you so, good sir'?” exclaimed Barry cheerfully, his 
 thin pale lip curved with a scornful smile. “ By St. Brendan- 
 the Mariner, I am right glad to hear it. I have been long de- 
 sirous to have a tilt with Murrough. But were he within a mif^ 
 yonder castle must be ours — it sits so gracefully looking down 
 on those two fair streams,* queen and mistress of both.” 
 
 “Heed not the castle,” said the quiet stranger, “you have 
 castles enough in these parts to protect your friends. Rather 
 collect your scattered forces and advance to meet Inchiquin, ere 
 Jie have time to bring more troops together.” 
 
 “You are more of a soldier, friend, than one would take you 
 for,” observed the other officer, as he glanced with a smil9 over 
 the heavy frame and placid countenance of the stranger. “ His 
 advice is good, General Barry, and we might do worse than fol- 
 low it.” 
 
 “ But the castle,” said the general with his eyes still fixed on 
 it, “ surely a few hours would suffice to take it with such a force 
 as ours.” 
 
 “ I tell you let the castle be,” said the stranger testily; “ one 
 would think you were the disinherited Condon himself that 
 you make so much ado about the old rookery ! An’ you stay to 
 take it, I swear you shall never set foot within its wails.” 
 
 “ Do you threaten me, sir '?” said Barry haughtily. 
 
 “ I threat, n you not,” the other calmly replied ; “ I do but tell 
 you what I know will come to pass. I take my leave of you, 
 General Barry ! and you, Lord Skerrin” — that officer started on 
 hearing his name pronounced so unexpectedly — “ an’ I had 
 yonder force at my command, Murrough of the Burnings should 
 be brought to a stand before he were a day older !” 
 
 The strange adviser leisurely mounted his nag, and was turn- 
 ing away down a bridle road, in the direction leading from the 
 
 * This old fortress of the Condons occupies a commanding site near 
 the confluence of the Funcheon and the Araglin. See Parliam. 
 Gazetteer of Ireland. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 
 
 163 
 
 camp, when Lord Skerrin hastened after him, and laying his 
 hand on his saddle looked inquiringly up into his face : 
 
 “Are you a soldier, friend V’ he asked; “hast ever fought 
 these Puritans V* 
 
 “ I have seen fighting,” was the curt reply, and, clapping spurs 
 to his little steed, the stranger and it bounde 1 off at a light gal- 
 lop, away and away — 
 
 “ over brake, brush and scraur,” 
 
 turning his head once to make a warning gesture ere he plunged 
 into the depth of a narrow defile lying some hundreds of yards 
 off between two steep banks of earth. 
 
 Whatever effect this singular visit had on Barry he chose not 
 to declare even to Lord Skerrin, but a council of war was sum- 
 moned by him that very night, and by the light of the camp 
 fire orders were issued to call in all the scattered detachments 
 of the army. By the morning’s dawn the troops were under 
 march, in the direction of Inchiquin’s supposed position. As the 
 general, with Lords Skerrin and Dunboyne, and some other 
 officers of rank w r ere about to hasten after the rear division, he 
 turned his eyes in the direction of Cloghleigh Castle, behind 
 whose battlements the sun was just appearing. v Great Heavens ! 
 what sight was there that he looked and looked again, then 
 rubbed his eyes, and finally turning to his friends asked what 
 flag was that floating from the keep. 
 
 An exclamation of surprise and pleasure escaped from every 
 mouth. 
 
 “ Our own colors, by the rood!” cried Skerrin joyfully ; “see 
 an’ they be not !” 
 
 “Surely yes,” said the more phlegmatic Dunboyne, “that is 
 beyond a doubt, methinks, but how came they there 1” 
 
 “ God alone knows,” Barry replied with a thoughtful air. 
 
 “ And our demure friend of yesternight, general,” said Skerrin 
 with a smile, “ quiet and cool as he seemed, methinks he hath 
 moved in this matter. He told me he had seen fighting in his time, 
 but I would wager this new casque of mine against yonder 
 kern’s deer-skin” — pointing to an individual in the saffron- 
 dyed doublet of the Irish foot-soldiers who stood surveying their 
 
164 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 party at his leisure leaning against the trunk of an aged beech 
 — “ I would make that bet, I say, that the drowsy-looking per- 
 sonage I have named fought and fought well last night while we 
 slept. What think you, Barry 
 
 Before the general could answer a wild cheer broke from 
 the long lines of the advancing army, and the glittering pikes 
 and shining blades and waving banners suddenly came to a stop. 
 The amazing sight of their own colors floating over a castle 
 which they had never summoned to surrender had likewise 
 attracted the eyes of the soldiers, and cheer after cheer rent 
 the skies in joyful recognition. 
 
 “ You guess well, my Lord Skerrin,” said he of the saffron 
 doublet, without moving an inch;” your friend of yesternight 
 knoweth full well how your colors came on yonder flag-staff, 
 seeing that he placed them there himself.” 
 
 “ I knew it,” said Skerrin with an exulting smile ; “ I knew 
 there was more in that man than met the eye. But who may 
 he be, good fellow, and how came he to take the castle 1” 
 
 “ He is the lord of Condon’s country,” said the kern advanc- 
 ing from under the tree with a heightened color on his sallow 
 cheek, “ that is to say the rightful lord, for all that he owneth 
 not a foot of land at this hour.” 
 
 “ And his name V* questioned Barry. 
 
 “ The English call him Arthur Condon, by the sept he is still 
 known as the Condon, lord of Cloghleigh and all the land for 
 miles around.” 
 
 “We have heard the story of his wrongs, but, I say again, 
 how did he come to take the castle, well garrisoned and well 
 provided as it was V 1 
 
 “ The stout arms of the Condons took it,” the man replied with 
 sudden animation, “ their stout arms and their trusty pikes.” 
 
 “ Had they nought else but pikes 1” 
 
 “ A few muskets they had— some of them little use from rust 
 — but such arms as they had they made the most of.” 
 
 Various expressions of admiration escaped the officers present 
 and Barry suddenly asked: “Were you there, good friend, 
 when the castle was taken V’ 
 
 A roguish smile beamed out on the quiet face of the kern like 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 165 
 
 sunlight from forth a heavy cloud : “ Well ! general, as you put 
 the question, I suppose it’s no treason to say I was looking on.” 
 “ By my patron St. George,” cried Skerrin, as stepping for- 
 ward he looked into the stranger’s face, “an’ I mistake not, you 
 are our informant of yesternight — yes, yes, I see it now.” 
 
 “ I admit the fact,” said the other, still smiling, 
 
 “ Ha ! and your name 7” asked Barry and Skerrin in a breath. 
 “ Arthur Condon, the chief man of that name, although a 
 very poor one, but such as he is, very much at the service of 
 General Barry and subject to his order” — and he bowed with the 
 easy self-possession of a gentleman. 
 
 “Iam much beholden to you, sir,” said the general, and he 
 warmly shook him by the hand ; “ your achievement of last 
 night shows the value of your co-operation. But methinks your 
 present habiliments belie your condition — wherefore that dis- 
 guise 7” 
 
 You ask me frankly, general, and 1 will tell you: from an 
 itching I had to see how the surprise 1 planned would affect you 
 all, myself noticed by none. But I see the army is again in mo- 
 tion — pardon me, lords and gentlemen, in that I have detained 
 you over long when moments are so precious.” 
 
 “ One moment more, Master Condon,” said Barry, as he 
 placed his foot in the stirrup ready to mount the charger which 
 a horse-boy held by the bridle ; “ you that can take such strong- 
 holds as that” — pointing to the castle — “ must needs have valiant 
 men at your command — could you not spare us some 7” 
 
 “ Not a man, general,'’ said Condon with a blunt determina- 
 tion which surprised all and made the courtly Norman nobles 
 who surrounded Barry look at each other with wondering eyes. 
 
 “ Not a man !” the general repeated in blank surprise, “ and 
 wherefore not, you who but now offered your services so freely 7” 
 “ Why, because, general, we can serve you better here at home 
 — this is Condon's country , you know, so called in past times, 
 now only in name, but with God and Our Lady’s aid we mean to 
 make it so at this Juncture, were it but for religion’s dear sake, 
 that our altars may once more arise from the dust, and our 
 priests stand before them vested as of old. We would see yon- 
 der flag streaming from every fort within our ancient borders, 
 
166 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 
 
 and to that end we follow not the army as our hearts would de> 
 sire, hut rather do your work here as we of the soil only can. 
 Fare ye well, noble gentlemen, and God speed ye ! when next 
 you come this way you will find the country all your own, or 
 leafra that Arthur Condon hath found a grave in the land he loved, 
 — in any case, my heart is with you, and my life devoted to your 
 sacred cause! Hark! your trumpets call! — would that I too 
 might obey the summons, but here my lot is cast — here — at least 
 for a time — is my sphere of action — retributive justice will have 
 it so !” 
 
 As if inspired by reason his nag approached him at this mo- 
 ment from the gap of a neighboring fence, and leaping on its 
 back with the lightness of five-and-twenty, the chieftain waved 
 a parting salute and disappeared by the same opening, leaving 
 Barry and his officers filled with admiration as well as surprise. 
 
 The gallant Condon well redeemed his pledge, as the chroni- 
 cles of those days bear witness.* and his brave spirit infused life 
 and vigor into many who before were weak and wavering. 
 
 But, alas ! for the fine army led by Barry to meet the foe that 
 morning. Had he advanced a week sooner, before Lord Inchi- 
 quin had had time to collect his scattered forces, he might have 
 obtained such a victory as would strike terror into the enemy, 
 but unfortunately it turned out as Condon had feared that the 
 time spent by the Confederates in taking castles had been turned 
 to still better account by Inchiquin, and enabled him to retrieve 
 the series of minor defeats which had left him well nigh without 
 an army and badly furnished with provisions for what he had. 
 This state of things was well known to Barry and others of the 
 Confederate leaders, and relying on it, they had been tempted 
 to secure as much of the country as they possibly could. Hear- 
 ing now that Inchiquin was somewhere in the neighborhood of 
 Liscarroll they marched thither with all haste, and learning from 
 their scouts that he was advancing towards them, they took up 
 a position on the third day of September on an eminence not lar 
 from the castle. 
 
 * “ The sept of the Condons were giving the Confederate leaders 
 the most effectual assistance in another part of the country.” — Mee- 
 han’s Confed , Kilk. t chap. I. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 167 
 
 Great was the surprise of the Confederate generals when the 
 enemy came in sight, to find him some thousands strong in foot 
 with several troops of horse. Lord Inchiquin himself com- 
 manded the centre of three divisions, and with . him as a volun- 
 teer was Lord Kinalmeaky. Other officers of experience led on 
 the other divisions, and the men, as it happened, had far the 
 advantage of Barry’s in point of discipline. This the Confede- 
 rate leaders saw, and they prudently resolved to allow the enemy 
 to exhaust his strength in a charge. And bravely the men of 
 Munster withstood the fierce onslaught, their serried pikes form- 
 ing, as it were, an iron rampart which no force of the enemy 
 could break through. The Puritans fell back in some confusion, 
 for Inchiquin had received a dangerous wound and many other 
 officers had sustained more or less injury at the hands of the 
 formidable pikemen. The Irish charged in turn, and their 
 charge was also bravely resisted ; orders were then given on 
 both sides for a general attack, and when it came to close quar- 
 ters the training and discipline and greater experience of the 
 enemy became apparent. Fighting hand to hand the officers 
 were seen engaged in mortal combat, and many a chivalrous 
 deed of valor marked that fatal scene ; Inchiquin removed to a 
 place of safety, watched the fight witb e} T es starting from their 
 sockets, and a whirlwind of passion sweeping athwart his impe- 
 tuous soul. One after one he beheld his officers disappearing, 
 either carried wounded from the field or sinking amid the slain, 
 but still his forces kept their ground, and his flinty heart little 
 recked who fell so long as victory forsook not his banners. 
 Vavasour was there and Kinalmeaky, and their waving plumes 
 were security against defeat. All at once a wild shout of exult- 
 ation arose from the ranks of the Confederates, and rang far 
 over hill and dell : 
 
 “ Kinalmeaky is down ! Kinalmeaky is down ! — death to the 
 Puritans ! ’ and as though the fall of that destroying fiend had 
 inspired the Catholics with fresh courage, and their enemies 
 with despair, the serried ranks of the latter began suddenly to 
 waver, and Inchiquin, forgetful of his wound, raised himself 
 from the ground with a mighty effort and waved his arm with 
 frantic energy : 
 
168 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Vavasour ! Percival ! — we are lost, an’ they force you down 
 the hill ! Heavens ! what are you about 'l Ha ! they waver 
 now ! Now, Vavasour ! on them — on them — slay them without 
 mercy — no quarter — no quarter, I say ! — they fly — by the great 
 Immortal, they fly ! After them and the day is ours !” 
 
 And so it was. Sir Charles Vavasour, an aged and experienced 
 officer, on whom the command devolved, seeing the discourage- 
 ment of his troops after Kinalmeaky’s fall, and the corresponding 
 exultation of the Confederates, applied his whole energy and 
 skill to rally his despairing battalions and bring them up for 
 another charge. He succeeded, and the desperate courage 
 which his words had infused into his men so nerved their arms 
 and edged their swords that their attack was irresistible. Rush- 
 ing with headlong force against the line of the Confederates now 
 sadly thinned, their bayonets and sabres did fearful execution, and 
 their cavalry dashing in on the wavering ranks trampled down 
 all before them. The Irish, seized with a sudden panic, broke 
 and fled in disorder towards a bog which lay at a little distance. 
 After them like blood-hounds rushed the Puritans, urged on by 
 the cries of their ruthless commanders. 
 
 “ Cut them down ! down ! every man of them !” 
 
 “ No quarter, as you fear the righteous God !” 
 
 “ Death to the brood of the scarlet woman !” 
 
 Wounded as he was, the sight of the flying Catholics and the 
 cries of the pursuers so inflamed the natural ferocity of Inchi- 
 quin that, despite the entreaties of his attendants, he sprang on 
 his horse and darted off to join the chase, looking like the ghost 
 of some hideous murderer, with his ghastly haggard face and 
 blood-stained garments. Before the main body of the Irish army 
 had been formed into order for retreat by the exertions of its 
 brave but (on that occasion) unfortunate commanders, several 
 hundreds had already perished in that fatal morass by the 
 merciless swords and bayonets of the Puritans. Just as the rear 
 guard was formed, almost in the face of the enemy, night sud- 
 denly closed in dark and moonless, and the victors, still unsa- 
 tiated with blood, were stopped in full pursuit. 
 
 Better acquainted with the locality than their enemies, the 
 Confederates continued their march all night, and long before 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 1G0 
 
 the dawn had placed a wide stretch of country between them 
 and their pursuers. Saddened and discouraged they were, but still 
 unsubdued, and burning for an opportunity to retrieve their 
 losses and efface the stain of that day’s disgrace from the banners 
 they had saved with so much blood. Heavy as was their loss, 
 moreover, they had still the poor consolation of knowing that the 
 enemy counted well nigh as much, and, above all, they thought 
 with the stern joy of avengers that if there was sorrow in their 
 camp that night there should be wailing on the morrow in the 
 princely halls of Lismore* over one of the cruellest of their 
 oppressors. 
 
 * Lismore Castle was then and long after the dwelling of the 
 Boyles, Earls of Cork. 
 
 18 
 
170 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 “ I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 
 
 Which falls into mine ear as profitless 
 As water in a sieve.” 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 “ And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, 
 
 But, coward-like, with trembling terror die.” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 “ To make the cunning artless, tame the rude, 
 
 Subdue the haughty, shake the undaunted soul — 
 
 These are the triumphs of all powerful beauty .” 
 
 Joanna Baillie. 
 
 While Barry and his brave associates were sustaining with 
 varying fortune in Munster and Leinster the cause of religion and 
 liberty, Owen Roe was quietly and cautiously biding his time, 
 training his army according to the newer and more approved 
 modes of warfare practised on the continent, so that when the 
 time came for his taking the field he might meet his opponents 
 on, at least, equal terms. He was busily engaged one day 
 towards the end of August directing the evolutions of a body of 
 cavalry on a common outside the town of Charlemont, when 
 Shamus Beg and some half dozen of his fellows who had been 
 sent on a commission some miles northward, arrived in company 
 with just another such party, arrayed in the costume of Monroe’s 
 soldiers, and accompanied by a trumpeter. A shout of execra- 
 tion burst from the clansmen at the sight, whereat Shamus 
 waxed wroth, 
 
 “ Can’t you have manners, now, you great ghomerils,” said he, 
 “ and let the men alone, when it’s only doing an errand they 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 171 
 
 are 1 Don’t you see the decent boy with the trumpet here wait- 
 ing to have a parley with the general 1” 
 
 “ With me,” said Owen Roe riding up at the moment. 
 
 “ With you and no other, may it please your generalship. Do 
 you think we’d have brought them safe here if it wasn’t for 
 that 1 Speak up now, Sassums !” turning to them with a ludic- 
 rous air of authority. Here’s the O'Neill now. Humph ! I 
 mean General O’Neill. Speak up and don’t be afraid. Devils 
 an’ all as you are, you’ll go back with whole bones this time.” 
 
 “ Don’t promise too much now, Shamus aroon,” said a stal- 
 wart O’Neill from the cavalry ranks; “they never show us 
 mercy, when they have us in their power.” 
 
 “ I know that as well as you,” said Shamus, “ maybe I don’t, 
 to my heavy, heavy sorrow, but that’s neither here nor there — I 
 gave them my word I’d see them safe over the county march 
 again, and the first man that says 1 boo’ to them must have a 
 bout with me. Do you mind, now, Rody 1” 
 
 Rody, notwithstanding his bluster, did mind, for the weight 
 of Shamus’s fists was sufficiently well known to make the threat 
 effective. The good-humored laughter which greeted Shamus’s 
 assumption of authority gave that privileged person no offence, 
 for his sense of dignity was too deep-seated .to be easily dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 Meanwhile the trumpeter had advanced at the general’s invi- 
 tation, and staring the latter full in the face, he said without any 
 the slightest military salute : 
 
 “ Be you the man whom the rebels call General O’Neill 1” 
 
 It was fortunate for the presumptuous speaker that none but 
 the general fully understood what he said. 
 
 “ I am the man so called,” O’Neill replied drily, but without 
 any show of resentment; “ what is your business with me, good 
 fellow 
 
 “ I have got a bit paper here somewhere,” said the ill-man- 
 nered Puritan, fumbling awkwardly in a pouch fastened inside 
 the breast of his doublet, whence he at length drew forth a letter 
 which he handed to the general, saying, “ cur new general sends 
 you that, and wants an answer by return !” 
 
 “ And who may your new general be 
 
172 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ I opine you’ll see it in the letter,” said the fellow curtly, 
 having evidently no relish for discoursing with Popish recusants. 
 
 Smiling at the boorishness, so ' characteristic of all the man’s 
 tribe, 0 Neill turned aside to read the letter, after warning his 
 men to take no notice of the strangers. 
 
 Breaking the seal with no small curiosity, Owen Roe glanced 
 at the signature, and perceived that his strange and unexpected 
 correspondent was no other than Lord Leven, whose arrival at 
 Carrickfergus with reinforcements for Monroe was already noised 
 abroad throughout the country. “It is rather odd,” thought 
 O’Neill, “ that he should take to writing letters to me of all men 
 — let us see what he has to say.” 
 
 Any one watching his countenance would have seen that the 
 contents of the letter amused him mightily, for ever as he read 
 the smile on his lip became more humorous and his eyes twinkled 
 with a merrier light. 
 
 “ Well,” said Shamus Beg to one of his comrades, “ I’d give a 
 trifle to know what’s written down there that it makes the gene- 
 ral look so droll. An’ it was Sir Phelim, now, I’d have a chance 
 of hearing the secret before long, but, ochone ! sure this man 
 keeps his mind to himself so close that no one’s the wiser for 
 what he thinks or what he knows. Sure enough he’s a wise 
 man !” 
 
 “ Shamus !” said the general, “ I leave these men in your 
 charge while I prepare an answer for the letter they have brought 
 me. See that no accident befal them !” 
 
 “ Oh ! the sorrow an accident, general, will befal them ,” said 
 the foster-brother of Sir Phelim ; “ they’re under my protection 
 already, but your bidding goes beyond that again.” 
 
 The cavalry were then dismissed for that day, but still most 
 of them lounged behind, anxious to see the Sassum dergs started 
 again before they left the ground. 
 
 O’Neill, alone in his chamber, read Lord Leven’s letter again, 
 and again the arch smile curled his thin lip. “ He wonders, for- 
 sooth,” said he half aloud, “ that a man of my rank and reputa- 
 tion should come to Ireland to support so bad a cause, and very 
 civilly intimates that I would do well to return whence I came. 
 Truly the man hath an over great opinion of his powers of per- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 173 
 
 suasion when he taketh it upon him to offer me advice. Plague 
 on him for a Puritanical coxcomb, what a fool he must e’en take 
 me for. Methinks I were hard run for counsel when I would 
 seek it or take it of mine enemy. A plausible knave he is* 
 moreover, with his fair, soft speech — well, I will answer him in 
 such wise that he will never volunteer advice to me again.” 
 
 And thereupon Owen Roe took up his pen and indited such an 
 epistle to Lord Leven as must have given him a distaste for ad- 
 vising Irish chieftains generally, and the toparch of Tyrone in 
 particular. 
 
 Amongst other cutting remarks there committed to paper, 
 Owen Roe told the new Scotch general very plainly that he 
 thought he had a better right to defend his own country than 
 his lordship Had to march into England against his lawful sover- 
 eign.* This Leven had done, as O’jSTeill well knew. 
 
 The answer written and dispatched was duly delivered in 
 Carrickfergus, Shamus himself seeing the Scotchmen, as he had 
 promised, to the county march. His task, nevertheless, w T as not 
 so easy as he had expected, for while still on the Tyrone side of 
 the border he fell in with a party of Rapparees who had been out 
 on a foraging expedition. Who should be leader of the band 
 but Angus Dhu, and the- young man was riding up with his 
 usual cordiality to greet Shamus, when his eye falling on the 
 sergeant in command of the Puritans, he turned ghastly pale, and 
 putting his right hand across his eyes he said, or rather 
 shrieked : 
 
 “ Mother of God, Shamus, know you with whom you are 
 keeping company T’ 
 
 “ That do I all too well,” said O’Hagan, “ but they brought a 
 letter from Garrick to the general — I met them on the way by 
 chance and conducted them to Charlemont, and now they have 
 the general’s answer back with them, and he gave them in 
 charge to me , Angus, to see them safe over the border.” 
 
 “ Shamus O’Hagan,” said the young Rapparee withdrawing 
 his hand from his face but still averting his eyes from the 
 hated Sassums, “ Shamus, friend of my heart, hast thou for- 
 
 * Rinuccini’s Memoirs. 
 
174 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 gotten that awful night when, from amid smoke, and fire, and 
 death, thou didst hear thy beloved with the swiftness of the wind 
 in the vain search for safety V* 
 
 “ I remember it well,” said Shamus, lowering his eyes before 
 the fiery orbs that were flashing upon him. 
 
 “ Hast forgotten the hell-hounds who pursued thee in that 
 fearful chase seeking to tear the defenceless one from thee — hast 
 forgotten Lindsay /” 
 
 “ Forgotten Lindsay! no, never while life beats in my heart!” 
 “ There he stands, then,” and the young man pointed to the 
 dark-vbaged sergeant who, although not understanding a 
 ■word of what was said, could not avoid hearing his own name 
 and the tremendous emphasis laid upon it. Conscience filled up 
 the blank, and the livid countenance of the wretch betrayed at 
 once his consciousness and his fears. Instinctively he drew 
 back among his comrades as Shamus, turning, fixed his eyes 
 searchingly upon him. 
 
 “Queen of Heaven! but I believe you’re right, Angus — it is 
 Lindsay himself, and no other. Ah ! you curse of God villain 
 you drove me into the salt sea that night with the pulse of my 
 heart that you’d fain have taken from me.” 
 
 “ Ha ! it was your ain sel that leaped yon gulf, then,” cried 
 the Scotchman all aghast, and forgetting his fears for the mo- 
 ment, he darted forward and grasping O’Hagan’s arm looked 
 him in the face, “ I thought you jist drowned yoursel with that 
 bonnie lassie — you’d pleasure me much an’ you’d tell me how 
 you got awa’ frae ahint yon awsome black rocks.” 
 
 “ The d — 1 give you knowledge, you ill-conditioned vagabond,” 
 was Shamus’s answer, accompanied by a thrust with the butt end 
 of his musket that made the Scotchman reel in his saddle — “ an’ 
 you open your lips again, I’ll — I’ll — but, ochone, sure I can’t — I 
 can’t — my hands are tied, more’s the pity.” 
 
 “ Shamus,” said the young Rapparee in a very decided way, 
 “that man is our prisoner — the captain has us all on our oath, 
 as you well know, never to let one of Monroe’s hell-hounds es- 
 cape us — wherever we meet them, by day or by night, we’re 
 either to cut them down or bring them alive to him. Now, I 
 know he’d like to settle accounts himself with this murdering 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 175 
 
 villain. I claim him, then, in Donogh’s name — the others I know 
 not — if they were at work that night I saw them not — they may 
 go, therefore, but Lindsay we must and will have!” 
 
 “It must not be, Angus,” said O’Hagan resolutely, and he 
 moved in front of the obnoxious Scotchman who was now again 
 trembling like an aspen. “ I owe him no more good will than 
 yourself, but he is in my charge, and came here on my word — I 
 tell you, boy ! the man that lays hand on him is my enemy, 
 were he the son of my own mother! Back! every man of you!” 
 for the fierce-looking Rapparees were closing in around, obe- 
 dient to a sign from Angus. “ Back ! or dread the vengeance 
 of Tyr-Ovven !” 
 
 “ Shamus O’Hagan!” said the old man, Florry Muldoon, as 
 he brandished his formidable pike nearer the Scotchmen than 
 any of them liked ; “ Shamus ! ma bouchal ! it’s a folly to talk 
 that way — you ought to know by this time that we of the woods 
 fear no living man — if Angus here says that black neb must be 
 taken to the Brantree, taken he’ll be, depend upon it, so get out 
 of the way or you may be sorry, were you Phelimy Roe himself, 
 instead of his foster-brother.” 
 
 “ Florry, I don’t want to fight with you,” said Shamus, “ that 
 and hang myself is the last thing I’d do, but I tell you again I 
 must leave these villains safe over the march ; after that the old 
 de’il may take them for me, and sure he has the best right 
 to them !” 
 
 Now the Rapparees far outnumbered Shamus’s party and the 
 Scotchmen put together, and Shamus well knew the reckless 
 bravery which made them the terror of their foes. He knew 
 that if it came to close quarters he and his were pretty sure to 
 have the worst of it, but even that would not deter him from 
 doing his duiy. It was the sight of Angus whom he loved with 
 more than a brother’s love, and the thought that he might per- 
 chance fal 1 in the scuffle — that was what troubled poor Shamus 
 and made his heart sink within him. Angus on his part was 
 just as unwilling to meet Shamus in mortal strife, but come 
 what will he was resolved to take Lindsay dead or alive. His 
 followers waited but the word to fall on, and their eager eyes 
 watched every turn of his expressive countenance while their 
 
176 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 fingers clutched their pikes with a restless itching for the 
 onslaught. 
 
 “ Boys,” said the fiery young leader at length, “ I see there’s 
 no help for it — if Shamus will go between us and our revenge, 
 his blood be on his head — if they give us that man quietly” — 
 pointing to the miserable Lindsay where he cowered in his 
 saddle behind his reluctant protector — “ well and good — the rest 
 of the black neb3 may go in pea'.e for us— but him we must 
 have! Shamus! will you, or will you not, give him up'?” 
 
 “ I couldn’t do it, Angus, and you ought to know that — for 
 the love of God — let us pass on, and wait you some other oppor- 
 tunity — you’ll have it, and revenge will keep till then — oh, don’t 
 — don’t, Angus, or we must fire ” 
 
 “ Stand aside, Shamus O’Hagan, or — ” and the young man 
 grasping his pike half way down the handle, prepared to aim a 
 deadly thrust at Lindsay. 
 
 “ Leave it to your captain, Angus !” cried Shamus, driven to 
 the last extremity ; “ I’ll appeal to him, for he promised to do 
 the general’s bidding !” 
 
 “ You’re a greater fool than I took you for, Shamus Beg!” 
 said Angus ; “ how will the Captain decide the matter when he’s 
 not within miles of us ” 
 
 “The captain is here,” said a deep voice from behind a 
 bushy hawthorn which there overhung the road ; “ Shamus’s 
 word and the general’s will must be respected — let them go for 
 this time , and quickly, so that I see not the accursed face of 
 Lindsay — an’ I did, I must do a deed which belongeth to a fu- 
 ture hour — pass on, Shamus, and remember it is for your sake 
 and Owen Roe’s that I do what by right I should not do — pass 
 on !” 
 
 “ God’s blessing and mine be with you, Donogh,” said Shamus 
 with deep feeling; “ we were friends before, we’ll be brothers 
 now !” 
 
 “ And I, Shamus,” said Angus as he drew his party to one 
 side, to let the others pass ; “ will you ever forgive me ?” 
 
 “ 1 forgive you now, Angus, my fine fellow” — and Shamus as 
 he passed him shook his hand lustily — “ you were right in your 
 own way — so was I— let us be none the worse friends for what 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 177 
 
 has happened. Get along here before me, you devil’s limb !” ad- 
 dressing the sergeant who was far from being as yet re-assured, 
 “ your carcass is not worth fighting for, God knows, but no mat- 
 ter — ride on, I tell you !” 
 
 The Scotchmen were only too happy to obey, and as the 
 whole party rode off at a brisk canter. Donogh leaped the low 
 fence and, looking cautiously around, gave a short whistle, where- 
 upon two of his men appeared at an opening in the hedge a few 
 yards distant, bearing between them a sort of rustic litter on 
 which sat the aged widow of O’Cahan, followed closely by her 
 daughter on foot with two more of the Rapparees, the latter 
 keeping some paces behind through respect for the lady. The 
 whole cavalcade set out at once on the road to Charlemont, es- 
 corted now by the party under Angus, to whom Donogh had 
 whispered some directions. 
 
 It so happened that they had proceeded but a little way when 
 Sir Phelim O’Neill was seen approaching by a bridle road fol- 
 lowed by some six or eight of his own retainers. 
 
 “ What ho ! who goes there V’ cried the knight as he pushed 
 his horse to a gallop to meet the party ; “ why, the Rapparees, as 
 I hope to be saved — and well mounted, too ! But the captain 
 on foot — how is that, good fellow V ’ 
 
 Just at this moment he caught sight of the ladies, and a 
 change came over his bold visage. 
 
 “ Ha! by the sword of Nial, this is a sight! — I wish you joy, 
 madam, of your elevated seat,” bowing with mock respect to 
 the mother, while to the daughter he said, “ strolling tinkers, or 
 what 1 — mayhap gypsies V’ and he burst into a loud laugh 
 that was more forced than natural. 
 
 Judith answered only by a scornful look, but Donogh advanc- 
 ing to her side, took upon him to reply — “ Sir Phelim O'Neill, I d 
 have you to know that these ladies are under our protection — he 
 who does them ill, ay ! or says them ill, is no friend of ours.” 
 
 “And who the fiend cares for thatl” said Sir Phelim con- 
 temptuously ; “ oh, I beg pardon,” correcting himself, as it were, 
 “ I forgot Owen Roe, your great friend and patron. But, an- 
 swer me this, young man : whither do you take those Rapparee 
 ladies in such state 1 Have they tired of forest life 1” 
 
178 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Before Donogh could answer, Judith herself replied: “"We 
 are on our way to Charlemont, and are not tired of forest life, 
 thanks to the generous care of these brave fellows.” 
 
 “ Why leave them, then, in God’s name, since you like so well 
 their entertainment l” 
 
 “ Because, Sir Phelim,” replied Donogh, “ there are rumors 
 abroad that the Puritan generals do purpose making an attack 
 on the Brantree, and although for ourselves we fear them not, 
 we must place these ladies beyond their reach, for fear of the 
 worst !” 
 
 “ Ay, for fear of the worst,” muttered the aged lady, looking 
 down with a moistened eye on the wild-looking fellows who formed 
 her guard ; “ it were an evil hour for us when the enemy prevailed 
 over our faithful Rapparees — poor fellows ! they and we are 
 alike — hunted from post to pillar, without roof to cover us, or 
 means of support, other than charity gives us — or force can 
 take !” she added with her dreary smile. 
 
 “ And you go to Charlemont to take shelter under the wing 
 of Owen Roe'!” said Sir Phelim, endeavoring to conceal the 
 emotion which he really felt under an appearance of spiteful 
 levity. 
 
 “ Even so, Sir Phelim,” said Judith again, “ he hath promised 
 us protection — he hath power to make his word good — he hath 
 strong walls around him, and there is room enow within them 
 for the widow and daughter of O’Cahan. I pray you let us pass 
 without further discourse.” 
 
 “ Judith O’Cahan,” said Sir Phelim, now thoroughly in ear- 
 nest and lowering his voice, for he had contrived to get near 
 her, “ Judith O’Cahan, there is no need for this humbling your- 
 self, an’ you have one grain of prudence. There is a safe and 
 honorable asylum still open for you and your mother, as you 
 well know !” 
 
 “ Name it not, Sir Phelim,” exclaimed the lady, her pale 
 cheek reddening with indignation; “ I have told you my mind 
 on that head — it hath undergone no change !” 
 
 “ Fool ! fool !” muttered the knight with a sudden movement 
 of anger, which, however, glancing around, he saw fit to repress. 
 
 “ Take my horse, then, Mistress Judith,’’ he said, making a mo- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 179 
 
 tion as if 0 o alight, then added in a jocular way in English, and in 
 an under tone, “ since you will not take myself — I beseech you 
 lady, be not obstinate — so long a journey on foot ill beseemeth 
 your sex and quality ” 
 
 “Urge me no farther, Sir Phelim,” said Judith still more 
 decided than before ; “I may not pleasure myself with aught 
 that is yours.” 
 
 “ And wherefore, thou flinty charmer'?” 
 
 •“ Ask thine own heart — the blood of Coey-na-gall* runs in 
 my veins, and my memory is good , oh ! son of the Hy-Nial ! ’ 
 
 “ But my mother will be glad to receive you and yours,” per- 
 sisted Sir Phelim ; “ you know she liveth apart from me with 
 her son, Hovenden — surely with her you will be safe — even 
 from me /” and he smiled. 
 
 “ I know not that,” said Judith shaking her head doubtfully, 
 “ but even were it as thou sayest, Charlemont is our present 
 destination, for there we are sure of safety !” 
 
 “ Have / not admission there V’ asked Phelim with bitter 
 emphasis — •“ I who took it from the enemy when Owen Roe was 
 tilting it in Arras beyond 1” 
 
 “ I say not but you have,” said the lady calmly, “ but once 
 there I fear you not — move on, men, my mother is a- weary and 
 needeth rest 1” 
 
 There was so stern a dignity in Judith’s demeanor as she 
 spoke these words that Sir Phelim himself dare not resist, and 
 Donogh was not slow in giving the necessary order to his men 
 when once the imperious knight manifested no further op- 
 position. 
 
 With a gruff salute from Sir Phelim, cottrtoously returned by 
 Judith and her mother, the parties separated, afrd half an hour 
 more saw the homeless pair safely housed in Charlemont Castle, 
 where apartments were allotted them by Owen Roe. Few words 
 of welcome escaped his lips as he received them, but few as they 
 were they satisfied the mother and daughter. 
 
 * Coen-na-gall (the Scourge of the Stranger) was a famous chieftain 
 of the O’Cahans in earlier times ; he was celebrated, as his name im> 
 plies, for his successful resistance to foreign tyranny. * 
 
180 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 “ But slaves, that once conceive the glowing thought 
 Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 
 All that the contest calls for ; — spirit, strength, 
 
 The scorn of danger, and united hearts, 
 
 The surest presage of the good they seek.” 
 
 Cowper’s Tasfa . 
 
 “ Who, all unbribed, on Freedom’s ramparts stand, 
 
 Faithful and true, bright wardens of the land.” 
 
 Charles Sprague. 
 
 The middle days of October were past, and the ancient city of 
 Kilkenny (to which we would now conduct our readers) was a 
 scene of gay and joyous bustle. Hostelries were crowded with 
 the military retainers of the great chiefs and nobles, while private 
 houses of all classes were filled with guests, and the stately 
 mansions of the rich and noble were honored with the sojourn of 
 knights, and lords, and priests and prelates. Never in her palmiest 
 days, not even when Lionel, Duke of Clarence, called the estates 
 together there for consultation, had the old city seen a grander 
 display, or a greater number of distinguished personages assem- 
 bled within its walls. Men of noble stature and lofty bearing 
 were there from the Irish country clad in the graceful costume 
 of their race. Chiefs from the far hills of Ulster, and the moun- 
 tains of Connaught, from the fertile plains of Leinster and the 
 golden vein of Munster, were there with their followers, and 
 clansmen from the north and from the south, from the east and 
 from the west — O’Reillys, and McMahons, and Maguires, and 
 Magennises from the hills and vales of Ulster, were seen in fami- 
 liar converse with McCarthys, and O’Connors, and O’Rourkes, 
 and twenty other 0’s and Macs from the other Celtic districts, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 181 
 
 while, distinct alike in language and in dress, the retainers of 
 the Norman nobles and gentlemen walked apart, discoursing 
 after their own fashion, rarely or never mingling with the Irish 
 of the same class. Not so, however, with their masters : for 
 them the distinction between the old and new blood seemed no 
 longer to exist — most of them spoke both Irish and English, 
 which was not the case with their followers, and many subjects of 
 interest were common to both as warrior knights and nobles. 
 Grouped together might be seen a tall, robust, Celtic chief in 
 iruis, cochal, and barradh, with long flowing locks (the well- 
 prized coolin'), a Norman noble from the Pale in dark-colored tunic 
 and knee-breeches with a long cloak of the same sober hue fas- 
 tened close around his neck, his strongly-marked features 
 shaded by a broad-leaved, low-crowned hat, his slighter form 
 and generally shorter stature contrasting rather unfavorably 
 with the muscular proportions of his Celtic neighbor. With 
 these perchance was a marshal-looking gentleman whose foreign 
 aspect and sun- browned features, and French or Spanish cos- 
 tume would seem to point him out as of different origin from 
 either of the others. His speech, too, was marked by a foreign 
 accent, although he spoke both English and Irish, the latter 
 better and more fluently than the former. About these strangers 
 the chief interest seemed to gather, and their “ tales of distant 
 lands” were greedily swallowed alike by Gael and Norman, few 
 of whom had ever crossed any of Ireland’s four seas. Ecclesias- 
 tics of various grades were mingled with the groups, clad in 
 cloak and cassock, and, stranger still, monks and friars were 
 there in the habits of their several orders, the white robe of the 
 Dominican, and the brown habit of the Franciscan, and the gray 
 gown of the Augustinian contrasting chastely with the gay and 
 many-colored garments of the Celtic chiefs. Such sights as 
 this were for ages unseen in the good city of Kilkenny, and the 
 people were almost wild with joy, and full of the hope that the 
 dark evil day was passed away for ever, and that their clergy were 
 thenceforward to walk as other men in open day and in 
 their proper garments, not as thieves under cover of the night 
 and in all manner of strange disguises. From end to end the 
 old city was in commotion. Irishtown and Englishtown all 
 
182 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 the same ; the very boats on the river seemed suddenly instinct 
 with life, so gaily and so cheerily, and with so much bustle did 
 they keep shooting hither and thither, along the Nore and up 
 the Bregah,* hither and thither, to and fro, so that a looker-on 
 would wonder what they were all about, or what maggot had 
 got into their crazy timbers. Colors were floating, too, from 
 every tiny mast, the gay white and green of the Confederates, 
 a\d the same colors met the eye in all directions waving in 
 plumes over noble brows, in drapery suspended from the upper 
 windows of houses, and in flags flaunting in the autumn breeze 
 on the highest elevations in and around the city. It was only 
 on the Castle, Ormond’s Castle, that the royal flag of England 
 floated in solitary state. At the opposite extremity of the city, 
 on the rival hill, the national colors waved defiance from the 
 flag-staff of old St. Canice, and the bells of that stately pile 
 chimed forth at times a right merry peal for joy that religion 
 was again paramount in the good old city of the Butlers. 
 
 And wherefore all this joy and all this bustle 'l why was the 
 city in its gala dress, and the citizens all in a state of pleasurable 
 excitement 1 wjiy, because the grand Assembly of the Confeder- 
 ates was to take place there within the week, and all was in a 
 state of preparation for the greatest event that had occurred in 
 Ireland, perhaps since the days of Brian Boromhe. 
 
 It was joy to hear the names that were on the people’s lips as 
 they cheerily chatted on the streets and in the houses, in the 
 workshops and the hostelries, and wherever men came together for 
 business or amusement. The house chosen for the meeting of 
 what might truly be called the National Assembly was situate 
 in what is still called the Coal Market, a portion of the long line 
 of street which under one name or another intersects the entire 
 length of the city from the Cathedral to the Castle. The build- 
 ing was an ancient one and no wise imposing in its character, 
 although it was the residence of Sir Robert Shea, who appears 
 
 The Bregah, a small tributary of the Nore, separates the new 
 and old parts of the city commonly known as Englishtown and 
 Irish town. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 183 
 
 to have lent or given it for the purpose.* It contained on the 
 first floor a spacious hall, the farther end of which was slightly 
 raised above the rest, and that was apportioned to the lords lay 
 and spiritual, who had also a small room overhead for their pri- 
 vate consultation. The remainder of the hall was for the use of 
 the Commoners. The whole was lit by rows of high, narrow, 
 arched windows, and its general character was rather gloomy, 
 all the better adapted, perhaps, for purposes of deliberation. It 
 had a reverend look, that old hall, and although without any 
 pretensions to grandeur or state, when fitted up on that memor- 
 able occasion and decorated with national devices in the florid 
 style of that age, it presented no mean appearance. 
 
 For many days previous to the opening of the Assembly, the 
 citizens of all classes were watching the arrivals with all-absorb- 
 ing interest. The name and title of each was duly noted, 
 together with the style and quality of his apparel, the number 
 and equipment of his followers, with the comparative rank and 
 wealth of all shrewdly guessed at from these appendages.. By 
 the Norman craftsmen and burgesses of the Englishtown of Kil- 
 kenny, the lords and gentlemen of the Pale were rated far above 
 even the highest chieftains of Gaelic blood, the great toparclis of 
 the north and south. Of these, Lord Muskerry, the MacCartby 
 of former days, stood the highest in the esteem of the towns- 
 people from the fact of his being the brother-in-law of Lord Or- 
 mond, while Mountgarret on the other hand, notwithstanding his 
 being a Butler, lost considerably in their estimation, because he 
 bad had the great Earl of Tyrone for his father-in-law Not all 
 the glory of the Butlers could efface, in the minds of those su- 
 percilious Normans, the deep disgrace of being allied to an Irish 
 family. 
 
 Exactly the reverse was the case beyond the Bregah where, in 
 the narrow streets, and lanes and alleys of Irishtown, dwelt 
 those of the old blood, whose hatred and contempt for the 
 stranger and “ the upstart” were as great as his for them. In 
 that section of the town, it was Owen Roe and Sir Phelim 
 
 * For a further account of this venerable edifice and. its present 
 condition, see Hall’s Ireland , Vol II., p 15. 
 
184 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 O’Neill, O’Reilly, McMahon, McGennis, O’Connor, O’Sullivan and 
 all such, whose arrival was most carefully noted, and all that 
 appertained to them and their followers discussed and comment- 
 ed on with affectionate pride. The fame of Owen Roe had pene- 
 trated even there and all were anxious to have a look at “ the 
 chieftain of the Red Hand,” the hero of so many battles, and 
 the successor, it was hoped, of the great Hugh who had all but 
 effected the liberation of Ireland. 
 
 With the clergy of all classes Owen O’Neill seemed just as 
 popular as with the people of the old blood. There were, how- 
 ever, a few exceptions, and amongst these was conspicuous, how- 
 ever it happened, Bishop McMahon of Clogher with a certain 
 Franciscan friar more distinguished for worldly wisdom than for 
 any virtue commended in the Gospel. The latter individual, 
 Father Peter Walsh by name, manifested from the first a singu- 
 lar coldness towards O’Neill, though why or wherefore few but 
 himself could tell. 
 
 The days preceding the opening of the Assembly passed 
 quickly and pleasantly with most of the Confederatesdn friendly 
 consultation, in visits to the numerous antiquities and places of 
 historic note so profusely scattered through the dingy lanes and 
 alleys of the old city, and most pleasing of all, in the renewal of 
 old acquaintance and the making of new, between men drawn 
 together for a common object and bound together for weal or 
 for woe by a solemn oath. Those who had grown up side by 
 side in the dear old land and parted as boys to seek abroad that 
 instruction which the laws denied them at home, met again in 
 Kilkenny, one perhaps a soldier of fortune, the other a dis- 
 tinguished ecclesiastic. Officers were there not a few who had 
 risen together step by step in the service of some foreign prince, 
 and others who had drawn the sword on opposite sides in the 
 wars which then convulsed the continent. In Kilkenny all that 
 was forgotten : all were there as Irishmen, to give the mother 
 country and her sacred cause the benefit of their dear-bought 
 experience, and to place at her service the swords that had 
 carved out fame and mayhap fortune in more favored lands. 
 Priests, too, were there who had pored over the same ponder- 
 ous volumes in early boyhood in the classic halls of St. Omers, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 185 
 
 Salamanca or Louvain, but who, parting midway in their course, 
 went to enrich far distant lands with the sacred lore and the 
 priestly virtues drawn from those venerable founts. But wherever 
 their lot was cast, whatsoever their position or the nature of 
 their calling in foreign climes, the news of the great revolution 
 going on in Ireland had stirred the pulses of their hearts, and 
 the light of freedom blazing on the hill-tops of the Green Island 
 had reached alike the soldier in his tent, the priest in his sanc- 
 tuary, and the monk in his cloister. All Europe resounded with 
 accounts more or less exaggerated of what was going forward in 
 the Holy Island of the West, and the news of the great national 
 assembly to be held in October drew the sons of Ireland and 
 their sons home from every point of the compass. 
 
 From the black marble steps by which the front of St, Canice 
 is reached a gallery runs along one side of the building, com- 
 manding a fair view of the city, and the river, and the noble 
 castle of the Butlers, making altogether a picture of rare 
 scenic beauty. On the evening immediately preceding the 
 solemn opening of the Council, or (more properly speaking) 
 Parliament, four notable persons stood together in earnest con- 
 versation on matters appertaining to the great business in hand. 
 
 One of these was no less a person than Malachy O’ Kelly, Arch- 
 bishop of Tuam, the same zealous and patriotic prelate who, a 
 few weeks before, had denounced the powerful de Burgo in the 
 midst of his armed retainers. Near him stood a Franciscan 
 friar, whose somewhat unmeaning countenance had a look of 
 dogged determination that might be set down as obstinacy, with 
 more than a little cunning. Altogether the man was far from 
 pleasing in his exterior, presenting in face and form a marked 
 contrast to the portly and frank-looking Archbishop, with his 
 quick, earnest glance and animated countenance. 
 
 One of the others was Owen Roe O’Neill, in his Celtic costume, 
 looking as calm and cool as though nothing of moment -were 
 under discussion — hearing much but saying little — and watching 
 through his half-closed eyes the faces of those around him. Near 
 him, leaning carelessly against the buttress of the old Cathedral, 
 stood a gentleman of soldierly bearing, whose fine oval coun- 
 tenance lost somewhat of its easy, good natured expression by 
 
186 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 reason of the large whiskers and moustache, which, although no 
 improvement in point of beauty, gave a more martial character 
 to the wearer. His stout and rather square-built figure was 
 handsomely attired in the uniform of a French officer of that 
 day, slashed doublet and truncated hose, with a cocked hat and 
 a plume of snow white feathers. This was Thomas Preston, a 
 brother of the late Lord Gormanstown, who had been many years 
 serving in the French army to the great advancement of his name 
 and fame, jf not fortune. Like O’Neill he had gathered together 
 a large number of Irish officers, his brothers-in-arms during his 
 career in France, and through the munificence of the great 
 Richelieu, then holding the helm of state in that country, 
 he had sailed for his native country with two ships of war, 
 bearing a good supply of arms and ammunition for the use of 
 the Confederate Catholics. About the middle of the preceding 
 month of September, Thomas Preston had given the good peo- 
 ple of Wexford a glad surprise when he sailed into their harbor 
 one fine day with his French ships a. d his goodly company of 
 Irish officers and the colors of the Confederates hoisted so briskly 
 the moment the vessels neared the v shore. That cheering 
 event had been the subject of conversation, and Preston, after 
 enlarging on the favorable dispositions of the great Cardinal, as 
 evinced by this first magnificent contribution, turned to O’Neill 
 with a smile of affected candor : 
 
 “I would that his Catholic Majesty had been so liberal. 
 Methinks it was a paltry trick he played you, after so many fine 
 promises, to send you home with one poor brig — out upon so 
 great a sovereign so to reward so valiant a servant, were higher 
 motive wanting for his generosity !” 
 
 “ There spoke the French prejudice,” said O’Neill calmly ; 
 “ you little know the royal Philip, an’ you deem that ‘ one poor 
 brig’ the sum total of his bounty to us. Fair and soft, you 
 know, Master Preston, go far in a day, and m}' royal master is 
 by nature cautious and circumspective.” 
 
 “ And his servant is like unto him,” muttered Preston in a 
 half audible tone, as turning away he affected to admire the 
 prospect before him, albeit that nature’s charms had few or no 
 attractions at any time for him wanting the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 187 
 
 files arrayed with helm and blade 
 
 And plumes in the gay wind dancing,” 
 
 which alone have beauty for the soldier’s eye. Preston had a 
 soldier’s heart and a soldier’s spirit, for most of his life had been 
 a soldier’s life, and his joys and pleasures were all of a martial 
 character. 
 
 O’Neill eyed him a moment from the elevation of his superior 
 height, and it seemed as though a biting retort rose to his lips, 
 but it came not forth, for seldom indeed was it that passion be- 
 trayed him, and he was determined that no petulance of his 
 should throw a shade on the brightness of the path, where he 
 trusted that Preston and he should walk hand in hand to victory. 
 
 The Archbishop’s keen eye had been observing both, and, 
 laying his hand on O’Neill’s shoulder, he said in Irish : 
 
 “ Honor and glory to him who overcometh self.” 
 
 Now it so happened that Preston had no knowledge whatever 
 of the native tongue, but, seeing the glow of satisfaction on 
 O’Neill’s cheek, he was at no loss to comprehend the meaning of 
 what was said, and his hasty temper took fire at what he consi- 
 dered the slight put upon him. 
 
 “ I need hardly inform you,” said he, “ my Lord Archbishop, 
 that your language is a stranger to my tongue — as I am, I per- 
 ceive, to your counsels. My presence is a burthen that must 
 needs be removed. Give your Grace good evening !” 
 
 He was turning away when the Archbishop, with a significant 
 glance at O’Neill, tendered his apology for speaking in Irish, as- 
 suring Master Preston that he never dreamed of his being unac- 
 quainted with that tongue. 
 
 “ It is passing strange an’ he be,” said the Franciscan, speak- 
 ing for the first time ; “ why, my Lord of Ormond doth affect that 
 tongue and speaketh it as a true Milesian lord. Even my lady 
 the Countess hath a full knowledge of it. and I know not but 
 their children all speak it.” « 
 
 The prelate smiled, and his smile was full of arch meaning, 
 while O’Neill fixed a wondering glance on the heavy features of 
 the friar. 
 
 “ I would it were otherwise, Father Peter Walsh,” said the 
 
188 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Archbishop; “if Master Preston had more knowledge of our 
 tongue, and what concerneth us, and Lord Ormond less, it were 
 all the better for us.” 
 
 He is a dangerous enemy, that same Ormond,” said Preston 
 abruptly, “ more so, as I take it, than Inchiquin or Broghill, 
 seeing that he carrieth a double face, whereas the others show 
 themselves such as they are.” 
 
 “ Your opinion Ys mine,” Master Preston, said the prelate 
 warmly, “ and I rejoice to find you so much alive to that lord’s 
 duplicity. You will be the better able to cope with him — he is 
 the serpent in the grass, take my word for it !” 
 
 “ My lord ! my lord !” said the Franciscan, roused to sudden 
 energy by this stricture on the man whom he strangely enough 
 had chosen for a patron, “my Lord Archbishop, it grievetli me 
 to hear you speak in such wise of the only powerful friend we 
 have amongst the Protestants ! Surely, it is ungrateful. Surely, 
 surely it is. Now, General O’Neill, you and Master Preston 
 being in a manner strangers in this land, are, as it were, in the 
 dark concerning many things that ye ought to know. As a 
 priest of the Catholic Church I solemnly assure you that were 
 this unhappy disturbance left to my Lord of Ormond and my 
 Lord of Clanrickarde, they would make all things smooth and 
 pleasant for us, ay, marry! and we should soon have all we 
 want — but, woe is me ! woe is me ! their pacific counsels are un- 
 heeded, their warning voices unheard, and rash men are hurry- 
 ing the nation into the vortex of rebellion, unknowing how to 
 draw it forth again or quell the storm themselves have raised !” 
 
 “ Father Peter Walsh,” said the Archbishop sternly, “ your 
 infatuation with regard to Lord Ormond becometh intolerable, 
 and hath even now carried you beyond the bounds of Christian 
 decency. I hereby pronounce what you have said untrue in 
 every particular, and do solemnly assever that the two men you 
 have named are the direst enemies of our sacred cause.” 
 
 “ What! Clanrickarde as bad as the renegade Ormond'?” said 
 O’Neill in surprise; “ hath your Grace then no hope of his final 
 co-operation '?” 
 
 “No more than I have of Ormond’s — he hath made unto him- 
 self an idol, the which is Charles of England, and whosoever 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 189 
 
 boweth not with him before that shrine is a rebel and a traitor 
 in his esteem, be his standing in God’s Church what it may — 
 nay, Father Walsh, I charge you say no more — before God, I 
 am sick of your twaddle 
 
 “ And I take God to witness,” said the pertinacious friar, “ that 
 your Grace and all who hold your opinions do these honorable 
 lords foul injustice in that !” 
 
 “ You are either a fool or a knave, Peter Walsh,” said a dark- 
 visaged man who just then joined the party. 
 
 “ A Franciscan could expect no better from one of your or- 
 der,” replied Walsh with a disdainful glance at the black robe 
 of the Jesuit, for such the other was. “ What do you know of 
 this matter V* 
 
 “ As much as you — or it may be more,” said the son of Igna- 
 tius pointedly ; “ that which I know I say, and I tell you, in 
 the presence of his Grace of Tuam and these gallant gentlemen, 
 what I would tell Ulick Burke were he within reach of my voice, 
 to wit, that his heart is as hard against us as Murrough O'Brien’s, 
 and the enemies of our faith have no more zealous supporter than 
 he. Would to Heaven he would cease to profane the name of 
 Catholic whereto he hath no other title than an empty sound ” 
 
 “Ha! I know you now!” cried Walsh; “methought your face 
 was familiar — you are ” 
 
 “It matters little who I am,” said the Jesuit w T aving his hand 
 authoritatively ; 11 1 know you, too, Peter Walsh, and so, I trust, 
 do most of the Confederates.” 
 
 A messenger here arrived from the Bishop requesting his 
 Grace of Tuam, General O’Neill, and Colonel Preston to repair 
 immediately to his house where their presence was urgently 
 needed. 
 
190 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 “ Were his oyes open ? Yes, and his mouth, too ; — 
 
 Surprise has this effect, to make one dumb, 
 
 Yet leave the gate, which eloqueuce slips through, 
 
 As wide as if a long speech were to come.” 
 
 Byron. 
 
 “He who would free from malice p^ss his days 
 Must live obscure, and never merit praise.” 
 
 Gay’s Epistles. 
 
 On reaching the Bishop’s house* our party found a number 
 of the Confederate chiefs assembled, and all eagerly engaged dis- 
 cussing some event apparently of great importance. In a large 
 arm-chair, near one of the high, narrow windows, sat the aged 
 Bishop of the diocese, an old, old man with a worn and wasted 
 countenance, and a form bowed down beneath the double 
 weight of age and sorrow, for the episcopal office was an entail 
 of misery in the dark days on which David Rotlie’s episcopate 
 had fallen. There was energy and spirit, nevertheless, in the 
 fine old eyes which had once been bright, and there was firm 
 determination about the sunken mouth and the thin colorless lips. 
 By the side of the Bishop stood a tall, dignified personage with 
 a strongly marked Norman countenance and that unmistakeable 
 something in his air and bearing which indicates rank and h gh 
 position. Something there was about the gentleman’s appearance 
 which reminded one of poor Maguire as we first saw him, although 
 he who now stands before us is older evidently by several years. 
 There is a firmness, too, and a certain military boldness about 
 the face and figure which never characterized the chieftain of 
 Fermanagh, and which give you the impression df a self-relying, 
 
 * The family mansion of the Rothes is situate in the Coal market, 
 exact'y opposite the house in which the Confederates met. 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 191 
 
 independent spirit, capable of high and daring enterprize. On 
 the other side of the Bishop’s chair, and leaning familiarly on 
 its arm, stood Bishop McMahon, while in front of him stood 
 Lord Fingal, his thin sharp features cold and calm as though 
 nothing could ever stir the heart within him. By his side stood 
 Sir Phelim O’Neill, looking as fierce as if he meant to attack 
 somebody on the instant. 
 
 “ My Lord of Tuam,” said Bishop Rothe as soon as he caught 
 sight of that dignitary, “ we have good news for you — come 
 hither ! General O'Neill, and Colonel Preston, here is my lord of 
 Castlehaven come to join us ” 
 
 “ Nay, my lord,” said the tall gentleman by his side after ex- 
 changing a courtly bow with the newly arrived prelate and the 
 two officers, “ nay, my lord, I, as yet, hold myself free to pro- 
 nounce on that matter — I would fain ” 
 
 “ Keep the middle course,” put in Sir Phelim O’Neill ; 
 “ methinks your lordship hath pursued it over long for all you 
 have made of it. Had you come out boldly as we did at the 
 start,” Castlehaven smiled, “ you would have laid us under obli- 
 gations — your thanks from Ormond and the Justices being but 
 small in any case — whereas now, albeit that we are glad to see 
 you here, we know full well that you come because you cannot 
 help it !” 
 
 “ Truly it must be a hard necessity,” said the archbishop, 
 “ that threw so loyal a nobleman as Lord Castlehaven into our 
 rebellious ranks.” 
 
 There was the slightest possible touch of irony in these words 
 which the peer well understood, and with a heightened color he 
 replied : “I acknowledge it, my lord archbishop ! I am a loyal 
 man, and desirous above all of upholding my sovereign’s authority 
 in this realm.” 
 
 “ So are we all,” said Archbishop O’Kelly promptly, “ so are 
 we all loyal men — God forbid we were not — an’ the king’s 
 majesty were only as loyal to us as we are to him, our differ- 
 ences were but small.” 
 
 “ And yet, my reverend lord, there was no lack of haste in 
 flying to arms !” 
 
 “ Pardon me, Lord Castlehaven,” said Owen Roe, speaking 
 
192 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 for the first time, and with his usual calmness of demeanor, 
 “ pardon me in that I cannot think as you do concerning that 
 matter. In my poor judgment, no nation under heaven hath 
 shown so muc'h endurance as this of ours in regard to those 
 Stuart princes — before God this day I have thought many a time 
 that patience amongst the poor oppressed Catholics of Ireland 
 did overstep the bounds of virtue — had they kept the peace 
 much longer, I had turned my back on them as a cowardly 
 and pusillanimous race with no heart to help themselves, and 
 therefore unworthy of help from God or man !” 
 
 Castlehaven made no answer, but he fixed his eyes on O’Neill’s 
 face with a keen and searching look, as though anxious to see 
 farther into a book so well covered. 
 
 “ Be it as it may,” said Bishop McMahon in his quick way, 
 “ we rejoice to see Lord Castlehaven here, and do bid him 
 
 heartily welcome in the name of the Confederate Catholics ” 
 
 “ Much cause have we to thank the worshipful Justices,” said 
 the incorrigible knight of Kinnard ; “ had they given his honor- 
 able lordship a better return for his loyal service we might e’en 
 have whistled for him, and danced to our own music — ho ! ho ! 
 ho ! a pretty reward truly ! — he spoke them fair and bowed 
 himself in and out of their presence, and used many hard words 
 doubtless in regard to us poor Popish recusants and rebels, and 
 lo ! they send their minions and burn his houses and lay waste 
 his lands — but kicking doth agree well with some dogs, and 
 straightway my lord of Castlehaven, finding himself accused of 
 treasonable practices (bless the mark !), hurries off post-haste to 
 Dublin to justify himself in the sight of Parsons and Borlase — 
 by my knighthood, Castlehaven ! they served you right to clap 
 
 you in prison as a traitor* — you were a traitor ” 
 
 “ How, Sir Phelim! what meaneth this language?” said the 
 Earl haughtily. 
 
 “ I say again you were a traitor, my lord earl ! a traitor to 
 your God and to your country ! They served you right, I tell 
 you !” 
 
 * For an account of Lord Castlehaven’ s case, and the means where- 
 by he was driven into rebellion, see his own Memoirs , pp. 20-30. 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 193 
 
 “ Sir Phelim ! Sir Phelim !” said Bishop Rothe, raising his 
 finder by way of rebuke 
 
 “ I crave your lordship’s pardon, an’ I speak too warmly,” 
 said Sir Phelim ; “it is a way we have amongst the hills of 
 Tyr-Owen.” 
 
 “ Such fashion of speech is not to my liking,” said Castlehaven 
 coldly ; “ methinks it is out of place on this occasion !” 
 
 “ Surely it is, my lord,” said Owen Roe ; “ we are here to de- 
 liberate for the common good, not to twit each other on things 
 past. I pray you excuse my worthy kinsman in that he cracks 
 his jokes so as to leave the edges oversharp !” 
 
 “ I pray you let your kinsman speak for himself, Master 
 Spaniard,” said Phelim shortly ; “ an’ he choo e to tell his 
 thoughts more freely than others it is no business of yours. I 
 but meant to make known to my lord of Castlehaven and these 
 other lords and genth men who are not of our blood, that we of the 
 Irishry can see as far into the mill-stone as he that picks it. No 
 offence, I hope, to the noble earl who, an’ he is pleased to lend 
 us a hand, may find Phelim O’Neill as true a friend as though 
 his speech were framed in more courtly fashion !” 
 
 The frown vanished quickly from the lordly brow of Castle- 
 haven, and he said with a bland smile : “ I will frankly own, my 
 lords and gallant gentlemen, that the Justices have left no stone 
 unturned to drive me to this step, the which I take it was their 
 purpose throughout.” 
 
 “ So it was with all of us, my lord,” observed Fingal ; “ we of 
 the Pale were, as you well know, right loyally disposed, and 
 
 did make advances towards the Lords Justices ” 
 
 “ Advances !” repeated Sir Phelim in a contemptuous tone, 
 while Owen Roe and the two prelates of Irish blood could not 
 help smiling ; “ we all know what manner of advances they were, 
 soliciting arms to use'against us wild Irishry — the which were no 
 
 great benefit to you when you got them ” 
 
 “ Sir Phelim O’Neill, I protest against this insulting language,” 
 said Fingal angrily, while the bishops strove by signs to close 
 the knight’s mouth ; “ an’ we petitioned for arms it was for our 
 own defence, as God he knoweth !” 
 
 “ For your own defence! — truly, my Lord Fingal, you must 
 19 
 
194 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 take us for fools ! — was it in his own defence that Talbot of 
 Malahide marched forth against the brave clans of Wicklow, as 
 it were, to finish Coote’s work 7 Bah ! such Catholics are as so 
 many festering sores in the body — I would to heaven I might 
 deal with them! I vow to God I would sooner measure swords 
 with one of your Clanrickardes or Talbots, or such like men, 
 than the blackest Puritan in the English Parliament !” 
 
 “ Hear you that, Father Walsh 7” said Preston, who had not yet 
 spoken ; “ but what ! the Franciscan hath vanished — and the 
 Jesuit, too !” 
 
 “ Not so, colonel,” said Owen Roe, pointing to another group 
 of which the dark-visaged son of Loyola was the centre ; “ he 
 is enlightening Philip O’Reilly and Owen O'Rourke on the 
 atrocities perpetrated in Dublin prisons — by my life he speaks 
 as one who had seen it all — what manner of man may he be, 
 for I heard him half an hour since bearing testimony against the 
 Galway Earl iii the same oracular fashion. How cometh he to 
 know all these things and to speak of them as an eye-witness 7” 
 He had addressed himself to the Bishop and the latter replied 
 with a careless glance at the Jesuit : “ He is, in sooth, a far- 
 seeing man, and a clear-headed — otherwise. I see or know no- 
 thing worth remarking. But where is Father Walsh 7 Came 
 he not hither with your Grace 7” addressing the archbishop. 
 
 “ Of a surety, my lord, he followed us in, but I see him not 
 anywhere present!” — and the prelate stretched himself to his 
 full height to look around the room— “ no, truly, I see him not!” 
 “ An’ your Grace seeketh Father Peter Walsh,” said a bene- 
 volent-looking prelate of middle age, who had been engaged in 
 a quiet conference with Sir Morgan Cavanagh and Bishop 
 McSweeny of Kilmore; “I saw him but late busily engaged 
 writing as I passed through one of the Bishop’s parlors.” 
 
 “ Writing ! — humph !” and the two prelates exchanged glances, 
 and both looked significantly at Castlehaven. None of the Con- 
 federates who knew the friar were surprised to hear that a dis- 
 patch was sent off that same evening to Lord Ormond from the 
 gate of the Franciscan Abbey. Indeed Father Peter took little 
 pains to conceal his devotion to that lord, deeming it rather a 
 proof of his religion and patriotism than otherwise. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 195 
 
 Whilst the scene just described was passing at one end of the 
 room, one of a different kind was going on at the other. Alone, 
 in the midst of that animated crowd, old Lorcan Maguire stood 
 like the spirit of the past gazing around him with eyes of won- 
 der, a pleased expression on his wrinkled, yet still commanding 
 countenance. His nephew, Roderick, who was also in the room, 
 had just left him to speak with Colonel Preston and Sir John 
 Burke at a neighboring window, and the old man looked so 
 lonely that Hugh Byrne was crossing the room to engage him 
 in conversation, when all of a sudden he started off with the 
 lightness of early youth and disappeared through an opposite 
 doorway, where a dark narrow passage led to the main hall of 
 the building. 
 
 A hearty laugh from the good-humored colonel attracted gen- 
 eral attention, as he in turn stood alone in the centre of the room 
 gazing down the passage. 
 
 “ By Our Lady, Rory,” said he addressing Maguire, “ that 
 venerable uncle of yours hath a flea in his bonnet — never saw I 
 man of his age tramp so lightly as he hath done but now from 
 this room. Here did I cross the room to have a talk with him on 
 matters appertaining to the other world, and in the twinkling of 
 an eye he flew— ay ! faith, flew — through yonder door — think 
 you he saw a spirit I” 
 
 “ I pray you heed him not,” said the attached nephew ; “ he 
 hath odd ways at times and doeth things that perchance no one 
 else would do, but an’ you knew him as I do, Hugh, you would 
 respect even his oddities and the terror of Enniskillen, the 
 fierce young avenger of Maguire’s wrongs, shamed not to raise 
 his hand and wipe away a tear. Anxious to attract attention 
 from his uncle’s movements, whatever their object might be, he 
 hastily resumed the thread of discourse, inviting O’Byrne to 
 listen to Preston's account of Father Wadding’s reception on a 
 late occasion at the Court of Versailles, when the great Cardinal 
 pledged himself before all the diplomatic corps to see justice 
 done to Ireland. This interesting recital drew a crowd of the 
 deputies around Preston, Lord Castlehaven among the rest, and, 
 by the time it was ended, he had all but made up his mind to 
 join the Confederates. 
 
196 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “You will do well, my lord earl,” said Nicholas French, the 
 wise and learned Bishop of Ferns, to whom he had specially 
 addressed himself, “ Look around this room — note well the lords 
 and gentlemen and priests and prelates in it assembled — yet of 
 a surety they be but a third or so of those whom the morrow 
 will bring together for solemn deliberation — bethink you if the 
 cause upheld by all the chief men of the Irish Catholics, as w r ell 
 clerical as lay, ay ! even at the point of the sword and to their 
 grievous and unspeakable privation of worldly goods, can be a 
 bad one I The bare idea is absurd, and unworthy a moment’s 
 entertainment. Make up your mind at once, then, my lord of 
 Castlehaven, leave worldly considerations behind as so many of 
 your friends have done even now, and girding on your armor for 
 God and poor bleeding Ireland, win fame and honor, and, above 
 all, the approval of your own conscience ! In God’s name, my 
 dear son, do as I tell you, to the end that at the great accounting 
 day this my admonition may not rise against you in judgment !” 
 
 “ I will take the rules, then, and the written oath to my 
 lodgings,” said the Earl, “ and consider them over night, begging 
 the favor of your lordship’s prayers that I may be directed from 
 on high what course to take.” 
 
 Whilst this was passing within the room, Lorcan Maguire had 
 darted down the passage in the wake of a muffled figure whose 
 attire, as well as he could judge from the dim light, was the 
 coarse frieze of a Franciscan, with the high narrow hood 
 drawn over the face. This was the apparition whose beck had 
 drawn the old man from the room so inopportunely for the 
 Wicklow chief. 
 
 It was a youthful face, although a haggard one, that looked up 
 at the old man from under the hood when, panting after his race, 
 Lorcan came to a stand. The light was dim, so that objects were 
 barely discernible, and yet it seemed to him as though he had 
 seen the face before and the glance of the upturned eye made 
 him quail he knew not why. 
 
 “ Father,” said he after, a moment’s awkward silence, “ I would 
 know your pleasure.” 
 
 A wan smile flitted across the face in the hood at the word 
 “ father,” but it vanished in an instant, and a soft musical voice 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 197 
 
 spoke : “ Doth Master Lorcan Maguire forget the head of his 
 house, or hath he no bowels for the son of his brother languish- 
 ing in a foreign land ?” 
 
 “ Friar, I do not !” said the aged chief with a convulsive 
 start ; “ by my right hand, I would give my life an hundred 
 times over to see Connor Maguire chase the roe as of old on 
 Fermanagh hills — or better still, to see his youthful valor wielded 
 against the foe — forget Connor ! my poor Connor, whom I first 
 taught to cast a javelin or bend a bow — stranger, as soon would 
 I forget my own heart.” 
 
 “ It is well — I knew it. I will tell you, then, mine errand 
 hither. Brave and wise old man, I .have thought of a plan by 
 which your nephew and mayhap his companion may be set at 
 liberty.” 
 
 “ You have 7 Mother of God ! let me hear it !” 
 
 “ Come farther this way, then — indeed I think it were best 
 seek a place of greater privacy before my lips utter the words 
 which, heard by other ears than yours, might do evil rather than 
 good. Follow me, an’ you would hear more !” 
 
 Gliding out into the open air, the monk, as he appeared to be, 
 moved swiftly along the street, closely followed by Lorcan, till 
 reaching the gaping arch of a once stately castellated building, 
 then in ruins, he entered what had been the hall and Lorcan 
 after him. 
 
 “ Uncle of Connor Maguire,” said the muffled figure, “ would 
 you, for his sake, venture into the great English capital 7 ” 
 
 “ Why, truly, stranger, it doth seem like thrusting one’s head 
 into the lion’s mouth, but, natheless, could I thereby do aught 
 towards Connor’s liberation — marry, my old blood runs merrily 
 at the thought. Monk ! — boy ! — or whatsoever thou art” — and 
 the impulsive old man seized his companion’s hand and bent 
 eagerly forward — “ tell me only how I can serve poor Connor, 
 and see if I shrink from any peril !” 
 
 “ The peril will not be yours alone,” said the stranger quietly ; 
 “peril there will be, I deny it not, but another will bear the 
 brunt <*f it. It is but for your company and the protectian of 
 yaur reverend age I ask you !” 
 
198 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ How ! what am I to think V ’ said the old man drawing 
 hack. 
 
 “ The spirits will tell you what to think before the time of 
 starting,” said the monk in a lialf-serious, half-jesting tone ; “ I 
 have heard that Lord Maguire hath creatures of air to watch 
 over him, so trusting in their good offices, and those of the wise 
 seer of Enniskillen, I will dare all things, yea, even the bolts 
 and bars of the terrible Tower of Loudon ! Fare you well, 
 more than friend, Heaven have you in its keeping till we meet 
 again.” 
 
 He was gone before Lorcan could question him farther, and 
 the old man returned like one in a dream to the Bishop’s house 
 pondering deeply on what had past. 
 
 Meanwhile the foundation of much evil had been laid unwit- 
 tingly by those most devoted to the national cause. Many of 
 the Confederates had dropped off singly or in groups, some for 
 the dispatch of business, some in search of amusement. Lord 
 Muskerry and Lord Mountgarret, having only then heard of 
 Castlehaven’s arrival, had just made their appearance, and it 
 was clear from the manner in which the peer received their 
 enthusiastic welcome, that, being of his own order, he placed 
 the greater value on their friendship. When the room was 
 thinned, as we have said, it so happened that most of those who 
 remained were either prelates or distinguished laymen, and when 
 the shades of evening began to gather abound Bishop Rothe 
 invited all present to partake of his evening meal : 
 
 “ Frugal ye will find it,” he said, “my lords and noble gentle- 
 men, but with such good company it wilLpass pleasantly.” 
 
 He rose as he spoke, leaning heavily on a gold-headed stick 
 which had been resting by the side of his chair. The two gen- 
 tlemen nearest to him at the moment immediately stepped for- 
 ward to offer their support, and as ill fortune would have it, who 
 should they be but Owen Roe O’Neill and Thomas Preston. Al- 
 though the latter was the first to offer his arm, the aged bishop 
 turned to O’Neill, and with a paternal smile placed his arm with- 
 in his, and looked up in his face with beaming eyes. The apol- 
 ogetic bow with which he acknowledged Preston’s civility was 
 far from satisfying that officer, although he turned away with an 
 
 i 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 199 
 
 air of assumed indifference. There was wounded pride and 
 more than that in the look which he cast on O’Neill, and Owen 
 said within himself: “I much fear there is mischief in that 
 glance. Surely he cannot owe me a grudge because the bishop 
 took my arm instead of his. That were mean indeed and all 
 unworthy so gallant a soldier.” 
 
 Yet so it was. From that hour, the irrascible scion of the 
 house of Gormanstown never failed to cherish a secret dislike 
 towards O’Neill, a dislike which all through the pending strug- 
 gle showed itself in various ways to the serious injury of the 
 cause for which both fought so well. 
 
 “ What could have induced his lordship to give so marked a 
 preference to the northern leader V' inquired Castlehaven of the 
 venerable Bishop of Ferns as they left the room together. 
 
 “ Truly I know not, my lord earl,” replied the prelate ; “ an’ 
 it were as thou sayest, the which I saw not, I could give no otllbr 
 reason than this, that my right reverend brother had the happi- 
 ness of administering the Bread of Life to General O’Neill this 
 morning, whilst Colonel Preston and many of the other lords 
 and gentlemen were a-strolling through Ormond’s grounds.” 
 
 “ Humph !” said the soldierly peer with a smile of dubious 
 meaning, “ then O’Neill is somewhat of a devotee — and it would 
 seem that character is in favor here — perchance more so than 
 high estate or military experience.” 
 
 “ So should it be, my lord,” responded the calm and ever-pru- 
 dent Nicholas Ft’ench ; “ in an assembly of Catholics, met for such 
 a purpose as ours, and trusting not in our own might but in the 
 justice of our cause, it is surely expedient for all, as well lay as 
 spiritual persons,* to invoke the God of battles by constant 
 prayer, and the frequent reception of the Sacraments!” 
 
 Castlehaven said no more, for they just then entered the 
 bishop’s homely eating-room, where the frugal repast was 
 already spread, awaiting their coming. 
 
200 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 “We have cherish’d fair hopes, we have plotted brave schemes, 
 We have lived till we find them illusive as dreams; 
 ******* 
 
 And the steps we have climb’d have departed like sand.* 
 
 Epes Sargent. 
 
 “ This leader was of knowledge great 
 Either for charge or for retreat ; 
 
 He knew when to fall on, pell mell, 
 
 To fall back and retreat as well.” 
 
 Butler’s Hudib'ras. 
 
 The twenty-fourth day of October, 1642, is one of the few in 
 the latter ages of Ireland’s history on which the eye loves to 
 dwell. It was on that day that the grand assembly of tho 
 Confederate Catholics of Ireland first sat as a legislative body, 
 and we may be pardoned surely if we look back with melan- 
 choly pride on that vision of departed glory, suggestive as it is 
 of what Ireland might be and may yet be. The Confederation 
 may be renewed and fixed on a more permanent basis in some 
 fortunate contingency of the national affairs, and a future gene- 
 ration may see that sight, perhaps within the walls of the me- 
 tropolis itself, but never again may be seen in Ireland another 
 assembly like that whose remembrance invests Kilkenny with 
 such varied and profound interest. The distinctive features of 
 that scene belonged to that age, and with it have passed away 
 for ever. The time and the circumstances were such as to give 
 that national assembly a character of peculiar interest as well 
 as importance. The Normans of the Pale and the ancient Irish 
 wore still two distinct races, distinct alike in appearance, cos- 
 tume, manners and language. The chieftains of the old blood 
 still retained their ancient and most picturesque costume, while 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 201 
 
 the lords and gentlemen of the Pale were clad in the sober and 
 rather stiff, yet not ungraceful habiliments usually worn by the 
 same class in England. Those again who came from abroad 
 were as yet clad in the costume they had been wont to wear in 
 the countries of their adoption, many of them glittering in the 
 brilliant uniform of the Spanish, Austrian, or French armies, 
 for the principal officers all took their seats at the council-board. 
 The bishops were there in their episcopal garments, and the 
 mitred abbots each in the distinctive habit of his order. These, 
 with the lay-lords, formed the upper house, while the second 
 order of the clergy, both secular and regular, sat with the gen- 
 tlemen who were delegates from the several towns and cities, 
 and with them constituted the lower house answering to the 
 House of Commons. The lawyers again wore the grave and 
 dignified costume of their office, so that each of the classes 
 composing the assembly was easily distinguished from the 
 others, a id all together conspired to form one of the most im- 
 posing arrays ever witness d on Irish ground. Looking back 
 now through the vista of two hundred odd years, how the heart 
 swells with mingled pride and sorrow as we contemplate that 
 picture : eleven bishops and archbishops, fourteen lords, and 
 two hundred and twenty-six commoners,* many of the latter 
 chiefs of high standing, all assembled in the sacred name of 
 civil and religious freedom, to take the government of the 
 country into their own hands and frame laws for the wants and 
 requirements of their people in the true spirit of paternal legis- 
 lation. Oh! it was a grand, a glorious scene, one that Ireland 
 may well be proud of, for on that day, at least, all was peace 
 and harmony, and brotherly love, all distinctions of race, all 
 hereditary and personal feuds seemed buried, jt was fondly 
 hoped for ever. Few, few such bright spots adorn our annals ! 
 
 A happy man- was David Rothe, Bishop of Ossory, that day,f 
 
 * Meehan’s Cortf. Kilk. 
 
 t Moore tells us on the authority of Dr O’Connor that it was-thi3 
 learned and most estimable prelate who first suggested the idea of a 
 general Confederacy, and also that he gave up his Cathedral for the 
 first Session of the Assembly. 
 
202 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 when, prior to the opening of the session, the Confederates once 
 more filled his Cathedral, and he stood at the high altar which 
 he had recently erected and in the sight of that vast assemblage 
 offered up the great Sacrifice of the New Law. And when Mass 
 was over, and those present who had not as yet taken the oath 
 came forward to repeat the solemn words before St. Canice’s 
 altar, how fervently did the old bishop raise his hands and eyes 
 to heaven and invoke a blessing on themselves and their un- 
 dertaking. 
 
 Amongst those who there took the oath of association was 
 Owen Roe O’Neill, with the officers he had brought from Spain, 
 and Preston with his Franco-Irish companions in arms. As 
 these two distinguished officers stood side by side with right 
 hand uplifted, repeating the solemn words, the Irish chief in his 
 Celtic garb and the Norman gentleman in his French uniform, 
 they were a fine picture to look upon, and many hearts amongst 
 .the highest and noblest and wisest there beat high with hopo in 
 the accession of two such leaders. Could any one present have 
 foreseen the petty jealousy, the heart-burnings and the ruinous 
 strife that grew up between those two, he could have wept tears 
 of blood for the curse that was to blight so fair a prospect. But 
 no one there happened to have the gift of prophecy, and so the 
 brightness of hope was unclouded. 
 
 Before the last words of Owen Roe’s oath had died away in 
 echoes amongst the arches of the roof, another of noble mien 
 and scarcely less martial bearing stepped forth and declared 
 himself willing to take the same pledge. It was Lord Castle- 
 haven, and a murmur of applause and satisfaction ran through 
 the. assembly, for that Earl was highly esteemed of all, and a 
 man of undoubted bravery ; connected, moreover, with many of 
 the first families of the kingdom, and hitherto so remarkable for 
 his staunch adherence to the government party. . 
 
 “ I desire to take the oath,” said the Earl, and he drew him- 
 self up with a look that seemed to say : “ I trust you are all 
 sensible of the favor I confer on you by joining your ranks.” 
 
 “ Bless you, my son, bless you,” said the old bishop when the 
 Earl had taken the oath ; “you have done well, and I hope God 
 ' will crown our joint efforts with success. General O’Neill and 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 203 
 
 Colonel Preston, you will rejoice as I do to see my lord of Cas- 
 tlehaven by your side at this hour — be ye henceforth as brothers 
 working together as one man for the common good !” 
 
 Those who looked at Nicholas French of Ferns, or Malachy 
 O’Kelly of Tuam, at that moment might have detected a certain 
 quiet smile expressive of some doubt on the subject of the union, 
 and down amongst the commoners certain significant looks were 
 exchanged — but no one spoke with the exception of Lorcan 
 Maguire, who said very gravely to Art McMahon near him : 
 
 “ I fear, Art, the chain is not made that will bind the Tales- 
 men and the sons of the Gael together ! — there are rivers of 
 blood between us, hard, hard to bridge across 1” 
 
 “ My lord of Ossory,” said the aged nobleman, Mountgarret, 
 in his place at the chancel railing, “ your words do remind us of 
 a work that must needs be done this morning before other 
 duties are taken in hand : I mean the appointment of general 
 officers for the several divisions of our army.” 
 
 “It is well thought of, my Lord Viscount,” said the prelate 
 with a benignant smile, “ but that you will do in our Parliament 
 House, an’ I may so call it — be it your first act within those 
 walls.” 
 
 “ I object to the term parliament as applied to this assembly,” 
 said Lord Castlehaven quickly ; “ our proceedings must have no 
 such character, unless, indeed, you desire to become what the 
 enemy would have you, rebels against the king’s majesty.” 
 
 “ Loyalty again !” said Sir Phelim O’Neill to Miles O’Reilly 
 his next neighbor; “very loyal gentlemen have away of throw- 
 ing cold water on everything. An’ we wait till their fire do ’ 
 boil our pottage, we may wait longer than will suit our 
 stomachs. Rebels, forsooth ! how the word sticks in his loyal 
 throat ! faugh !” — and honest Phelim drew up his large nose as 
 though' something of an ill odor had touched his olfactory nerve. 
 O’Reilly laughed and shook his head but made no reply. He 
 was thinking of the day when after burying Bishop Beddell 
 with all the honors, he had apostrophized his memory as “ the 
 last of the English,” and he said within himself : “ they are and 
 will be an English colony — churchman and soldier, peer and 
 yeoman, they are all alike — English hearts have they and none 
 
204 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 othei — natheless, their own interest may bind them to us now. 
 An’ it be so, it is well.” 
 
 From St. Canice’s the Confederates adjourned to the hall pre- 
 pared for their deliberations, where the lords (spiritual and tem- 
 poral) and the commoners having taken their respective places 
 in the upper and lower sections of the hall, they proceeded to 
 the election of their speaker, and with little opposition, Master 
 Nicholas Plunket, a distinguished lawyer, a “ grave and rever- 
 end seignor,” was duly installed in that office, and took posses- 
 sion of the black oak chair prepared for his speakership behind 
 a table of the same beautiful wood.* Corresponding to Mas- 
 ter Plunket’s office in the Lower House, although of a different 
 nature, was that whereto another eminent lawyer, Patrick 
 D’Arcy by name, was appointed in the Upper House. Seated 
 on a high bench of antique form — historians will have it “ a 
 stool” — this learned gentleman in wig and gown represented the 
 Lord Chancellor, as it were to decide on the legal points mooted 
 during the session. 
 
 These preliminaries settled, with Master Nicholas Plunket on 
 his chair behind his high table, and Master Patrick D’Arcy on 
 his “ stool” of office, the assembly proceeded to business, and 
 first of all to define its exact nature and the objects it had in 
 view.f Like all the other acts of this legislative body, that de- 
 
 * The chair and table used by Master Plunket during that memo- 
 rable session were to be seen until a few years ago, when their pro- 
 prietor, to avoid the trouble of showing them to visitors, had them 
 broken up and burned. So, at least, says Mrs. Hall, and I suppose 
 we must accept the statement, although it is hard to believe that so 
 much vandalism is to be found in Kilkenny. Could not the man 
 have sent such precious relics of the past to the Royal Irish Acad- 
 emy if he found their ownership too great a burden 1 
 
 •\ The assembly had all the appearance of a parliament, although 
 the first act of the lay- lords, prelates and commons, was to declare 
 that they did not intend it as such, fearing to infringe on the pre- 
 rogative of the Crown, to which belonged the privilege of calling, 
 proroguing and dissolving the Senate. It was, however, a povisional 
 government, “ to coasult of an order for their own affairs till his 
 Majesty’s wisdom had settled the present troubles.”— Meehan's Con- 
 federation , p. 43. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 205 
 
 claration was moderate, calm and earnest, firm and dignified 
 withal, and calculated to win universal respect. 
 
 The next step was the appointment of the generals for the 
 respective provinces, and when Lord Mountgarret stood up for 
 that purpose, as President of the Supreme Council, a general 
 stir was visible amongst the members of both houses. 
 
 “ This question,” said the veteran peer, “ hath already been 
 considered in the Council, but we would fain submit our choice 
 to the General Assembly. First of all we have named Colonel 
 Owen Mac Art O’Neill general* of the Ulster forces. Is it your 
 will that he be so appointed V' 
 
 An affirmative response came from all parts of the hall, in 
 fact from every member of both houses, save only Sir Plielim 
 O’Neill, who bit his lip and remained silent, to the great satisfac- 
 tion of the chiefs near him, who had feared an explosion that 
 ■would startle the house. 
 
 “For Leinster,” resumed Mountgarret, “ we have thought of 
 another officer of rank, and, like General O’Neill, of high repute 
 abroad. You all, doubtless, know who I mean.” 
 
 “ My Lord President,” said Sir James Dillon, from his place 
 in the Lower House, rising and bowing to the chair, “ as this is 
 a matter foreign to our legislative functions, I conceive myself 
 at liberty to address you directly. I object to that appointment 
 before the name be publicly mentioned — there be one here 
 present who hath, I conceive, a prior claim to the command of 
 that army.” 
 
 Hearing this, a murmur of surprise ran through the assembly, 
 and each looked inquiringly at his neighbor, then every eye was 
 turned on Preston, who sat motionless in his seat with a counte- 
 nance of assumed composure, while his rapidly changing color 
 and the angry frown on "his broad brow showed him ill at ease 
 and much disturbed in mind. 
 
 “ You surprise me, Sir James Dillon,” said the President, 
 “ and I needs must say that I regret to hear what I have heard 
 from you. Union is, of all things, the most important to us, and 
 I had hoped that these appointments would have been made 
 without one dissentient voice. Do you still persist in your design 
 of proposing another general for Leinster I” 
 
206 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ I do, my lord, and I think the majority of the assembly will 
 approve of the nomination I am about to make.” 
 
 “ In God’s name let us have it, then,” said the old lord with 
 the slightest possible show of displeasure ; “ who would you 
 have to command the army of Leinster V' 
 
 “ He is here, my lord ! to speak for himself,” and turning 
 he bowed to a cavalier in a costume half-Spanish, half-Irish, 
 who had been sitting for some time near him partially concealed 
 by the tall form of Owen O’Neill. In the general bustle attend- 
 ing on the opening of the assembly this personage passed 
 unnoticed, but when he rose and stepped to the front and bowed 
 around with a smiling countenance as to a gathering of old 
 familiar friends, a cry of joyful recognition arose from lords and 
 commons : 
 
 “ It is Roger O’Moore !* exclaimed the Norman knights; “it 
 is Rory O’More,” echoed the Celtic chiefs, and all seemed alike 
 rejoiced to see the accomplished chieftain of Leix onco more in 
 their midst. 
 
 “ Why, then, a hundred thousand welcomes, Rory !” cried Sir 
 Phelim O’Neill, as he crossed the hall to have a shake hands ; 
 “ where have you hid yourself since ” 
 
 “ Since Kilrush,” said O’Moore in an under tone, as he warmly 
 shook the proffered hand, at the same time making a sign for 
 the impulsive northman to resume his seat. “ This is no place 
 or time for explanations !” 
 
 Meanwhile a conference was going on in the upper part of the 
 hall between Lords Mountgarret, Muskerry, Castlehaven, and 
 one or two of the bishops. A difference of opinion seemed to 
 prevail amongst them, judging by their jestures and the earnest 
 manner in which they spoke. Lord Gormanstown, from his near 
 relationship to Preston, thought it indecorous to give an opinion, 
 but, while he affected to converse on some other subject with 
 Lord Fingal, who sat next him, there was a restless, anxious 
 look on his face, and he glanced furtively from time to time at 
 the group of peers before-mentioned. 
 
 O'Moore and his friends manifested no such anxiety ; they 
 were evidently confident of success. 
 
 At length the other peers took their seats again, and Lord 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 207 
 
 Mountgarret addressed the assembly with the air of a man who 
 had an unpleasant task before him. 
 
 “ No one here,” said he, “ doth entertain a higher opinion of 
 Mr. O’Moore than I do myself — as a man, a gentleman, a Chris- 
 tian, and a patriot, we are all prepared to admit his rare merit — 
 but, lords and gentlemen, what experience hath he had of mili- 
 tary affairs ? — war is a trade which, like all others, must needs 
 .be duly learned ; ay ! and well-practised to give promise of suc- 
 cess. What apprenticeship hath our honored friend made to 
 that trade to entitle him to set up in business ? And, bethink 
 you, it is the business of the whole nation?” 
 
 “ But this have I to say, my Lord Mountgarret,” said O’Moore 
 with that lordly air which he well knew how to assume, “ to 
 tv it, that your lordship’s memory must needs be somewhat short- 
 ened of late, else would you remember that the whole of this 
 business, now so flourishing, was first started by me. Surely 
 the man that set the wheel a-moving has the best right to keep 
 it in motion, and, moreover, though I say it myself, the people 
 are all well affected towards me, and will follow my stand- 
 ard sooner than that of a stranger — craving Colonel Preston’s 
 pardon !” 
 
 Lord Mountgarret shook his head. “ 1 am myselt somewhat 
 of a soldier,” said he, “ as you all know, and, with the best in- 
 tentions, I confess I have found myself often at fault for want 
 of skill in strategy. I know full well, Mr. O’Moore, what we all 
 ow r e to your untiring zeal and patriotism — I know, too — we all 
 know that you might raise an army in less time than any one 
 here present, but, being raised, what would you do with it V ’ 
 
 “What other men do — I promise no more,” said O’Moore 
 carelessly. 
 
 “ What Mountgarret did at Kilrush and Barry at Liscarroll,” 
 said Castlehaven with a malicious smile to Lord Dunboyne near 
 him ; “ methinks we have had enough of such generalship.” 
 
 Mountgarret heard not the words, but the same thought was 
 his own. 
 
 “ My lords and gentlemen,” said he addressing the assembly, 
 “ I will refer this matter to your decision, reminding you only 
 that much time hath already been spent without any profit 
 
208 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 worth speaking of. Castles and towns have been taken and re- 
 taken, skirmishes beyond number have been fought with various 
 success, and, I grieve to say it, the more important actions have 
 all gone against us, to the great discouragement of our follow- 
 ers, and the great waste of our supplies, begged all over Europe 
 — why is this, brethren of the Confederation 1 — I hardly know 
 myself, you may not choose to answer in such wise as your 
 judgment would suggest, but this we must all acknowledge, that 
 it behoveth us to seize the greater and more certain advantage 
 offered us for the furtherance of our cause. For the command 
 of the Leinster army you have now to choose between Colonel 
 Thomas Preston, a gentleman of tried valor, and of long and 
 honorable experience in the art of war, and our much esteemed 
 friend, Master Roger O’Moore, who, with high blood in his veins 
 and all manner of accomplishments, not to speak of the part he 
 took in setting this work a-going, is yet wanting, as all must 
 know, in that experience which is the first thing to be looked 
 for in a general ” 
 
 From a half-open door, behind Master D’Arcy’s elevated seat, 
 came the voice of one singing, loud, clear and bold : 
 
 “ The taunt and the sneer let the coward endure, 
 
 Our trust is in God and in Rory O’Moore.” 
 
 “ Close that door !” cried the President angrily, as he marked 
 the smile on the faces of the Irish chieftains. “ It is for you 
 now to decide, my lords and noble gentlemen, who shall be com- 
 mander-in-chief of the Leinster forces.'” 
 
 “ There be out-door machinery at work, I perceive,” observed 
 Preston in a tone of affected indifference ; “ Master Rory O’Moore 
 must needs have his heart set on the office when he employs 
 the ballad-mongers of the city to sing him into it. Truly he 
 may have it, for all I !” 
 
 “ Have a care what you say, Colonel Preston,” said Sir John 
 Netterville who sat next him ; “ we may deem it inexpedient to 
 place O’ Moore at the head of an army, but, natheless, the 
 man steps not in shoe leather who may speak lightly of him in 
 this company. His day will come, for nought is wanting to him 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 209 
 
 but military service — he hath a good head and a strong arm and 
 courage to dare all things ” 
 
 “ I thank you for your good opinion, Sir John,” said O’Moore 
 who had overheard what passed between them ; “ but my 
 day, as you call it, will never come, an’ it come not now !” 
 
 Much talking and debating followed, most of the old Irish 
 present being inclined to appoint 0 Moore, but even they were, 
 after some consultation, convinced that the step would be un- 
 wise, not only on account of the inexperience of that chieftain 
 as a military leader, but also because of the offence it would 
 give to Preston, after the unanimous appointment of Owen 
 O'Neill. O’Moore, it was thought, could and would waive his 
 claim in view of the common good. Dillon, Netterville and Sir 
 Phelim O’Neill, all stood up to protest against the appointment 
 of any other than O’Moore, but with a majestic wave of his hand 
 Mountgarret silenced them all, and then proceeded to declare 
 Colonel Thonm Preston duly commissioned to the supreme 
 command of the army of Leinster. 
 
 “ It is well,” said O’Moore, standing up once more with that 
 graceful self-possession which he never lost, “it is well, and the 
 assembly hath doubtless shown its wisdom in its choice. It 
 was the dream of many a weary month to me that I should have 
 the command of the army to be raised in that province — where 
 of old the O’Moores fought much and well — with that expecta- 
 tion I did apply myself to study the art of war hoping that the 
 time for action was not far distant. The dream was presump- 
 tuous, it may be, and I am free to admit that you have done well 
 in securing the military talents of Colonel Preston. With such 
 a commander all must needs go well, and I need not say that no 
 heart will rejoice more in his success than he who now addresses 
 you — for the last time.” 
 
 “ For the last time, Rory ! say not so, I beseech you !” said 
 Owen Roe advancing towards him with more emotion than he 
 usually manifested, while many others followed his example, all 
 eager to testify their respect and esteem. “ What were the Con- 
 federation without Rory O’Moore V’ 
 
 “ What it hath been for months past, when my name was un- 
 named and my absence unnoticed by any. For your sake, Owen. 
 
210 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 I am sorry, for it was my hope, I may confess it, that as 
 brothers-in-arms we should uphold together the glorious banner 
 which Sir Phelim here and O’Reilly and McMahon uplifted on 
 your Ulster hills just one twelvemonth since.” And in turn he 
 grasped the hand of each chieftain as he named his name. 
 Owen’s hand he held the longest and looked into his eyes with 
 the fond affection of a brother. “ Fare you well, friend of my 
 heart,” he said with a fervent pressure of his hand which O’Neill 
 returned with deep emotion ; “ neither of us foresaw this hour 
 when by the Manzanares’ banks in sunny Spain we talked of home 
 and freedom, and what things we must needs accomplish for 
 the oppressed children of the Gael. Your aid is gladly accepted, 
 Owen, but mine hath been rejected — they have cast me out, and 
 i go forth to seek a new sphere of action !” 
 
 “ Mr. O’Moore,” said Lord Mountgarret, “ I grieve that you 
 should deem us so ungrateful. There will be many offices of 
 high trust in our gift, the which you can fill with profit to the 
 nation.” 
 
 “ I thank your lordship,” said the chieftain coldly ; “ you had ' 
 but one office which I desired to have, and that you have given 
 to another.” 
 
 “ But surely,” said Archbishop O’Kelly from his place in the 
 upper hall, “ surely you will not abandon the cause for that 
 you cannot have things your own way. Nay, you will not, dare 
 not 1” 
 
 “ God forbid that I should do as your grace saith,” returned 
 O’Moore with a reverential salutation ; “ I can serve you abroad if 
 not at home, and so, with the divine blessing, I mean to do. 
 For myself, you shall see me no more, but my heart shall ever 
 be with you, and what I can do to raise subsidies abroad shall be 
 be freely done. It hath been said that I am more of a diploma- 
 tist than a soldier, and it may be true. Since you will not have 
 my service in one capacity, I must e’en render it in the other. 
 
 I humbly salute your grace and all this illustrious assembly — 
 may heaven direct your councils to a good end !” 
 
 “ Will you not shake hands with me, Master O’Moore 1” said a 
 strong, sonorous voice near him, and Preston elbowed his way 
 through the crowd of chiefs. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 211 
 
 u With all my heart, general! and may success attend you!” 
 “Hear you that said Sir James Dillon to those around 
 him ; “poor Roger is the first to give him that title.” 
 
 “ Could we not prevail upon you to remain with'us ?’ said the 
 new general. 
 
 “ It cannot be, Master Preston ! my path of duty began be- 
 yond seas, and there I see it is to end. It matters not, good 
 friends !” — and he turned to each with a moistened eye and a 
 flushed cheek — “ we shall all work to the same end, and if we 
 meet no more on earth we shall meet, I trust, where our reward 
 awaits us. Friends ! l^ffid friends — true friends — remember me 
 as I shall ever remember you !” 
 
 And - grasping again each offered hand, he cast a parting 
 glance around the room, bowed with all his wonted grace to the 
 lords and. prelates, many of whom stood up to receive his fare- 
 well, and then walked with a princely mien to the door, where, 
 turning, he bowed to the entire assembly, and withdrew in 
 silence. 
 
 Although many an eye was wet amongst the Irish chiefs, and 
 even amongst the Norman Palesmen, few ventured to give ex- 
 pression to their thoughts, whatever they might be. Sir Phelim 
 O’Neill, indeed, was almost the only one. 
 
 “Well! I thought Rory would have overlooked it,” said be, 
 as though speaking to himself; “ an’ it had been me, now, no 
 one would have wondered, but Rory O’Moore to leave us in 
 anger that way — I wouldn’t have wished it for half of Tyr- 
 Owen, even on his own account !” 
 
212 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 “ And though he posted e’er so fast, 
 
 His fear was greater than his haste ; 
 
 For fear, though fleeter than Ae wind, 
 
 Believes ’ tis always left behind 1 ” 
 
 Butler’s Hudibras. 
 
 “ I will believe 
 
 Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ; 
 
 And so far will I trust thee.” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 The Leinster affair once settled, the other appointments oc- 
 cupied hut little time. Barry, as might be expected, was unan- 
 imously chosen to command the army of Munster, or rather 
 continued in that office. As for Connaught, the name was no 
 sooner mentioned than Lord Castleliaven and Bishop McMahon 
 and half a dozen others were on their feet in an instant to name 
 the Earl of Clanrickarde. 
 
 “ I object to that appointment,” said the Archbishop of Tuam. 
 
 “ On what grounds, my lord 1” inquired Castlehaven. 
 
 “ On the grounds that that lord is not only no friend of our 
 cause but a bitter and determined enemy.” 
 
 “ But suppose he should one day see through his error, and 
 take his place amongst us T’ 
 
 “ It will be time enough, then, to nominate him for any office.” 
 
 “ But could we not name him now as commander-in-chief'?” 
 persisted the Earl ; “ he may decline, and probably will, but, 
 natheless, the compliment might please him.” 
 
 “ I tell you no !” repeated the prelate sternly ; “ he would not 
 thank us for the compliment, and, moreover, the man deserveth 
 .no respect at our hands. I will never consent to send our offices 
 of trust and honor a-begging after renegades — pass him over, I 
 say ! — we will none of him !” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 213 
 
 “But, I pray your grace to consider — ” chimed in Lord 
 Howth, who seldom volunteered an opinion. 
 
 “ I have considered — we have, or ought to have — all considered 
 that we might as well appoint Lord Ormond as Lord Clanrickarde ! 
 It were the act of fools, and I say again I will have no more of 
 it. My Lord Mountgarret, I pray you close this matter! Sir 
 John Burke hath been spoken of for this command, an’ I mis- 
 take not !” 
 
 “ Ay, hath he,” said the Bishop of Clonfert, himself one of the 
 De Burgos, “ a Burke worth a dozen of Ulick, at least for us, 
 and a chief man in that province, too ; one, moreover, who hath 
 seen good service and stands well approved !” 
 
 “ So let it be, then,” said Lord Mountgarret, and immediately 
 he declared Sir John Burke general of the Connaught army, no 
 dissentient voice being raised against him. These four generals, 
 then, duly appointed, were empowered to levy forces at need in 
 their respective provinces, and otherwise to take such measures 
 as might be found expedient for the interests of the service. 
 Lord Casllehaven, having so lately joined the Confederates, re- 
 ceived no special appointment, but agreed, nevertheless, to serve 
 in any of the provinces in a sort of general way, as he tells us 
 in his Memoirs. 
 
 That done, Mr. Patrick D’Arcy arose and begged to remind 
 the Supreme Council and the honorable Assembly of a cert ain mat- 
 ter of much legal importance. All eyes were instantly turned on 
 the grave lawyer, who, after sundry “ ahems,” of a professional 
 nature, went on : 
 
 “ The Council will, I presume, find it necessary to issue writs 
 and documents of divers kinds from time to time 1” 
 
 “ Assuredly, Master D’Arcy,” said Lord Mountgarret ; “ that is 
 understood.” 
 
 “ And you will seal them, doubtless I” 
 
 “ Of a surety, Master D’Arcy! Wherefore not I” 
 
 “ I said not against it, my lord, but would simply ask where is 
 your seal of office V* 
 
 “ 1 protest I never thought of that,” said the aged nobleman 
 looking around, while a glow of pleasure suffused every face at 
 the thought of having a “ great seal,” for their Supreme Council. 
 
214 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ What say ye, lords and gentlemen, who will furnish a device 
 for our sign manual 1” 
 
 Many devices were furnished and many opinions offered on 
 the subject. Some were for having the Celtic and the Norman 
 emblems associated, others for only one national device, and 
 others again for a union of religious and national emblems. The 
 latter thought, which was that of the bishops, prevailed, and a 
 beautiful design was speedily adopted: “In the centre was a 
 large cross, the base of which rested on a flaming heart, while 
 its apex was overlapped by the wings of' a dove, on the left of 
 the cross was the harp, and on the right the crown.*'* 
 
 A goodly device it was, and the motto was no less happily 
 conceived : Pro Deo, Rege, et Patria, IIiberni Unanimes. 
 Thus the legend ran, and coupled with so fair a device, it hap- 
 pily expressed the objects which the united Catholics of Ireland 
 had in view. Their hopes, their plans, their aspirations, were all 
 condensed into that one admirable sentence, and when the seal 
 was struck and first presented to the assembly it gave satisfac- 
 tion to all. When first used in the name of the Confederation on 
 an order to raise men and money in the wealthy province of 
 Leinster, the document was handed round for inspection, and we 
 may imagine the feelings of Owen Roe, and many others scarcely 
 less devoted to the national cause, as they gazed on the precious 
 memento. 
 
 “ The great seal of Ireland,” murmured Owen partly to him- 
 self, partly to O’Reilly of Breffny, at his side ; “now that 
 sight was worth living for. Pro Deo , Rege , et Patria , — for God, 
 our king, and our country — surely yes — Hiberni Unanimes. 
 Heaven grant, friend Philip, we be always Unanimes — on that 
 point doth our success turn.” 
 
 “ Come, come, general ! no doubts, no fears with that seal be- 
 fore us, the grand assembly sitting in council, our colors flying 
 over tower and town, and our vessels scouring the seas.”f 
 
 * Meehan, quoting Harold’s Life of Wadding. 
 
 t Independent of the ships sent from the Continent, letters of 
 marque were given to many others by the Supreme Council to serve 
 a« privateers. These were, even at the time we write of, numerous 
 on all the coasts. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 215 
 
 “ Ay, marry, and Father Luke Wadding scouring the lands,” 
 put in Sir Phelim whose bulky form just then intercepted the 
 light from a window behind Owen. “ That man is worth a dozen 
 privateers — no disrespect to them, either.” 
 
 “ Poor Rory !” sighed Owen still following the train of his own 
 thoughts, with his eyes fixed on the seal, “ you were the first to 
 set this union on foot, and now when it waxeth strong and taketh 
 shape and form you have cast it from you as a worthless thing. 
 Oh, Rory ! friend and faithful councillor ! is this your example 
 for our Hiberni Unanimes ? Shall we see you no more, oh ! 
 gifted son of the ancient race ? Excuse me, friends ! but my 
 heart is heavy when I think of Rory O’ Moore, going forth as he 
 does, with the barb of ingratitude rankling in his heart!” 
 
 “ Pooh! pooh ! man,” said Sir Phelim carelessly ; “ an’ he be 
 so easily separated from us he is scarce worth the having. 
 Others have lost what they had as good a right to as Rory had 
 to the Leinster army. But who cares for a home-spun native 
 like Philip O’Reilly or Phelim O’Neill — what say you, Philip V* 
 and he slapped O’Reilly lustily on the shoulder. 
 
 “I cry you mercy, Sir Phelim,” said the BrefFny chief some- 
 what chafed ; “ I would rather have your word than your blow 
 any time. Of your affairs or mine there is no question now, but 
 as for O’Moore, I cannot think, general” — addressing Owen Roe — 
 “ that he means what he says : he will not leave us at such a 
 juncture !” 
 
 “ I fear he has left, and for ever,” said Owen sadly. ; “ I have 
 sought him in vain since his appearance before the assembly, 
 and lam told he hath actually sailed for Spain.” And so he had, 
 
 “ And the land of his heart’s hope he saw never more.” 
 
 A great stir was made at first about his disappearance, and 
 little else was talked of for many days, but the surmises and 
 conjectures, the regrets and complaints all came at last to an end, 
 and were swallowed up in the whirl of passing events, and the 
 name of Rory O’Moore gradually died away on both sides the 
 Bregah, and was forgotten, save by Owen O’Neill, and Dillon, and 
 Netterville, and a few others who had been his early associates 
 in the great work. 
 
218 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Whilst all Kilkenny was ringing with the unaccountable re- 
 tirement of O’Moore from the Confederation, the young Tanist 
 of Fermanagh and the friends of his family were thrown into 
 strange confusion by the mysterious disappearance of Lorcan. 
 The old man had bade his nephew good night with unusual emo- 
 tion one evening late, after the breaking up of the assembly, and 
 Roderick laughed as he shook his hand, saying : “ Uncle, what 
 is amiss with you 1 One would think you were going a long 
 journey !” 
 
 The old man shook his head and sighed. “ The doom of our 
 race is dark and heavy, Roderick, my son, and it weighs down 
 the head of age at times.” 
 
 “Ha! ha! the spirits are at work again, I see. Have they 
 followed us all the way to Kilkenny 
 
 “ Nay, Roderick, scoff not at 'the things which thou knowest 
 not,” said the old man solemnly ; “ afll places are alike to tho 
 creatures of air. They have been with me, son of my brother, 
 since I came to this city of memories, and they have told me 
 things which my lips may not utter or your ears hear.” 
 
 “ Said they aught of Connor? ’ inquired Roderick with more 
 earnestness than he was aware of. 
 
 “ Even that I may not answer, nephew ! Their words are not 
 to he repeated unto mortal ear. This only will I tell you : the 
 oak of Fermanagh shivers in the blast — the storm is in its 
 branches — the voice of the winds is loud, and wild, it may be 
 mournful — the hour of fate draws nigh — how it will pass — how 
 the storm will end — what the wind-spirit discourseth unto us, is 
 hidden from me, as yet. Farewell, son of Maguire ! farewell, 
 Roderick of the spears ! pleasant dreams be yours this night, 
 pleasanter than those of your old uncle !” 
 
 Ho as he would, all that night bold Roderick could not get 
 rid of the strange impression left by his uncle’s words and man- 
 ner. Accustomed as he was to his eccentric ways, he could not 
 but feel that there was something more than usual in his 
 thoughts, and in vain, and, indeed, involuntary speculation on 
 what it might be, the Tanist spent his night. Next morning 
 brought the astounding news that Lorcan was not to be found— 
 he had been seen at early dawn passing out through one of the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 217 
 
 gates in company with a young Franciscan friar. The sentry at 
 the gate who chanced to be acquainted with the personal ap- 
 pearance of the old northern warrior, gave a ludicrous account 
 of the singular figure he made in a surcoat, hose and jack- 
 boots, with a small steel morion on his head, and the long grey 
 locks, the growth of seventy summers, which had streamed on 
 the breeze in Milesian glory, all carefully shorn away. It was 
 a picture to excite the risible faculties of those who knew the 
 old man, and at first his nephew did laugh heartily, sup- 
 posing some strange conceit, some passing whim, had in- 
 duced Lorcan to don that garb, so odious in his eyes, and that 
 evening, or, at farthest, the ensuing day would bring him back 
 to his anxious friends. But when evening came, and morning 
 came, and the next day passed away without any tidings of 
 him, then Roderick began to couple his disappearance with his 
 mysterious inuendos of the previous night, and something smote 
 him with a sad presentiment of evil. Who could the friar be 
 who held secret communings with the simple old man, and final- 
 ly carried him off on some errand known only to themselves, 
 for that Lorcan’s disappearance v* r as owing to this stranger’s in- 
 fluence Roderick was quick enough to perceive. 
 
 “ What the mischief,” cried Hugh Byrne when his friend un- 
 bosomed himself of his fears and misgivings ; “ could it be the 
 same friar at whose beck Lorcan quitted me so hastily some 
 days since at the bishop’s 1” 
 
 “ How is that, Hugh 1 — I heard not of it — I pray you tell me 
 how it was !” 
 
 O’Byrne then related the incident which, of course, went to 
 confirm Maguire’s suspicions. That the friar was somewhat 
 other than he seemed there was every reason to suppose, but 
 as no clue was left to trace the mystery, Roderick was forced 
 to leave the matter as it was, hoping that time would ere long 
 throw light upon it. 
 
 On the night following Lorcan’s disappearance, there stood by 
 the old market-cross of Kilkenny two men arrayed in the Celtic 
 garb as usually worn by the clansmen, with coarse woollen scarfs 
 of variegated colors wrapped in many folds around their chest 
 and shoulders instead of the short cloak or cape worn by the 
 20 
 
218 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 chiefs over the tight-fitting jacket. One of these was tall, and 
 lank, and slightly bent forward, while the other was short and 
 thick, and well planted on his limbs. They were talking in the 
 native language concerning what they had seen since they came 
 to Kilkenny, and as the hour was late and the streets well nigh 
 deserted, they conversed in a louder tone than they would other- 
 wise have used in such a place. Moreover, they were neither of 
 them accustomed to the restraints of city life, for their days had 
 all past amid the woods and in the fields under the free canopy 
 of heaven far away in “the north countrie.” So they chat- 
 ted away on that night in the market-place of Kilkenny as fear- 
 lessly and freely as though they stood on their native heath 
 within Ulladh’s borders. 
 
 It was no other than Malachy McMahon and Shamus Beg 
 O’ Hagan who had chosen so drear an hour and so strange a 
 place for their confabulation. It appeared from what they had 
 been saying that Malachy was in attendance on Bishop Heber 
 who had come forth by appointment in that silent hour to meet 
 Father Peter Walsh, with whom he was then engaged in earnest 
 conversation under the deep arch of a building some way up the 
 street. 
 
 “ He told me,” said Malachy, “ to walk up and down the street 
 till he’d be ready to come. Between you and me, Sbamus * I 
 don’t think much of that same friar he has taken up with since 
 we came here. God forgive me for passing an opinion on one of 
 his cloth, but to tell you God’s truth, Shamus dear, there’s some- 
 thing in that man’s eyes, and in the sound of his voice that 
 makes me that I can’t warm to him. But that’s neither here 
 nor there — they say he’s a very pious man and a great scholar 
 all out — at least the bishop says so, and what would bring him 
 here now if he wasn’t the right stamp.” 
 
 “ What sort of a stamp, do you think, was that other friar 
 that kidnapped poor old Lorcan Maguire — Shamus asked 
 this in a tone half serious, half jocular — “there’s one thing I can 
 say myself about him and that is that he has the fairest and the 
 comeliest face I ever saw under a hood. I’m thinking there 
 must have been some eyes red, ay, and hearts sore the day he 
 was ordained.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 219 
 
 “ Do you tell me so, Shamus,” replied Malachy drawing 
 nearer and speaking in a more confidential tone ; “ I never got a 
 sight of him myself, but as sure as I’m here it came into my 
 head that it might he ne’er a monk at all but just a spirit or 
 something that way that inveigled the old man away on account 
 of the dealings he had with things of the kind all his life. Eh, 
 Shamus 1 Lord save us, did you hear anything V ’ 
 
 “ Why no, then, did you V ’ 
 
 “ Well upon my veracity I did, Shamus ! if I didn’t hear like 
 somebody laughing I’ll never trust my ears again.” 
 
 “ Nonsense, Malachy, you’re ever and always imagining 
 things,” said Shamus slapping him on the shoulder, “ and even 
 if somebody did laugh, w T hat of itl I’m sure there’s plenty of 
 people hereabouts not in bed yet these stirring times.” 
 
 “ True, true, Shamus ! — God bless you, but it’s you has the 
 brave heart — it was God sent you across me the night, sure 
 enough. How did you happen out at all I” 
 
 “ Oh ! I was just taking a bit of a walk with some boys from 
 our own place,” said Shamus evasively, “ and as we turned a 
 corner over there beyond, I caught sight of you walking up and 
 down like a sentry, so I knew you’d be all the better pleased to 
 have company whatever you were about, and I just let the 
 others walk on till I’d come and see what you were at.” 
 
 “ It was God sent you,” said Malachy with simple earnestness, 
 “ for, to tell you the truth, I was beginning to feel mighty queer 
 — there’s a ghostly look about the old buildings round here that 
 I don’t like at all, at all.” 
 
 “ You would like the place less an’ you knew it better, honest 
 fellow,” said a gaily-dressed cavalier advancing from under the 
 shade of the neighboring doorway. 
 
 “ The Lord save us, sir ! what is it you mean 1” cried Mala- 
 chy with a sudden start, as much at the stranger’s abrupt ap- 
 pearance as the intimation his words conveyed. 
 
 ‘•'Have a care, Malachy!” whispered Shamus, “it’s Sir John 
 Netterville, no less !” 
 
 “ I mean,” said the knight carelessly, “ that the cross of Kil- 
 kenny hath not the best of names. He were a bold man here 
 in the city who would keep it company at this lone hour.” 
 
220 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “Ah then, why so, an’ it please you, Sir John I” inquired 
 Shamus, for Malachy was suddenly struck dumb with fear and 
 bewilderment. 
 
 “You know me, then V 1 said the young knight turning 
 quickly. 
 
 “ Indeed then I do, honored sir, there be few amongst us to 
 whom the heir of Netterville is unbeknown, and sure didn’t I 
 see you down at Charlemont not long ago! But if it wouldn’t 
 be making too free, would you condescend to tell us what’s 
 amiss with the place about here I” 
 
 “ Maybe it’s a gentle place it is I”* ventured to put in Malachy. 
 
 “ Worse than that,” and Netterville shook his head with a 
 most doleful air. “ Know you that there was a woman burned 
 on this very spot for witchcraft some three hundred years ago V * 
 
 “ Mother of God !” cried Malachy, “ a woman burned — a 
 witch — on this spot — come, come, come> Shamus !” raising his 
 voice each time till it reached a scream, and clutching him at 
 the same time by the shoulder. But Shamus had no mind to 
 go without having his curiosity satisfied, and he would not stir 
 an inch. 
 
 “Ah then, how was it at all, Sir John! or is it in earnest 
 you’d be 1” 
 
 “ In sooth it is, Shamus — (you see I know you , too)' — there was 
 a witch burned here as sure as you and I have life in us — just 
 on that spot where your friend is standing ” 
 
 “ Oh, holy St. Malachy !” cried the man of Uriel, “ I’m done 
 for now !” and with a spring little to be expected from his sober 
 gait and mature years he readied the steps of a door some 
 yards distant. Even that did not seem a place of security, for 
 looking back, and seeing the old spectral cross still so near, he 
 darted off in the direction of the bishop, nor stopped till he 
 gained his side, puffing and blowing like a whale. 
 
 The burst of merry laughter which echoed through the silent 
 street behind him sounded on Malachy’s startled ear like the 
 
 * Any place supposed to be frequented by the fairies or good peo- 
 ple was set down in common parlance as gentle , just as those sprightly 
 elves were collectively styled “ the gentry ’ 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 221 
 
 unholy mirth of a company of witches — even Shamns’s voice, 
 familiar as it was, gave Malachy no security. 
 
 In reply to the bishop’s anxious inquiry as to what had hap- 
 pened, poor Malachy, as soon as he could speak, related in a fal- 
 tering voice the cause of his fright. 
 
 “ My poor Malachy !” said the bishop with affected commiser- 
 ation, “ it was truly an unlucky chance which brought you 
 thither.” 
 
 “ It was all along of your lordship,” said the spoiled favorite 
 testily ; “ had you and his reverence here been in your beds it 
 isn’t wandering about, like a ghost Td have been — oh, wirra ! 
 wirra ! what came over me at all 1 — as sure as I’m a living man 
 it was on the very spot I stood on she was burned, for I feel 
 ever since a kind of a weakness on me and a meagrim in my 
 head that I never had before in all my born days. I’ll tell you 
 what it is now, my lord, you must read an office for me the first 
 thing you do to-morrow morning, or I’ll never be worth a pin !” 
 
 “ That is the least I can do, Malachy,” said the bishop with a 
 sly glance at Father Peter, who found it hard to keep from 
 laughing, “ since you say it is my fault, and, in sooth, I think 
 Father Walsh might do something that way, too, seeing that he 
 is to blame as well as I for keeping you out of your bed.” 
 
 “ One is enough,” said Malachy with unusual gruffness ; “ I’ll 
 not trouble his reverence at this time. But might I make bold to 
 ask will you stand here much longer I Dear knows,” he added 
 in a half audible voice, “ if you were as wise as you’re old, it 
 isn’t here you’d be or in such like company. But, ochone ! isn’t 
 it like a child he is with all his learning !” 
 
 Malachy’s abrupt appearance put a speedy end to the conver- 
 sation, whatever might have been its nature, and the friar and 
 the bishop moved quickly away in opposite directions, the latter 
 followed as close as might be by his faithful attendant. 
 
 By the time Sir John Netterville had enjoyed the hearty laugh 
 afforded him by Malachy’s ludicrous terror, that important per- 
 sonage was fully out of hearing, and the knight instantly ap- 
 proached Shamus with an entire change of manner. 
 
 “ Now that I have frightened away that grave simpleton,” 
 said he, “I would know from you, Shamus, all that you know 
 
222 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 yourself concerning the friar who, as you said a while ago, kid- 
 napped Lorcan Maguire.” 
 
 “ Lord, sir, I know no more about him than just what I told 
 Malachy,” Shamus replied, somewhat startled by the sudden 
 vehemence of the other’s manner ; “ I did but say that he was 
 young and well-favored — and that is all I could say inasmuch as 
 I never laid eyes on him till yester morn — you needn’t look so 
 hard at me, Sir John, for as true as if I was on my knees to the 
 priest it’s the truth I’m telling you.” 
 
 “ And you never saw that friar till yester morn 7 — bethink 
 you, Shamus !” 
 
 “ Never, Sir John, never, as I’m a living man !” 
 
 “ Hath Sir Phelim any knowledge of him, think you V’ 
 
 “ I would you might ask himself that question,” the clansman 
 replied somewhat sharply, for he liked not such questioning ; 
 “ it would ill-become me to speak for my noble master.” 
 
 “ You are right, honest fellow,” said Netterville musingly ; 
 “ it were well an’ all servitors acted in like manner. Fare you 
 well, and commend me to your master.” 
 
 “Before you go, Sir John,” said Shamus timidly, “maybe 
 you’d be kind and condescending enough to tell me was it in 
 earnest you were about the witch V’ 
 
 “ Surely yes, Shamus,” the knight laughingly replied ; “ there 
 be few in Kilkenny town who cannot tell you the story of the 
 Lady Alice Kelter, her two waiting-maids and accomplices, 
 Basilia and Petronilla, and her wizard son William Utlaw, with a 
 certain imp whom they named Robert Artisson, and who did the 
 bidding of the powerful witch Lady Alice.”* 
 
 “ Christ in heaven save us !” ejaculated Shamus, and raising 
 his right hand he made with the thumb thereof the sacred sign 
 on his forehead ; “ and was it her they burnt %” 
 
 “ Not so, Shamus, it was the woman Basilia. The lady’s rank 
 saved her, I know not how, and the other waiting-maid managed 
 to escape from the country. It is a strange tale, Shamus, and 
 
 * For a curious account of this strange episode in the local history 
 of Kilkenny, see Dublin Penny Journal , Yol. I., p. 74, and Hall’s 
 I~*land } Yol. II. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 223 
 
 overlong for me to tell, but ask any of the people hereabouts 
 and you will hear it all. Hark ! the cock proclaimeth midnight 
 — it is a dreary hour and a lonesome place — methinks you and 
 I were better housed than shivering here in the cold moon’s ray.” 
 
 So thought Shamus, too, and as he hurried away in search of 
 “ the boys from his own place,” he muttered : “ There’s no luck 
 with their underhand work, that’s the truth. Now there’s Bish- • 
 
 op McMahon and that tricky friar above yonder, Sir John Net- • 
 terville here, and Sir Phelim and General Preston down there 
 below with their heads together — what it all means I’m sure I 
 can’t tell, but there’s something in it — that’s plain.” 
 
224 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 “ A prison is in all things like a grave, 
 
 Where we no better privileges have 
 Than dead men ; nor so good ” 
 
 Bishop King. 
 
 “ Oh ! give me liberty ! 
 
 For were even Paradise my prison, 
 
 Still I should long to leap the crystal walls.” 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Whilst the Confederates were wielding supreme power in 
 Kilkenny, appointing generals, framing laws, issuing letters of 
 marque, and even coinrng money on their own authority, and 
 astonishing all Europe by the boldness and promptness of their 
 measures, Maguire and McMahon lay immured in their English 
 prison far from home and friends, and a prey to the nameless 
 horrors of suspense in such a state as theirs. The roll of Irish 
 drums came not to them over the waters, or the echo of their 
 nation’s voice from the halls of St. Canice’s city. They knew 
 nothing, heard nothing of what was passing in their own land, 
 and had not even the poor happiness of bearing their misery 
 together. They were separated, and their life was a dreary 
 blank — an intolerable burden it would have been were it not for 
 the faith that was strong within them and kept them from yield- 
 ing to despair. But their hearts were growing cold and heavy, 
 for it seemed to them as though all the world had forgotten 
 them and left them to their hard fate. This saddening convic- 
 tion came slowly on Maguire’s mind; the experience of his prison- 
 life had shown him that a spirit of love kept watch over him, 
 and the wonders he had seen accomplished by its agency buoyed 
 him up with delusive hope, against reason and probability. 
 Long he looked for the re-appearance under one shape or an- 
 other of her who had promised never to forget him, and this 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 225 
 
 gleam of hope threw a faint sunshine athwart the gloom of his 
 mournful existence ; but as time wore on, as day succeeded day, 
 and week followed week, and still no change, no ripple on the 
 sluggish stream, the solitary star faded in the dim obscure, and 
 a deeper dejection settled down on Connor’s heart. It was not 
 the dark gulf yawning before him, all the more terrible for its 
 dim uncertainty, neither was it the utter privation of all comfort 
 that weighed the heaviest on that proud, sensitive heart, but the 
 thought of being utterly forgotten in his dungeon while so many 
 of his kindred breathed the free air of heaven, not to speak of 
 the friends whose dangerous counsels had, as he bitterly thought, 
 hurried him into the pitfall. 
 
 “ An’ we had but struck even one bl-ow for our country and 
 our God, or been sharers in one glbrious action, this so drear 
 blank were not within us,” he said within himself full many a 
 time ; “we would then have had at least one bright spot to look 
 back upon, one thought to cheer us, but caught like a brace of 
 bag-foxes, branded as traitors to the king without having drawn 
 a sword or struck a blow in our country’s cause, and here left to 
 pine in a foreign land, while at home the work we helped to plan 
 is done by other hands, and the men of our race, mayhap, smit- 
 ing the oppressor and rending their chains for ever, — oh ! God ! 
 what a fate is ours — poor lone scape-goats pining in the desert 
 of this accursed land !” 
 
 Nevertheless, forgotten as the prisoners supposed themselves 
 to be, there were those who never lost sight of them, and were 
 sorely troubled about their spiritual welfare. Of this number 
 was Mr. Conyers, the Lieutenant of the Tower, a worthy man in 
 his own way but somewhat thick-headed and a fanatic withal. 
 
 Great was the surprise and not small the indignation of Lord 
 Maguire when this godly gentleman one day paid him a visit for 
 the purpose of introducing a gifted divine, a recent acquaintance 
 of his, whom he declared endued with more than mortal powers 
 of persuasion, assuredly for the advancement of Christ’s kingdom 
 on earth. 
 
 Is he a pr'est'?” said Maguire coldly and without looking at 
 the preacher. 
 
 “ Young man,” said Conyers, “ beware how you insult the 
 
226 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 children of light by so much as naming in their presence the 
 doers of dark deeds !” 
 
 “ An’ he be not what I said, I’ll none of him,” said the Baron 
 resolutely. 
 
 “ Son of Belial, thou shalt hear him,” said the official person- 
 age with rising anger ; “ thou and thine accomplice in guilt, blinded 
 as ye both are, shall open your ears to the words of life from 
 the mouth of this evangelical man — if willingly the better for 
 yourselves, but hear him ye shall !” 
 
 “ Yea, verily,” said the minister, a tbin and somewhat ema- 
 ciated young man, with a most woe-begone expresssion of coun- 
 tenance ; “ yea, verily, Master Conyers, we will even sow our 
 seed, be the soil as it may, and leave the fructifying thereof to 
 Him who giveth the increase. My lord of Essex hath, as you 
 know, a strong and merciful desire to snatch these poor brands 
 from the burning.” 
 
 “ An’ your lord of Essex would but take heed of his own 
 spiritual affairs,” said Maguire sharply, “ he might find enough 
 to do.” 
 
 “ Did I ever tell you, Master Conyers,” said the melancholy 
 preacher, without appearing to notice the prisoner’s remark, 
 “ how a godly friend of mine in Dublin was moved by the spirit 
 to attempt the conversion of these hardened sinners 
 
 At this Maguire opened his eyes and tried to catch a glimpse 
 of the minister’s face, but it was turned from him. Conyers 
 answered in the negative. 
 
 “ I marvel at my forgetfulness, for verily the deeds of Osee 
 Judkins were in all men’s mouths.” 
 
 Hearing this name, so well remembered, a light suddenly 
 broke on Maguire, who with difficulty repressed the exclamation 
 that rose to his lips. The preacher half turned at the moment 
 and glanced furtively in his direction. 
 
 “ Were his gifts equal to those of your learned companion'?” 
 demanded Conyers. 
 
 “ Say not learned ,” exclaimed the divine, as if somewhat 
 offended by the term ; “ that wonderful man is not learned ac- 
 cording to the ways of men — of books he knoweth nothing — his 
 knowledge is from above, and his discourse with powers unseen 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 227 
 
 by mortal eye. Verily be is a powerful man, and for that reason 
 I named him unto you as one fit to deal with the traitor 
 McMahon, whom men speak of as more'obdurate than his fellow 
 here present.” 
 
 “ Truly, master preacher,” said Maguire laughingly, “ I am 
 much beholden to you for your good opinion. Methinlcs it were 
 pity to baulk such a fair-spoken man in his godly purpose of 
 expounding unto me. Since your gifted friend hath been given 
 a hearing by McMahon, I will not refuse to hear you , apprising 
 you beforehand, however, that my faith is not to be shaken by 
 the breath of living man.” 
 
 “ We shall see,” returned the minister calmly, “ and Master 
 Conyers will perchance favor me with his company while I unfold 
 the high mysteries of Revelation before these eyes now darkened 
 and unable to bear the Gospel light 
 
 “ I pray you excuse me, reverend sir,” said Conyers hastily ; 
 “ 1 have a multiplicity of business on hands this morning, and must, 
 therefore, decline. I will now look in to see how it fareth with 
 Master Seagrave — that McMahon is a reckless desperado, and 
 the man is old — though, to say the truth, he looketh as though 
 he were well able to defend himself — ay ! even by the carnal 
 weapon ! I will see to it, natheless, and return hither anon.” 
 
 He had hardly closed the door after him, locking and double- 
 locking as usual, when the preacher commenced his polemical 
 attack after a strange fashion. From beneath the folds of his 
 long black cloak he drew forth — not a Bible — but a file, pointing 
 at the same time to the straw which served the Baron for a couch. 
 The suggestion was instantly acted on, and the instrument once 
 out of sight, the minister next pointed to the small grated win- 
 dow which, at a height of several feet, gave light to the room. 
 
 “ Here is death — all but certain,” whispered the stranger ; 
 “ beyond is freedom — it may and must be — in the dead of night 
 make your file acquainted with that grating, but be sure you 
 leave one bar uncut, and thereto, on the third night from this, 
 you will fasten the end of that rope,” producing a small coil 
 from under the clerical cloak. 
 
 “ But who — who are you V 1 demanded Maguire in the same 
 whispered accents. “ Mother of Mercy ! now I see your face, 
 
228 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 I know full well — ah ! I knew it — there is but one alive who 
 would run such risk for Connor Maguire.” 
 
 “In that you err,” 'said the strange visitor; “your uncle 
 Lorcan hath willingly shared the danger — for your dear sake.” 
 
 “ Ha ! he is, then, the powerful wrestler with the Evil One — 
 the man who by means of his unearthly gifts is to bring over 
 Costelloe McMahon 1” 
 
 “ Even so, but hearken to what yet remains. Having fastened 
 the rope to the uncut bar, you must e’en let yourself down, 
 trusting your life to Providence ; and, oh Connor ! be careful — 
 remembering that another life is bound up with yours ! One 
 thing I forgot — on no account descend till you hear me say twice 
 over, 1 Babylon the mighty hath fallen !’ Note you well what I 
 say I” 
 
 “ Ay, Emmeline, and I will do it, with God’s good aid, were it 
 but for thy sweet sake — life hath grown precious to me of late 
 since thou, beloved, taught me its value.” 
 
 The look of unutterable affection which accompanied these 
 words sent a thrill of joy to Emmeline’s heart, and she felt as 
 though death itself were a light evil when balanced against 
 Maguire’s love. She extended her hand — a beautiful hand it 
 was too — and the Baron seizing it pressed it to his lips and to 
 his heart, then dropped it, and, sighing, turned away. The dis- 
 guised fair one eyed him with a conscious, exulting smile, then 
 drawing forth from her loose hanging sleeve a small Bible, she 
 gave a peculiar set to the wig of long black hair which covered 
 her head, and composed her fair, chiselled features into the look 
 they had worn in Conyers’ presence. 
 
 “I will e’en commence now,” said she, “the godly task set 
 before me, lest perchance we be taken by surprise.” Raising 
 her voice, then, with a warning motion of the finger, she spoke : 
 “Verily that power which you call the Church hath made 
 compact with the Evil One to hand over to him the souls of men 
 — an’ you come not forth from her, Lord of Enniskillen ! you 
 shall perish with her !” 
 
 The laugh which he could not repress died away on Maguire’s 
 lips, for Mr. Conyers at the moment opened the door, and asked 
 what progress had been made. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 229 
 
 “ But little, I fear,” was the preacher’s answer. “ Heard you 
 not the mocking laugh wherewith the reprobate greeted my poor 
 attempt at exhortation V 7 
 
 “ He shall laugh the other way ere long,” said the lieutenant 
 sternly, “but your friend hath better hopes of the other. An’ 
 you pay them another visit, when opportunity offers, you may 
 find both better disposed.” 
 
 “ They will but lose their time,” said Maguire in a surly tone 
 as the pair withdrew, the preacher promising to return in a few 
 days. 
 
 He did return but only to find Conyers and all his understrap- 
 pers in an agony of feaf and the Tower one -scene of confusion. 
 In answer to his urgent inquiries oft repeated, the divine was 
 informed that the two Irish prisoners had made their escape on 
 the previous night. 
 
 Made their escape 1 — how is that I” 
 
 “ We have no time for giving explanations,” said Conyers who 
 just then made his appearance. “Were it not for the recom- 
 mendation of my lord of Essex, master what’s your name, I 
 would e’en suspect that you know more about this thing than 
 any here.” 
 
 “ Truly I know not your meaning, Master Conyers,” said the 
 minister with perfect composure, “ but I know you have spoiled 
 by your unaccountable neglect the most promising case of con- 
 version I have yet had. It would have made my fortune with 
 Lord Essex and other godly noblemen now at the head of affairs, 
 had I but won over that pestilent rebel and recusant. Hath 
 his lordship — hath the honorable House knowledge of this 
 event ?’ 
 
 Conyers was so angry that he literally could not speak, seeing 
 which the minister quietly made his exit, saying with a formal 
 bow that he would go on the instant to the Earl of Essex to ac- 
 quaint him with the gross insult which had been put upon him. 
 
 “Who brought the files'? — answer me that!” cried the per- 
 turbed lieutenant, following him to the door. 
 
 “ Files ! — what files 
 
 “ Why, the files that cut the prison-bars ol these recusants!” 
 
 “ Come with me before Lord Essex and I will answer you — 
 
230 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 madman as you are !” returned the preacher in a contemptuous 
 tone, still moving on towards the street. 
 
 But that did not suit Conyers’ purpose. He, in common with 
 many others, dreaded Essex more than he did the king, so go 
 he would not. All that day he had a new cause of terror ex- 
 pecting an angry visit from that powerful nobleman, but Essex 
 never came, and when Conyers went himself some days after to 
 see how the land lay, he was astounded to hear that the preacher 
 had never made his appearance there since the escape of the 
 prisoners. 
 
 “ Surely that knave hath outwitted us both,*’ said the grim 
 Parliamentarian general in a low voice* “ and what is worse, I 
 see not how we can remedy the evil he hath wrought, so, I 
 think, Master Conyers, the best we can do is to keep our own 
 secret and say nothing of this wolf who came upon us in sheep’s 
 clothing. For this time we can but set a watch on the various 
 outlets of the city, so that, if the varlets are not already gone, 
 they must needs fall into our hands — but an’we catch them, 
 Master C ony ers ’ ’ 
 
 “ Ay ! my good lord ! you will make sure of them!” 
 
 “ Sure! ay, marry, sure! Verily, I tell you, Master Conyers, 
 their next prison shall be more secure than the White Tower.” 
 And he smiled a grim smile. 
 
 Whilst all London was ringing with the escape of the Liish 
 traitors, and Conyers, protected by the powerful influence of 
 Essex, was enabled to ward off the storm of anger which would 
 otherwise have been his destruction, Maguire and McMahon 
 were safely lodged in the house of a faithful Englishman, a 
 Catholic, who had once been a servant of the former in Dublin. 
 This man had all along been in the secret of the projected 
 escape, had provided the files and ropes necessary to effect it, 
 and it was to his house, at his own request, that the two friends 
 were conveyed by their liberators. 
 
 It was a raw cold night in dark November and the flickering 
 flame of the oil-lamps did but little to dispel the gloom which 
 enveloped the great city. All around the town was dark and 
 silent as the tomb, save ever and anon when the voice of the 
 warders was heard proclaiming how the night went from the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 231 
 
 several divisions of the old fortress. It was a bold venture for 
 Maguire and his friend to swing themselves down from the 
 height of the White Tower trusting to the frail support of a rope. 
 Yet they did so — even Maguire nerved with a strong and trust- 
 ing spirit by the faith that was his support throughout, and also, 
 it might be, by the tenacious love of life, strongest and most 
 intense as the prospect of death draws near. They had both 
 worked steadily at filing the bars during the long dark nights, 
 and on the third morning all was in readiness agreeable to the 
 instructions they had received. How long that day seemed, and 
 how the night-hours when they came weighed like lead on the 
 hearts of the poor solitary “jail-birds,” as they bitterly styled 
 themselves. Ho.w anxiously they noted the sounds of life gra- 
 dually dying away in the vicinity of the Tower, and how many 
 fefelrs and hopes chased each other through their minds concern- 
 ing the welfare of the devoted friends who were running such 
 risk to effect their liberation. Fervently did they pray that, 
 whatever became of themselves, no harm might befal those loved 
 and loving ones on whom, next to God, their hopes rested. 
 
 The night was far advanced and in all probability the warders 
 were cozilv taking a nap, sheltered in some wise from the pierc- 
 ing wintry air, when all at once rose a cry beyond the moat, 
 faint and subdued, yet distinctly audible to the two anxious 
 listeners : 
 
 “ Rejoice, ye just, Babylon the mighty hath fallen !” 
 
 Immediately Maguire and McMahon removed the bars, already 
 cut asunder, fastened the rope securely to the one in each win- 
 dow left uncut, listening anxiously the while to ascertain whether 
 the signal cry had attracted attention. After waiting for some 
 time until they were perfectly satisfied that the slumbering 
 guards of the Tower had paid no attention to the sound, they 
 recommended themselves to God, the Blessed Virgin and the 
 Saints, and at the same moment both let themselves down, and 
 although their heads were dizzy with the swift descent from such 
 a tremendous height, with the agonizing fear which only faith 
 and prayer could enable them to bear and live when they found 
 themselves suspended in mid-air, yet on reaching the ground 
 they speedily and, as it were, miraculoifcly recovered their breath 
 
232 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and the power of volition, and, by God’s great mercy, succeeded 
 in swimming across the moat. Once on the other side they 
 breathed more freely and ejaculated a fervent thanksgiving as, 
 for the first time, they exchanged a hasty shake-hands. The 
 outer wail was still before them, but whilst they stood deliber- 
 ating in whispers how they snould surmount that last obstacle, 
 a ladder of ropes was thrown across it, and after a brief but 
 generous strife as to who should first ascend, McMahon, stouter 
 and more active than his friend, seized the Baron and fairly lifted 
 him to the first step of the ladder, whispering in his ear a char- 
 acteristic joke on his slowness of motion. 
 
 In a few seconds, the two stood together safe and sound on 
 the outside, where Lorcan and the faithful Smithson awaited 
 them in the disguise of oystermen. The ladder was hastily re- 
 moved, and stowed away under Smithson’s great jacket, then, 
 without pausing to ask or answer questions, the four marched 
 off, two by two, in the direction of Drury Lane, where Smith- 
 son’s domicile was situate. 
 
 “ Maguire,” said his lriend as they trudged along, “ how do 
 you feel V* 
 
 “ Like one in a dream,” Connor replied ; “ I cannot get con- 
 vinced, do as I will, that I am once more at large, and I have 
 dreamed that so often that I know not but this, too, may turn 
 out a delusion.” 
 
 “ Let me wake you up, then,” said the mercurial Tanist, and 
 drawing his fist he gave him a smart box on the side of the head ; 
 “ is that a delusion, think you 
 
 Before Maguire could answer a watchman from behind 
 grasped McMahon by the shoulder. <f What meaneth this, my 
 masters, — brawling on the street at an untimeous hour I Who be 
 ye V ’ 
 
 Startled by this apparition and the abrupt inquiry which it 
 behoved them not to answer, the friends exchanged looks of 
 alarm, and began to meditate flight, but a low, cautious laugh 
 from old Lorcan made them cast their eyes on the supposed 
 guardian of the night, and the next moment Maguire had clasped 
 a small white hand that came suddenly out from beneath the 
 loose sleeve of the watchffian’s coa^. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 233 
 
 “ Thank God !” murmured a soft voice from under the Charley*s 
 clumsy cap, “ thank God! you are so far safe — but much caution 
 is yet requisite. Hasten your steps.” 
 
 “ But whither have you been V 1 said Maguire anxiously as 
 the two fell a pace or so behind ; “ my escape seemed but half 
 certain when I looked for you in vain.” 
 
 “ Shall I tell the whole truth 1” said the soft voice, and it 
 slightly trembled ; “ I was on my knees under a projecting arch, 
 within sight of the Tower but seeing it not, for I dared not raise 
 mine eyes — oh Connor ! what I felt during those moments ! — and 
 I prayed — ay ! even to Mary the Virgin Mother — for the first 
 time in my life — I begged of her who had herself known human 
 agony, to look with pity on mine, and bring you safe through 
 that awful moment — nay, do not laugh.” . 
 
 “ Laugh, Emmeline ! not for ten thousand worlds !” said the 
 chief with thrilling earnestness ; “your words are as balm to 
 my sorrow-worn heart — ay ! precious as the honey-dew of 
 eastern story. But where are you lodged 
 
 “ At the house of this good man,” meaning Smithson ; “ your 
 uncle and I have been well accommodated, but now methinks 
 it were well for us to go elsewhere — I, at least — until such time 
 as you are all enabled to embark for Ireland, the which may 
 not be for some weeks to come.” 
 
 “But whither — whither would you god” Maguire anxiously 
 inquired. 
 
 “ Nay, fear not for me — there be relatives of my mother here 
 in town cu whom I will go in my own proper semblance. There, 
 your uncle is looking back — fearing, perchance, that some super- 
 natural agency — whereof I know not but he suspecteth me the 
 possessor — may spirit you away beyond his ken ! Being a 
 watchman, I must fall far behind, moreover, lest some prying 
 eye might detect our companionship ! Fare you well !” 
 
 “ Be that your spiritual counsellor T’ said McMahon, finding 
 his friend again alongside ; “ an’ it be, I begin to incline to your 
 uncle’s notions concerning the guardian spirits of your race. I 
 have not yet heard from you who or what this benefactor is, but, 
 feeling that we owe our lives to him, her, or it, I desire to tender 
 my share of the thanks due, at the next appearance of the 
 
234 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 gracious vision ! I pray you bear that in mind, Connor! lucky 
 fellow as you needs must be !” 
 
 Whilst these things were going on in the English metropolis, 
 the belligerent parties in Ireland were pushing on the war with 
 increasing vigor and activity. Ormond, with the comparatively 
 small army at his command, was rapidly overrunning Leinster, 
 while Preston’s levies were being raised and prepared for effective 
 service. Lord Inchiquin and Lord Broghill, with Coote, Vava- 
 sour and other generals of note, were keeping their ground, and, 
 more than that, in Munster, notwithstanding that the Confederates 
 were masters of the greater portion of that province. Muskerry 
 and Mountgarret had gathered some laurels, and Colonel Butler 
 had taken many a castle since the day he so chivalrously sent 
 Lady Ormond in safety from Carrick’s walls. O’Byrne had dis- 
 tinguished himself in many a skirmish with the enemy amongst 
 his native mountains, and Sir John Netterville, with Richard 
 Butler, a younger brother of Ormond, had also gained some ad- 
 vantages for the Confederates. The former had defended Net- 
 terville Castle during a protracted siege until relieved by a brigade 
 under the command of Lord Dunboyne, another brave and effi- 
 cient officer. Sir James Billon and Sir Morgan Cavanagh had 
 proved their prowess in various engagements with Ormond’s 
 forces on the fertile plains of Leinster. One and all they had 
 gone forth from the Council Chamber in Kilkenny (where the 
 Supreme Council still sat) filled with new ardor and a more in- 
 tense devotion to the sacred cause they had espoused. 
 
 When Owen Roe and the other Ulster chiefs turned their steps 
 homeward from Kilkenny, they found on approaching their own 
 borders that some new impetus had been given to the motions 
 of the clans, especially those of Tyrone and Armagh. The 
 whole country was in motion, and everywhere groups of men 
 were seen with lowering brows and moody looks discussing some 
 subject that seemed strangely to excite them. Weapons, too, 
 were being whetted, and bows were newly strung, and the long 
 javelins of tough mountain ash used with such tremendous effect 
 by the Irish spearmen were everywhere seen in a forward state 
 of preparation. The strangest thing of all was that there was 
 no information to be got as to the cause of this sudden commo- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 235 
 
 tion. In the border countries, on the outskirts of Ulster, the 
 people seemed not to know : they had heard of a great rising 
 to take place when Owen Roe got back from Kilkenny ^nearer 
 home, there was word of some strange event that had come like 
 a thunderbolt on the half-awakened clans and roused them to 
 sudden fury. What had taken place no one could exactly tell, 
 but it was something very terrible, as every one said, and at last 
 it assumed the vague, though palpable form of “ another black 
 deed of the Sassums or Albinachs.*” 
 
 “ But what — what is it 
 
 “ Oh! the sorra one of me knows — aren’t they always at some 
 devilment or another — but they say this was past the common, 
 and the men are all on for a great battle as soon as the general 
 comes home — Lord send him safe to us ! — I don’t know what 
 they’re about up the country, but we want him badly here !” 
 Owen Roe smiled at those who were with him on hearing this 
 from an ancient dame but a few miles from Charlemont. “ Me- 
 thinks,” said he, “ they are all bent on keeping us in the dark — 
 but hark ! is not that the distant sound of wailing 1 — ay ! is it — 
 loud and many-voiced ! — ride on, my men, for my heart tells me 
 that some evil thing hath befallen our poor people !” 
 
 The same excitement was visible all through the country as 
 the travellers now dashed along at full speed, but Owen Roe 
 asked no further questions, till, reaching the banks of the Black- 
 water, a short distance from the castle, where he intended to 
 cross, he encountered a party of the Rapparees with Florry 
 Muldoon at their head, marching on toot in the direction of old 
 Benburb. A hearty cheer of welcome burst from the brave fel- 
 lows as they recognized the general. 
 
 “ Now, at least, wo shall hear all,” said Owen, and accosting 
 Florry, he demanded what it was that had set the country all in 
 a blaze. 
 
 “ The old story, general,” said the old Rapparee with a kin- 
 dling eye; “ the Scotch devils, finding you and Sir Phelim and 
 most of the chiefs away, broke in on us and carried off the cat- 
 tle and — and ” 
 
 * The Gaelic name for the Scotch. 
 
236 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ And what else Did they kill any one V * 
 
 “Well! and to be sure they did — the murdering villians, to 
 be sure they did — when did they ever come and go among us 
 without shedding blood — och wirra ! wirra ! wirra !” 
 
 “ But did they do much harm this time 1” asked Owen with 
 some strange presentiment knocking at his heart. 
 
 “ It’s as well for you ask no more questions, general dear,” 
 said the well-known voice of Donogli, “ you’ll know it all before 
 long, and sorrow is time enough when it comes. Away with 
 you, Florry, and get them pikes from O’Flanagan if he has them 
 ready. We’ll be wanting them now, please God, when once the 
 general’s home again. Don’t come back without them, and tell 
 him I said so !” 
 
 “ Revenge ! revenge !” shouted the woodsmen ; “ blood for 
 blood !” 
 
 “ I tell yon it’s at hand now,” said their young leader; “be 
 off and do as I bid you, and you’ll have it all the sooner.” 
 
 “ In God’s name what is the meaning of all this V ’ said O’Neill, 
 as the Rapparees marched away obedient to the last stern com- 
 mand. “ Here I find the country all astir — I am told darkly 
 of cruel murders and robbery and what not, yet no man seemeth 
 willing to give me much knowledge anent the mishap whatever 
 it be !” 
 
 “ Why, the short and the long of it is, general,” said the 
 young man in a perturbed voice, “ Stewart came in at one side 
 on us and Cole at the other, about ten days agone, and, thinking 
 they’d have it all their own way, they killed and destroyed what- 
 ever came under their hands, and although we poor wood-kern 
 peppered them well at times when we got them in detachments 
 here or there, or wherever their numbers were of no use to 
 them, still the devils made good their point and fleeced the coun- 
 try right and left — ay ! and took some precious lives, too — but 
 they did one deed at last that brought vengeance on them swift 
 and sure, and drove them back to their lair again.” 
 
 “ And what was that I” 
 
 “ Come with me to Benburb, an’ you be not over tired, and 
 you will know all !” 
 
 “ Tired !” said Owen, “ why, an* I were hardly able to sit my 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 237 
 
 horse I would go to have this mystery solved. What say you 
 friends and comrades V* 
 
 Most of those with him were followers or adherents, and all 
 declared themselves willing to go, so turning their horses’ heads, 
 on they dashed in the wake of Donogh, who had jumped on a 
 horse that was grazing by the river side, and, without saddle or 
 bridle, kept his place in the van of the flying cavalcade. 
 
 The wintry day was drawing to a close when they reached 
 Benburb, and the deepening gloom of evening was settling cold 
 and cheerless around the old castle, but as Owen glanced upwards 
 at its frowning walls, a light suddenly appeared through one of 
 the narrow loop-holes, and the chieftain rubbed his eyes and 
 looked again, for, to his knowledge, no living thing was within 
 the ruined fortress. 
 
 “ Donogh !” said he, “ do mine eyes deceive me, or is that a 
 light in the castle up yonder % n 
 
 “ Indeed, then, it is, general, and look if there be not a green 
 flag on the top. Well! myself didn’t see that before — they got 
 some of the boys to put it up, expecting the general’s return,” 
 he musingly said, partly to himself, “ but, come in, General 
 O’Neill ! and you’ll find one to read your riddle !” 
 
 The old stone staircase leading upwards from the hall was 
 still, if not perfect, at least passable ; and a stream of faint, 
 flickering light from above made its rugged steps dimly visible 
 through the yawning darkness of the hall beneath. A stillness 
 like that of death brooded over the dreary spot, and many a 
 stout heart wnuld have feared — 
 
 “ To tempt the dangerous gloom,” 
 
 but Owen Roe, undeterred by the utter wildness and desolation 
 of the scene, was only the more anxious to penetrate the mys- 
 tery so suddenly connected with the old castle of his ancestors. 
 
 “ Whither now V* said he in a whisper to Donogh, but the 
 whisper, low as it was. awoke the echoes of the long-deserted 
 nail. 
 
 “Up — up, general! — only yourself, though, and hie to show 
 you the wav.” 
 
 “ By my father’s grave, Captain Donogh,” said a fiery young 
 
238 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 follower of the chief, “ you do take us coolly — think you we came 
 so far from our road to see or hear nothing, and stand shivering, 
 moreover, in the cold frosty air, among ghosts and goblins, and 
 all such things, till mayhap it’s enchanted we’d be ourselves ?” 
 
 “ Never mind, Shane, my boy,” whispered the ftapparee in a 
 soothing tone, for he heard most of the others grumbling in like 
 manner, though not so loudly, “ we’ll give you the front rank 
 some of these days, and that will be more pleasing to you than 
 what you’d see up yonder, for, God he knoweth, it is a pitiful 
 siaht !” 
 
 Meanwhile Owen had made bis way up the rough, moss-grown 
 staircase, his long sword clattering as he went, and the plume 
 on his hat dancing with every step. Reaching the t@p, he stood 
 still transfixed, as it were, with wonder, we may not say affright. 
 A scene was before him which he never forgot, never could for- 
 get, till his dying day. At the farther end of the large square 
 chamber on a couch made of straw and mountain heather piled 
 to some height, lay a sheeted corpse, stiff, and wan, and ghastly 
 in the light of three small tapers placed at the head. Close by 
 knelt a female figure wrapped in a dark-colored mantle, the 
 folds of which could not conceal the exquisite symmetry and 
 graceful outline of the form within. There was beauty, too, and 
 grace in the bowed head and the clasped hands and the statue- 
 like repose of the whole figure. Around, like so many enchanted 
 beings, were a dozen or so of women of all ages, some kneeling, 
 some squatted on the flagged floor, but all rocking to and fro 
 after the manner of Irish mourners, and each telling her beads 
 devoutly. At the foot of the death-couch stood Angus Dhu, his 
 arms folded and his tearful eyes fixed on the corpse. No sound 
 from below had disturbed the mourners, and Owen’s exclamation 
 of wonder was the first intimation they got of other presence 
 than their own. 
 
 “ Mary. Mother!” cried the chieftain, “who have we here'?” 
 — and his voice trembled with a nameless fear. 
 
 “ The ge.neral !” said Angus joyfully — the women clapped 
 their hands, and all but shouted for joy — the kneeling figure 
 stood up and turned towads O’Neill — it was Judith O’Cahan ! 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 239 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 . Murder itself is past all expiation, 
 
 The greatest crime that nature doth abhor.” 
 
 Goffe. 
 
 “ Treason and murder ever kept together, 
 
 As two yoke-devils sworn to each other’s purpose ” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 There was no stormy outburst of grief, no outward sign of 
 emotion on the part of Judith as she and O’Neill stood again 
 face to face. Indeed Owen of the two betrayed the most agita- 
 tion, as, pointing to the corpse, he said : “ She is gone, then, 
 Judith V* 
 
 “ Even so, general ! the hunted hare hath found rest at last, 
 and I am motherless.” 
 
 “But how — when 1 what caused her death V 1 
 
 “ The bayonets of Stewart’s soldiers,” said Judith with pre- 
 ternatural calmness, and a stern compression of the lips that 
 showed a gush of feeling welling up within ; “ eight daj r s ago they 
 gave her her death, but the breath was in her till yesternoon ” 
 
 “Queen of Heaven! Judith O’Cahan,” cried Owen O’Neill 
 starting and changing color, “ how is this 1 Did the Sassums 
 murder your mother 1” 
 
 “ I have said it !” 
 
 “But where — how 1” 
 
 Judith made an effort to speak, then raised her hand to her 
 forehead and pressed it hard, hard. 
 
 “ An’ your ladyship will give me leave,” said Angus Dhu, 
 “ I will tell the general how it was” — Judith nodded and he went 
 on : “You were only a day or two gone, general, when the old 
 lady, Heavens be her bed ! took a notion that her end wasn't far 
 off, and nothing would please her till we went and brought her 
 
240 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 the priest. She got going to her duty, thank God, and so 
 did every one in the Castle when they had the chance, not know- 
 ing in these days when their hour might come — after that her 
 ladyship got the greatest strength ever you seen for a start, and 
 what did she take into her head but that she must go and die 
 in her own old Castle of Dungiven. Well, sure, nobody would 
 make so free as to laugh at her, but the lady Judith here did 
 all she could to get her persuaded not to leave Charlemont where 
 she was safe and well cared for. But she might as well talk to 
 the winds, go to Dungiven the old madam would, for she hadn’t 
 many days to live, she said, and she couldn’t die in peace any- 
 where else. Well ! after that, general, no one could say again 
 her, so Manus O’Neill that you left in charge at the Castle, got 
 a kind of a litter made for the two ladies, and sent a score or so 
 of horsemen with them — our captain wanted to send a party of 
 his own boys with them but Manus wouldn’t hear of it, and away 
 they all went — vo ! vo ! they did, but — but they never reached 
 Dungiven, for before they had crossed the county march — with 
 Tyrone heather still under their horses’ feet — they fell in with a 
 troop of Stewart’s cavalry and — and ” 
 
 “ And what'?” 
 
 “ And your brave clansmen were most all cut to pieces trying 
 to keep the ladies from falling into the hands of the scarlet devils, 
 and old madam was stabbed in two or three places, and if her 
 ladyship here to the fore wasn’t murdered, too, it was because 
 the officer kept telling his bloody crew to take her alive, and not 
 to harm her or he’d have their lives ” 
 
 “ And because, Angus, the Rapparees were upon them before 
 they could finish their work — you forgot that, my good lad — but 
 I have not forgotten that I owe you and Donogh, and the other 
 brave fellows who were with you, more, a thousand times more, 
 than my life.” 
 
 “ Speak not of it, lady !” said the youth modestly ; “ our cap- 
 tain did but keep on your track, fearing lest your escort might 
 not be sufficient — it was God that brought us there and your 
 good angel !” 
 
 “ And what did you, Angus '?” said O’Neill turning quickly. 
 
 “ Well, general ! if we weren’t in time to save the old madam, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 241 
 
 we did the next best, I’m thinking. We sent the villains home 
 with a dead officer instead of a live one, and made them less by 
 a dozen or so ” 
 
 “ And } ourselves 1” The youth’s countenance fell, and he 
 remained silent. 
 
 “ Alas ! general,” said Judith sorrowfully, “ they paid dearly 
 enough for their victory — they laid O’Boyle and two more of 
 their best men in Eglish mould next day, side by side with the 
 brave O’Neills who like them fell in our defence ! — oh ! mother ! 
 mother !” she said, turning passionately to the corpse, “ what a 
 heavy woe came of your wayward wish !” 
 
 “ But why, why came you hither demanded Owen. “ Why 
 not return to Charlemont 
 
 “ Because,” said Judith, “ I saw that the hand of death was 
 on my mother, and I took her here to die where solitude and 
 desolation were around us like unto mine own heart.” 
 
 There was another reason which Judith kept to herself, but 
 which the keen glance ^of Owen Roe read in her downcast eye 
 and the faint flush on her worn cheek. She could not with pro- 
 priety have remained alone in the garrison, so she conveyed her 
 dying parent to the tenantless mansion of Benburb, and the 
 Brantree women came to keep her company and “ do what they 
 could for the old madam.” Their services were not long re- 
 quired on behalf of the aged widow of O’Cahan. Death released 
 her from her sufferings, and they had but to render the last solemn 
 duties to her corpse, and watch and pray with the mourner 
 whom her death left alone in the wrnrld. 
 
 There was a burning glow on O’Neill’s cheek as he listened to 
 this piteous tale, but he made no show of anger. When all was 
 told he turned and looked at the corpse, lying there so calm and 
 still after such a life of storm, with the nobleness of her origin 
 clearly stamped on her marble-like features, and the ring that 
 had bound her to O’Cahan still glittering on the shrunken hand 
 • stretched by her side in the rigidity of death ; he thought of the 
 wild July storm, and the ruined dwelling, and the strange meet- 
 ing ; he remembered that the lips now cold in death before him 
 had pronounced his first welcome to his fatherland, and a whirls 
 21 
 
242 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 wind of feeling rushed upon his 'soul, and, sinking on one knee, 
 he bowed his head on his hand and murmured : 
 
 “ May Heaven be propitious to you, noble daughter of Ma- 
 guire, sorrowful widow of O’Cahan 1 — dark were your latter 
 years on earth, and mournful was your end ! What things I 
 had planned for your behoof it boots not now to tell — you are 
 better, I trust, than I could make you, and with that hope I 
 must needs rest content, since nought remaineth for me to do. 
 As a Christian man I may not think of revenge — the arm that is 
 raised to smite your murderers must do it from other, holier 
 motives. Oh ! would that you had known how I longed to right 
 your wrongs ! would that I had done aught to serve you !” 
 
 “ An’ that be your wish,” said Judith, “ be consoled — my 
 mother, feeble as her mind had grown, knew well what were 
 your intentions in her regard — the hope of seeing you before 
 life departed from her did keep her spirit, I verily believe, some 
 
 days in the flesh, and her last wish is for you to carry out ” 
 
 “Name it!” 
 
 “ It relates to the disposal of her remains,” said Judith, and 
 lowering her voice almost to a whisper she repeated the solemn 
 charge which, as it happened, involved both trouble and danger, 
 and so Judith remarked. 
 
 “ It shall be done,” said the chieftain in a faltering voice, for 
 he was touched by the trust reposed in him by the honored dead. 
 
 “ Those of her owm kin,” resumed Judith, “ she might not ask 
 to do this thing, seeing that it is not her will to rest amongst 
 them.” 
 
 Before any more had passed a great commotion was heard on 
 the stairs, and Sir Phelim O’Neill suddenly appeared at the top. 
 Some of his followers, seeking to force their w r ay after him, were 
 seized on the stairs by those below and set on their feet outside 
 the door, “ forsooth when we were kept down here freezing in 
 the dark, you shall not mount without our master’s leave.” 
 
 Being fewer they had to submit, and Sir Phelim, at the mo- • 
 ment, took little note of what was passing behind him. Striding 
 across the room, he looked first at the corpse, then at Judith, 
 then at Owen Roe, and some mighty torrent of passion seemed 
 gathering to burst forth. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 243 
 
 “ I heard of this/’ said he, 11 many miles from here, but I 
 could not enter my house until I had seen it with my own eyes. 
 And so they killed her, Judith? — they killed that old, venerable 
 woman with the snows of seventy winters on her head, and the 
 grandeur of her princely line stamped on her aged face. They 
 killed her — did they not ?” 
 
 “ Sir Phelim, they did !” 
 
 The hot blood rushed to the knight’s face and his whole 
 frame shook with stormy anger. Grasping the hilt of his sword 
 with a sort of convulsive motion, he made as though he w r ould 
 sheath it in some one’s flesh on the instant, but quickly with- 
 drawing his hand, he turned suddenly and seized his kinsman 
 by the shoulder. 
 
 “ Owen Mac Art !” he cried, “ can you stand this ?” 
 
 “ No better, it may be, than you,” said Owen with forced 
 composure. 
 
 “ I have been your enemy, Owen, I tell you plainly,” said the 
 impetuous knight, “ but for the dear sake of revenge — revenge 
 for this foul murder, not to speak of all the others — I will join 
 you heart and hand — by the Great——” 
 
 “Hush! hush!” said Owen eagerly, “ swear not at all — an’ 
 your word be not sufficient, your oath would give me no greater 
 security. I believe you, and will gladly accept your aid !” 
 
 “ By the Mass, then, Owen, we’ll not leave an old hag of 
 their sort in the seven parishes with whole bones in her skin !” 
 “For shame, Sir Phelim! for shame,” said Owen sternly; 
 “ what had their old women to do with the death of Lady 
 O’Cahan ? — I never yet harmed woman or child, nor will I begin 
 now when I battle for God and the right !” 
 
 “ Well! well ! no need to quarrel about it — you’ll have your 
 way, aud I mine, but we’ll pull together anyhow.” 
 
 “ I accept your alliance on no such terms,” said Owen; “ there 
 hath been over much of this bloody retaliation even on our side 
 since the war commenced, and I tell you I will never stain my 
 sword with such foul murder, nor will I connive at it in others.” 
 “ By the — ahem ! by the boot, Owen, you are too squeamish 
 by half — these bloody-minded foreigners will have the best of 
 it, Take my word, an’ you make war in that fashion. Let us be 
 
244 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 friends, nevertheless, for the sake of her who lieth there stiff 
 and stark — united we can do much, divided less than nothing.” 
 
 “It is well, Sir Phelim !” said Owen with emotion, aud he 
 reached his hand to his kinsman, who gave it such a shake as 
 though he meant to wrench it from ihe arm. 
 
 “Now, Judith,” said the knight, “seeing that matter settled; 
 I would know what is to he done in regard to your mother’s 
 interment.” 
 
 “ Nought have I to say on that head,” she replied coldly; “ it 
 is already provided for. ’ 
 
 “ Ay, it is ever thus,” said Sir Phelim, bitterly, “ whatsoever 
 I do is displeasing to you, and even death itself cannot win a 
 civil word for me— I shame to see the widow of O’Cahan laid 
 out in this ruinous place, long tenanted only by bats and owls, 
 and such like, and I marvel at you, her daughter, that you do 
 take the matter so coolly — I call God to witness that the. fault 
 resteth on your own shoulders, and no ways on mine, seeing 
 that my Castle of Kinnard, or any other house whereof I am 
 master, hath been at your disposal.” 
 
 “ Sir Phelim, I am a-weary of your presence,” said Juditb } 
 haughtily ; “ this house is mine, in that I have borrowed it of the 
 O’Neill,” bowing to Owen, “ for my present necessity — I pray 
 you leave me alone with my dead and her mourners !” 
 
 The thunder-cloud that instantly gathered on Phelim’s brow 
 was dispelled by the calm good sense of Owen, who, although 
 well aware that Judith’s uncivil hint was not meant for him, 
 nevertheless appeared to take it so, and, seizing his kinsman by 
 the arm, he said : 
 
 “ The Lady Judith is right, Sir Phelim ! — this be no place for 
 rough soldiers — men such as we — let us 'go hence — there is a cer- 
 tain matter whereof I would treat with you in private !” 
 
 “ I will bury her as becomcth her blood, were it but to spite 
 you,” said Phelim shaking his fist at Judith with as much ve- 
 hemence as though he meant to strike her; “ see that you play 
 me no trick in this matter, or, by the soul of Heremon ! I will 
 make you rue it !” 
 
 A smile of defiance was Judith’s sole answer, and, ta^jng 
 leave of her only by a look, Owen drew the angry knight away f 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 245 
 
 not, however, until both had knelt and offered up a silent Pater 
 and Ave for the repose of the parted soul. As the two chief- 
 tains retired, the wild death-song of the women, interrupted by 
 their appearance, was again renewed. 
 
 On the second day after that, a funeral procession, grand and 
 solemn as the chieftains of Tyr-Owen could make it, set forth 
 from the Castle of Benburb. Owen and Phelim were both there 
 with their respective followers, all well mounted and armed to 
 the teeth, in preparation for any sudden assault. It was a 
 goodly array of the Kinel-Ovven, and the hero of Arras might 
 well be pardoned if he looked on them with eyes of pride. The 
 corpse of the Lady O’Cahan was placed on a sort of bier with 
 wheels, drawn by four coal-black horses. Eight women in dark- 
 colored cloaks and hoods sat on either side of the coffin keening 
 their low rflournful strain, descriptive of the nobleness and vir- 
 tue of the dead, the long line of chieftains from whom she 
 sprang, and the woes that had made her latter days evil. Then 
 changing their tone they would tell how the fierce Albinach 
 shed her blood, and how many curses would fall on his seven 
 generations for that foul deed. Now low, and sad, and tender, 
 now loud, and wild, and stirring as a trumpet’s voice, that wail re" 
 sounded along the hill-sides, and through the valleys of Tyr- 
 Owen, and the people, as they heard it, came forth on the road 
 sides to see who it was that was thus passing to “ the lone place 
 of tombs,” and, seeing the two chieftains, and the mounted cav- 
 alcade, and the lady so pale and so beautiful borne by four stout 
 gallowglasses on a litter close behind the corpse, they said to 
 each other, “ some great one of the old blood is departed,” and 
 falling on their knees, they offered up a fervent prayer for that 
 soul’s welfare. And Judith cast a gracious look on these pious 
 supplicants, for dearly did she prize their orisons on behalf of 
 the dead. 
 
 At length the mournful procession approached the confines of 
 Derry, and soon from the ancient country of O’Cahan crowds of 
 stalwart mountaineers came hurrying down, eager to assist at 
 the funeral of the so-lately forlorn widow of their chief. Word 
 had been sent thither by Owen Roe, apprising the O’Cahans of 
 the mournful event, and, knowing the manner of their aged 
 
246 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Mt 
 
 lady’s death, they approached with a wild and vengeful cry, 
 each hearing on his right arm some band of a reddish color, the 
 well-known symbol of revenge. 
 
 “ Peace to her soul,” they cried, “ the white-handed daughter 
 of Maguire, Eveleen of the silver cords, beloved of the valiant 
 O’Cahan ! Welcome, daughter of Brian ! sorrowful daughter of 
 princes! Welcome to the land that in right is yours!” and 
 Judith bowed her stately head in token of her thanks. 
 
 There is not on Irish ground a scene of more solemn or ro- 
 mantic interest than the old Abbey Church of Dungiven — seated 
 on a bold projecting rock full two hundred feet above the beau- 
 tiful Roe, which there rushes down with the force of a cataract. 
 “ Here everything disposes to seriousness and meditation ; the 
 grandeur of the mountains, the ascending sound of the torrent 
 beneath, the repose of the place, its seclusion from little things, 
 and the awful monuments of mortality around it — it is a scene 
 which contemplation must love, and devotion may claim as pe- 
 culiarly her own.”* 
 
 Honor to the memory of “ the monks of old,” whose ad- 
 mirable taste selected such sites for religious seclusion, and honor 
 to the chiefs who established and maintained them there.j- The 
 splendor of Dungiven Abbey has passed away, and the old Augus- 
 tinians who peopled its cloisters, and the chieftains who wielded 
 the sword in their defence, lie mingled in the dust of the tomb 
 around the sacred walls, but the memories of both are cluster- 
 ing like shadows amid the old arches, and long after the last 
 vestiges of the building shall have passed away, their faith and 
 their piety, and their munificent charity shall continue to shed a 
 halo round the beautiful but lonely spot. 
 
 To this old Abbey Church it was that the remains of the aged 
 Lady X) Cahan were conveyed on that bleak wintry day amid the 
 spears and battle-axes of the bold clansmen of the north, and 
 the mournful sound of the pipes, and the wailing of the keencrs, 
 
 Who that knows aught of the O’Cahans has not heard of 
 
 * Rev. Mr. Ross’s Statistical Survey. 
 
 + The Abbey of Dungiven was founded for Augustinian monks, about 
 the year 1100, by a chief of the O’Cahans. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 24T 
 
 Cooey-na-gall , the greatest that ever bore that name, and the 
 terror of the invader, as his surname implies Well! in the 
 chancel-wall of old Dungiven Church there is a tomb of rare 
 beauty, a grand old Gothic monument, erected by his clan to the 
 memory of that illustrious chief, and there it was that Eveleeu 
 Maguire, the destitute widow of the last O’Cahan, had com- 
 manded her mortal part to be deposited. It was a strange 
 thought of the old woman, but her daughter and the chieftain 
 who carried out her wish were at no loss to understand it, and 
 so they laid her with Donor in the most honored grave of her 
 adopted people, even the tomb of Cooey-na-g 11. For ages long 
 it had not been opened, and the sis grim warriors sculptured on 
 its front had kept watch undisturbed over the death sleep of 
 the chief. Now when the secrets of the venerated tomb were 
 again laid bare, and the day-beam penetrated for a few brief 
 moments to that dark recess within the chancel-wall, a strange 
 feeling of awe crept over the beholders, and men peered, curious- 
 ly yet fearfully, too, over each other’s shoulders, hoping to catch 
 a glimpse of the bones of the renowned hero. Owen Koe and 
 Sir Phelim stood in front, and by an involuntary impulse the 
 former sank on his knee the moment the tomb w r as laid open. 
 All present followed his example, and his fervent ejaculation of 
 “ Peace to the honored dead !” was responded to by the multi- 
 tude in an “ Amen,” like the voice of the torrent beneath. 
 
 At this moment an old, gray-haired man made his way through 
 the crowd, and a cry of joy escaped the O’Cahans. 
 
 “ It is Father Phelimy! It is Father Pheiimy — glory be to 
 God, he’s just in time !” 
 
 The old man approached the coffin where it was laid in front 
 of the tomb ready to be lifted in, and Judith, when she saw him, 
 
 * Cooey , or Cumaigke, (in English Quintin) na-gnll O' C ah an , the 
 chieftain above referred to, was so named on account of his valiaut 
 exploits against the early English invaders — the words Cooey-na-gall 
 signifying “the greyhound of the plain, hunter of the foreigner.” 
 The death of this renowned warrior is recorded in the Annals of the 
 Four Masters thus : “ 1365. Cumaighe O’Kane, Lord of Oireacht-na- 
 Cathain, died at the pinnacle of wealth and celebrity,” 
 
248 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 arose from her knees beside it, and extending her hand to him, 
 burst into tears — they were tears of joy, and murmured, “ Thanks 
 be to God !” 
 
 A blessing was on the old man’s lips*as he drew from an inner 
 pocket a sadly dilapidated volume, and commenced reciting the 
 burial-service of the Church. 
 
 “ I will say some Masses for her when I can.” he whispered to 
 Judith as he closed the book ; “ and now, my children, give dust 
 to dust, and lay Eveleen * Maguire in that tomb which no man 
 again shall open from this day ever. ‘ Blessed are the dead who 
 die in the Lord,’ and, furthermore, ‘ Blessed are they that mourn 
 for they shall be comforted,’ and again, ‘ Blessed are they who 
 suffer persecution for justice’ sake,’ and even so didst thou, widow 
 of Brian O’Calian ! Even to the death wert thou persecuted, 0 
 woman of heavy sorrows, but assuredly great is thy reward in 
 heaven, yea, even the reward which awaiteth those who suffer 
 and are sorrowful for Christ’s dear name ! Requiescat in pace ! 
 daughter and wife of the noble ! well hast thou chosen thy 
 resting-place with the glory of my hapless race !” 
 
 The coffin was placed within the tomb, the quaintly-carved 
 stones were again replaced, no sigh or sob from Judith giving 
 token of what she felt, the crowd left the Church, and only the 
 two chiefs, the old priest, and the bereaved daughter remained. 
 
 “ Now,” said Judith, drawing herself to the full height of her 
 tall stature, and gathering her cloak around her with statue-like 
 grace, “ now I am alone in the world, I shall henceforth live for 
 my country and my creed ! — revenge I name not, but my mo- 
 ther’s murderers are also my country’s tyrants — to compass 
 their fall shall be the end and object of my life! Uncle of my 
 father !” addressing the priest, for the present I claim an asy- 
 lum of you !” 
 
 “Alas! poor child,” the old man murmured with a heavy sigh, . 
 “ would that I had a fitting one to offer thee ! — thou knowest I 
 am myself on keeping amongst the faithful clansmen of oar 
 house !” 
 
 “ I know it, my reverend father,” said Judith in her decided 
 way, “ but, where thou findest shelter, I will not be rejected, 
 and so I say unto thee as Ruth said to Noemi in the days of old : 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 249 
 
 * Whithersoever thou shalt go, I will go, and where thou shalt 
 dwell, I also will dwell.’ God sent you hither when least I 
 hoped to see you, and your presence is protection for the lonely 
 daughter of your nephew !’ 
 
 “ Be it so, then,” said the aged priest with a wan smile, and 
 he took her hand within his own ; “ my dwelling is on the hills 
 amongst 4he faithful wood-kern, but, woe is me ! I know that 
 kind of life is nothing new to thee. Poor, poor child!” he 
 fondly murmured, “ hapless daughter of princes ! — homeless, 
 houseless lady of the land !” 
 
 “ Thou wilt not then harbor with my mother'?” demanded Sir 
 Phelim, in a rougher tone even than his wont, for the heart within 
 him was softened by the pitiful scene, and he would fain con- 
 ceal his emotion. 
 
 Judith shook her head, and the knight muttering some wrath- 
 ful words between his teeth, turned on his heel and strode away. 
 
 What passed between the three thus left together is not for 
 us to tell ; suffice it, that during their brief colloquy, things 
 of high import to the national cause were treated of, and it may 
 be that Judith did not conceal from the great leader the plans 
 which she had formed for her future guidance, for when, at 
 length, she quitted the old Church, supporting her aged relative 
 rather than receiving support from him, Owen O’Neill murmured 
 to himself as he stood looking after their retiring figures : 
 
 “ There be more in that maiden’s head than some of our 
 wisest could fathom — I would we had a score or so of men with 
 heart and brain like hers to head our columns !” 
 
 He turned to take a parting look at the tomb which now r con- 
 tained his staunch old friend, and as the tumultuous cheers which 
 greeted the appearance of J udith and the priest fell on his ear 
 from without, he sighed as his eye rested on the stony figure of 
 Cooey-na-gall lying so still and motionless on the tomb where it 
 had lain for centuries ; he thought of the mouldering bones he 
 had seen within, and he said in a half audible voice : 
 
 “ Such is earthly glory ! — great wert thou in thy generation, 
 oh ! warrior of the hills, O’Cahan of many steeds ! but what art 
 thou now — what remaineth of all thy glory 1 Alas ! alas ! sic 
 transit gloria mundi ! ” 
 
250 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 His brief soliloquy was suddenly interrupted by a wild and 
 vengeful cry from without the churchyard where Sir Phelim and 
 those of the Kinel-Owen awaited his coming. Hastening to see 
 what the matter was, Owen found Donogh and a small party of 
 his Rapparees newly arrived, their smoking steeds showing how 
 hard they had ridden. Sir Phelim stood with his hand on the 
 neck of Donogh’s horse, looking eagerly up in the young man’s 
 face, while as near as the presence of that dreaded chief permit- 
 ted, crowded the clansmen around — listening to the news the 
 Rapparees brought. And little wonder that their faces grew 
 dark as they listened, and that Phelim’s broad chest heaved 
 tumultuously, for Owen himself, with all his long-practised self- 
 control could scarcely repress his indignation. 
 
 The tale, w r hen told over for the general’s ear, gave another 
 pretty picture of Scottish treachery, only less revolting in its 
 way, than the massacre of Island Magee. 
 
 Leaving Donogh to tell the tale in his own way, we may as 
 well give the reader an idea of what had taken place. 
 
 At the extreme northern point of the Irish coast on an insular 
 rock, separated from the mainland by a yawning chasm, through 
 which the ocean wave dashes with fearful violence, stood the 
 ancient Castle of Dunluce, at the time of w’hich we write, owned 
 by the Marquis of Antrim, a Catholic nobleman, w T ho had mar- 
 ried a short time before the widow of the notorious Villiers, 
 Duke of Buckingham. This Marquis of Antrim, Randal McDon- 
 nell by name, being a Catholic, and somewhat of a favorite 
 with Ring Charles, w r as an object of dislike and suspicion 
 to the Lords Justices and the Puritan leaders in Ireland, but 
 Randal had hitherto given them no Dandle for compassing his 
 ruin, living quietly at home in his castle on the rot^s well con- 
 tent, it would seem, to let others alone if they let him alone. 
 He was himself what is called a pleasant fellow, his wife a right 
 merry and witty dame, and being such they generally contrived 
 to have a pleasant company gathered about them. Their house- 
 hold was, accordingly, a gay and racketing one, and in a round 
 of amusement passed the days and the nights cheerily over the 
 inmates of Dunluce Castle. The echo of the strife raging 
 through the island was spent before it reached that wild north- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 251 
 
 ern shore, and to the shame of Randal McDonnell he it said, 
 he gave himself little concern as to which of the contending 
 parties had the best of it so long as he and his were free to 
 “ eat, drink, and be merry” in far Dunluce. 
 
 It happened on a day that Monroe the Scottish general sent 
 word to the Marquis of Antrim, “ whose loyalty,” he said, “ stood 
 well approved,” that having been scouring the neighborhood for 
 some days in search of the rebels, the which had cunningly 
 evaded his pursuit, so that he could not by any means come upon 
 them, he would, with the noble lord’s permission, stop for 
 refreshment at his Castle of Dunluce, nothing fearing of treach- 
 ery from a nobleman so highly esteemed for loyalty and all good 
 behavior as my lord of Antrim. 
 
 Well pleased was “ my lord of Antrim” and his gay Dowager 
 Duchess by this distinguished compliment, and to work they 
 went with right good will to make all things agreeable to the 
 Scotch general and his officers during their stay, and provide 
 them with suitable entertainment. 
 
 The numerous retainers of the Marquis were drawn up in 
 imposing array in the courtyard to receive the military visitors, 
 and it may be that the smiling host began to feel somewhat un- 
 comfortable to see that the latter far outnumbered his own peo- 
 ple, and were altogether as grim-looking a set as ever his eyes 
 looked on. As he stood observing them while they crossed the 
 narrow drawbridge two and two, he wished in his heart that he 
 had manfully declined receiving Monroe’s visit, but the wish 
 came all too late if danger was really to be apprehended, which 
 as yet Randal was slow to believe. 
 
 The fears and misgivings were of short duration when once 
 the light-hearted Marquis entered upon his duties as a host, 
 and, to all appearance, his cordial welcome was duly appreciated 
 t y his guests. The banquet was spread, and ample justice 
 done to the good things prepared, and even the black-visaged 
 Puritans seemed to have lost somewhat of their gloomy morose- 
 ness in the genial influence of the hour, when, all at once, 
 Monroe stood up and slapped one hand against the other with 
 a sound that rang through the large hall. His men were on 
 their feet in an instant. 
 
252 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Arrest that man and all his houseliould !” said Monroe point- 
 ing to the Marquis, and notwithstanding threats, promises, and 
 persuasions, it was done instantaneously. Within an hour the 
 Marquis and his family were sent prisoners to Carrickfergus, and 
 the castle rifled by the Puritan soldiers was immediately taken 
 possession of for a garrison. 
 
 Monroe never laughed, but the capture of McDonnel and his 
 impregnable Castle was ever after related in his grave style as a 
 capital joke, and one of the most notable acts of his life. 
 
 Such was the tale told by Donogh, who had been up in those 
 parts, as he said himself, “on a little business of his own.” The 
 effect of the narrative on the hearers may easily be conceived, 
 coupled with the brutal murder which had so lately convulsed 
 the country with rage and horror. 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 “ And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
 Heave in wide wreaths the battle-shrcud, 
 
 And gory sabres rise and fall, 
 
 Like sheets of flame in midnight pall.” 
 
 Drake 
 
 “ True fortitude is seen in great exploits 
 That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides; 
 
 All else is towering frenzy and distraction.” 
 
 Addison’s Cato . 
 
 After the stirring events recorded in our last chapter, it was 
 confidently expected that General O’Neill would gather his forces 
 together, and, availing himself of the popular excitement, make 
 one grand effort to clear the province of the hated Scotch 
 marauders, who were preying on its very vitals. But, to the 
 surprise, and, indeed, disappointment of all, he quietly went on 
 mustering and drilling and exercising his battalions, with the 
 aid of the officers who had accompanied him from Flanders. In 
 vain did Sir Phelim storm and rage, and pitch the “ drilling” to 
 
 the d 1, as he did full fifty times a day — in vain did the 
 
 chieftains of Breffny and Uriel, and the young Tanist of Fer- 
 managh, urge him to more active measures, alleging that if they 
 were gathering strength by delay, so also were the Puritans. 
 Owen was still immovable, close and dark with regard to his 
 own views, yet not unwilling to hear what others had to say. 
 And yet the news from the other provinces was of the most 
 stirring kind ; skirmishing was going on in every quarter, with 
 varying success, but on the whole the Confederate armies were 
 gaining on their adversaries. In Connaught, Sir John Burke 
 had striven so successfully since his appointment that, in the 
 face of Clanrickarde’s covert opposition, and the utmost exer- 
 
254 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 tions of the whole government party, he had reduced the Lord 
 President Ranelagh, with Coote and some other generals, to fly 
 the province, and make for the capital in search of the supplies 
 wherewith the dilatory Lords Justices had failed to provide them 
 in time. Preston in Leinster had taken the strong town of 
 Birr, not to speak of lesser conquests, while Barry in Munster 
 had driven Inchiquin to take refuge with his forces, and what 
 provisions they could secure on the way, within the walls of 
 Cork, Kinsale and Youghal. Lord Broghill, too, was shut up 
 with a small force in Cappoquin, so that the affairs of the enemy 
 seemed in a desperate condition in the three provinces. Why 
 was it, then, that Ulster alone was backward, and, to all appear- 
 ance, inactive, when such a golden opportunity seemed to present 
 itself 1 
 
 “ Why is it, I ask you again 1” said Sir Phelim, angrily strik- 
 ing the table around which Owen had gathered a few of the 
 chiefs in Charlemont Castle. 
 
 “ Because,” said Owen, speaking somewhat more freely than 
 was his wont, “ because Ulster hath suffered overmuch already 
 from rash, ill-considered measures. Ay ! even to become the 
 laughing-stock of the sister provinces, for the great flourish made 
 at the start, and the little wool gathered after so much noise. 
 When the Ulster army takes the field again, I would have it such 
 as to turn the scale of victory. I mean to give it the title of the 
 Catholic army, the which, being a proud distinction, must needs 
 be proudly sustained. Let our good friends in the upper pro- 
 vinces stand their ground a little longer, as it seems they are 
 well able to do, and when we come to their succor we can deal 
 the enemy such a blow as he may not recover !” 
 
 Some of the chieftains present were convinced by Owen’s 
 reasoning, marvelling the while at his consummate coolness, 
 but Sir Phelim was only the more incensed, and could hardly 
 keep from expressing his contempt. 
 
 “ Truly,” said he with much bitterness, “ the Lady Judith hath 
 cause to be proud of her champion — an’ she had taken me for 
 her liege-man, her mother’s murder were bloodily avenged be- 
 fore now. If O’Cahan’s blood be in her veins she will spurn 
 you like a dog.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 255 
 
 “ Have a care what you say, Phelim,” said Owen hastily ; 
 
 “ you may stretch endurance so far that even I may have patience 
 no longer. As for the lady on whom your tongue doth run so 
 glibly, I am well assured that she hath more understanding of 
 this matter than you, and albeit that I am not * the liege-man’ 
 of any woman breathing, I respect her too much to hear her 
 name bandied at will — even by my valorous cousin. I pray you, 
 therefore, to discourse in such wise as becometh a soldier, with- 
 out dragging in names or things foreign to our subject.’’ 
 
 “ Ho ! ho !” laughed the incorrigible knight ; “ I warrant me, 
 you will hear more of it than you relish from the respected lady 
 herself.’’ 
 
 Owen thought of the Church of Dungiven and Judith’s mas- 
 terly counsel, and he smiled. His smile was gall and wormwood 
 to Phelim, and he bit his lip till the blood almost showed. The 
 fierce sarcasm hovering on his lip was choked in its birth by the 
 arrival of a courier with dispatches for the general from Sir J ohn 
 Netterville. 
 
 With eager haste Owen broke the seal and read, the others 
 watching his countenance with painful anxiety. He had not 
 read far when his brow darkened and his ruddy cheek grew 
 pale. 
 
 “ 111 news, my friends,” he said, looking up with a troubled 
 expression, “ Preston hath encountered a heavy mishap.” 
 
 “ How 'l — where 'l — when V’ cried the listeners all in a breath. 
 
 “At Rathconnell, in the county of Westmeath. As ill luck 
 would have it, he met Ranelagh and Coote on their retreat to 
 Dublin, and must needs have a tilt with them, after the manner 
 of your fighting cocks” — and he glanced maliciously at Phelim — 
 “ I thought Preston was over fond of making a stir, the which 
 hath cost bim full dear on this last occasion, for the Puritans 
 with a much smaller force cut their w r ay through his army 
 drawn up to bar their progress — that comes, Sir Phelim, of over 
 combativeness ” 
 
 “ Said you Rathconnell was the placq/1” inquired O’Reilly of 
 Breffny in an agitated voice. 
 
 “ Ay, surely !” said Owen, referring again to the document in 
 his hand, “ but what of that, friend Philip V' 
 
256 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 At first the chieftain declined answering, and would fain have 
 laughed the matter off, but curiosity once aroused was not so 
 easily allayed, and there was no evading the keen scrutiny of 
 Owen’s eye. 
 
 “ Were Malachy na Soggarth here,” said the Breffny chief, 
 ye would, doubtless, have known before this. My knowledge 
 of the prophecies is but small, compared with Malachy’s, yet 
 unluckily I have heard from my childhood that a great battle 
 was to be fought at Rathconnell ” 
 
 “ And what further sayeth the prophecy 
 
 “ It sayeth, General O’Neill,” said O’Reilly slowly and with 
 emphasis, “ that whichever party wins that battle wins all 
 Ireland !” 
 
 A scornful laugh burst from Phelim O’Neill ; McMahon cried 
 “ pooh ! pooh !” and Roderick Maguire shook back his long 
 tresses with a smile of disdain. Not so Owen Roe, between 
 whom and O’Reilly uneasy glances were exchanged, and not- 
 withstanding their evident desire to appear unconcerned, neither 
 could entirely succeed. Although Owen O’Neill was the last 
 man to be influenced by superstition, this, he conceived, was 
 far removed from superstition. The gift of prophecy had 
 never been entirely withdrawn from the faithful ; one portion 
 of this prediction was already fulfilled, might not the other be 
 fatally true'? “God in Heaven forefend!” murmured Owen to 
 himself, and then with a significant glance at O’Reilly, he forced 
 a laugh and affected to make light of the prophecy as an old 
 wife’s tale. 
 
 But little recked Preston and his bold Leinstermen for what 
 they considered a trifling defeat. For every loss they sustained 
 they gained half a dozen minor advantages, which, taken 
 together, were rapidly giving them possession of the Province. 
 Lord Castlehaven was rendering effective aid, chiefly to Preston, 
 and some of the most chivalrous deeds of that tedious war 
 were achieved by that gallant nobleman. 
 
 Whilst the Puritans, according to their custom, were -butcher- 
 ing without mercy such as fell into their hands, without distinc- 
 tion of age, sex, or rank, it was the proud distinction of the 
 Catholic leaders that they showed mercy to hundreds of the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 257 
 
 feeble and defenceless in every part of tlie country. About the 
 same time that Stewart’s marauders were perpetrating such atro- 
 cities in Ulster, Lord Castlehaven w r as escorting “ a number 
 of men and women of quality,” whom he found cooped up “ in 
 a great room” in Birr (when General Preston took that strong 
 town) to the friendly garrison of Athy. When the Catholic 
 troops took possession of the town, this numerous company of 
 the chief persons flocked together for shelter, naturally fearing 
 the dread retaliation of the Irish for the horrible cruelties exer- 
 cised upon them by the Puritan generals, and when Lord Cas- 
 tlehaven made his appearance they fell on their knees and 
 besought him with piteous cries to save their lives. With the 
 spirit of a Catholic soldier he complied, and obtaining his gen- 
 eral’s consent to take command of the convoy, he took with him 
 a strong force,* and conducted them in safety to their friends 
 at Athy after a toilsome march of two or three days through 
 woods and bogs. 
 
 Again at Ballenakill, a strong castle taken by Preston, after 
 much hard fighting, the garrison, having at length surrendered, 
 was conveyed to a place of safety by the same nobleman. Such 
 chivalrous acts as these are amongst our proudest recollections 
 of that disastrous time, and as Owen Boe told them over for Sir 
 Phelim’s special benefit, his cheek glowed and his eye glistened, 
 and he said : 
 
 “ That is what I call Christian warfare, becoming knights and 
 gentlemen ’ ’ 
 
 “ Thou shalt do no murder,” saith the Lord of Hosts, inter- 
 rupted Phelim with unusual solemnity, “ to the which I would 
 add as regard eth these canting varlets, if thou dost thou shalt 
 surely suffer, for as God liveth we will show you no mercy an’ 
 you show us none. That black-livered crew will thank you none 
 the more for fair dealing, and take my word for it, neither you 
 nor Castlehaven would fare any better in their hands than the 
 monster Sir Phelim O’Neill, who giveth them as good as they 
 
 * Lord Castlehaven tells us in his Memoirs that the number of peo- 
 ple whom he thus conveyed to Athy was about 800, amongst whom 
 were many “ men and women of quality.” 
 
258 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 bring, and lashes them like hounds when he gets his hands on 
 them !” 
 
 Owen smiled and shook his head but said no more. He had 
 little time to waste in idle conversation, for there was hardly a 
 day but detachments from some of the enemy’s quarters weie 
 making foraging excursions into the country of Tyr-Owen or the 
 adjacent county of Armagh. Many of these freebooting parties 
 were met and defeated by his people led on by their respective 
 chiefs, but still the evil increased and became intolerable, so that 
 with any other general but Owen Roe, in whose wisdom they 
 had unbounded confidence, the tribes of Ulster would have risen 
 in a body to drive out the foreigners as they did once before. 
 As it was, it required all Owen’s powers of persuasion to keep 
 them quiet under such provocation, and his most effective argu- 
 ment was that the day was rapidly approaching when his army 
 could take the field, and then it would be his turn to clear the 
 province, once, he trusted, and for all. And then the prepara- 
 tions he was seen making — the rare and novel training he was 
 giving to his soldiers, teaching them such warlike exercises and 
 manoeuvres as made the simple clansmen stare. It was the great- 
 est sight their eyes had seen, the squares and columns of Owen 
 Roe’s army, the marching and countermarching, and the skilful 
 handling of weapons new to the northern clans. Under the 
 teaching of such a master as Owen Roe, the warlike followers of 
 the Ulster chiefs rapidly acquired the discipline they had never 
 known before, and learned to unite their strength for a common 
 effort. 
 
 At length Owen began to feel satisfied with the proficiency of 
 his troops and a change was gradually perceptible in his tactics. 
 As a preliminary step he cleared the country of cattle and other 
 provisions that might fall into the hands of the enemy, sending 
 the inhabitants back into the woods and mountains with a fair 
 share for their sustenance. This was a capital stroke of policy, 
 for the enemy were thereby reduced to the greatest straits in 
 their garrison towns and in the wild border districts to which they 
 had latterly retired for the convenience of making incursions. 
 
 The long winter had passed away in these preliminary opera- 
 tions, and the wise policy pursued by O’Neill was manifest in its 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 259 
 
 results. Monroe and Stewart were driven to the utmost extre- 
 mity for want of provisions, and menaced by the presence of 
 O’Neill’s army, remained cooped up, as it were, in the more 
 northern parts of the province, while all the central portions were 
 occupied by the Catholic forces on, on to the borders of the 
 Pale — where Preston and Castlehaven were masters of all the 
 principal strongholds. 
 
 Things were at such a pass when, one bright May day, Owen 
 Roe, with some of his staff and a score or so of his followers, was 
 out hunting, providing for the hospitable board at Charlemont 
 while indulging in his favorite amusement. He chanced to be on 
 the Charlemont side of the river, and at no great distance from 
 the castle, when all at once the weil known signal cry of the 
 Rapparees was heard loud, wild and impatient. The general 
 suddenly pulled in his horse, saying, “ Friends, the Rapparees 
 are abroad — what meaneth that cry V’ Eagerly his eye scanned 
 the horizon but nothing unusual was to be seen. 
 
 Again the cry rang out over hill and valley : “ The Albinachs 
 are on you ! — fly !” 
 
 “ Great God I” said the general, “ that is Donogh’s voice — 
 where can the enemy be 1 — ha ! yonder they come ! — Saints of 
 Heaven ! they are in force, too — mark *y<m forest of spears !” 
 And he pointed to a gleaming, glittering line too clearly visible 
 between him and the horizon. “ Haste ye, friends ! haste ye for 
 liberty’s dear sake !” 
 
 “ I’ faith we have much need, general !” cried a dashing young 
 captain, Con Oge O’Neill by name, who was one of his kinsman’s 
 aid-de-camps ; “ that is a host — we are scarce a handful ! — pity 
 ’tis to fly, but fly we must an’ we would do aught to leave a 
 name behind us !” And suiting the action to the word he leaped 
 his steed over a quick-set hedge and made off at a gallop for the 
 castle. 
 
 All the party followed his example, and the towers of Charle- 
 mont were already in sight when a troop of Monroe’s light ca- 
 valry, detached for the .purpose of pursuit, gained upon them, 
 and came cantering up behind. 
 
 “Ride for your lives, men!” cried Owen Roe; “yonder is 
 Safety,” pointing to the still distant walls. “ Our lives are worth 
 
260 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 something to the cause ! On ! on ! on !” and on they all dashed 
 with lightning speed. 
 
 But vain their speed — behind them fast and near came the 
 Scots urged on by Monroe himself, who in person brought up the 
 rear. 
 
 Near and nearer came the foe, and, for some time, fast and 
 faster flew on the O’Neills — on and on over hedge, ditch, moss, 
 and moor sped the chase, the pursued having much the advan- 
 tage in leading the enemy such a dance as they pleased — a few 
 hundred yards would have brought them to the castle, when, 
 all at once, the thought flashed on Owen’s mind, “ an’ they 
 reach the castle so close at our heels, Charlemont is lost — now 
 God direct me for the best !” 
 
 A narrow lane or boreen lay right before him, fenced in on 
 either side by a close hawthorn hedge, and as Owen’s practised 
 eye glanced along it, he suddenly called to his companions to 
 halt: 
 
 “ We will give them battle,” said he, “ in God’s name, when 
 we get them once fairly wedged — so stand your ground, my 
 men ! an’ you would save Charlemont !” 
 
 “ God bless you for the word, general,” said Con Oge as he 
 reined back his prancing steed abreast with Owen’s ; “they’d 
 be into the gates, the born devils, neck and heels with ourselves, 
 and by St. Columb! that must not be! But, holy Saints! ge- 
 neral ! fly you — your loss would be worse than fifty Charlemonts 
 — we’ll keep them here, at any rate, till you’re safe housed ! — 
 oh God ! fly — here they are !” And seizing the general’s horse 
 he would have backed him out through the little band, but 
 Owen commanded him sternly to desist. 
 
 “ It is too late,” said he, “ and were it not, I would e’en stay ! 
 — there, Con ! there — defend yourself — boys ! stand fast toge- 
 ther — if one fall, let another take his place — they cannot pass, 
 an’ you keep close ! — «ow — now, for God and country !” 
 
 Great was the surprise of Monroe and Monroe’s troopers when 
 they saw such a handful ef men form in order of battle thinking 
 to obstruct their way, and if Puritans ever could laugh they 
 would have laughed then. Unluckily, they found it no fun 
 when once they came to blows, for, blocked up as they were on 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 261 
 
 either side, their numbers were of no use to them, the front 
 ranks only being able to act. The conflict was fierce and yet 
 tedious — many hard blows were exchanged, and some five or 
 six of the Scots fell beneath the stalwart arms of the O’Neills. 
 All at once Monroe, still in the rear, thought of detaching a 
 portion of his troop for the purpose of making a circuit through 
 the fields to take the little band in the rear. He succeeded, 
 but hardly had they made their way into the adjacent field, 
 when a cry of “ Death to the Scots ! — Island Magee!” was heard 
 —then the sounds of fight — cries and imprecations from Mon- 
 roe’s men — shouts of vengeance from their assailants, and thus 
 the conflict raged on both sides of the fence. Owen Roe and 
 his little band knew that the Rapparees had come to their aid, 
 but see they could not what was going on so near, for their own 
 lives were in imminent peril, and it required a superhuman effort 
 to keep the enemy at bay. Every sense was strained to' the 
 utmost, for skill and attention were more needed even than 
 strength, in order to parry the deadly thrusts of swords and 
 bayonets. Still in the van fought Owen Roe, and still by his 
 side was Con Oge, while their brave companions pressed close 
 behind, and by God’s great mercy, not one of the devoted band 
 had fallen — no sound escaped from any of them, while the Scots 
 cursed, and reviled, and threatened at every blow. Long, long 
 did the unequal conquest last — the sounds of fight died away 
 behind the hedge, and nought but groans were heard breaking 
 drearily on the din of battle in the lane. Suddenly the trum- 
 pets sounded on Chari emont walls, and Owen and his followers 
 thanked God, for their strength was beginning to fail. At the 
 same moment a clattering of horses’ hoofs was heard in the field 
 beyond the scene of the late conflict, and Monroe’s shrill voice 
 rose high above the tumult : 
 
 “ Come awa’ frae awheen rebels !” 
 
 Those in front were not slow in obeying, for the brunt of that 
 battle was more than they could well bear, and the sight of 
 their dead comrades down amongst the horses’ feet was not at 
 all to their liking, nor yet calculated to steady their hands — a 
 backward movement was quickly perceptible amongst them, 
 and Owen Roe had no mind to stop their retreat, but Con Oge, 
 
262 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 with the mercurial recklessness of a young soldier, called out 
 after them as they backed their horses down the lane : 
 
 “ What the d 1, Monroe ! will you leave Owen behind you*? 
 
 Here he is — can you not take him'?” 
 
 “We’ll liae him yet!” said the grim veteran officer who had 
 kept the front all through the fray ; “ we’ll hae him yet, laddie ! 
 where the lonan winna save him — an’ maybe your ainsel to 
 boot !” 
 
 “ There’s luck in leisure, comrade — you’ll take your time, 
 will you not V ’ laughed Con over his shoulder, and the Scot 
 looking back shook his fist at him as they rode each his way, 
 Monroe still calling on his men to ride faster, faster, to rejoin 
 the army, whose banners and glittering arms made a formidable 
 show in the distance.* 
 
 Owen Roe, with his wonted coolness, chided Con for thus 
 bandying words with an enemy, whose unaccountable retreat 
 was a rare God-send, deliberately wiping his sword as he talked, 
 riding the while at full speed towards the castle, as though to 
 show his equestrian skill. All at once, at a turn of the broad 
 road on which the party were now earacolling, a strange and 
 ghastly sight presented itself, and Owen Roe himself, stout as 
 his heart w r as, quailed before it. Some fifteen or twenty of the 
 Rapparees were there, mounted as usual on good horses, (pressed 
 into the service,) but without saddle or bridle, either, other than 
 a hempen rope, which they made to serve the purpose. Wilder 
 and more haggard even than their wont, and scantily covered 
 from the winter’s cold, with matted locks and thin, wasted fea- 
 tures, their eyes withal burning like living coals, and the pikes 
 they carried crimson with gore. Donogh, himself, rode first, 
 but little better equipped than the others, and his usually mild 
 face wearing a ferocious expression, while ever and anon he 
 shook at arm’s length a piece of cloth dabbled in blood, and 
 laughed with maniac glee, and his comrades chorused his 
 hideous mirth. 
 
 “ See there, general !” cried the excited young leader, and he 
 
 * This poor attempt and pusillanimous retreat of Monroe are strictly 
 historical. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 263 
 
 shook the bloody rag closer to O’Neill’s face than was at all 
 pleasing ; “ see, there, Owen na lamh dearg ! we came to help 
 you , and it’s we that helped ourselves finely ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! do 
 you know what that is 1 — do you know 1" 
 
 Owen shook his head, and he shuddered, too — the other went 
 on : “You have seen it before, for all that — you remember that 
 night in the Brantree — ay ! I see you do — well ! here it is again 
 for you, the pretty ornament I have worn on my arm for so 
 many weary months — I promised to wear it till the blood that 
 was on it would be washed out in the heart’s blood of the mur- 
 derer — and — and — ha ! ha ! ha ! that’s what I’m after doing 
 now — do you hear me, general 1 — the strip may go to the flames 
 now, for, by the right arm that did that deed of justice, it was 
 
 well soaked. and washed in that same muddy puddle — ” 
 
 “ Then you chanced on your mother’s murderer in that field 
 beyond 
 
 “ Chanced ! ay, faith, that did I — I knew him by the marks 
 and tokens I had in my mind ever since that bloody night — but 
 that wasn’t all, general ! that wasn’t all — we settled with Lindsay, 
 too ” 
 
 “ Lindsay ! who is he 1” 
 
 “ Ha ! I thought you knew — Lamh dearg aboo ! there they 
 come !” meaning the troop of cavalry now cantering across the 
 plain from the draw-bridge of the castle. “Why, Lindsay — 
 Lindsay was — it’s too long to tell, general ! but we of Island 
 Magee had a crow to pluck with him, and— we plucked it — • 
 that’s all — sure they had made an officer of him, the hang-dog 
 villain — they had — and it’s him was at the head of the • party 
 Monroe sent round to steal a march on you — there was twenty 
 or thereabouts, General O’Neill ! and would you guess how 
 many went back alive ? — just two — two, as I’m a living man, 
 and even them have our mark on them — they have !” 
 
 “ Poor fellows ! brave fellows !” said Owen with a pitying 
 glance at the half-naked limbs of his trusty auxiliaries, “ you 
 have probably saved our lives by cutting off that party. Ac- 
 cept my thanks for your timely aid. I must see that your 
 equipment be somewhat better — come with us to the castle — - 
 you need refreshment !” 
 
264 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ God bless you, general ! we’re well used to cold and hun- 
 ger, anyhow — pull out, comrades ! there’s fire and food in 
 Charlemont !” 
 
 • The party from the castle by this time were close at hand, 
 and no words can express their joy on finding their general safe 
 and sound after su-ch an encounter. Hearing how the matter 
 was, all eyes were turned on the Rapparees, and every heart 
 throbbed with gratitude for their timely interposition. 
 
 It so happened that Shamus Beg was at the castle that day 
 on business of Sir Phelim’s, and as the Rapparees crowded into 
 the wide hall, where the blazing fire at either end invited their 
 approach, Donogh felt his hand lovingly squeezed, and the voice 
 of that true friend spoke at his side, wishing him joy of the 
 great luck he had in regard to saving the general. 
 
 “ And I paid my mother, Shamus 1 what I owed her !” cried 
 the young man eagerly ; “ see there’s my piece of drugget — ay ! 
 look — there’s fresh blood on it, Shamus aroon ! and you know 
 what sign that is — and Lindsay, too, my boy ! you hadn’t passed 
 
 your word for him this time — ha ! ha ! ha ! ” 
 
 “ Donogh !” said Shamus catching him by the arm, “ is it 
 
 truth you tell me 1 — is he dead 1 ” 
 
 “ As dead as ever you or I’ll be — why, Shamus ! you look as 
 if you were sorry!” 
 
 “ Well ! I’m glad and I’m sorry both — I’m glad he got his 
 earning at your hands, but I’m sorry I missed him myself — I 
 always had a look-out for him — still, it can’t be helped — it’s 
 well enough as it is — where is Angus from you the day 
 “ He went ofi Derry side this morning, himself and Florry, on an 
 errand for the general here — I’m as well pleased he wasn’t with 
 us a while ago, for, between you and me, Shamus ! he can’t bear 
 the sight of blood, though as brave a gossoon as ever drew la 
 pike ! Thanks be to God, Shamus ! I’m thinking it’s a good 
 morning’s work we made of it one way with another !” 
 
 Although the wine-cup was, for the most part, a stranger to 
 the lips of Owen Roe, he emptied a goblet that day with Con Oge 
 and his other officers to the health of Donogh and his Rapparees — 
 who had borne so large a share in the dangers and successes of 
 the day. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 265 
 
 But O’Neill was not the man to sit quietly at home within his 
 Castle walls with the enemy almost at his threshold. “ He wax- 
 eth overbold, Con!” said he to his young kinsman; “ we will 
 clip his wings for him before long, an’ there be strength in the 
 Red Hand.” 
 
 And they did, too — on the following day, Owen Roe marched 
 from Charlemont long before dawn with a whole brigade of his 
 army under the immediate command of Colonel Sandford, and 
 taking a short-cut through the mountains, guided by some of 
 the clansmen from that neighborhood, they pounced upon Monroe 
 when he least expected it, and their fierce onset was irresistible. 
 Rejoiced to have, at length, the so-long wished-for opportunity, 
 the Irish soldiers rushed like lightning on the astonished foe, 
 bearing down all before them. No time was given the Scots to 
 recover from their confusion — O’Neill’s horse were trampling 
 them down in headlong charge, while the heavy axes of the 
 gallowglasses rang on their steel morions, cleaving them through 
 and through, and the pikes and bayonets of the kerns skewering 
 them like wild-fowl. And dowfo from the mountains in another 
 direction dashed the wild wood-kern with their fearful shout : 
 “ Island Magee !” and their pikes finished the work so well be- 
 gun. Monroe bewildered and dismayed — for his wits were never 
 of the clearest — owed it to the steady and cool bravery of a few 
 of his officers if he escaped that day to Carrickfergus with his 
 thinned and shattered forces. 
 
 This victory, while it served to encourage the natives, and in- 
 fuse new life into the sluggish clansmen, whose martial ardor 
 had begun to yield to procrastination and disappointment, had 
 also the effect of stirring up the Scotch generals from their win- 
 ter lairs around the borders. Cole was up with his northern 
 Protestants on the Fermanagh side. Monroe began to bestir 
 himself in Antrim — Stewart, ever active, quitted O’Donnell’s 
 country and advanced cautiously into Tyr-Owen. Montgomery 
 and Chicester, uniting what men they had, suddenly approached 
 O'Neill’s district, and word was brought the General in Charle- 
 mont Castle that they were foraging the country round. 
 
 “Let them,” said Owen Roe, “let them — mucji good may 
 they get of their plunder!” The wily general had sent the 
 22 
 
266 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 cattle to the hills where no Scot in all Ireland would venture in 
 search of them, guarded as they were by the entire strength of 
 the Rapparees. 
 
 A few days more and Owen Roe was on his march to Leitrim, 
 where he meant to co-operate with the O’Rourkes, O’Reillys 
 and others of the border clans, still harassed by the lawless bar- 
 barians under Hamilton’s command. It was a curious sight, or 
 would be now, to see Owen Roe’s army in motion, wending its 
 tortuous way amongst the green hills of Ulster. Gallant and 
 bold was the clansmen’ srbearing, and right proudly they marched 
 in the van, with their spears and battle-axes flashing in the sum- 
 mer sun, and the new banner of the Confederate Catholics, with 
 its sacred emblems, floating side by side with the ancient flag of 
 Tyr-Owen, the Red Hand blazoned on a white ground. Gallow- 
 glasses and kerns, enveloped in their saffron-colored garments, 
 loose and large, but conflned at the waist with a leathern girdle ; 
 chiefs in their national costume, too, looking stately and bold 
 and elate with hope ; but, strangest of all to modern eyes would 
 have been the herds of cattle and the troops of women and 
 children, forming what was called the creaghts * These were 
 the families of the clansmen, whom they dared not leave behind. 
 
 * These creaghts are often mentioned by Castlehaven in his Me- 
 moirs as “ Owen Roe’s Creaghts.” 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 207 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 “ With grave 
 
 Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem’d 
 A pillar of state : deep on his front eogr. veil 
 Deliberation sat, and public care.” 
 
 Miltdx. 
 
 “ On, on to the just and glorious strife, 
 
 With your swords your freedom shielding ; 
 
 Nay resign, if it must be so, even life, 
 
 But die, at least, unyiolding !” 
 
 Some weeks before the events just related, when the stormy 
 winds of March were blustering through the streets of the old 
 town of Trim, and whirling in eddies around the towers of De 
 Lacy’s Castle, there was such a .stir within the walls of the 
 old fortress as though another General Assembly of some kind 
 were taking place there. But no such thing : of a far different 
 nature was the event which had for the time quickened the 
 pulses of the old borough. Lords and knights of high renown 
 were there with their troops of followers, but none of the old 
 blood were amongst them. In the great hall of the castle some 
 ten or twelve nobles of high degree were assembled, not for 
 purposes of deliberation, nor as delegates from the people, but 
 in accordance with the will of King Charles and in obedience to 
 his command. In his sore need, he began to look to the Con- 
 federate Catholics of Ireland (whose successes were well known 
 to him) for that succor which might strengthen his hands against 
 the rebellious Parliament of England and the Puritan faction 
 in both countries. All at once the monarch pretended to dis- 
 cover that his Catholic subjects of Ireland really had some 
 grievances, and he sent pressing orders to Ormond and the Lords 
 Justices to treat with them on the subject, hear their complaints, 
 
268 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and so forth, and forward them to him. To this end he farther 
 appointed a commission, consisting, with Ormond, of the Earls 
 of Clanrickarde and Roscommon, Sir Maurice Eustace, and one 
 or two others of lesser note. These noblemen and gentlemen 
 were to confer, on the part of his Majesty, with other commis- 
 sioners appointed by the Confederates, and with hearts buoyed 
 up with hope of an amicable settlement, the Supreme Council 
 deputed a corresponding number to repair to Trim in accord- 
 ance with the royal command. 
 
 In that stately hall, then, of Trim Castle, Lord Gormanstown, 
 Sir Lucas Dillon, Sir Robert Talbot, and a few others met the 
 king’s commissioners, and both parties looked anxiously for the 
 coming of Lord Ormond. Long they looked, but looked in vain, 
 for the king’s lieutenant-general knew better than to forward 
 the king’s views in effecting an accommodation. Accordingly, 
 whilst Ulick of Clanrickarde and his friend of Roscommon were 
 treating, in all sincerity, with the Catholic commissioners regard- 
 ing the grievances which had compelled the Confederates to 
 take up arms, and declaring the benign intentions of their royal 
 master in their regard, James Butler of Ormond, true to his 
 utterly selfish character, was acting on the instructions of the 
 Lords Justices and with his army ravaging and laying waste the 
 country in the king's name , a day’s march or so from the walls 
 of Trim. 
 
 It was a grievous disappointment to Gormanstown and Talbot, 
 and, indeed, to all the Catholic commissioners, that Ormond was 
 not present. Their faith in him was great, those Norman nobles 
 of the Pale, whereas Clanrickarde, although of their own faith, 
 had little of their confidence. In that they erred, fatally, blindly 
 erred, for Clanrickarde, disloyal Catholic as he was, was yet 
 true to his king, and, utterly forgetful of his own interests, 
 labored in earnest and with all his might to effect an accommo- 
 dationjvhich he knew could not fail to serve his royal master 
 materially at that critical juncture of his affairs. For the inter- 
 ests of his fellow-Catholics, he cared not a straw — let them take 
 things as they found them, just as he did, but the fortunes of 
 the Royal Stuart were of primary importance to Ulick Burke, 
 and to them all else must needs give way. With Ormond the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 269 
 
 case was far, far different, and of that Clanrickarde had strong 
 suspicions, but he was not the man to speak rashly on any sub- 
 ject, least of all in what concerned the most powerful lord in 
 Ireland, the king’s trusted lieutenant, and the hope of Irish 
 royalists. 
 
 The deputies sent by the Supreme Council were just the sort 
 of plastic materials whereon the sage Ulick might work to his 
 satisfaction. They were all of the class even then known as 
 “ moderate men,” that is to say, men moderately attached to 
 any party, but strongly attached to their own interests — men 
 who were scandalized by the more impulsive patriotism of their 
 Celtic associates, and more anxious in reality to stand well with 
 Lord Ormond and his party than with the Supreme Council of 
 the nation. Had any chieftain of Irish blood formed part of that 
 deputation, he would have scowled darkly, perchance, on that 
 Talbot of Malahide who had served the Justices against faithful 
 Wicklow, and who now made his obeisance before Clanrickarde 
 and his brother commissioners as a deputy from — the Confeder- 
 ate Catholics. But neither Mac nor 0 was on the commission, 
 for the very good reason that the magnates of the Pale had even 
 then a preponderance iu the Supreme Council. 
 
 With characteristic coolness and tact, Lord Clanrickarde ex- 
 pressed his surprise at Lord Ormond’s absence, “ seeing that his 
 lordship’s name stood first on the commission. Doubtless he is 
 detained by some lawful cause appertaining to his Majesty’s 
 service.” 
 
 “ I hope it be not of such a nature, then,” observed Lord 
 Gormanstown, “ as that matter of Timolin V* 
 
 “ Of what nature was that, I pray your lordship inquired 
 the Galway earl. 
 
 “ Methought it had reached your lordship’s ears, for it hath 
 been much talked of. It fell out in this wise ” 
 
 “Nay, good my lord,” quoth Sir Robert Talbot, “ seeing that 
 the matter hath no bearing on this question, it is but loss of 
 time telling it over.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, Sir Robert,” said the less accommodating head 
 of the house of Preston, “ I think it hath some affinity to the 
 present business !” 
 
270 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 C{ 1 would hear it,” said Clanrickarde curtly. 
 
 “ About a fortnight since, when my lord of Ormond was or- 
 dered by the Lords Justices to advance upon Wexford and Ross 
 by way of Carlow, having occasion to pass by Fitz-Richard’s 
 old fortress of Timolin, garrisoned for us by fourscore men or 
 thereabouts, the Earl summoned them to surrender, the which 
 demand they answered by hoisting our colors, which his lordship 
 seeing waxed wroth and did begin to batter the castle, and for 
 many hours kept up such a fire that the place was no longer 
 tenable — still the brave fellows refused to yield, until at length 
 the building took fire, and the rafters were blazing over their 
 heads — then the garrison capitulated, and were suffered to 
 march out ” 
 
 “ And then ?” demanded Clanrickarde with a strange smile, 
 for he had heard all this before, notwithstanding his seeming 
 ignorance. 
 
 “ And then, my good lord,” resumed the peer, “ they were all 
 cut to pieces, I suppose by some unlucky mistake, albeit 
 that the Earl himself was present ”* 
 
 “ Very strange, truly,” observed the Earl. 
 
 “ Ay, marry, my lord, strange is it, in sooth,” said §ir Lucas 
 Dillon ; “ and the more so when we consider how my lord of 
 Castlehaven did himself convoy the garrison of Birr all the way 
 to Athy — so with my Lord Mountgarret’s castle of B alien akill, 
 and many others taken by our generals — it is passing strange, 
 and I marvel much at my lord of Ormond, above all men, giving 
 in to such bloody and treacherous deeds — at a time, too, when 
 he cannot but know that our lord the kiDg much desireth peace 
 with us !” 
 
 “ I can no wise account for it, indeed,” was still Clanrickarde’s 
 cautious answer, and then, changing the subject, he urged the 
 necessity of dispatch in preparing the statement of grievances 
 intended for the king.j- But little remained to be done, the 
 
 * This massacre at Timolin is unfortunately historical. It is one 
 of the blackest stains on Ormond’s memory. 
 
 t One of the requests put forth in this famous remonstrance goes 
 to prove beyond all doubt that the alleged massacres and murders of 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 271 
 
 document having been carefully drawn up for the Supreme 
 Council, subject to such alterations or amendments as their 
 commissioners might find expedient. It was presented in due 
 form to Lord Clanrickarde, Mr. Walsh, one of the Catholic com- 
 missioners, observing with a smile : 
 
 “An’ the old saying hold good, this remonstrance of ours 
 must needs be of excellent account — an’ the better day make the 
 better deed, we could desire none better than St. Patrick's Day. 
 May our good patron bless the work that its fruit may be a last- 
 ing peace, honorable and advantageous to all !” 
 
 And all the commissioners said “ Amen,” and Lord Clanrick- 
 arde, with his usual gravity of demeanor, expressed his con- 
 viction that there could be no doubt of the result, seeing that 
 the king, of his paternal goodness, had nothing more at heart 
 than the contentment of his lieges in Ireland. Whether the 
 politic earl really believed this himself or not, his so solemn 
 asseveration was greedily swallowed by the Norman lords and 
 gentlemen to whom it was addressed, ' and they parted in all 
 courtesy and kindness from their fellow-commissioners, and 
 went back to assure the Supreme Council that things were in a 
 fair way. 
 
 Good easy men they doubtless imagined that the petition from 
 which they hoped so much was transmitted “ by the first post” 
 to “ their gracious sovereign” for his just and equitable consi- 
 
 tho Catholics throughout this civil war were neither more nor less 
 than base fabrications of the enemy. “The leading men among 
 the Irish have this to say for tfaemsolvos, ,, says Lord Castlehaven, 
 “ that they were all along so far from favoring any of the murderers, 
 that not only by their agents (soon after the king’s restoration) but 
 even in their remonstrance, presented by the Lord Yiscount Gor- 
 manstown and Sir Robert Talbot, on the 17th of March, 1642, the 
 nobility and gentry of the nation desired that the murders on both 
 sides committed should be strictly examined, and the authors of 
 them punished according to the utmost severity of the law, which 
 proposal, certainly, their adversaries could never have rejected, but 
 that they were conscious to themselves of being d eper in the mire 
 than they would have the world believe.” — Castle haven's Me- 
 moirs, p. 17. 
 
272 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 deration, never dreaming that it was destined to raise a tempest 
 in the Parliament House in Dublin before it left the kingdom. 
 Yet so it was, and before ever it reached the hands of Charles 
 Stuart, it was discussed and dissected before “ the Commons 
 House” in Dublin, and, so hotly discussed, too, that the worship- 
 ful body of lawgivers came to loggerheads on account of it, 
 and the parliament was prorogued till the beginning of May.* 
 Thus, whatever effect the unlucky Remonstrance might have 
 had on the king’s mind, the intentions of its framers faere 
 wholly frustrated, and the ill-starred monarch was deprived by 
 his traitorous servants in Dublin of the means of judging for 
 himself how matters stood between him and his discontented 
 Irish subjects. 
 
 It is probable that the king, crippled as he was, resented the 
 detention of this Remonstrance, and blamed Sir William Par- 
 sons, for, before that prorogued parliament came together 
 again, that crafty and perfidious governor was superseded in 
 his command, and Sir Henry Tichbourne (notable for his de- 
 fence of Drogheda against Sir Phelim O’Neill) appointed in his 
 stead. 
 
 % Great was the joy and exultation of the Confederates when 
 the news of Parsons’ recall was spread throughout the country. 
 His rapacity and cold-blooded cruelty had done much to foment 
 the rebellion, and taking place at such a juncture, his removal 
 from office was accepted by the ever-hoptful Catholics as a 
 concession, and a very important one, to their just demands. 
 There is little reason to think that the king or his advisers had 
 any such object in view in taking this step, but some pains were 
 taken by Lord Clanrickarde and men of his stamD to give the 
 affair that turn in the eyes of the Catholic party, well knowing 
 that their hearts were ever well disposed towards the king, and 
 anxious to see his acts in the best light. “ Hone on, hope ever” 
 was truly their motto as regarded the faithless Stuarts, and it 
 required the saddest experience to tear from their eyes the 
 bandage they had themselves put on. 
 
 All this time the Confederate arms were in the ascendant in 
 
 Borlase’s Irish Rebellion , p. 155. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 273 
 
 almost every part of the country. Preston and (especially) 
 Castlehaven were more than holding their own in Leinster — in 
 Connaught, affairs were no less prosperous. Lieutenant-General 
 Burke, well supported by the Catholic nobility and gentry, had 
 done wonders during that long winter. With him were acting, 
 amongst others, the heads of the brave Galway tribes, Sir 
 Roebuck Lynch and Sir Valentine Blake, with the son and 
 grandson of Lord Athenry. Amongst his chief officers were 
 also three valiant gentlemen of the ancient house of Kelly, 
 known in that day as “ the three Teige Kellys,” and, in fact, 
 most of the chief men of the province professing the old faith. * 
 It was a sore grief to Lord Clanrickarde — recently made a Mar- 
 quis — to see the Confederate armies triumphing all over the 
 province, and at last besieging his town of Galway, without his 
 being able to afford any relief to his ancient ally, Willoughby, 
 once more and for the last time cooped up in the fort. Truly, 
 Ulick de Burgo was a sorrowful man that day when, amid the 
 solitary grandeur of Oranmore, his ears were stunned by the 
 cannon of the Catholic army battering away at the gates and 
 walls of Galway, and he forced to reply to Willoughby’s distressed 
 prayer for succor that he had none to give. His new coronet * 
 would he gladly have bartered for the power of serving “ the 
 Puritan enemy” that hour, but alas! neither men, money, nor 
 arms remained at the great Ulick’s disposal, and, what was still 
 more grievous, had he had supplies of any kind to give, it would 
 have profited the garrison but little, for, sad to tell, the unrea- 
 sonable Confederates had cut off all access between him and 
 the fort, placing a chain right across the bay so as to blockade 
 the city by water as well a.s by land. What a pass were things 
 come to in that western country ! 
 
 “ An’ this matter be not brought to a speedy end by the king’s 
 royal clemency and wisdom,” sighed the new made Marquis, as 
 he stood looking out from his castle-keep on the wintry waters 
 of the bay, and, drearier sight to him, the ships of war riding 
 at anchor, with the green flag of the Confederates floating from 
 their topmasts ; “ an’ it be not, I fear for the English dominion 
 
 * Meehan’s Confed. Kilk. t p. 66. 
 
274 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 in this realm, and if the Irishry have once their own way, they 
 will overturn many a fair holding by way, forsooth ! of demand- 
 ing restitution.* May God confound their treacherous courses !” 
 
 Whilst matters were in this position in the western province, 
 the Catholic army of the south, under Barry and Purcell, was 
 no less successful. Inchiquin, Vavasour and Broghill, with all 
 their bravery and military skill, and long experience in the art 
 of war, were, for want of the necessary supplies, unable to cope 
 with the Confederate generals, and finally reduced to the sorest 
 straits.f 
 
 The Catholic armies were, on the other hand, well provided 
 with the chief necessaries for carrying on the war, for money 
 and arms were pouring in from the various courts of Europe. 
 Friendly governments who had waited to see what the Irish 
 would do for themselves, beholding the gallant and pertinacious 
 efforts now at length likely to succeed, began all at once to 
 take a lively interest in the* Irish war, and, in fact, to regard the 
 nation as all but free. Envoys were sent accordingly from the 
 courts of France and Spaing to the General Assembly when it 
 met again in Kilkenny in the month of May, while letters arrived 
 
 * There was a lurking suspicion amongst all the Anglo-Irish, even 
 those who took side with those of the old blood, that, in the event of 
 success, the latter might tu r n on them and exact the restoration of 
 the lands wrested from their forefathers. 
 
 t “ The condition,” says Mr Meehan, “of Inch’quin in the south 
 may readily be imagined from "a letter which he sent in the early 
 part of May to the Earl of Cork : ‘ Our present state,’ wrote the Earl, 
 ‘ fails out now to be more desperately miserable than ever : n regard 
 we have no manner of help or relief amongst ourselves, and the p o 
 visions we depended on out of England doth fail us, which will put 
 us to a terrible extremity, here being nothing to deliver forth on the 
 next pay day. I request your lordship to lend or borrow £300, for 
 victualling those in Youghal. To-morrow, with a heavy heart, I shall 
 march forth, to linger out a few days in the field where I am not 
 likely to continue so long as to enterprize anything of advantage, for 
 want of provisions for the men and money for the officers.’ ” 
 
 $ The envoy from France was M. De la Monarie; from Spain, M. 
 Fusyot, a Burgundian. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 275 
 
 from the ever-acbive Father Wadding from the capital of the 
 Christian world, announcing that his Holiness Urban VIII. was 
 also about to send an agent to the Confederate Catholics of Ire- 
 land with fresh supplies of arms and money. 
 
 And these things were told Charles Stuart, cooped up within 
 the walls of Oxford, and daily expecting to be besieged by his 
 rebellious subjects, the Puritans of England. And then he 
 thought of “ the Graces,” and the Defective Titles, and the Court 
 of Wards, and all the many edicts he had published against 
 “ Popish Recusants,” and he groaned in spirit. He said 
 within himself : “ Had I but dealt fairly and justly with those 
 poor Catholics of Ireland they would now be my best and most 
 trusty friends. Nay, these canting knaves of England and Scot- 
 land would not dare push mo to the wall as they do, had I the 
 strong arm of faithful Ireland whereon to lean. Alas ! they 
 know I have not — they know it well — they know how I have 
 dealt with that people — when I might have done them justice, 
 even in a measure, I did not, and now their success, which might 
 also have been mine, doth but straiten me the more — all Europe 
 begins to respect them as a nation — help is coming to them from 
 all quarters — so Clanrickarde writes me, and him do I believe 
 beyond most others — they have ships, and arms, and money 
 — I would we could say as much for our royal self — and 
 men enough for the training ! Surely it were our interest 
 to speak them fair, and act fairly by them, too — natheless, that 
 were as much as our crown were worth, by reason of the intol- 
 erance of these Puritans ! I would we had not given in so much 
 to them in that matter in times past — it is now too late to draw 
 back — natheless, something must be done, and that full quickly ! 
 — we cannot keep that war on foot with a worse rebellion — ay, 
 marry, a veritable rebellion — staring us in the face here at home 
 — rebellion! — ha! — are our Irish subjects, indeed, rebels 1 Is 
 it our authority they resist, or the oppression’s of our ministers'? 
 Before God, I cannot but hold them well affected to our person 
 as, in times past, they have ever been to the princes of our 
 house !” 
 
 In pursuance of this train of thought, certain instructions of 
 
276 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 a peremptory nature were forthwith sent to Lord Ormond, the 
 nature of which will presently appear. 
 
 Little dreaming of what was passing in the royal mind of Eng- 
 land, and perchance caring little if he did, Owen Roe O’Neill was 
 marching with his gallant little army of Ulstermen, such as we 
 have described them, to join the friendly clans of Leitrim. Such 
 a junction was too much to be dreaded by the Puritans of Ulster 
 for them not to make an effort to prevent it. Accordingly, the 
 Catholic army had barely reached the confines of Fermanagh, 
 where the ancient town of Clones stands just within the county 
 of Monaghan, when the scouts brought in the startling intelli- 
 gence that Sir Robert Stewart was in hot pursuit with a much 
 larger force. 
 
 “An’ that be his fancy, we must e’en humor him,” said Owen 
 Roe ; “ better now than when our march hath been longer.” 
 
 “ By my faith, general, we have been over long resting on our 
 oars,” cried light-hearted Captain Con, as he tried the temper of 
 his bright blade by bending it till hilt and point almost came 
 together ; “ it is time to puli up now an’ we ever mean to do it. 
 Lamh dearg aboo ! sons of Owen, our turn is come at last 1” 
 
 “ Be not so eager for the fray, Con,” said Owen with a kindly 
 smile, for he loved the impetuous young soldier ; “ mortal strife 
 ever cometh too soon ! Saints and angels ! what a host !” The 
 Scottish force was just visible crowning the summit of a gentle 
 acclivity some half a mile distant. 
 
 Sir Con Magennis here advanced to Owen’s side, and begged 
 him in a low, cautious tone not to wait for such a force as that 
 commanded by such a captain as Stewart. 
 
 “ Nay, Sir Con,” said the chieftain somewhat indignantly, 
 “ you would not have us run away before their very eyes — be- 
 think you of what the antients tell us : ‘ Never seek the battle, 
 nor shun it when it comes !’ ” 
 
 Magennis shook his head, but he answered : “ Be it as you . 
 will, O’Neill !” and then hastened off to see that all was right 
 amongst the men of Iveagh. 
 
 It so happened that a long and narrow pass lay between the 
 two armies, and of this Owen Roe hastened to take possession, 
 lining it on either side with double rows of his light kerns arm- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 277 
 
 ed with guns and bayonets. Hardly were the troops disposed 
 in order of battle when the heads of Stewart’s columns were 
 seen approaching the farther end of the defile, commanded by 
 Sir William Balfour and Colonel Mervyn, two officers of estab- 
 lished reputation. 
 
 “ Sons of Owen, the odds are against us this time,” cried 
 O’Neill, “but your fathers have routed the foe ere no.v with a 
 worse chance than ours. Remember the lane at Charlemont 
 wherein a score of us kept Monroe’s army at bay for a full 
 hour — be firm and fear not — we may give these proud Scots a 
 story to tell an’ they reach their quarters ! Fix bayonets, 
 men !” 
 
 The clicking sound of this motion had hardly died away 
 when the whole body of Stewart’s cavalry came up at a gallop, 
 and, without time for deliberation, were ordered by their gene- 
 ral to force- the pass. Had they paused even a moment the 
 sternest of those grim yeterans might have shrunk from 
 the task, but, accustomed to implicit obedience, on they dashed, 
 on through the bristling rows of bayonets, cutting and hacking 
 on either side with their long sabres — not unscathed they 
 passed, for at every step some of their number bit the dust, and 
 the riderless horses kicked and plunged, and made sore con- 
 fusion in their ranks. Yet maddened by the fall of their com- 
 rades, and determined to cut their way through, on, and still 
 on they dashed, the brave kerns on either side standing their 
 ground right manfully, yet still unable to stem the rushing tor- 
 rent — on, on swept the death-dealing Puritans, flushed now with 
 , the certainty of success, and the shouts of exultation from be- 
 hind. 
 
 “ Babylon is fallen ! — death to the recusants !” 
 
 “ The Red Hand for ever ! — Lamb dearg aboo !” made an- 
 swer the Kinel Owen, as their cavalry dashed into the narrow 
 defile, meeting the « enemy with a force so overwhelming that 
 men and horses rolled over and fell back on those behind, 
 throwing all into confusion. On and over the prostrate foe 
 swept the fierce horsemen of Tyr-Owen, with Con Oge in their 
 foremost rank, driving all before them, till the pass was cleared 
 of the enemy, save only the dead and dying, whose groans 
 
278 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 mingled dolefully with the shouts of exultation and defiance ex- 
 changed between the combatants. The Irish, believing the day 
 their own, set up a cry of exultation, as their cavalry retreated 
 through the pass, to resume their stations in the rear — hardly 
 was the movement effected, when Stewart himself advanced at 
 the head of his cavalry to try the pass again, pointing with his 
 sword to the Irish lines beyond. This time O’Neill’s musketeers 
 closed their ranks obedient to the voice of their general, dis- 
 charging their pieces in the face of men and horses, with such 
 stunning effect that the cavalry were forced once more to retire, 
 leaving several of their comrades dead or wounded as before. 
 As a last resource, Stewart commanded a party of infantry to 
 seize the pass at all hazards. This was done, after a desperate 
 struggle, during which many of the brave Irish defenders of the 
 pass were cut to pieces. The engagement now became more 
 general, and Owen Roe, advancing to the front, was attacked 
 by a nephew of the Scottish commander, ambitious, no doubt, of 
 fleshing his sword on the greatest of all the Irish. 
 
 “ Yield, rebel and traitor ! yield !” cried the excited young 
 officer ; “ yield or die 
 
 “ I will do neither,” said O’Neill, smiling at the boyish impetu- 
 osity of his opponent ; “ defend yourself, young sir !” and draw- 
 ing his sword he prepared for the combat, with as much cool- 
 ness as though no enemy were within sight. 
 
 “ Spawn of perdition, this to your heart, then !” . cried his 
 fierce assailant, aiming a deadly thrust at his heart, which Owen 
 parried, and was preparing to close with his antagonist, when a 
 piercing cry arose from the ranks of the Kinel Owen : “ God in 
 heaven ! see to the general,” and quick as thought a well aimed 
 ball made its way to the heart of Stewart, while a dozen pikes 
 pinned his horse to the ground.* 
 
 “ So perish all your enemies, Owen !” said Con Oge at his 
 kinsman’s back ; “he was bent on slaying you, the Puritan 
 hound!” 
 
 * Meehan’s Confederation. Ibid , note to p. 69, quoting O'Neill's 
 Journal. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 279 
 
 “ Nay, Con, were he the devil himself, he was a brave 
 fellow ” 
 
 No time was left for further parley, for by this time the battle 
 raged on all sides, and Owen, seeing the greatly superior num- 
 bers of the enemy, began to think of effecting a retreat while it 
 was yet time. To accomplish this object, he ordered up a re- 
 served body of cavalry commanded by Captain Shane O’Neill. 
 No sooner was this perceived by the enemy than yells of savage 
 execration burst from the Puritans, and the fanatic preachers of 
 wrath and bJ^)od were seen goading them on to yet more des- 
 perate efforts. 
 
 By a series of admirable manoeuvres the Irish cavalry made . 
 their way between their own foot and that of the enemy, beat- 
 ing down the Scotch bayonets with their broad-swords, and 
 keeping up a show of attack in order to cover the retreat of the 
 infantry. 
 
 “ Sons of Owen ! death or victory !” cried Con Oge O’Neill, 
 whirling his sabre high in air — they were his last words, for the 
 next moment the gallant young leader fell backwards on his 
 horse pierced by a mortal wound. In the heat of the contest 
 his fall was for a moment unnoticed, and that one moment was 
 fatal to him. Darting with maniac fury through the thick of 
 the fight, a man in a semi- clerical habit threw himself on the 
 half-dead officer and stabbed him again and again. One long 
 agonized groan, a gurgle in the throat, and poor Con was sense- 
 less clay. His assassin might perchance have escaped unnoticed 
 as he came, but his bloody exultation could not be concealed. 
 Holding up the crimsoned falchion to the view of all, he uttered 
 a yell of savage triumph, crying: “ Wo— wo, to the worshippers 
 of idols — lo ! I have slain a strong man of the Ammonites !” 
 
 The words were hardly uttered when the minister (for such 
 he was) fell pierced by many wounds, the steel corslet which he 
 wore under his short black cloak, shattered by the blow of a 
 ponderous battle-axe, and his scull cloven through a morion of 
 the same metal. 
 
 “ The light of heaven may he never see that cut your thread 
 of life, Con Oge !” 
 
280 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 It was Shane O’Neill that spoke, and after charging some of 
 his troopers to convey the body to tne van oi the infantry, he 
 made another vigorous attack on the enemy, whose line was 
 still unbroken, then began slowly to retreat, with his face to the 
 foe, his gallant troop beating back the advance of the Puritan 
 cavalry with the determined courage of well-tried veterans. 
 The trumpets in the rear kept sounding the retreat, and Stewart, 
 after a short conference with Balfour and Mervyn, came to the 
 conclusion that it was as well to let the Irish go their way. 
 Having forced the pass, they were so far victories, and from 
 what they had seen of Owen Roe and hisiittle army they judged 
 it best to be content with what they had gained, rather than 
 risk all by a further contest. Their loss was already consider- 
 able, much exceeding that of the Irish, so that their measure of 
 success was dearly purchased, and gave bitter foretaste of what 
 was to come. 
 
 On these terms they parted, the Puritans gloomily discon- 
 tented that their prey should escape so easily, the Catholics 
 thankful that matters were no worse with them, and little 
 grudging the foe liis doubtful victory for which they had made 
 him pay so dear. Not unrevenged was Lady O’Cahan that day, 
 and if Con O’Neill fell, an hundred dark-browed Puritans naid 
 the penalty. 
 
 Well satisfied to escape so easily, yet sad and sorrowful for 
 the loss of his favorite young kinsman, whose remains he con- 
 signed to consecrated earth within the friendly territory of the 
 O’Rourkes, O’Neill rapidly pursued his march to Leitrim, where, 
 according to his expectations, his army received considerable 
 additions from the chiefs of that country, whom he found well 
 prepared for war. 
 
 It w T as within the .hospitable walls of Drumahair, where Owen 
 was the guest of the O’Rourke, that a dispatch was brought 
 him, bearing the well-known seal of the Supreme Council. 
 Hastily tearing it open he glanced over its contents, but before 
 he reached the end his hand trembled, his cheek w T as suffused 
 with crimson, and his eyes glowed with unwonted fire. 
 
 “ Heavens above, O’Neill ! what has happened V ’ cried 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 231 
 
 O’Rourke, whose eye was on him at the moment. “ What news 
 from Kilkenny can stir you so 7” 
 
 “ Read for yourself,” said Owen Roe, handing the document 
 to his friend, while he himself arose and commenced pacing the 
 hall to and fro with a disturbed and angry aspect, ever and anon 
 repeating to himself, “ Fools ! dolts ! What spirit can possess 
 them 7 Where be their wits 1” 
 
 
 
282 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 “ Let the ancient hills of Scotland 
 Hear once more the battle-song, 
 
 Swell within their glens ancl valleys 
 As the clansmen march along !” 
 
 Aynton’s Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers . 
 
 ‘ His words seem’d oracles 
 That pierced their bosoms ; — ’ 
 
 Rev. George Croly. 
 
 “ WnAT think you of that, O’Rpurke P’ said Owen Roe as his 
 friend handed back the document. 
 
 “I think, Owen,” the chieftain replied with noble indignation, 
 “ I think there be traitors within our camp, else why listen to 
 such terms at such a moment. For myself, so long as the towers 
 of Manor Hamilton cumber the ground, or the monster who 
 owneth them breathes the air of heaven, so long do I mean 
 to war against that pestilent crew by all fair and honorable 
 means ” 
 
 “Your hand, Owen O'Rourke!” said O’Neill stopping sud- 
 denly in front of him, and the two exchanged a clasp of more 
 than brotherly agreement, “ pray Heaven and our dear Lady 
 there be enough of us of that mind in the Assembly to overrule 
 this mischievous motion — an’ there, be not — then God be our 
 aid, for I much fear what is gained will come to nought.” 
 
 “But what — what is your intent, Owen!” 
 
 “ I will send off a messenger this very hour with my strong- 
 est protest against this wily device of the enemy ” 
 
 “ And what then 1” 
 
 “ Why, make the best use of our time pending the negotia- 
 tions: you know what I mean 1” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 283 
 
 “ That do I, and, by my father’s shield ! you shall have what 
 little aid we can give you. Where left you O’Reilly 1” 
 
 “ He and McMahon were to join me here on the eighth day 
 from my leaving Charlemont. They promise large reinforce- 
 ments.” 
 
 “It is well,” said O’Rourke, and calling to him his faithful 
 kinsman, Manus, he ordered him to send trusty messengers to 
 Cavan to hasten the movements of its chief, requesting him to 
 speed the message on into Uriel. 
 
 “ Let the chiefs know that we await them here, Manus, and 
 that minutes are hours till we see their banners advancing.” 
 
 Leaving the northern chiefs to commence that grand cam- 
 paign for which their astute leader had been so long preparing, 
 let us see what was passing in Kilkenny that had so disturbed 
 the calm mind of Owen O’Neill. 
 
 Pursuant to the king’s command, Ormond had sent proposals 
 to the Confederates for one year’s cessation of arms, and not- 
 withstanding the firm and strenuous opposition of the bishops 
 and most of the old Irish who were of the council, the luke- 
 warm Normans of the Pale, with the aid of Muskerry, Mount- 
 garret, and one or two others of those half-English “ trimmers,” 
 had succeeded in appointing a commission to treat with the 
 Marquis.* The question, however, was still an open one in the 
 Assembly, where all the genius and eloquence of Nicholas 
 French, f the fervid enthusiasm of Archbishop O’Kelly, and the 
 united influence of all the prelates were brought to bear against 
 the Cessation. 
 
 “What!” said the venerable Bishop of Ferns, in reply to 
 Lord Mountgarret’s announcement that the commissioners had 
 been named, “what! will your lordships, then, play into the 
 hands of Ormond who, with his colleagues, can alone benefit 
 by this measure 1” 
 
 “My lord!” said Mountgarret, “I marvel much to hear a 
 
 * Ormond and Clanrickarde were raised to the rank of Marquis in 
 or about the same time. 
 
 t The illustrious Bishop of Ferns, one of the most eminent prelates 
 that ever adorned the Irish Church. 
 
284 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 man of your order raising his voice against peace — of the which 
 our poor country hath so great need !” 
 
 “ Peace is a good thing, my Lord Mount-garret,” returned the 
 prelate drily, “ but like many other good things it may be 
 bought too dear. ‘ Our poor country’ hath often had more need 
 of your lordship’s pity than at this juncture when the valor of 
 her sons hath brought the enemy to sue for peace. Truly, this 
 nation hath never stood so near her deliverance, never made the 
 oppressor quail as now he doth — wherefore draw back now 
 when a few steps onward may bring permanent peace made 
 on equal terms V ’ 
 
 “ My reverend lord,” said Muskerry in a tone of great excite- 
 ment, “ you who have not the brunt to bear have little feeling 
 for our necessities. Rest is needful unto us, and time not less 
 so. A year’s peace will enable us to recruit our shattered 
 forces, and otherwise supply our wants ” 
 
 “ Talk not of wants, I beseech your lordship,” the prelate warm- 
 ly rejoined ; “ wliat are our wants now compared to those of the 
 enemy 'l Wants, forsooth ! Is it the Catholic soldiers whose feet 
 are tracking the road with blood for want of covering to their feet 1 
 Is it the Catholic soldiers who are forced to fight with empty 
 stomachs 1* — not so, my lords, not so — it is the Puritan bowels that 
 make a rumbling now for food — our armies in all the provinces 
 are passably well fed, clothed and cared for, thanks to the Giver 
 of good things ” 
 
 “ Here, surely, is some mistake, my lord of Ferns,” put in 
 Mountgarret hastily ; “ we are assured by Lord Ormond that his 
 
 army is in fair condition, and wants for nothing ” 
 
 “ Believe him not, for the truth is not in him — we have wit- 
 
 * Sir Philip Percival, an actor in the scenes he describes, thus 
 pictures the condition of the government forces : “The state and the 
 army,” he says, “ were in the greatest distress. The streets of Dub- 
 lin had no manner of victuals many times for one day, so that the 
 soldiers would not move without money, shoes, and stockings; for 
 want of which many had marched barefooted, and had bled much on 
 the road ; and others, through unwholesome food, had become diseased 
 and died.” See Meehan’s Confederation. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 285 
 
 ness within call more credible than he were he fifty Marquises — 
 I pray you summon hither the Rev. Father Quin, of the order 
 of Jesuits.” 
 
 Marvelling much what this might mean, the necessary orders 
 were given, and speedily appeared before the lords spiritual and 
 temporal, the dark-visaged son of Loyola, whose shadow has 
 more than once crossed our pages. 
 
 “ Father Thomas Quin,” said the Bishop of Ferns, “ no man 
 here present knoweth so well as thou the state of Ormond’s 
 army. Our friends of the council have it on his lordship’s au- 
 thority that his men want for nothing — ahem ! only the cessa- 
 tion of arms, would his lordship admit it — of that they be in 
 sore need. How say you, Father Quin V ’ 
 
 “ I say,” returned the Jesuit, “ that, for all his -lordship’s 
 boasting, there be no more miserable wights in this realm than 
 the men who fight his battles — an’ they be not reduced to the 
 last extremity ere this, never men were so near it.” 
 
 “ Father Quin,” said Lord Mountgarret testily, “ we all know 
 
 the coloring w Inch your party would fain give to this matter ” 
 
 “My party!” repeated the Jesuit coldly, “my party, Lord 
 Mountgarret, is the Catholic body entire — the son of Ignatius 
 hath no party within the Church : — eyes have I to see, and ears 
 to hear, and as your lordship knows full well, I see and hear 
 what few Catholics in this land^may know and live !” 
 
 “ I deny it not, Father Quin ! — God forbid ! — I did but mean 
 to insinuate ” 
 
 “ That which your lordship did not insinuate when one of our 
 order — I say not whom — did risk his life, with your lordship’s 
 knowledge, to administer the last rites to young Aylmer and 
 Lysaght O’Connor, when Ormond’s friends, if not with Ormond’s 
 consent, had them treacherously executed.* Your lordship 
 would ! ave, doubtless, esteemed that Jesuit a reliable witness — 
 were Ormond himself at the bar !” 
 
 * “ At the battle m Rathconnjll, Lysaght O’Connor and the son of 
 Garret Aylmer had been made prisoners by Sir Richard Grenville ; 
 in order to exasperate the Catholics, Parsons and his colleagues wrote 
 to Sir H. Tichbourne to have them executed by martial law.” — Mee- 
 han’s Confederation. 
 
286 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Well said, friend Thomas !” said Dr. Kirwan, Bishop of 
 Killala, who safc near his brother of Ferns. “ You speak as be- 
 cometh your habit — ay ! truly, even as one who feared them 
 not ” 
 
 “ / fear them !” repeated the Jesuit scornfully, “ I who have 
 so often braved death, to their knowing, in the most hideous 
 forms that Puritan rage could devise — 1 fear a set-.of pusillanim- 
 ous Catholics who are ready to barter away on hollow, deceitful 
 promises, the hard- won measure of freedom wrested from the 
 enemy — I fear them ! — nay, my good lord, an’ they give in to 
 that double-faced plotter, Ormond, in this thing, the day will 
 speedily arrive when no man will fear them — when all good 
 Catholics will spit upon and execrate them ! I crave pardon of 
 your lordships” — bowing humbly to the Bishops — “ and to ths 
 honorable council, if I have spoken with overmuch warmth, 
 but, were my life the forfeit, I could not help it !” 
 
 “ Father Thomas Qnin,” said Mountgarret — and he rose from 
 his seat, but his whole frame trembled so that he was forced to 
 rest his risrht hand on the arm of his chair — “ Father Thomas 
 Quin, no man is more willing to admit the value of your services 
 than I am myself, but — but — this language is intolerable. It is 
 a foul slur to cast upon so many honorable lords and gentlemen 
 of degree ” 
 
 “ Very indifferent Catholics are they, natheless,” said the 
 uncompromising Jesuit, “ else would they reiect with scorn 
 such overtures coming at such a moment from such a quarter.” 
 
 “ You speak strongly, Master Jesuit.” 
 
 “ None too strongly, Master President ! I know Ormond — 
 you do not — any of you who signed in favor of this Cessation 
 — else had you sooner cut off your right hands than do it to plea- 
 sure him.* I know him, and therefore do I speak in this 
 wise.” 
 
 “ Have a care what you say, Father Quin,” said Lord Mus- 
 kerry rising in great agitation, Ormond’s name is above reproach 
 as above suspicion !” 
 
 “ It is neither one nor the other, my Lord Muskerry, as far 
 as Catholics are concerned, and to your face I say it, spouse of 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 287 
 
 Eleanor Butler* — if any man here or elsewhere will dopy that 
 James Butler, Marquis of Ormond, is the worst enemy we have 
 to deal with, here stand I, Thomas Quin, prepared to maintain 
 the proposition by evidence clear and incontestible. What say 
 you, my lords'?” — and he turned slowly round the semicircle 
 formed by the Norman nobles — “ be there any man here who 
 will assert in my presence that James Butler of Ormond stands 
 well disposed towards Catholics % What, silent all 1 — it is well ! 
 With your lordships’ leave, I will now retire. I must be in 
 Dublin Castle before high noon to-morrow, an’ God spareth my 
 life !” 
 
 After exchanging a friendly shake-hands with Archbishop 
 O’Kelly, Bishop French aad Bishop Kirwan, the sturdy disciple 
 of Ignatius strode down the hall, greeted as he passed with 
 many a fervent blessing from those of the old blood, while most 
 of the Anglo-Irish looked somewhat coldly upon him. But 
 little cared the Jesuit for cold looks— no man, perchance, on 
 Irish ground, had braved death oftener than he, and his bold 
 spirit seemed to soar to yet more daring heights whenever danger 
 became more imminent — where duty or charity called him, 
 there he went, deterred by no obstacle, his inventive genius 
 surmounting all, as his great personal courage and iron will 
 raised him above all. In those days of terrible persecution, 
 many a poor Catholic would have gone to his account “ una- 
 nointed, unanneal’d,” were it not for the ubiquitous and all-pene- 
 trating Jesuit who, under one disguise or another, contrived to 
 find his way full often to the gloomiest dungeons in search of his 
 suffering brethren, the victims of Parsons’ insatiate cruelty .f 
 His valuable services were known and fully appreciated by all 
 
 *Lord Muskerry had espoused the Lady Eleanor Butler, sister of 
 the Marquis. 
 
 + Thomas Quin, a Jesuit, stationed at Dublin in 1642, was untiring 
 in his religious exertions and used occasionally to attire himself as a 
 soldier, a gentleman, or a peasant, to elude the vigilance of the Puri- 
 tans, in order to gain access to the houses of t : e Catholics. — Gil- 
 bert’s Dublin , p 221. 
 
 The adventures of this remarkable man would of themselves fur- 
 nish an interesting volume. 
 
288 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 classes of the Confederates, but being himself of the old blood, 
 the English of the Pale were at times somewhat shy of him on 
 account of his gi-eat influence — when Bishop French summoned 
 him as a witness against Ormond, he well knew that no one present 
 would dare controvert his assertions openly, and that if the fatal 
 policy of the Ormond party prevailed, as, from their numbers 
 in the council, he feared it would, they would have to carry it 
 out in the face of such testimony as even they could not r, eject. 
 
 A few days more and Nicholas French rose again in the 
 council-chamber to renew the subject of the cessation.” Dis- 
 patches had that morning arrived from Owen Roe O’Neiil, dated 
 from the borders of Westmeath, and stating that the country 
 up to that point was all in the hands of the Confederates — with 
 the exception of Carrickfergus and a few other garrison towns in 
 the far north. This announcement excited no small surprise, 
 especially amongst the Norman lords present. 
 
 “ Truly,” said Lord Gormanstown, “ it was about time for 
 O’Neill to bestir himself. An’ he lay on his oars much longer 
 the battle would have been well nigh over. He is a slow man 
 and over-cautious, I opine.’ 
 
 “ The more like the tortoise in the fable, my lord,” said Bishop 
 French v^ith sly emphasis, “ you begin to see now what he can 
 do when ho deemeth his weapons tempered for use. Scarce two 
 weeks have passed since he took the field in good earnest, and, 
 with the single exception of that affair at Clones, his course 
 hath been marked by brilliant success. A good beginning, 
 surely 1” 
 
 “ Well enough for the time,” said the peer coldly, “ but some- 
 what early in his career to count on.” 
 
 “ My Lord Gormanstown,” said the Bishop, “ I would have 
 you take notice that General O’Neill hath done more in the two 
 weeks last past than any of our commanders hath done in as 
 many months — no disrespect to them, either — but ” 
 
 “ Does your lordship mean to oast a slur on the others,” put 
 in Gormanstown abruptly, “ to exalt O’Neill’s prowess and what 
 not, at the exDense of those who have borne the burden and 
 heat of the day 1” 
 
 “ An’ it go to that,” returned the prelate, “ your lordship can- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 289 
 
 not but know that there be many who think those generals of 
 whom you speak might have done more with the time and op- 
 portunities they had ’’ 
 
 “ My lord of Ferns,” said Gormanstown, pale with anger, 
 “ this language of yours were better explained. You would not 
 hp,ve us think ” 
 
 “ I crave your lordship’s pardon,” said the Bishop, with that 
 mild yet firm gravity which ever belonged to him, u I crave 
 your lordship’s pardon, an’ my speech be not to your liking. 
 Truth must be told, nevertheless, and since you put it to me, I 
 do say, speaking in the interests of our Confederation, that with 
 the forces at his command, and the great abundance of all need- 
 ful things which he hath had from the first beginning, I do say 
 before this honorable council, that which thousands say else- 
 where, to wit, that General Thomas Preston hath not pressed 
 Ormond as he might have done. An’ he met that false lord 
 face to face, now that his army is so greatly weakened and ours 
 in such fair condition, our colors were flying ere this on Dublin 
 Castle.”* 
 
 “ So little being done, then,” said Gormanstown, in a sarcas- 
 tic tone, “ wherefore doth your lordship object to a cessation of 
 hostilities 
 
 “ Far be it from me, lord of Gormanstown, to say that little 
 hath been done; it is because much hath been done, Divine 
 Providence assisting, that I hold the cessation inexpedient — had 
 less been done on our side, no such proposition would ever have 
 come from the enemy, and the very fact of their making it, 
 proves tqjp, certainty their weakness and our strength.” 
 
 “ But, admitting that, my reverend lord,” said Muskerry, 
 “ in what way will the cessation injure us 'l — an’ it give the 
 enemy twelve months’ rest, it will give us the same — we shall 
 be, at least, nothing worse than we are now.” 
 
 * Ormond, who had left Dublin at the head of 6 000 men, accom- 
 panied by Lord Lambert, failed to bring Preston to an action ; nor 
 did the conduct of this general fail to engender suspicion, for he had 
 an army which was well supplied, whilst that of the Marquis was, 
 according to the testimony of Carte, “ ready to starve for want of 
 provisions.” — Meehan’s Confederation , p. 70. 
 
 13 
 
290 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ That I deny, my lord,” said the far-seeing prelate, “ that I 
 deny in toto. We, having the advantage, ought to follow it up. 
 Strike while the iron is hot , said the wise men of old. Our 
 armies are now elated with success, agree to the Cessation 
 and you cool them down, ay, marry, as much as Ormond 
 himself could desire. Push on the war now, and, as God 
 liveth, the Cross will he triumphant in this land, and the 
 m wiles of the oppressor brought to nought before the year 
 is out. Make a truce with the enemy and you stop the 
 victorious career of our general and damp the courage Ox 
 their troops. Here hath Sir John Burke brought well nigh 
 the whole of Connaught into subjection, so that even Clanrick- 
 arde’s Galway hath had to capitulate.* Castlehaven and Preston 
 are far ahead of the enemy in Leinster — our old friend Barry, 
 with the aid of my Lord Castlehaven, hath humbled the pride 
 of Inchiquin and Vavasour in Munster, and we know that Owen 
 Roe and the northern chieftains hold Ulster in safe keeping for 
 us. My lords, an’ you make a truce now you arrest the uplifted 
 arms of your warriors and leave them standing as fools face to 
 face with the enemy. It were madness, I say, madness” — he 
 paused and looked around on the pale faces and contracted 
 brows of the nobles, then rapidly added, “ either madness or 
 something worse !” 
 
 The vehemence with which the prelate spoke was not without 
 its effect on those who heard him. Be their sympathies as they 
 might, the lay-lords had no arguments to bring forward in op- 
 position to those of Dr. French, and, hoping to gain time, they 
 
 * The siege of Galway was pressed with vigor ; and soTtraitened 
 was Willoughby, that he offered to surrender the fort to tbe Marquis 
 of Clanrickarde, after Rear-Admiral Brooke had failed to throw in 
 supplies. Burke would not hear of such an overture, unless the Mar- 
 quis consented to take the Confederate oath, which he sternly re- 
 fused, and the parliamentary general surrendered the fortresses of 
 Galway and Oranmore to the heroic Burke on the 20th of June. 
 Three days afterwards a squadron entered the bay, but the colors of 
 the Confederates were streaming from the flag-staff. The Archbishop 
 of Tuam was one of the parties who drew up the articles with Wil- 
 loughby ; and this infamous murderer was permitted to depart in 
 peace. — Confederation , p, 71. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 291 
 
 appeared to give in somewhat, especially as they saw that the 
 prelates were all ranged against them. 
 
 Leaving the lords of the Pale to digest at leisure the unanswer- 
 able reasoning of the Bishop of Ferns, let us glance for a mo- 
 ment at Castlehaven’s proceedings in Munster, whither, as the 
 Bishop intimated, he had been sent to assist General Barry, then 
 pressed rather hard by the united forces of Inchiquin and Va- 
 vasour. 
 
 Kilmallock was besieged by a strong force under Lord Inchi- 
 quin himself, and to raise the siege was the first and most press- 
 ing duty of Castlehaven. It is true he had been somewhat un- 
 willing to undertake that expedition, but, once fairly into it, his 
 spirit rose with the occasion, and he marched from Kilkenny in 
 gallant style, with that military parade of which he was fonder 
 than most men. He had with him as aid-de-camp, Captain 
 Fitzgerald, better known as Garret-Garrough, an officer who 
 stood high in his estimation. Learning that Barry and Purcell 
 were in the neighborhood of Cashel, thither Castlehaven bent 
 his course, and in the shadow of the old Rock, flung far and 
 wide by the summer-day’s sun, the two generals formed a junc- 
 tion, their united forces amounting to about 3,000, well trained 
 and well provided. In addition to this regular force of horse 
 and fbot, Castlehaven had at his command a novel appendage to 
 an army in the shape of a numerous troop of boys, mounted on 
 light, fleet horses. Doubtless the grim veterans who followed 
 Inchiquin’s banner would have smiled in scorn at sight of 
 these puny warriors, with their slight, boyish figures and fair 
 unsunned faces, and javelins as light as if meant for pastime. 
 And yet they were not to be despised, as their general well 
 knew, for within those boyish forms were the spirits of grown 
 men, hearts undaunted, and souls of fire, prompt to do and dare 
 what their seniors well might shrink from. 
 
 Moving rapidly on Kilmallock, Lord Castlehaven was met by 
 scouts with the surprising intelligence that Inchiquin had raised 
 the siege and marched away by night towards the K> rry moun- 
 tains,* detaching Vavasour with some 1700 men on an expedi- 
 tion to Castle-Lyons, it was thought, in the county Cork. 
 
 * This circumstance alone is sufficient to prove the high reputation 
 
292 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Castle-Lyons, however, was not the object of that forced 
 march of Vavasour, nor would Inchiquin have detached such a 
 force from his own for the capture of any village. But in the 
 neighborhood was the Castle of ClogMeigli, so gallantly taken 
 by the Condons, as the reader will remember, and held ever 
 since by our old acquaintance, Arthur, for the Confederates. 
 Dear to the vengeful heart of Inchiquin was the thought of 
 wholesale massacre, and he had sworn a fearful oath that the 
 sept of the Condons should be extinguished in blood ere the war 
 was over. 
 
 Now Barry well remembered brave Arthur Condon, and his 
 taking of the castle with such masterly skill and heroic valor, 
 and he started in terror when he heard of the direction taken 
 by Vavasour. Going at once to Castlehaven, he urged him to 
 set forth in pursuit without a moment's delay. 
 
 “ Haste, haste, my lord,” said the chivalrous veteran ; “haste, 
 I charge you for Christ’s dear sake. Haste an’ you would save 
 some four score odd of the bravest fellows on Irish ground — by 
 Our Lady, we cannot go fast enough, let us ride our best !” 
 
 Castlehaven had heard the tale ere then, and, truth to tell, he 
 was fain to succor the gallant Condon as man could be. Start- 
 ing, then, in pursuit of Vavasour, the army marched night and 
 day till a mountain only separated them from the enemy. It 
 was Condon’s Country, and beyond that mountain lay Cloghleigh 
 Castle. It was evening, Saturday evening, and a troop of horse 
 was dispatched to watch the motions of the enemy. The cavalry 
 officer to whom that charge was entrusted was a tall, stately 
 man, in the prime of life, with a strongly marked, yet rather 
 handsome countenance, reminding you of some one you had 
 seen, and once seen never forgotten. It was a startling thing to 
 find the living likeness of Ormond in the Confederate camp, and 
 yet it was easily explained — that captain of dragoons was Richard 
 Butler, brother to the great Marquis, and brother-in-law of Lord 
 
 which the Confederate armies had by this time gained, seeing that 
 Lord Inchiquin had at the siege of Kilmallock a torce of 7,000 men, 
 as Castlehaven positively states in his Memoirs, whereas the Con- 
 federates, as we have seen, numbered no more than 3,000 regular 
 soldiers. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 293 
 
 Castlehaven, a staunch adherent of the national cause, and as 
 true a Catholic as ever bent knee before an altar. Like many 
 another of the Norman nobles engaged in that struggle, Richard 
 Butler embarked therein in all sincerity, and fought on the side 
 of truth and justice as became a Christian knight, until the 
 poison from his brother’s lips gradually diffused itself into 
 Richard’s heart, and he learned to distrust his fellow-Catholics of 
 the old blood. At the time of which we write, however, there 
 was not one of the Confederates more heartily devoted to the 
 cause than Richard Butler, of Kilcash, and it .pleased him well 
 to be sent on such an errand that fair summer’s eve. 
 
 The hours of the short midsummer night passed slowly and 
 heavily in the Confederate camp, just three miles from the 
 castle. Every soul, from the generals down to the horse-boys 
 who cared their steeds, was anxious for the fate of the brave 
 Cond ons ; yet it was thought unsafe to proceed further till the 
 enemy’s motions were ascertained with certainty. All that 
 night the Confederates kept watching and listening, but no 
 sounds of strife came on the breeze, and they hoped that the 
 Puritans, like themselves, were awaiting the morning light for 
 action. 
 
 Fatal security; fatal delay! With the earliest dawn came 
 the far-off roll of musketry and the heavy booming of the can- 
 nonade. Instantly the drums beat to arms, and the army was 
 in motion without a moment’s delay — alas ! too late. Before 
 the last man had quitted the place of encampment, word was 
 brought to Lord Castlehaven that Cloghleigh Castle had been 
 taken by Vavasour, and the' heroic garrison cut to pieces, when 
 marching out on honorable terms.* Butler had only arrived in 
 time to witness the sad catastrophe, and small as his force was, 
 he immediately attacked the base cut-throats, without pausing 
 to consider the fearful odds against him. 
 
 With the vengeful cry of “ Butler Aboo-!” his followers rushed 
 headlong on the enemy, and before he had recovered the confu- 
 sion following that fierce onslaught, the Irish trumpets gave 
 note of the army’s rapid approach. 
 
 t&.See Castlehaven’a Memoirs , p. 40. 
 
294 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Now, Vavasour,” cried Richard Butler, “ accounting-time 
 is near; so sure as God is in heaven, you shall rue this cruel 
 outchery — keep your ground, my men, and fix bayonets — let 
 them charge our bristling steel ! — for God and our murdered 
 friends this day !” 
 
 Whilst Vavasour and his officers were vainly endeavoring to 
 surround the gallant little troop so as to cut off their retreat, the 
 meads of the Confederate columns were seen crossing the moun- 
 tain’s brow — it was but the cavalry, however, under Lord 
 Castlehaven, Barry with the infantry being left far behind, and 
 flying in squadrons on either side like winged messengers of 
 wrath, came the boy-horsemen, blithe and active as mountain 
 goats. 
 
 Vavasour, knowing the Confederate army at hand, had sent 
 off his cannon and baggage towards Fermoy, fearing their cap- 
 ture by the enemy, and now he had to encounter the avenging 
 army of the Confederates without as much as a piece of ord- 
 nance. Seeing the large body of cavalry approaching, the 
 Puritans made another desperate effort to cutoff Butler’s troop, 
 but with incredible dexterity they kept hovering on the flank, 
 acting only on the defensive till the loud huzzas of their Com- 
 rades told them that succor was at hand, and then in on the 
 enemy they dashed at one side just as Castlehaven’s men did at 
 the other. Their joint attack was so overwhelming that Vava- 
 sour gave orders for his foot to move slowly on towards the 
 river, hoping that the cavalry might be able to cover their re- 
 treat by keeping the Confederates engaged. He reckoned with- 
 out his host, however, for while the' two divisions of the Irish 
 cavalry pressed furiously on his flanks, the rear was harassed by 
 the pertinacious attack of the boy-cavaliers, who, with their 
 light, sharp lances, did much execution, goading on both men 
 and horses, caracolling around with strange velocity as they 
 darted their javelins, yelling and hooting the while after their 
 boyish fashion.* The Confederate cavalry fought well that day, 
 
 * “ That troop of boys, mounted on fleet horses, was pressing on the 
 forlorn hope, not after the fashion of drilled and disciplined men, 
 but rather like ‘ the Moorish and Getuiian horsemen,’ says Borlase, 
 
 ‘ mentioned by Sallust in Jugarth’s war.’ ” — Meehan’s Confederation, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 295 
 
 and the Puritans fell beneath their blows like forest-trees when 
 the storm sweeps through their midst, but the brilliant victory 
 they gained was due as much to that youthful band of heroes 
 with their wild, untrained valor, as to the more systematic at- 
 tack of their seniors-in-arms. Almost surrounded as they 
 were, and maddened by the strange annoyance from behind, 
 which their horses felt still more than themselves, the Puritan 
 cavalry at last gave way, and were driven forward on their own 
 infantry, trampling them down with fearful slaughter. The 
 whole fell into confusion, and horse and foot broke and fled be- 
 fore the avenging arms of the Confederates. But after them 
 dashed Castlehaven and Butler with their valiant dragoons, and 
 around and before them hovered “ the boys to crown their 
 misfortune Vavasour himself was taken prisoner, and after that 
 the rout became general. Many officers were taken prisoners, 
 and 600 of Vavasour’s best soldiers “ were killed between the 
 Manning-water and Fermoy.” Even their cannon was overtaken 
 and captured, and their colors all fell into the hands of the 
 C onfederates. 
 
 Bloodily was the murder of the gallant Condons avenged 
 that day, and the rumor of that great victory gave new life and 
 hope to the Confederates all over the kingdom. 
 
296 
 
 TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 “ The death-shot hissing from afar, 
 
 The shock, the shout, the groan of war.” 
 
 Byron’s Giaour. 
 
 “ I know the action was extremely wrong ; 
 
 I own it, I deplore it, I condemn it ; 
 
 But I detest all fiction, even in song, 
 
 And so must tell the truth, howe’er you b^amo it !” 
 Byron's Don Juan. 
 
 Scarce had Castlehaven’s splendid victory over Vavasour 
 been reported in Kilkenny when other couriers came dashing 
 in from the border county of Meath with as stirring tidings from 
 Owen Roe. That chieftain had taken up a strong position at 
 Portlester, a few miles from Trim, where Sir James Dillon had 
 joined him with a small but effective force. All was likely to be 
 needed, for the clansmen had little more than time to exchange 
 a friendly greeting with the stout Palesmen who marched under 
 Dillon’s banner when news came in that Lord Moore was ap- 
 proaching at the head of a strong force. 
 
 “Let him come,” said O’Neill quietly; “with the help of 
 God and our good neighbors of the Pale here we are well able 
 for him.” 
 
 Just as Moore’s cavalry came in sight, another messenger 
 came riding in, his horse all covered with foam and himself 
 panting for breath. 
 
 “ In God’s name, what tidings bring you V' said the general 
 with some anxiety. 
 
 “ Colonel Moncke is advancing from Wicklow ” 
 
 “ Cometh he this way V’ 
 
 “ Even so, general, and fast enough, too, as poor Mullingar 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 297 
 
 here — tnat’s my horse, please your nobleness ! — Can tell to 
 his cost, the creature ! Dear knows, we had a nard ride of it, 
 himself and me, to give you the word in time !” 
 
 “ You have done well, my brave fellow, ’* said Owen, unable 
 to repress a smile even at that critical moment ; “ take Mullingar 
 and yourself to the rear and refresh yourselves.” 
 
 “ But Colonel Moncke will be here in no time, general, and 
 the other villains are close at hand yonder. I’m afeard — I’m 
 afeard it will go hard with you !” 
 
 “ Never you mind that, honest fellow, but do as I told yon !” 
 and away rode Owen to where he had a breastwork thrown up 
 over night — behind it now lay the choicest marksmen of his 
 army. 
 
 “ God’s blessing be about him every day he rises,” ejaculated 
 the sturdy scout, looking after him with admiring eyes, “ see 
 how well he doesn’t forget Mullingar or mein all the stir. Lord 
 save us all this day, what a mighty great army there is of them — 
 the black-hearted villains. Holy Mother ! save our fine brave 
 Catholics from them, for it’s you that can, and I’m sure you 
 will, too — well, come along, Mullingar ! you or me couldn’t do 
 much till we get something in our bellies — if we once had that, 
 my good fellow, we’ll have a chance at the murdering crew 
 yonder — it will go hard with us or this good pike of mine makes 
 them one the less, anyhow !” 
 
 Meanwhile Owen Roe paid a visit to his grand stronghold, to 
 wit, an old mill which he had found there in good condition, and 
 in which he had posted threescore men, with some pieces of 
 cannon mounted on the walls. Standing on the crown of a 
 gentle acclivity, and rearing itself to a considerable height, 
 the building commanded no small portion of the level country 
 a ound, and O’Neill’s skilful eye was not slow to discover the 
 advantage it afforded. He no sooner heard of Moore’s approach 
 than he placed the great body of his troops in a position which 
 concealed them from the advancing enemy ; the mill and the 
 elevation on which it stood being flanked by a grove of ancient 
 beech and sycamore furnished an effectual screen. 
 
 The preparations were hardly completed when up, at a gal- 
 lop, came Lord Moore and his cavalry, hastening on in advance 
 
298 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 of the foot with the eagerness of men sure of victory. The 
 mill and the wood were before them, and O’Neill’s defences, but 
 O’Neill’s men were only visible in such numbers as their wily 
 general chose to show. 
 
 “ Victory will have small merit here,” said Moore contempt- 
 uously, “ a mere handful of Irish kern. They have garrisoned 
 yonder mill, I see ! and breastworks, forsooth !— on, on, men, 
 on ! — we can take that with our broad-swords !” — and he pointed 
 with his own — “ be sure you let not a man of them escape ” 
 
 Still no sign of life amongst the Irish, and on rode the fierce 
 Puritan soldiers, all elate with the thought of the utter extermina- 
 tion commanded by their chief, when all at once from the old 
 mill came the thundering peal of artillery, and a dense volume 
 of smoke — a cry of horror from the Puritans, and the lifeless 
 body of their leader rolled from his horse to the ground. A 
 cannon-ball had pierced his stony heart ; the Catholics had lost 
 an inveterate foe, and the oppressor a willing and powerful agent. 
 
 Following up their advantage, the Irish rushed from their 
 cover, and darted, horse and foot, on the panic-stricken enemy 
 with their terrible war-cry : “Larnh dearg aboo!” headed by 
 Owen Roe himself, while Dillon and O’Rourke made a detour on 
 either hand in' order to cut off the enemy’s retreat. Disheart- 
 ened by the fall of their general, and bewildered by the unex- 
 pected appearance of such a force, the Puritans were easily 
 thrown into confusion, and turning the rein attempted to fly. 
 But the broad-swords and battle-axes of the Irish were whirling 
 around them, and the wild death-shout rang ever in their ears : 
 “ Death to the black-hearted stranger !” and to crown their 
 misfortune, their own infantry, unknowing what had happened, 
 now met them in the way, barring their onward progress. 
 
 Lord Moore and his troopers had long been the terror of the 
 border-country, and the memory of many a bloody contest, and 
 many a dismal scene of slaughter, whetted the Confederates’ 
 swords that day. Like a whirlwind they rushed on the retreat- 
 ing foe, dealing death and justice at every blow, until the enemy 
 were forced to cry for quarter, and then Owen Roe’s sonorous 
 voice was heard above the roar of battle commanding his people 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 299 
 
 to desist. The work of death was suddenly stopped, and each 
 applied himself to secure his prisoners. 
 
 “ Now God be praised !” cried Owen O’Neill, “ such a victory 
 I did not dare to hope for.” 
 
 “ Something was telling me all the time,” said the owner of 
 Mullingar as he leisurely wiped his mouth on h’s jacket sleeve 
 and mounted his four-footed friend, “ something was telling me 
 we were to have the best of it this time.” 
 
 “And now for Moneke!” said Owen Roe in a cheerful voice 
 to Dillon on his right, “ I would he were here while our fellows’ 
 blood is up !” 
 
 But Moneke came not then or again — he had heard of Lord 
 Moore’s death and the total route of his forces, and he wisely 
 turned aside from O’Neill’s path, the more willingly as his regi- 
 ment was literally in a starving condition.* 
 
 In much the same state was the whole Munster army under 
 Lord Inchiquin, then Vice-President of that Province. “ He 
 had received no supplies from England, except a regiment with- 
 out arms, which he thought were sent only to accelerate his 
 ruin ; bringing neither money, nor provision, nor even the 
 
 hopes of either thinking, then, the loss of the 
 
 Province to be inevitable, and fearing the ruin of many 
 thousand Protestants, it was resolved in a council of war to 
 cause the ships of Lord Forbes’ squadron, in the harbor of Kin- 
 sale, to be stayed and drawn ashore, that they might be ready 
 
 * It was about this time that the officers of the English army in 
 Ireland, being unable to obtain the means of subsistence from the 
 Lords Justices and the Irish Government, were reduced to the last 
 extremity of want; wherefore, says Warner, they made a second 
 application to the Justices and Council : and despairing of relief from 
 them, they drew up at the same time an address to the king; repre- 
 senting that their case was now become so desperate, through their 
 fruitless applications to the English Parliament, “ that unless his 
 majesty should interpose they could not discover anything that might 
 stand betwixt them and absolute destruction .” — Civil Wars , Book 
 IV., p. 244. 
 
300 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 to receive and transport those people to England, who must 
 otherwise have been exposed either to the sword or famine.”* 
 
 • The Confederates, on the other hand, were well supplied with 
 all things needful for carrying on the war ; the booming of 
 O'Neill’s cannon all along the borders of the Pale was echoed 
 back by Castlehavqn’s and Barry’s from the walls of Munster, 
 while the distant shores of Lough Corrib and Galway Bay 
 resounded with the joyous cheers of Burke’s all-conquering 
 army. 
 
 Things were at this pass, and the truce postponed for one 
 month, when, towards the end of July, there appeared before 
 the Supreme Council in Kilkenny an Italian ecclesiastic, Sea- 
 rampi by name, an humble priest of the Oratory, a thin spare 
 man, «f a mild yet penetrating countenance, and a small well- 
 formed head, bent slightly forward, as it were, from the habit of 
 subjection. There was little to distinguish Father Pietro Fran- 
 cisco from any other member of a religious order, nor was there 
 in his bearing aught that savored of arrogant pretension, and 
 yet the proud nobles of the Pale bowed reverently before him, 
 and the stateliest prelate there addressed him in a tone of defer- 
 ence. And why was this 7 Why, because that humble Orato- 
 rian came to them from the Court of Rome, bearing bulls accord- 
 ing a jubilee and many other spiritual privileges to those who 
 had taken up arms for the faith in Ireland. 
 
 “ And furthermore,” said the reverend ambassador, “ our 
 Holy Father, knowing that your valiant soldiers have also much 
 need of carnal weapons wherewith to combat the enemy, hath, 
 of his goodness, and of his own resources, sent you what he 
 could, at this present, of arms and ammunition, the which, 
 being landed at Wexford, will be here anon, to be distributed as 
 seemctb good to you.” 
 
 The expression of gratitude on the part of the council, by 
 its venerable president, was abruptly broken in on by our old 
 acquaintance, Tirlogh O’Neill, who was one of the members. 
 
 “ May it please your reverence,” said he in his blunt way, 
 
 * Ibid., p. 255. Here we see from unexceptionable Protestant author- 
 ity to what straits the Puritans were reduced. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 301 
 
 “ there is no need to hurry — the valiant soldiers aforesaid have 
 grown tired, it seems, of hard knocks, and must needs patch up 
 a peace, come what will o’t.” 
 
 “What sayeth the noble Signori’' demanded Scarampi of the 
 Archbishop of Dublin. 
 
 The prelate explained in Latin, whereupon Father Scarampi 
 was much amazed. 
 
 “ In that case,” said he, “ our reverend friend, Luke Wadding, 
 must have deceived his Holiness, in that he hath represented 
 your affairs as being in such flourishing condition that but little 
 more was needed to secure the nation’s independence and the 
 full rights of our Holy Church in this realm of Ireland. I marvel 
 much an’ it be so, for Luke hath been ever esteemed among us 
 a man of rare probity and great wisdom.” 
 
 There was a sly undercurrent of humor in this speech, which 
 did not escape the Irish members of the council, such of them, 
 at least, as understood the pure Roman Latin, in which it was 
 spoken. The truth was the good Padre had heard of the pro- 
 posed cessation on his way from Wexford to Kilkenny, but he 
 knew too little of the state of parties to comprehend the selfish 
 motives of its advocates in the council. 
 
 “ Padre Scarampi,” said the uncompromising Archbishop of 
 Tuam, “ Father Wadding’s veracity .standeth unimpeached in 
 this matter. God hath been pleased to bless our arms in such 
 wise as, for the time, may be deemed little short of a miracle. 
 Our armies are at this hour in possession of three provinces, with 
 no small share of the fourth — we have men, money and arms, 
 with provisions almost at will, and have so cornered the enemy 
 everywhere that they scarce know which way to turn them, 
 the while they have grown so lean from sheer hunger that one 
 man of ours is equal to two or three of them. I know not if 
 Ormond himself hath had a full meal of late.” 
 
 “ My Lord Archbishop,” said Muskerry sharply, “ you forget 
 of whom you speak !” 
 
 “ Surely no, my lord, surely no,” said the prelate with some 
 severity ; “lam not oblivious of the respect due from me — from 
 all of us — to James Butler of Ormond — and to his friends in this 
 council!” he added significantly. Tirlogh O’Neill rubbed his 
 
302 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 hands and chuckled right gleefully while Mountgarret and 
 Muskerry, Gormanstown, and the rest of that set, looked the 
 daggers which they did not choose to put in words. 
 
 “ But the peace 1” inquired the Oratorian — “ what of the 
 peace 1 Your affairs being in such fair condition — you having 
 the best of the battle, as you say, wherefore, in God’s name, 
 consent to a peace which must needs be of advantage to your 
 enemies, seeing that it is they who seek it V 
 
 The Archbishop turned with a smile and bowed to Lord 
 Mountgarret who had been talking in a low earnest tone with 
 some of the other lay peers. Mustering as much composure as 
 he could assume, the President hastened to explain that the 
 country was well nigh exhausted by a two years’ war, and the 
 brave soldiers of the Catholic armies stood in need of rest 
 
 “I crave your lordship’s pardon,” said Philip O’Reilly, “but 
 I knew not before that our soldiers were tired of the war. An’ 
 they had a voice in this matter, there should be no peace till we 
 had gained our ends at the sword’s point. Methinks Ormond 
 himself could not wheedle them into laying down their arms at 
 this present, without good security for the payment of some, at 
 least, of the old debt. I pray your lordship, therefore, not to 
 drag ‘ our brave soldiers’ through the mire which hath gathered 
 around this question. Say rather that the bond of confedera- 
 tion hath been found irksome, and that some amongst us do 
 esteem the favor of my Lord Ormond, and that thing which 
 they call loyalty to the king’s majesty, far above the, interests 
 of our common faith and the re-establishment of our long-lost 
 rights.” 
 
 This speech, bold, and manly, and straightforward as became 
 the O’Reilly, caused the Ormondists to wince, and, being inter- 
 preted to the Pope’s ambassador, elicited from him a smile of 
 approbation. Stranger as he was, he quickly observed the 
 shirking, temporizing way in which the question of the truce 
 was treated by the large majority of the council, and before he 
 quitted their presence that day, he gave them plainly to under- 
 stand what he thought of the matter. 
 
 “ In the name of his Holiness Urban VIII.,” said he, “I do 
 protest against this peace, unless, indeed, it be a lasting peace, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 303 
 
 honorable to yourselves as soldiers of the Cross, and of solid 
 advantage to your Holy Mother the Church, on whose behalf 
 you took up arms. An’ your grievances be not at once reme- 
 died, and your rights as Christians and as freemen placed on a 
 firm basis, no peace — no truce, say I — follow up your successes 
 by yet greater efforts — Catholic Europe will aid you, so that you 
 shall want for nothing — the more you do, the more will be done 
 for you — so sayeth the Father of the faithful, so sayeth your 
 trusty and approved friend, Luke Wadding — so say the great 
 and the noble of my own land, and in proof thereof, my Lord 
 Mountgarret, there is the sum of 30,000 dollars received by 
 Father Wadding from certain of our Italian nobles towards de- 
 fraying the expenses of this righteous war.” 
 
 And he placed on the table the munificent contribution worthy 
 the nobleness and generosity of those from whom it came. Due 
 acknowledgments being made on the part of the Confederated 
 Catholics, Archbishop O’ Kelly requested the Padre to state 
 precisely the purpose for which the money was intended. 
 
 “ Otherwise,” said he, “reverend father, we may have it ex- 
 pended for the purchase of a peace — money is a rare commodity 
 amongst our enemies in these days, and even the lordly palm of 
 Ormond might not shrink from being greased with Italian gold 
 — an’ he cajole our lords into a cessation of arms with such odds 
 in our favor, he might e’en persuade them that our money were 
 as well vested in his hands — I pray you see to that, good Father !” 
 “ Most reverend lord,” said Scarampi in reply, “ there can be 
 no mistake regarding the intentions of the donors. We in 
 Italy heard much of the extraordinary efforts made by a brave 
 and faithful but impoverished nation to avenge its wrongs and 
 recover its rights — we heard of the puissant valor of Owen 
 O’Neill, and Burke, and Barry, and many more, and what things 
 they had done on behalf of God’s people — of Ormond, too, we 
 heard, and Inchiquin, and Broghill, and other great captains of 
 the enemy’s host, but as God liveth, my lords and gentlemen, we 
 heard not that any of the gallant Confederate Chieftains had 
 opened their ears — or hearts — to the poisonous breath of the 
 enemy. We heard not, in the halls of the Vatican, of truce or 
 treaty spoken of here in Ireland — we heard only of battles and 
 
304 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 sieges, and the noise of a fierce struggle, and our hearts did 
 hum, yea ! even the paternal heart of Urban, to send timely 
 succor to those who battled for the right — had we heard of par- 
 leying, and truce-making, and such like, methinks yonder gold 
 were still in the coffers of those who sent it so freely. Pardon 
 me, lords and gentlemen, if I, a stranger, speak so plainly in 
 this matter, but standing here, as I do, to represent the Sovereign 
 Pontiff, I would ill discharge my duty did I not enter my solemn 
 protest against a measure which I know would, if carried out, 
 undo much of the glorious work already done.” 
 
 Mountgarret and his friends excused themselves in the best 
 way they could, with many asseverations of devotion to the 
 cause, assuring the Padre at the same time that there were two 
 sides to the question, whereas he saw but one. They labored 
 hard to make him understand the friendly dispositions of Lord 
 Ormond. 
 
 “ As evinced by the massacre at Timolin,” interrupted Col- 
 onel McMahon, who was also a member of the Council. 
 
 This sharp retort, duly interpreted to the Italian by one of 
 the bishops, so disconcerted the “ peace-cabal” (as his Grace of 
 Tuam aptly called them in a whisper), that they knew not well 
 what subterfuge to have recourse to, and were fain to adjourn 
 till the following day. A severe rebuke was first administered 
 to McMahon for his contumacious language. The chieftain of 
 Uriel bowed and smiled, and expressed his regret that he had 
 not sooner known the close sympathy between the Marquis and 
 the honorable Council. It was worth something, however, to 
 know it even then. 
 
 The strenuous opposition of the Pope’s jambassador, the biting 
 sarcasms of the Irish chieftains, and the avowed displeasure of 
 the bishops, had all and each their effect on the time-serving 
 lords of the Pale and their adherents in the council. Anxious 
 to oblige Lord Ormond, and to obtain peace on any terms, they 
 yet shrank from the formidable array of the opposition, strength- 
 ened by the earnest expostulation of Owen Roe, w r ho, unable to 
 leave his post on the borders, forwarded his views to the council, 
 couched in language rather strong for their liking. It was at 
 this juncture that Lord Castlehaven arrived in Kilkenny, post- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 305 
 
 haste from the South. He had heard of the proposed truce 
 while enjoying a brief interval of rest at his brother's house, 
 and lost no time in appearing before the council with all the 
 leading members of the Ormond party whom he could find in 
 town.* Brave soldier as he was, and successful general, Cas- 
 tleliaven was already tired of the war, and that because his heart 
 had never been with the Confederates. He was driven into their 
 ranks by the cruel injustice of the government affecting himself 
 personally, and, strongly imbued with a contemptuous dislike 
 of the old Irish, he never could, or never did, completely identify 
 himself with them in the quarrel. If he fought, it was for his 
 own reputation, and to gratify the inordinate self-conceit which 
 was one of his most prominent characteristics. Cherishing a 
 profound respect for Ormond, it was never with his will he had 
 drawn the sword against him, and looked eagerly for an oppor- 
 tunity of ingratiating himself once more with that powerful 
 nobleman. 
 
 Taking with him, then, Sir Richard Barnewell, Sir Robert 
 Talbot, Colonel Bagnell, “ and such others as were in town well 
 affected, and leading men in the Assembly, though not of the 
 Council,” his volatile lordship entered the hall where the council 
 was sitting, having first agreed with his “ well-affected” friends 
 that “ if they would stick to him he would give tne matter such 
 a turn” as would serve them all,*f- to wit, carry out Ormond’s 
 politic designs to the satisfaction of that nobleman, and thus 
 secure his favor. 
 
 This unexpected reinforcement so strengthened the hands of 
 Mountgarret, Muskerry, and the other Ormondists, that they 
 immediately assumed a high tone and frowned down all attempts 
 at opposition. Even the honest and conscientious efforts of 
 Scarampi, backed by the expressed wishes of the Pope, sank 
 into insignificance before the supercilious airs of Casllehaven 
 with the prestige of victory around him. 
 
 It was not without a hard struggle that Scarampi, the bishops 
 and the chiefs, were defeated. Defeated, however, they were, 
 owing to the overwhelming majority of Ormond’s friends (many 
 
 * See his Memoirs , p. 41. 
 
 t Memoirs , p 41. 
 
306 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 of them his near relations) in the council. In the last stormy 
 debate, Castlehaven, irritated by the firm resistance of the clergy 
 and their adherents, was heard to mutter between his teeth a 
 bitter invective against “ such turbulent and factious opposition.” 
 
 This roused the ire of the native chieftains, several of whom 
 were on their feet in a moment. 
 
 “Ah, Touchet! Touchet!* it’s in you for the taking out !” 
 cried Tirlogh O’Neill, shaking his clenched fist at him ; “ this 
 comes of your underhand dealings with — you know who!” 
 
 “ Master Tirlogh O’Neill,” said the haughty peer with a 
 withering smile, “ I must decline noticing such scurrilous re- 
 marks applied to myself — it may not be amiss to inform you, 
 natheless, that there be some of our noisiest patriots — mayhap 
 near akin to yourself — whose ‘ underhand dealings’ are none 
 the safer to the Confederates that they be with one of your own 
 generals — nor spite nor envy hath aught to do with my rela- 
 tions to the cause — hear you that, Tirlogh O’Neill 
 
 The brother of Sir Phelim could not but feel this home- 
 thrust, for the fact of that chieftain’s intriguing with Preston 
 against Owen Roe was pat* lit to all the army. As a match to 
 a mine was the effect of Castlehaven’s taunt on his irrascible 
 temper, and he flew at once into such a passion that nothing 
 but the interference of the venerable primate, nis own kinsman, 
 could have kept him from drawing his sword on the spot to 
 chastise the insolent offender whose provoking coolness and 
 indifference exasperated him still the more. Finding that Tir- 
 logh would not listen to reason even from him, the Archbishop 
 took him gently by the arm and led him from the hall, under 
 pretence of saying a word to him in private. The “ word” kept 
 him all that day to say, for neither Tirlogh nor his Grace of 
 Armagh again appeared. 
 
 Little did Castiehaven heed poor Tirlogh’s honest, blustering 
 anger: he and his “ well-affected’’ friends had carried, or were 
 about to carry, their point, the clergy and the “ turbulent old 
 Irish,” notwithstanding. O’Neills and O’Reillys, McMahons and 
 0 Rourkes, and all the other “ outside barbarians,” might storm 
 
 * Tho family name of the Eail. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 307 
 
 and rage for all he cared — Ormond’s good-will once secured, 
 and peace established for a whole year, there was no knowing 
 what lucky chance might turn up in the interim to put a total stop 
 to the war. Truly “ a consummation devoutly to be wished.’* 
 As for the money sent by the Pope and other friendly princes, 
 it would, in the event of a lasting peace, be found extremely 
 useful in defraying the expenses of the king’s struggle with his 
 rebellious subjects of England and Scotland. Little knew the 
 learned Oratorian what was passing beneath the smiling exte- 
 rior of the lay lords and councillors, least of all what specula- 
 tions they had with regard to the money and other supplies 
 brought by him. He could not approve of the men’s acts, but 
 neither could he suspect the extent of their selfishness, or how 
 devoted they were at heart to the most dangerous enemy of 
 their sacred cause. 
 
 What little effect the presence and the remonstrances of the 
 Pope’s agent had on the narrow, selfish policy of the Anglo-Irish 
 councillors, will be best understood by w T hat we are about to 
 relate. 
 
 About the middle of September, that is to say, some weeks 
 after the arrival of Padre Scarampi in Kilkenny, Lord Ormond 
 sat in his tent one day where his army was encamped in the 
 vicinity of Naas. The curtains of the tent w r ere drawn back, 
 giving a view of the ancient town, and Strafford’s unfinished 
 Castle of Jigginstown, even then falling into decay,* with many 
 a mile of rich champaign country, all gilt and beautified by the 
 mellow rays of the autumnal sun shining down in midday glory. 
 But dearer than all this to Ormond’s eye was the group of gen- 
 tlemen, some of them of right noble mien, standing, hat in hand, 
 before the tent with a most submissive and deferential air, not 
 unlike to that usually seen on the faces of juvenile offenders, 
 when, smarting from parental blows, they present themselves 
 for pardon, with a promise “ never to do the like again.” 
 
 * “Jigginstown Castle,” says the Parliamentary Gazetteer of 
 Ireland, “ situate in the southwestern environs of the town of Naas, 
 was commenced on an enormous scale by the unfortunate Earl of 
 Strafford, Lord Lieu'enant of Ireland in the reign of Charle* I ; its 
 ruins now form a singular and striking object.” 
 
308 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 As though to mark his insolent contempt of the supplicants, 
 the Marquis, forgetful of that high-bred courtesy for which he 
 was famed, kept his seat while the others all stood, and, like 
 Fitz- James in Scottish song, he 
 
 “ alone wore hat and plume.” 
 
 Grander and prouder even than his wont, he seemed to look 
 down from a lofty eminence on those who stood there waiting 
 his pleasure, and well he might, for the realm of Ireland con- 
 tained not any men that day more worthy of contempt than 
 they, although one of them was Lord Muskerry, the Marquis’ 
 own brother-in-law, and the others were all of rank only second 
 to his own. They were there as commissioners from the Su- 
 preme Council of the Confederates, to sign the articles of peace, 
 and Ormond treated them in every respect as abject petitioners. 
 
 There was Muskerry — alas ! how fallen from the position he 
 occupied on that memorable day when he took the oath of con- 
 federation before the altar of old St. Canice, with the banner of 
 the MacCarthys waving above him — there was Dillon — not Sir 
 James, the friend of O’More, but a very different man, Sir Lucas 
 of that name — there was Talbot of Malahide, just where he 
 ought to be, bartering away the proud independence which 
 O’Neill, and Burke, and Barry had won for his fellow-Catholics — 
 there was Barnewell, and Neale, and Brown, a d Walsh, and 
 Plunket, and, shame to tell ! there was Magennis — happily not 
 the Lord of Iveagh, the gallant Sir Con, but a certain Ileber 
 Magennis , a kinsman of that chieftain. The half English 
 McCarthy,* and this degenerate scion of the house of Iveagh 
 were the only men of the nine commissioners who had Irish 
 blood in their veins, and assuredly though their blood was Irish 
 their hearts were not. 
 
 With an air of supreme condescension the stately Marquis 
 complimented the commissioners on the loyal and commendable 
 act just consummated, the which indicated a returning sense of 
 duty on the part of “ the rebels.” 
 
 * This time-serving Lord Muskerry was afterwards rewarded for 
 his betrayal of Catholic interests with the title of Earl of Clancarthy. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 309 
 
 “ Rebels, my lord 7” said Muskerry with some warmth ; “ I 
 pray you recall the word, for you cannot but know that the 
 King’s highness hath no truer subjects than the Confederate 
 Catholics of Ireland !” 
 
 “Well, well!” said Ormond with a satirical smile, “an’ it 
 please your lordship better we will say Confederates — good men 
 and true no doubt are ye all” — and he laughed a strange inward 
 laugh — “ in this thing have ye done well, and no doubt his Grace 
 will make all things so smooth during this year’s cessation of 
 arms that even the pestilent rebel, O'Neill, and the rest of the 
 Irishry, will have no rag of pretence for renewing hostilities.” 
 
 “Irishry, my Lord Marquis !” repeated Muskerry again with a 
 heightened color, while Magennis made a step in advance as 
 though half resolved to venture on a word of expostulation— 
 his courage, however, failed him as he glanced timidly at the 
 frowning brow of Ormond, and he quietly slunk back into his 
 place. 
 
 “ Another slip of the tongue,” said the Marquis in a jeering 
 tone ; “ I pray you, good Donogh ! be not so shai’p — between 
 friends such mistakes go for nothing. This cessation which I 
 have yielded to * your necessities, ought, more than all, to con- 
 vince you of my good will.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, my lord,” put in Dillon, “ our necessities are 
 not so great — an’ necessities be in the way, they are not on our 
 side.” 
 
 “ Pooh ! pooh !” said the Marquis with a w T ell-feigned air of 
 incredulity, “ tell that to others knowing less than I do of your 
 affairs ” 
 
 “ I do assure your lordship,” began Muskerry, but Ormond 
 stopped him with a majestic wave of the hand, and a smile that 
 was half pity, half scorn. Rising from his seat he summoned 
 some officers of his staff who stood backwards in the tent, and 
 bowed the Confederate delegates out with much apparent cour- 
 tesy but real disdain. 
 
 “ But, my lord,” said Muskerry, sorely nettled by such cava- 
 lier treatment, “ my lord, we would have a word with you con- 
 cerning that matter of the dissolution, seeing that we of the 
 Confederation do hold the present parliament illegal, as you 
 
310 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 well know, and that point hath not been settled to our lik- 
 ing.’’* 
 
 “ An’ it he not in the articles, brother mine, it is beyond my 
 power to arrange it now.’’ 
 
 “But we understood ” 
 
 “It matters little, Donogh, what you or I understood — the 
 articles of treaty are now signed and otherwise perfected — leave 
 that matter of the parliament to the king’s majesty, as be- 
 cometh loyal and well-affected subjects.” 
 
 So saying he withdrew with his officers into the inner com- 
 partment of his tent, and the commissioners were fain to take 
 their way back to Kilkenny, more dissatisfied, all of them, than 
 they were willing to own to each other. 
 
 * “ Before the ink in which it (the treaty) was written dried the 
 Confederate commissioners discovered that Ormond had no notion of 
 calling a new parliament, although be knew that the present one was 
 irregular and illegal.” — Meehan, quoting Carte, iii., 430. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 311 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 “ Ah, God ! that ghastly gibbet! 
 
 How dismal ’tis to see 
 The great fall spectral skeleton 
 
 The ladder and the tree !’’ 
 
 * * * # 
 
 “ He is coming ! he is coming ! 
 
 Like a bridegroom from his room, 
 
 Came the hero from his prison 
 To the scaffold and the doom.” 
 
 * * * * 
 
 “ There was color in his visage, 
 
 Tho’ the cheeks of all were wan, 
 
 And they marvell’d is they saw him pass, 
 
 That great and goodly man.” 
 
 “ 'The grim Geneva ministers, 
 
 With anxious scowl drew near, 
 
 As you have seen the ravens flock 
 Around the djing deer. 
 
 He would not deign them word nor sign, 
 
 But alone he bent the knee ! 
 
 And veil’d his face for Christ’s dear grace 
 Beneath tbe gallows-tree.” 
 
 Aynton’s Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers — 
 
 Execution of Montrose. 
 
 When the Catholic Commissioners were, after many week’s 
 detention of their Remonstrance in Dublin, permitted at length 
 to proceed to England to lay it before the King, his Majesty 
 received them graciously, and after hearing what they had to 
 say, and promising to consider the statement of grievances put 
 forth in the Trim document, he sent them hack with an urgent 
 request to Ormond to settle the difficulty with the Confederate 
 Catholics as soon as might be. Sorely pressed even then by the 
 rebellious armies of his Puritan parliament, he turned with long- 
 ing eyes to the victorious Catholics of Ireland, who could alone 
 give him permanent and effective succor. This he represented 
 to Ormond again and again in his private dispatches, although 
 publicly he was still constrained to censure their acts, and 
 
312 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 speak of them in the cant phraseology of the day as “pestifer- 
 ous rebels.” 
 
 When the Commissioners returned to Ireland their party was 
 increased by a young Protestant lady of rank, who had been 
 staying with some relations in London, and was now going back 
 to her Irish home furnished with a pass for herself and her 
 servant, an aged man who looked as though he might have 
 served the lady’s grandsire in a by-gone age. It was not with 
 the consent of her English friends that our adventurous fair one 
 placed herself under the protection of the Catholic gentlemen, 
 but having known Sir Robert Talbot and one or two others of 
 their number in former days in Dublin, she declared herself 
 quite willing to travel in their company. Such opportunities 
 being few at that day, and her mother at home being impatient 
 for her return, she would not hear of postponing her departure. 
 
 The displeasure of the young lady’s godly relatives would 
 have been much increased had they known that on the day 
 preceding their departure, she was closetted with Lord Mus- 
 kerry, the head of the deputation, for full half an hour. What 
 the nature of their conference was may be gathered from the 
 parting words which passed between the Viscount and Emmeline 
 Coote, for she it was, as the reader has probably guessed. 
 
 “ Fair Mistress Coote,” said he, “ I fear you will bring griev- 
 ous trouble on yourself by journeying homewards in our com- 
 pany. Your brothers will by no means overlook such an offence 
 against Puritan notions of fitness.” 
 
 “ Nay, my good lord, after what I have disclosed to you, 
 wherefore speak to me of such matters 1 One who hath devoted 
 her life to the attainment of an object, can think of no danger, 
 no inconvenience that regardeth only herself. But you really 
 •deem it unsafe for them to join your retinue V 1 
 
 “ It were certain destruction to them, my good young lady, 
 and most like to us, one and all.” 
 
 “ Then you refuse giving them this chancel” 
 
 “ With reluctance I must — we have passports but for a certain 
 number ” 
 
 “ Leave two of your servants behind.” 
 
 Muskerry shook his head. “ It were useless, fair mistress, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 313 
 
 worse than useless — the personal description of your friends is 
 too well known — they could not escape in broad day.” 
 
 “ My friends!” repeated Emmeline with rising anger, for she 
 saw and despised the pusillanimous fears of Muskerry. “ Me- 
 thinks, Lord Muskerry, they might well be your friends. 
 However, I will press you no more — the God who released them 
 from their dungeon will provide them with the means of escape. 
 I will go to Ireland, as I purposed, but solely with a view to 
 their interest — to apprise their true friends of how they be 
 situated, and move them to devise some plan for their de- 
 liverance.” , 
 
 It was a sorrowful parting when Emmeline and old Lorcan 
 came to take leave of the two poor captives, virtually as much 
 so as when the walls of the Tower lay between them and free- 
 dom. Bitter was their indignation when they heard of Musker- 
 ry’s cold indifference, so little to be expected from a chief of 
 the Confederates. Had they been better acquainted with the 
 respective attitudes of the “ old” and “ new Irish” at that time, 
 their surprise and disappointment would have been less, but 
 knowing nothing of the internal workings of the Confederation, 
 they had thought in their simplicity that no sworn member of 
 that body could fail to sympathize with them, or to lay hold of 
 even the slightest chance of forwarding their escape. McMahon, 
 as usual, tried to laugh it off, saying that they would be even 
 with his lordship ere long, but Maguire could not conceal his 
 dejection, and when the final moment came he trembled like an 
 aspen leaf. In vain did Emmeline conceal her own emotion to 
 speak to him of bright days to come — in vain did his brave old 
 uncle assure him that it would go hard with the Maguires and 
 McMahons (were there none but they) an’ they devised not 
 some plan to convey the two safely to Ireland — “ and then, 
 Connor, my son,” said the veteran warrior, “ and then — you and 
 Costelloe here will be in for the best of the sport — the best is 
 all to come, and you’ll meet the bloody villains with the red 
 sword of vengeance in your hand — son of my heart, you will !’» 
 Poor Connor shook his head sadly, and then in silence they all 
 parted — some in hope, some in fear, all in sorrow. 
 
 F or some days after the departure of their best friends, Ma- 
 li 
 
314 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 guire and McMahon were more or less buoyed up with the hope 
 of a speedy opportunity of returning to Ireland. Days past 
 away, however, and weeks, too, and still no nearer prospect of 
 escape, no message, no word of hope from home. Shifting about 
 from place to place amongst the few faithful Catholics who were 
 cognizant of their condition, continually in dread of detection, 
 and lamenting the risk incurred by those who sheltered them, 
 their life was as wretched as could well be imagined. The only 
 comfort they had was in being together, for the load of misery 
 shared between them was less intolerable, and when they talked 
 of the glorious, struggle going on at home, and cheered each 
 other with the hope of yet girding on the sword and taking their 
 rightful place in the van of Ulster’s chivalry, then the grim, 
 ugly present faded from their view and they lived for a while in 
 a brilliant, stirring, dashing future — alas ! never, never to dbe 
 theirs ! 
 
 One dark October night, as the story goes, when our fugitives 
 were once more a-hide in Smithson’s house in Drury lane, Mc- 
 Mahon, contrary to the advice of his more timorous friend, put 
 his head out of the window to hail an oyster-wench whose sten- 
 torian lungs were waking the echoes of the half-deserted streets 
 in the vicinity. Responsive to the call, the woman approached 
 the window, the oysters were bought and paid for, and still no 
 appearance of Maguire’s fears being justified. No look of sur- 
 prise, no word of recognition escaped the dame as she stood 
 without in the dim light of a flickering oil-lamp a few yards dis- 
 tant. She even cracked a rude joke, as her money was told out, 
 touching the fattening nature of her oysters, in allusion to poor 
 Costelloe’s haggard face, looking the while as stolid as a circus- 
 clown. 
 
 No sooner, however, was the pale handsome face withdrawn, 
 and the window closed, than the Englishwoman planted her dis- 
 engaged arm a-kimbo, and said to herself with a low exulting 
 laugh : “ My fortune is made now anyhow — as sure as my name 
 is Betsy Brigg that ’ere chap is one of them Hirish traitors as 
 escaped from the Tower. Step out now, Betsy, lass ! an’ it be 
 so, thou may’st fling thy basket into the moat !” 
 
 Hours before the wintry sun shone out through the fogs of 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 315 
 
 London, Connor Maguire and Costelloe McMahon were again 
 in the hands of the pious Master Conyers, and Betsy Brigg was 
 the richer for that night’s work by a thousand marks. 
 
 “ Now, God have mercy on our souls!” whispered McMahon 
 in Irish, as the officers dragged the luckless prisoners down the 
 narrow stair-way ; “ it is all over with us, friend of my heart !” 
 
 “ Don’t say that, Costelloe !” returned Maguire in a voice of 
 terror; “ don’t say it is all over — God is good !” 
 
 “ I know that, Connor, — I know He will be good to our poor 
 souls, — but, depend on it, He hath delivered our bodies to the 
 will of the enemy ! Ha! you base-born churl!” — in English to 
 one of the constables who had given him a crack over the 
 shoulders to hurry him on — “ you had not dared to do so were it 
 not for these fetters ! Ay ! do your worst — the nobleness of our 
 blood though it move not your pity, doth raise us above com- 
 plaint ! Have courage, my poor friend, my more than brother !” 
 Maguire could not answer : stunned by the crushing blow 
 which had in an instant, as it were, annihilated all their hopes, 
 he gave himself up to despair. J ust as they were parting, how- 
 ever, at the inner gate of the Tower, he called out, as if by a 
 spasmodic effort- - 
 
 “ Pray for me, McMahon, as I will for you !” 
 
 “I will, Connor, I will! — if we meet no more in this world, 
 farewell ! — God be with you ! By our Lady, our death wil 
 make somewhat of a stir at home — metliinks Uriel and Ferma- 
 nagh will be in the van when the red day of vengeance cometh !” 
 He was silenced by a blow on the mouth from the mailed hand 
 of an official. Oh ! the torture of that moment when the proud 
 McMahon could only chastise the wretch by a look, hand and 
 loot were both fettered! But such a look was that, so scathing 
 in its concentrated fire, that the cowardly caitiff slunk away 
 behind his fellows, unwilling to encounter that withering eye 
 again. 
 
 A few weeks after that, the prisoners were brought to trial, 
 and poor McMahon, convicted of the deadly crime of “ Papistry” 
 and with the lesser one of “ wickedly conspiring against the 
 peace of the realm,” was sentenced to be “hanged, drawn, and 
 quartered” on the hill of Tyburn. 
 
316 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Right nobly did the Tanist of Uriel bear himself daring the 
 mockery of a trial, and when the judge asked him as usual 
 what he had to say why sentence of death Should not be passed 
 upon him, he smiled with bitter scorn and replied : 
 
 “ Nought have I to say to you! — to the Judge of judges I 
 answer for my acts ! He knoweth and seeth all, and He will 
 avenge me and mine in the latter day — I am, by God’s mercy, 
 a Roman Catholic, unworthy though I be of the name, and I 
 did desire to see my country freed — these be my offences — of 
 these I am guilty — proceed then to judgment!” 
 
 “Had you, or had you not, a commission to levy war against 
 the lawful authority of these realms 1 — answer truly as you 
 hope for mercy !” 
 
 Again the scornful smile lit up the shrunken features of poor 
 Costelloe : “ Mercy ! I look not for mercy at the hands of Eng- 
 lish judges other than the mercy shown to my fathers in times 
 past, but on the faith of an Irish gentleman I know of no com- 
 mission — heard of no commission save in your questioning. 
 This I said on the rack in Dublin, this say I now before a hos- 
 tile court. Though King Charles hath not dealt fairly by us 
 Catholics, yet will I not wrong him — God save the king from 
 the hands of his enemies — we owe him no thanks, but w T e know 
 him for our true and lawful sovereign, and will not belie him 
 — God forbid! I say again, proceed to judgment — I would 
 know the worst at once.” 
 
 The worst was soon known, and McMahon heard the iniquitous 
 sentence without the slightest change of countenance. A shade 
 paler he might have grown as he listened, but nor look nor word 
 betrayed any emotion of fear. Cold and calm he was, and his 
 blue eyes wandered with a strangely indifferent look over the 
 grim array of scowling faces before, and above, and around him. 
 
 “ Hanged, drawn, and quartered !” he repeated slowly, as 
 though to himself. “ It is well — the manner of my death surely 
 is not over creditable — but the shame is with them — not with 
 me ! My soul to God,” he said in a loud clear voice, “ my cause 
 to the Confederate Catholics of Ireland ! — Heaven prosper their 
 righteous efforts ! — May I have a priest to prepare me for death V* 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 317 
 
 “ Surely no — it were the worst cruelty to grant you such a 
 boon.” 
 
 “ Then God himself will be my priest !” and nothing more did 
 McMahon say. He was taken some days after to Tyburn and 
 executed according to the sentence, maintaining to the last the 
 same bold and fearless spirit that had marked him through life 
 — the hand that had made grotesque sketches on Borlase’s 
 walls, while awaiting his first trial, never trembled on the gallows 
 when the hangman stood by McMahon’s side, and a brutal, 
 pitiless mob gazed up with eager eyes, curious to see how an 
 Irish rebel died. 
 
 Poor Costelloe McMahon ! bold, brave, light-hearted Costelloe 
 McMahon ! he died as became his high lineage and the noble 
 cause for which he so freely gave his life. He died as became 
 a Catholic cavalier, rejecting with scorn the offer of a minister 
 to pray with him — 
 
 “ A beam of light fell o’er him, 
 
 Like a glory round ’he shriven, 
 
 And he climb’d the lofty ladder, 
 
 As it were the path to heaven !” 
 
 Signing himself with the cross on forehead, lip and breast, he 
 bent his head a moment and clasped his hands, then made a sign 
 to the hangman and was speedily launched into eternity, while 
 the crowd below, wondering at such marvellous fortitude and 
 resignation, forbore to hoot or revile, as was their wont when 
 Papists were executed. 
 
 And how was it with Lord Maguire while his companion in 
 misfortune was thus expiating on the gallows the enormous 
 crime of being a Catholic and a lover of his country 'l 
 
 Maguire, after all, was not so easily disposed of as his friend, 
 notwithstanding his want of that physical energy, and that exu- 
 berant flow of spirits which were characteristic of poor McMa- 
 hon. It so happened, then, that Connor Maguire, Lord Ennis- 
 killen, being placed at the bar, did most unreasonably and 
 unexpectedly protest against any such trial, demanding to be 
 tried by his peers in Ireland, inasmuch as a baron of that king- 
 dom could not lawfully be tried in an English court of law. 
 
 Great was the surprise of the judges, and great, too, was their 
 
318 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 disappointment, for they had humanely counted on making short 
 work of the two “ pestiferous Papists,” never thinking, in their 
 sweet simplicity, that an Irish peer would dare to claim the 
 prerogative due to his class. The plea was, however, unan- 
 swerable, at least for the time, and so the judges were forced to 
 remand the prisoner to his dungeon. Poor Connor ! he naturally 
 supposed he had gained an advantage, seeing that a trial in Dub- 
 lin might give him some chance for life, and straightway hope 
 began to revive, and gleams, faint and far, shed a dim light on 
 the dreary darkness of his soul. The fate of his companion was 
 well known to him, for his tyrants took care that he should know 
 it, and knowing, see in it the consummation of his own suffer- 
 ings. Under other circumstances he would have been inconsol- 
 able for Costelloe’s melancholy end, for the friendship from 
 boyhood existing between them had been fostered by commu- 
 nity of suffering and misfortune into more than brotherly love : 
 now he almost envied his fate, in that the ghastly death-scene 
 was over, and all the honors of suspense and bodily fear, and 
 the thousand, thousand tortures of their hard captivity. And 
 then he thought of Emmeline, and how she would feel on hear- 
 ing of his being re-captured, and he wondered whether there 
 was still any possibility of her being able to assist him, and hope 
 whispered faint and low that there was still a chance, and Con- 
 nor listened to the beguiling voice until he half believed its 
 “ flattering tale.” If he could only have his trial take place in 
 Dublin before the peers, many of whom had been his own friends 
 and associates in former days — surely — surely he might expect 
 a measure of justice at their hands which in that Puritan Eng- 
 lish court was beyond the range of probability. 
 
 In the most fearful of all suspense, with the fate of McMahon 
 staring him in the face, haunting his feverish slumbers by night, 
 and oppressing his heart by day, Maguire lay in his noisome 
 cell, buoyed up with the one solitary hope of being removed to 
 Dublin for trial. As time rolled on, and the dark, dreary days 
 of a London winter grew into weeks and they into months, 
 without any change in his affairs, poor Connor took it as a favor- 
 able sign, and the gleam of hope grew stronger from day to 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 319 
 
 day. He little knew the doggedness (so to say) of English 
 hate. The Puritans had not forgotten him in his cell. 
 
 The spring time came on, and a certain Mr. Justice Bacon 
 took it upon him to decide that “ a Baron of Ireland was 
 triable by a jury in England /” Oh, wise Mr. Justice Bacon ! 
 learned in the law wert thou and well instructed in the ways of 
 persecution ! — and thy dictum was of course received as law 
 and a special act passed by the Parliament to make it so. Alas ! 
 poor Connor Maguire ! his enemies had no mind to give him the 
 chance which a trial by his peers on Irish soil might afford 
 him. 
 
 On the 10th day of February, Lord Maguire was again 
 arraigned before an English judge and jury. His case had 
 been so long before the public that it had come to excite more 
 interest than most others of the kind, — common as they were in 
 those evil days; — and so the court was densely crowded. And 
 there in the dock, before that curious multitude of strangers, 
 stood the young chieftain of Fermanagh, tall, and thin, and very 
 pale, his long auburn locks parted in the middle and hanging 
 down at either side almost to his shoulders, after the manner of 
 the old Irish. Whether through derision, or in order to excite 
 the anti-Irish prejudices of the spectators more and more, he 
 was clothed in the habiliments wherein he was first captured, 
 carefully preserved, it would seem, for the purpose, though 
 worn almost to tatters during his year’s imprisonment in Dublin. 
 It was the intention of his persecutors, doubtless, to make him 
 ridiculous, but in that they failed, for never had Connor Ma- 
 guire looked more noble than he did standing at the bar, with 
 his old faded cloak wrapped around his tall slender form, 
 and a calm self-possession visible in his manner that gave him 
 an air of true dignity. Not without a shudder did he find him- 
 self again at the bar with neither counsel to defend him, nor, 
 as he had reason to believe, one friendly soul amongst the vast 
 crowd that filled the court. He looked up to the judges— dark 
 stern men they were, with unmistakeably Puritan faces — he 
 looked to the jury-box — what he saw there was not more 
 encouraging — then fear came upon his soul, and hope well nigh 
 vanished, and cold sweat oozed from every pore, and Connor 
 
320 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 felt as though his limbs were suddenly failing him, and the 
 sight of his eyes growing dim. 
 
 “ The fear of death was on him, 
 
 And despair was in his soul — ” 
 
 It was but for a moment — he prayed for strength and strength 
 was given him, and the love of life prompted him to struggle 
 even then against the fate which he so much dreaded. Shaking 
 off by an almost superhuman effort the weakness inherent in 
 his nature, he bestirred himself to note what was going forward, 
 condensing all his faculties into observation. God and himself, 
 he thought, were all he had to depend upon, and he rallied all 
 liis powers to meet the terrible exigency. Nerved and excited 
 by this stern necessity, Connor Maguire displayed during his 
 trial an amount of ingenuity surprising to behold, together with 
 a knowledge of the English law little to be expected from an 
 Irish chieftain of that day. Every objection that a skilful lawyer 
 could make was made by him ; every turn and twist of the law 
 was successively employed ; every handle it offered, eagerly laid 
 hold of — alas ! in vain, in vain, those safeguards of British jus- 
 tice were never meant to benefit a “ pestilent Irish Papist !” they 
 were no protection to Connor Maguire. 
 
 Being arraigned, as we have said, he first demanded time to 
 have his witnesses brought from Ireland. 
 
 “What can your witnesses say for you 1” was the strange 
 reply, and the demand was sternly refused. 
 
 “ I humbly desire to have a formal trial,” said the chief- 
 tain — 
 
 “ In what respect do you mean 1” responded the judge with 
 sweet simplicity. “You are now arraigned — evidence will be 
 brought against you — I conceive that is a formal trial ” 
 
 What could the prisoner say to such reasoning as this 1 
 
 The jury was then called, and Lord Maguire challenged the 
 whole pauel, “ for causes best known to himself.” No other 
 answer could be got from him, and so for that day the trial was 
 postponed. 
 
 It was only for a day. On the following day his lordship was 
 again brought up for trial. Another jury was summoned, and 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 321 
 
 this time the chieftain’s indignation could not be concealed 
 under legal forms. He again challenged the jury, and being 
 ashed his reasons, replied : 
 
 “ Under favor, I conceive, that my lands being sequestered, 
 those men that have bought my lands should cot pass upon my 
 trial; and, therefore, I desire that they make answer to it, upon 
 oath, whether any of them have adventured or not.” 
 
 It was not without reason that the wronged and plundered 
 nobleman spoke thus — he saw, doubtless, impanneled on his jury, 
 some of the very men who were most interested in pntting him 
 out of the way, and hence his honest indignation. His object 
 was overruled, however, on the shallow pretence that a general 
 challenge such as that was not admissible. Still Connor perse- 
 vered, unwilling to submit to such outrageous mockery of justice 
 when his life was at stake. 
 
 “ I beseech you hear me in it,” he said with touching earn- 
 estness. 
 
 But hear him they would not — the jury was impanneled, such 
 as it was — the trial went on — evidence was not wanting to prove 
 Lord Maguire an arrant Papist and a noted rebel — the latter 
 being a necessary consequence of the former. 
 
 Amongst the witnesses brought over from Ireland were Sir 
 William Cole, late governor of Enniskillen, Sir Arthur Loftus,* 
 and Lord Blayney. What manner of evidence these loyal plan- 
 ters gave it is easy to imagine, but lone and desolate as poor 
 Connor felt, and withal burning with indignation, he could not 
 refrain from smiling as he heard Cole gravely relate how Captain 
 Roderick Maguire had expelled him from his post with small 
 ceremony, and “ taken upon him the managing of all business.” 
 
 “ Heaven bless you, my gallant brother!” he said within him- 
 self, “ you were thinking of your poor Connor then — was I 
 within your reach it would take strong walls to keep you from 
 me, oh, Rory ! bravest of Fermanagh’s sons ! Should I perish 
 now, it is something to know that there is one to revenge the 
 wrongs of all our race !” 
 
 * It has been aptly said that amongst the present possessors of 
 " the land of the waters” are men with these very same names 
 
322 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Lord Blayney, examined on the treasonable religion of the 
 prisoner, not only established his guilt in that particular but 
 also that of his supposed friends in Ireland. 
 
 “ Lord Fingal,” said he, “ is a Papist, and Clanmorris a pesti- 
 ferous Papist.” 
 
 “What! all Papists!” exclaimed Sergeant Whitfield in holy 
 horror ; “ good Lord deliver us !” 
 
 The evidence was, of course, conclusive. Touching the mat- 
 ter of “ the conspiracy,” the judges deliberately stated that Lord 
 Maguire had acknowledged it on his first examination. This he 
 positively denied, whereupon the written deposition was brought 
 forward, and Whitfield said : 
 
 “ There it is under my Lord Maguire’s own hand.” 
 
 “ Truly my name is thereto appended,” said the unfortunate 
 nobleman, “ but not in my own hand.” 
 
 On this Lord Blayney was again called to prove the handwrit- 
 ing. “ Beyond a doubt,” said he, “ that is my lord’s hand — I 
 have had many letters from him.” 
 
 “ I crave your lordship’s pardon,” said poor Connor ; “ I know 
 not that you have had many letters from me.” The confusion 
 visible on Blayney’s face went, of course, for nothing. What 
 though he dared not meet the eye of the astonished prisoner, and 
 slunk from the box with the hang-dog expression of conscious 
 guilt visible on every feature ! 
 
 “ I would not exchange places with that man,” said Maguire 
 in an audible voice ; “ no, not for what he lioldeth of McMahon’s 
 country !” 
 
 Alas ! truth was not expedient in that court — the evidence 
 was, of course, incot.testible (so said the judges !), and on that 
 evidence “ Connor, alias Cornelius Maguire, commonly called 
 Lord Enniskillen,” was found guilty, and summoned to receive 
 his sentence. 
 
 Sentence ! — sentence of death ! oh ! the agony of that 
 thought. The blow so long delayed was then about to fall — 
 death in its most hideous form was close at hand — a death of 
 public shame. For a moment Maguire was overcome — his 
 faculties were benumbed and speech forsook his lips. Was 
 there, then, no hope I Raising his eyes to the bench of 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 323 
 
 judges lie marked the cold, contemptuous stony look on every 
 face, and somehow the sight roused him from his stupor. 
 
 “ I desire to know,” said he, “ by what law I am condemned.” 
 “ The law is well enough known,” was the judge’s answer. 
 
 “ I was not tried by my peers,” persisted the Irish lord. 
 
 “ You put in that plea before, the which was overruled.” 
 
 “ I desire counsel to advise me thereon.” 
 
 This was shortly refused. “ Your time is past for counsel. 
 You must have none assigned to pick holes in the indictment.” 
 Other legal objections poor Connor made, displaying a degree 
 of tact and ingenuity that must have astonished even his judges, 
 but all were met in the same spirit — dry, cold, peremptory. 
 Every point was “ overruled,” and “ said Connor, alias Cornelius 
 Maguire, commonly called Lord Enniskillen,” was sentenced to 
 be hanged, drawn, and quartered, as his companion had been 
 before. 
 
 Hearing this, a mortal paleness overspread Maguire’s face. 
 “ This, then, is the end of all my hopes,” he murmured, and 
 bowing his head on his chest, he remained for a moment mo- 
 tionless. What passed within his soul during that moment was 
 only known to God and himself, but suddenly he stood erect 
 and glanced silently up at the judges with a calm and earnest 
 look. 
 
 Seeing that the prisoner remained silent, the question was 
 then put to him whether he would have any ministers to pray 
 with him, “ and advise him for the good of his soul.” 
 
 “I desire none of them,” made answer the prisoner, “but I 
 desire I may be sent prisoner to Newgate.” 
 
 “ Ay,” said the King’s Counsel, “ his reason is, because there 
 are some Popish priests there.” 
 
 “It cannot be,” said the Judge, “your sentence is to return 
 to the Tower, where you may have ministers, if you will, to 
 advise you on your soul.” 
 
 “ I desire the attendance of a priest of my own religion.” 
 Quite impossible ! He was told to prepare for death on the 
 following Saturday. 
 
 “ I desire a fortnight’s time to prepare.” 
 
 “You cannot have a fortnight.” 
 
324 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ I desire three days’ notice.” 
 
 That as a special favor was granted, and Maguire, perchance, 
 a little encouraged by the concession, ventured to request that 
 he might be executed in some other way than hanging, “ the 
 which,” said he, “ is unbecoming my rank as a peer of Ireland.” 
 
 But no ! this was too great a favor — the high-born chief of 
 the Clan Maguire, the accomplished “ peer of Ireland,” must 
 needs be executed like a common felon — the more degrading 
 his end, the better it pleased his remorseless enemies. 
 
 He was removed from the bar, and then a fresh attack was 
 made on his religion,. He was advised to confer speedily with 
 some godly minister “ for the good and comfort of his soul.” 
 
 “ I say I’ll none of them,” replied the chieftain ; “ an’ I be not 
 allowed a priest of the Catholic Church, I will have no min- 
 ister !” 
 
 “ Think better of it, my lord,” said a certain Mr. Prynne, one 
 of the leading functionaries who had before enlightened the 
 court with the information that the prisoner had neither lands 
 nor livings in Ireland ! “ Think better of it — these Popish 
 
 priests are they whose counsels have led you to this shameful 
 end which you so much appear to dread. Since they have been 
 such destructive counsellors to you in your lifetime, you would 
 do well to discard them and their bloody religion, and to seek 
 better advisers at your death, lest you eternally lose your 
 soul.” V 
 
 Without a moment’s hesitation, Maguire replied, “ My mind 
 is made up. I am resolved in my own way.” 
 
 “ My lord,” said another of the lawyers present, “ you were 
 best to hear both sides.” 
 
 “ I have told you,” said the chieftain haughtily, “ that I am 
 settled in my own faith — I desire no speech of any minister.” 
 
 He was then conveyed once more to the Tower, and during 
 the nine days that elapsed before the closing scene, he resolutely 
 drove away all worldly thoughts and affections. Even of Em- 
 meline he did not dare to think, although at times the question 
 would protrude itself between him and his devotions. “ Hath 
 she, at last, given me up I — doth she shrink from the condemned 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 325 
 
 felon 1 It matters not now who holdeth me in remembrance or 
 who doth not ! My God to me and I to Him !” 
 
 His petition to be executed as became a nobleman having 
 been forwarded to parliament, was by that body disdainfully 
 rejected, and on the 20th day of February the noble chief of 
 the Maguires was drawn on a sledge through London to the 
 fatal hill of Tyburn, so often stained with the blood of the brave 
 and good. Arrived there, the prisoner was placed in a cart, 
 where he knelt “ and prayed a while.” 
 
 Having so often declared his intention to have no minister at 
 his death-hour, it might be supposed that his enemies would 
 have ceased their importunities on that head. Not so, however, 
 not so. The Sheriff, good pious man ! must needs try his hand 
 on the Popish lord. 
 
 “ Do you believe you did well,” said he, “ in those wicked 
 actions V ’ 
 
 “ I have but a short time — do not trouble me !” 
 
 “ Sir, it is but just I should trouble you, that you may not be 
 troubled for ever !” oh ! zealous and most charitable Mr. Sheriff 
 Gibbs ! 
 
 “ I beseech you, sir, trouble me not,” said the poor prisoner 
 again ; “ I have but little time to spend.” 
 
 But the Sheriff insisting, would have had him acknowledge 
 himself in the wrong in what he did, for the satisfaction, as he 
 said, of the people. 
 
 “ I beseech you do not trouble me !” still said the persecuted 
 sufferer ; “I am not disposed to give you an account. Pray 
 give me leave to pray !”* 
 
 Oh ! the grandeur, the majesty of Maguire’s mien as he 
 uttered those words — “ Pray give me leave to pray !” Surely 
 more touching words were never spoken bj human lip. There 
 was all the humility of the Christian mingled with supreme 
 contempt of his persecutors and their impotent assaults. 
 
 A new tack was then taken — the Commission again 1 — had he, 
 
 * In this short account of the trial, I have given the noble-hearted 
 chief’s exact words. They are too sublime in their lofty simplicity 
 tobe lightly altered. I give them verbatim from the published ac- 
 count of his trial. 
 
326 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 or knew he of others having any commission—' “ who were 
 actors or plotters with you, or gave you any commission V 1 
 
 “ For God’s sake give me leave to depart in peace.” 
 
 All this while Maguire had been looking intently on a piece 
 of paper which Had been thrust into his hand as he left the 
 Tower Gate. As he looked, his eye brightened and his whole 
 aspect changed. What was in the paper 1 There was a short 
 selection of thoughts and reflections befitting that awful moment, 
 together with some brief ejaculatory prayers suitable for the oc- 
 casion. But there was more, oh ! far more than these, there was a 
 brief note from a priest, who signed himself his “ friend William,” 
 to the effect that as he was deprived of the opportunity of confess- 
 ing his sins, he should not want the consolations of religion. On 
 a sign specified, this good priest who had ridden many a weary 
 mile for that purpose, was to give him absolution from his place 
 amongst the spectators. To encourage him the more the 
 appearance of -the priest was clearly indicated. He was to sit 
 <l on a red horse, in a white hat and a grey jacket,” and lest this 
 good “ friend William” should meet with any mischance, the 
 presence of two or three other priests was intimated, so that the 
 prisoner could not fail to secure the “ plenary physic” for his 
 soul at his departure on his last journey. The sign agreed upon 
 was that Maguire was to raise his hand to his face and bow down 
 his head. “ 1 beseech you, dear sir,” said the letter, “ be of 
 good courage, for you shall not want anything for that happy 
 journey, and offer you yourself wholly for Him, who did the 
 same for you.” 
 
 And so Maguire did, and hence the nobleness of his end. 
 
 Mr. Sheriff Gibbs, thwarted in his pious designs, ordered the 
 prisoner’s pockets to be searched. They contained nothing but 
 his beads and crucifix, which Connor eagerly took hold of. 
 
 “ Come, my lord!” said one of the officials, pointing to these 
 sacred objects, “ leave these and acknowledge your offence to 
 God and the world. It is not your Ave Marias nor those things 
 will do you any good.” 
 
 Maguire heeded not his impertinence, but calmly turning to 
 the people who were present in crowds to see the spectacle, he 
 spoke these memorable words : 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 327 
 
 “ Since I am here to die, I desire to depart with a quiet mind, 
 and with the marks of a* good Christian, that is, asking forgive- 
 ness first of God, and next of the world. And I do forgive (from 
 .the bottom of my heart) all my enemies and offenders, even 
 those that have an hand in my death. I die a Roman Catholic, 
 and although I have been a great sinner, yet am I now, by God’s 
 grace, heartily sorry for all my sins, and I do most confidently 
 trust to be saved (not by my own works), but only by the pas- 
 sion, merits, and mercy of my dear Saviour Jesus Christ, into 
 whos-e hand I commend my soul.” 
 
 “ Prepare for death !” said the harsh voice of Sheriff Gibbs. 
 Connor Maguire bent his stately head a moment and closed 
 his eyes while he made his act of contrition, then slowly raised 
 his right hand to his face and murmured, “ Absolve me, 0 Lord, 
 from my sins — cleanse my soul with Thy precious blood !” 
 
 “ The moment is come !” said Sheriff Gibbs. 
 
 Lord Maguire turned for the last time to the people : “ I do 
 beseech,” said he, “ all the Catholics that are here to pray for 
 me — I beseech God to have mercy on my soul !” 
 
 They were his last words. The fatal noose was on his neck. 
 A few minutes more and his half-dead body was cut down and 
 quartered, and another bright name was added to the glorious 
 list of Irish martyrs. 
 
 Comment on such a death were superfluous, but who can 
 help remarking the wondrous change wrought by Divine grace 
 in the character of this truly noble son of the Maguires 1 Who 
 could recognize in that stern confessor of the faith the timid 
 and vacillating guest of O’Moore, whose extreme caution and 
 (as it seemed) pusillanimous fears would have crushed in its 
 infancy the great struggle for freedom 1 
 
 Before that Puritan English Court his character assumed 
 another development, he was there the subtle disputant, plead- 
 ing his own cause with marvellous skill — fighting the enemy with 
 his own weapons, and struggling like a drowning man for life. 
 
 He perished in the flower of his years — a martyr to the sacred 
 cause of civil and religious freedom, and surely the proud an- 
 cestral tree of “ the Maguires, sons of the waters,” has given no 
 name to Irish history so dear as that of Connor. 
 
328 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 “ Who on his staff is this? who is this whose head is white with 
 age ; whose eyes are red with tears ; who quakes at every step.” 
 
 * * * * % * 
 
 “Who comes from Strumon,” they said, “amid her wandering 
 locks ? She is mournful in her steps, and lifts her blue eyes towards 
 Erin ? Why art thou sad, Evir-Choma ? who is like thy chief in 
 renown ?” MacPhebson’s Poems of Ossian. 
 
 Meanwhile great events were going on in Ireland. The 
 fatal truce was scrupulously observed by the Confederates as 
 regarded the armies of the king, but Monroe, with an army of 
 17,000 men, held for the Parliament in Ulster. The double- 
 dyed traitor, Inchiquin, had also declared for the same cause in 
 Munster, moved thereto by anger for the king’s bestowing the 
 Presidency of that Province on the Earl of Portland, whereas 
 he had gone over to England for the special purpose of soli- 
 citing that office from his Majesty at Oxford. Here, then, 
 were two powerful armies of “ Covenanting carls” to be encoun- 
 tered by the Confederates during the period of the Cessation 
 with Ormond. As regarded the latter nobleman, the king had 
 shown his satisfaction at the successful issue of the negotiations, 
 by appointing him to the office of Lord Lieutenant, in room of 
 the Earl of Leicester, who had discharged none of its functions, 
 having never gone over to Ireland. There was Ormond, then, 
 at the head of the Irish government, uniting in his own person 
 the civil and military command, and, shame to tell ! many of 
 the Anglo-Irish Confederates were seen creeping once more into 
 the capital and hanging about the Court, a fitting sequel to the 
 degrading scene at Jigginstown.* Still did the chieftains of the 
 
 * Ihe advantages derived by Ormond from his able diplomacy may 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 329 
 
 old blood keep jealously aloof, maintaining that independence 
 so honorable to them, and mourning in secret over the blind 
 infatuation which allowed Ormond to bring about that unlucky 
 Cessation. As regarded the Confederates the pernicious effects 
 of that measure were every day becoming more apparent 
 The generals had found ^themselves unable to keep their sol- 
 diers from taking leave of absence and rambling about the 
 country hither and thither under one pretence or another, to the 
 no small detriment of their clothes, and other equipments, their 
 horses, and all the rest. The armies were, therefore, more or less 
 broken up, and when corps were got together again, they were, 
 in some instances, hardly fit for service. The ships, too, that 
 had been chartered by the Council, and done such good service 
 in protecting the coasts, landing men and ammunition from for- 
 eign countries, and in various ways contributed largely to the 
 success of the Confederates, now betook themselves whence 
 they came, their services being, as it were, no longer needed. 
 Their place was immediately supplied by shoals of the Parlia- 
 mentary cruisers of every size (sailing under orders to spare 
 neither man nor woman of the Irish), so that the coast was com- 
 pletely bombarded, and all communication with the Continent 
 well nigh cut off. 
 
 These were serious misfortunes in themselves, but to make 
 matters worse, the Supreme Council must needs send off 3,000 
 of its best men, together with considerable store of arms and 
 provisions to Scotland, to aid the gallant Montrose in his chival- 
 rous efforts to maintain the royal authority. Little as the 
 faithless Charles deserved it from them, and albeit that the 
 Council acted unwisely in sending them abroad at such a time 
 on such an errand, the career of those brave Irish regiments in 
 Scotland undoubtedly added a glorious page to the military 
 history of our race. They were commanded by a Catholic Ilesman 
 
 be collected from the fact, that hitherto the Confederate ships inter- 
 cepted all supplies, and left Dublin in such a state, that upon search 
 being made in the city and suburbs there could not be found 
 fourteen days’ provisions for the inhabitants and soldiers.— Sir P. 
 Percival’s Statement , quoted by Meehan. 
 
330 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 named Alexander McDonnell, the Colkitto of Scottish story, 
 under whose guidance they performed prodigies of valor during 
 that disastrous war in Scotland — 
 
 “ What time the plaid cd elans came down 
 To battle with Montrose.” 
 
 The heroic devotion wherewith these chivalrous Irish soldiers 
 fought for a king to whom they, as Catholics, owed so little grati- 
 tude, must have touched the unhappy monarch, and opened his 
 eyes as to who were his true friends. 
 
 About the same time the Supreme Council, with a just ap- 
 preciation of the services o-f Father Luke Wadding, sent an 
 agent to Rome to solicit his Holiness to elevate that eminent ec- 
 clesiastic to the rank of cardinal.* There is little doubt that 
 Urban VIII. would have conferred that high dignity on a mail 
 for whom he had ever manifested the highest esteem, but if 
 such were his intention death prevented him from carrying it 
 out — that great and good Pontiff died during that disastrous 
 yearf — the Confederate Catholics of Ireland lost one of their 
 best and truest friends, and, in all probability, the Irish nation 
 missed the opportunity of having a Prince of the Church to 
 boast of. 
 
 The memorial sent to Rome on behalf of Luke Wadding con- 
 tained also a most interesting account of the state of Catholicity 
 in Ireland at that precise poriod, which must have given no 
 small contentment to the closing days of Urban. From that 
 document we will give an extract without other apology for so 
 doing than the cheering picture it presents of what the Con- 
 federates had achieved : 
 
 “It is now manifest to the whole Christian world with what 
 fidelity the Catholics of Ireland have clung to their ancient 
 faith, and how they braved death, and exile, and the confisca- 
 tion of their substance, rather than renounce the religion of 
 
 * See McGlee’s Gallery of Irish Writers — Life of Luke Wadding. 
 
 t Urban VIII. died in July, 1644, and was succeeded by Innocent 
 X., on the 15th of September. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 331 
 
 their ancestors. To you, most holy Father, it is particularly 
 known how heroically the Irish people, without arms or muni- 
 tions of war, have struggled against the phalanxes of those who, 
 sworn enemies of the Holy See, had vowed and sworn to pluck 
 up our religion by the very roots. Our holy war has had a 
 glorious result. The Lord God is now publicly worshipped in 
 our temples, after the manner of our fathers ; most of the ca- 
 thedrals have been restored to our bishops ; the religious orders 
 possess the monasteries, and seminaries have been opened for 
 the education of our youth. This great work has been accom- 
 plished through the goodness of God, and the many favors be- 
 stowed on us by you ; verily in future times the brightest page in 
 the history of your pontificate shall be, that you found the Ca- 
 tholic religion despised and prostrate in our island, and ere that 
 pontificate closed beheld it raised up in splendor, and magnifi- 
 cently attired, even as a bride for her spouse.” 
 
 All this had been effected by the Catholic soldiers of Ireland 
 during the three or four years which had elapsed since that 
 memorable 23d of October when the war-fires first blazed on 
 the hills of Ulster. Alas ! that Ormond’s insidious diplomacy 
 could undo by slow degrees what Catholic valor had so bril- 
 liantly won, and that dissensions should arise amongst men 
 united for the holiest of purposes. By union, all this marvel- 
 lous success had been gained, by the disunion which Ormond 
 succeeded in introducing into their ranks, we shall see how it 
 fared with the Confederates. 
 
 Towards the close of the year’s truce, the Supreme Council 
 being then sitting at Waterford began to discuss the propriety 
 of pawning that portion of the kingdom which the Confederates 
 held in order to obtain money for carrying on the war4 Owen 
 Roe, being then in Waterford on business with the Council, was 
 summoned before it to give his opinion, a proof that his charac- 
 ter for wisdom was at least equal to his military fame. He 
 heard the proposal with his usual calmness, but a frown ga- 
 thered on his brow. 
 
 “ What !” said he, “ pawn the land which our swords have 
 
 t Meehan’s Confederation 
 
332 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 won ! The soil that is watered with our soldiers’ blood ! — my 
 lords and gentlemen, I will never consent to it ” 
 
 “But how are we to carry on the war 7” demanded the Arch- 
 bishop of Dublin. 
 
 “ How have we carried it on up to the present? — pardon me, 
 my lord, an’ I speak over sharplj — but I thought all this ho- 
 norable council must needs feel as I do that help hath been 
 sent us from Sion, and that He who hath given is still powerful 
 to give. No, my lords and brother Confederates, I for one will 
 never consent to give any foreign power an interest in Ireland. 
 Beg and even borrow, an’ ye will, but pawn — faugh! I like not 
 the word ! it savors of such distress as hath not yet fallen to our 
 lot, nor shall , with Heaven’s good aid !” 
 
 Most of the bishops being of the same mind the proposal was 
 finally rejected, and soon after, the Council returned to Kilkenny. 
 By that time the news of the execution of Maguire and McMa- 
 hon had arrived, and the most lukewarm of the Anglo-Irish 
 were roused for a season into something like fervor, and half 
 regretted the Cessation. The northern clans, especially those 
 of Fermanagh and Uriel, could with difficulty be restrained 
 from bursting simultaneously on the enemy, and by one bold 
 stroke securing victory and revenge. 
 
 The vengeful fury of McMahon and Maguire was shared, as 
 might be expected, by Sir Phelim O’Neill, ever opposed to his 
 kinsman’s systematic and cautious mode of warfare, and when 
 Owen Hoe, as usual, employed his supreme authority on the 
 side of order and deliberation, the chieftains, so terribly ag- 
 grieved, could not help accusing him of coldness and want of 
 feeling. Their dissatisfaction was well known to Owen, and he 
 summoned them all to meet him at Charlemont where he ex- 
 plained at some length his plans for the future, whereby their 
 wrongs would be more effectually revenged than by a wild, 
 disorderly onslaught which might well end in their own de- 
 struction and the ruin of their cause. 
 
 “ Before God this day,” said he, “ I feel your wrongs as my 
 own. Costelloe McMahon I knew abroad, and held in high 
 esteem ; Maguire, by his heroic death, hath covered himself 
 with glory (as indeed they both did), and made his name dear 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 333 
 
 to all of us. Death was gain to them, hut, natheless, friends 
 and brothers, they have left us a debt to pay, and it will go 
 hard with us an’ we pay it not. The day of vengeance will 
 come, so sure as my name is Owen O’Neill, and it will come all 
 the surer and mayhap all the sooner, will you hut restrain your 
 lawful anger until I give you the word — then — then, chieftains 
 of Ulsier, I swear you may work your will and revenge your 
 wrongs with one crushing blow ! Nay, Sir Phelim !” — and rising, 
 he waved his hand majestically — “ nay, thus shall it be — seek 
 not, I charge you, to stir up strife — there be enough of it, and 
 too much, in the Confederate camp, thanks to Ormond’s trick- 
 ery — let us of the old blood — here in Ulster — have peace 
 amongst us that a blessing may rest on our arms. What say 
 you, McMahon'? and you, my youug friend'?” to Rory Maguire. 
 
 1 ‘ Shall we dishonor ourselves by violating this Cessation, agreed 
 on in our name, though without our consent — or suffer it to ex- 
 pire, after the manner of honorable men, and then settle our 
 account in our own way and at our own time 1” 
 
 Whilst Maguire and McMahon, but half convinced, withdrew 
 into a corner to confer together, the trumpet at the gate an- 
 nounced an arrival, and very soon after a singular apparition 
 greeted the eyes of the assembled chieftains. Grim and ghastly 
 as a warrior of old arisen from the tomb, with his grizzled elf- 
 locks hanging in wild disorder from under the rim of his bar - 
 radhy and his eyes glittering with unnatural brightness, Lorcan 
 Maguire strode up the hall wrapped in his war-cloak, and lead- 
 ing by the hand a lady of rare beauty, attired in the deepest 
 mourning of that day. The palor of death was on her face, and 
 in her ey^es a settled look of despair that was pitiful to behold 
 in one so lovely and so young. 
 
 Involuntarily all the chieftains rose as this vision of beauty 
 and of woe appeared before them. The sight of Lorcan was no 
 great surprise of itself, for the old man, since his return from 
 London, had been going about amongst the chiefs endeavoring 
 to stir them up. 
 
 “ Rory Maguire !” said the old man as his quick eye sought 
 out his nephew, “ come hither, Rory ! and welcome the beloved 
 of Connor — her story is not unknown to thee !” 
 
334 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 In an instant Roderick Maguire was by the lady’s side, and he 
 took her offered hand with the reverence due to a superior being, 
 the while tears rushed unbiddon to his eyes, and the color 
 mounted to his cheek. 
 
 “Welcome!” he murmured in a faltering voice welcome ! 
 fair Emmeline — more than sister !” 
 
 “Thanks, Roderick!” spoke the pale fair mourner after a 
 moment’s pause ; “ thanks, brother of Maguire ! I am here to 
 speak with Owen Roe and the northern leaders — wdiich, I pray 
 you, is Owen Roel ” 
 
 “ Lady, he stands before you !” said O’Neill stepping forward, 
 and bowing with that grave courtesy which became a gentleman 
 of rank. “ Deign to honor me with your commands !” 
 
 “ Courteous chief,” said Emmeline, raising her heavy eyes to 
 his, then glancing timidly around on the stately circle, “ I come 
 to seek for justice and revenge at your hands. Justice mocked 
 and outraged in an English Court — revenge for the blood of 
 Maguire and his friend ! I have carried my sorrows to Kil- 
 kenny, and told my dismal tale before the grand Assembly of the 
 Confederates; the proud Norman lords listened with cold indif- 
 ference, or faintly spoke of ' submission to the law,’ ‘ Cessation,’ 
 and I wot not what — the murder of those innocent men under the 
 guise of justice moved them not at all, or so little that I lost all 
 hope of* redress from them, and so I turned my weary steps 
 northward, sure of finding amongst Maguires and McMahons, 
 and the other valiant septs of Ulster, the ear to hear and the arm 
 to right their kinsmen’s wrongs ! Chiefs ! I stand before you 
 the betrothed of Connor Maguire — have I journeyed hither in 
 vain 1” 
 
 Most of those present had heard in one way or another the 
 story of Emmeline’s ill-fated love and her more than womanly 
 devotion, and now when she appeared before them in the ma- 
 jesty of her beauty and her sorrow to plead the cause of one 
 whom they had all loved, their hearts swelled with pity and 
 with admiration. 
 
 “ By the sword of Heber, no !” said McMahon, with a re- 
 proachful glance at Owen Roe; “ foul shame it is that no move 
 is taken in that matteiv and, on the word of a chieftain, gentle 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 335 
 
 lady! the fault rests not with us of Uriel or Fermanagh. Had 
 we our way you should have heard ere now of a terrible re- 
 venge, and as God liveth, no human power can keep us in much 
 longer ” 
 
 “ Art ! Art ! have patience 1” said Owen Roe, “ nurse 
 your wrath yet awhile as 1 have told you, and for every drop of 
 Costelloe’s blood you shall have satisfaction ! Lady !” turning 
 to Emmeline, “ I crave your pardon, an’ my speech be over free 
 but I would know how your brother, Sir Charles Coote, doth 
 regard your passages with our friend deceased ” 
 
 “ My brother /” repeated the lady with startling vehemence, 
 “ speak not of him I charge you ! he is henceforth no brother 
 of mine ! — were it not for him I might, as I purposed, have 
 made yet another attempt to save the life that was dearer far 
 than my own — my inventive powers were not exhausted, and I 
 might have succeeded — but — but — ” here she raised her hand 
 to her head, made an effort to continue and failed, then turning 
 to Lorcan, motioned for him to speak. 
 
 “When the Lady Emmeline reached Dublin,” said the old 
 man, “ she went to visit her mother, and although she wanted 
 none of her brothers to know she was there, and begged her 
 mother to keep the secret, they found it out somehow, and be- 
 fore she knew what they were about, Sir Charles had her taken 
 and put in the mad-house.” 
 
 ‘ In the mad-house !” cried many of the chiefs simultaneously 
 in a voice of horror. 
 
 “ Even so, noble gentlemen !” said Emmeline, with flashing 
 eyes and burning cheeks. “An’ ye doubt it — see here!” and 
 raising the silken riding-hood from off her head, there was seen 
 a close-fitting velvet cap which being, in its turn, removed not a 
 vestige of hair was there. The head was closely shaved, and 
 while the chieftains exchanged looks of wonder and compas- 
 sion, Emmeliib burst into a wild hysterical laugh. 
 
 “ Ay ! ye may stare !” she cried ; “there is a sight to look 
 upon. There was a day when the loss of the tresses so dearly 
 prized would have well nigh driven me mad, but I miss them 
 not at all now since he is dead, whom alone I wished to please. 
 I care not, then, for my fair tresses — let them go and welcome — 
 
336 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 but, ob ! the maddening thought that the man who immured me 
 in a mad-house, and told them I was raving mad — that that man 
 should be my father’s son !— oh ! chiefs ! and gallant gentlemen ! 
 think of it !” 
 
 All hearts were moved by this sad appeal, and by a common 
 impulse every hand sought the sword or skene, while a low, deep 
 murmur ran through the assembly like the angry surge that 
 predicts the storm. 
 
 Owen O’Neill enjoined silence by a motion of his hand, then 
 calmly addressed the fair petitioner. 
 
 “ Lady, suffice it to say, we are men and have hearts to feel” — 
 and suiting the action to the word he laid his hand on his own 
 heart — “Maguire andMcMahon died for our cause — th*. ir memory 
 is dear to us — we will revenge their sufferings and death when 
 we can do it to our satisfaction, and beli, ve me, fair daughter 
 of the Sassenach ! the doleful tale we have heard but now will 
 nerve our arms with deadlier force in the hour of retribution.” 
 
 “ Thanks, most noble chieftain, thanks !” said Emmeline in a 
 voice half choked with sobs ; “ for myself I have renounced 
 kith and kin — my mother alone excepted, and as remaining with 
 her in Charles Coote’s house were impossible, I demand a safe 
 and honorable asylum from the chivalrous sons of the Gael !” 
 Several of the chieftains stepped eagerly forward — Sir Plielim 
 to offer his mother’s house, McMahon and O’Reilly the protec- 
 tion of their respective wives, and Magennis that of a maiden 
 sister, who kept house by herself at Dromore-Iveagh. Owen 
 Roe fixed his thoughtful eyes on the lady, while Lorcan at one 
 side and Roderick at the other seized her hand. 
 
 “ I would to Heaven, lady !” said Owen Roe, “that I could 
 promise you an asylum befitting your station and safe at the 
 
 same time as we could wish: ” 
 
 “ I pray you, general, heed not my rank — think only of my 
 necessities !” •, 
 
 “ An’ you are willing to endure hardship, sweet lady, and 
 shift your dwelling at the approach of danger, you shall not 
 want a fitting companion —you shall share the hard lot of O’Ca- 
 hau’s daughter !” This last was rather addressed to the chiefs, 
 and Lorcan Maguire exclaimed with some petulance : 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 337 
 
 “ A pretty asylum tliat will be, lurking in boles and corners 
 with poor old Father Phelimy — an obstinate piece of woman’s 
 flesh that same Judith always was ! 
 
 “ And still is,” chimed in Sir Phelim, “ or it isn't as she is 
 she’d be now !” 
 
 “ The general is right, natheless,” said Roderick Maguire ; 
 “ Judith O’Cahan is of all women in Ulster the one to take 
 charge of the Lady Emmeline 
 
 “ Take charge of her!” repeated Owen O’Neill with a grave 
 smile. 
 
 “ Keep her company, I mean,” said the young chieftain hastily. 
 
 “ What ye judge best, that will I do,” said Emmeline 
 meekly. “ Keep me amongst you, friends and kinsmen of Ma- 
 guire, loyal knights and gentlemen, and I ask no more. His 
 people are henceforth my people !” 
 
 “ God bless you, my child, God bless you !” said old Lorcan, 
 pressing her hand with deep emotion; “ I would go myself and 
 protect you and Judith but the spirits of my race say otherwise. 
 My place is evermore in the ranks of Owen’s army, waiting, 
 waiting for the day that will wipe out all our score against the 
 Puritans, and then, Emmeline, my daughter, then old Lorcan 
 will go to his long home where the young and the brave are 
 gone before him !” 
 
 Meanwhile Owen had sent for Donogh and Angus whom he 
 knew were in the neighborhood of the Castle, and when they 
 arrived he demanded if they knew where the Lady Judith was 
 to be found. 
 
 “ That we do full well, general,” said the Rapparee captain, 
 “ herself and his reverence were with Captain Con’s mother, 
 poor lady ! at Strabane, but yestermorn — I know not how Jong 
 they may sojourn with her but there they be now.” 
 
 “ Better place could we not desire,” said Owen cheerfully ; 
 then turning to Emmeline : “ Lady, you shall have a home such 
 as I did not dare to hope for — one of the noblest matrons of 
 the O’Neills — a mourner, too, like yourself — hath a house well 
 garrisoned at Strabane, and with her is now the lady I spoke of 
 as your fittest companion. An aged priest is of their company, 
 15 
 
338 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 it is true” — be smiled sadly — “ but that inconvenience we cannot 
 remedy.’* 
 
 “ Say not inconvenience, General O’Neill,” said the lady ear- 
 nestly ; “ had Maguire lived I meant to embrace his religion — 
 his martyrdom — as I needs must call it — hath but given me a 
 new motive. I esteem it a signal favor from on high to obtain 
 thus easily the needful instruction.” 
 
 “ In that case, lady, these faithful fellows” — pointing to the 
 Rapparees — “ will convey you thither in safety before the night 
 falls. Nay, fear them not, though they bear the dreaded name 
 of Rapparees. I have trusted them ere now with the keeping 
 of some not inferior in nobleness or beauty even to the Lady 
 Emmeline !” and he bowed with a smile all his own. 
 
 “ Say it out, man !” cried the rough voice of Sir Phelim ; “ we 
 all know who you mean.” 
 
 “ I have said enough for my purpose, cousin mine,” said 
 Owen coldly ; “ Donogh, to your care I confide this noble lady 
 — take a party of your own, and escort her with all speed to 
 the Castle of Strabane, greeting good Mistress Una from me, 
 and — and — the Lady Judith — say I commend — all the chiefs 
 commend — this noblest of English maidens to their good 
 offices ” 
 
 “ With your leave, general,” said Roderick Maguire, “my uncle 
 and I will be of the party — it behoves us to see the Lady Emme- 
 line safe housed.” 
 
 This new proposition gave general satisfaction, and before an 
 hour had elapsed the strangely-assorted party set out for Stra- 
 bane, the lady mounted on a handsome palfrey, the gift of Sir 
 Phelim O’Neill. 
 
 Before the chiefs had come to any decision the news of 
 ltichiquiffs going over to the Parliament came with stunning effect, 
 followed, as it soon after was, by the account of his horrible 
 massacre at Cashel, where in one day he slew some thousands 
 of the inhabitants who had betaken themselves to the Rock and 
 its sacred buildings for safety when they heard of his approach. 
 But to “ Murrougli of the burnings” no place was sacred, and 
 so the shrine at which his fathers had worshipped — the Royal 
 Cathedral of Thomond was desecrated that day by the blood of 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 339 
 
 thousands of victims, amongst them some twenty priests who 
 had taken refuge behind the high altar — and there were in 
 humanly butchered. 
 
 About the same time fresh reinforcements arrived from Scot- 
 land to swell the army of General Monroe, who had publicly 
 taken the covenant in Carrickfergus at the bidding of the’ Eng- 
 lish Parliament.* The forces under his command now numbered 
 full twenty thousand, and the whole country was thrown into a 
 state of consternation, knowing by experience that the war car- 
 ried on under Puritan auspices was a war of utter exter- 
 mination. 
 
 Owen Roe’s army, like most of the others belonging to the 
 Confederation, was in great part scattered and disorganized by 
 the truce with Ormond, and when any number were brought 
 together their discipline, their arms and accoutrements were all 
 in bad repair. Whilst O’Neill was turning in his mind what he 
 liad best do under such discouraging circumstances, he was 
 summoned to Kilkenny in all haste. 
 
 Arrived there he found the General Assembly in full session 
 and all in a state of trepidation, because of the inundation of 
 rebel Scots into various parts of the kingdom, and lnchiquin’s 
 desertion to that party with the army at his command. “ He 
 was bad and very bad as a Royalist, what will he be as a coven- 
 anting rebel 1” 
 
 “ Could you but deal with Monroe in Ulster,” said some of the 
 lords to Owen Roe, “ so that he may not league with Inchiquin 
 and Broghill in the south for our destruction !” 
 
 “ I know not that I could meet him single-handed at the 
 present time,” said Owen ; “ thanks to your Cessation, my army 
 is not what it was a year ago — very far from it.” 
 
 “ What is to be done, then V’ said Lord Netterville curtly. 
 
 “ Can you think of nothing, general'?” inquired Mountgarret 
 anxiously. 
 
 O’Neill paused a moment, then said with some hesitation, 
 “ could you spare me some assistance now V ’ 
 
 “ How much would you think needful V’ 
 
 Meehan’s Confederation , p. 80. 
 
340 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Say four or five thousand foot, and as many hundreds of 
 cavalry.” 
 
 “ You shall have it !” was the prompt reply, and orders were 
 immediately issued for the equipment of such a force for 
 Ulster. 
 
 Owen Roe, with all his calmness and indifference to selfish 
 objects, was no little pleased with the thought that he should 
 return to his own Province at the head of a trained and disci- 
 plined force, which, united with what he could muster at home, 
 would place him in a position to advance against Monroe with- 
 out further delay. Dispatches from home urged his return, 
 one of them from Judith O’Cahan, who saw with alarm the 
 daily-increasing power of the Scots, and feared, not without 
 reason, a general massacre at their hands. Yet day after day 
 Owen lingered in Kilkenny, hoping that the next would see 
 him under orders for the north with his Leinster auxiliaries. 
 
 At length the wished-for summons came to appear before the 
 Council, and with a beating heart Owen Roe obeyed. He stood 
 before the lords and gentlemen in their hall, and heard from 
 the lips of Lord Mountgarrct the grave announcement that Lord 
 Castlehaven had kindly consented to take the command of the 
 Ulster army. Tirlogh O’Neill started quickly from his seat, 
 anxious to explain that the appointment was not made with his 
 will, or that of “ any gentleman of the Council, of Irish 
 blood.” 
 
 Owen Roe silenced his friend by a gesture full of dignity, 
 then turning, he bowed to the Assembly. 
 
 “ It is well, lords and gentlemen of the Council ! — far be it 
 from me to say otherwise, seeing that my lord of Castlehaven hath 
 won such good repute in this w r ar. If he be but one-half as suc- 
 cessful in Ulster as elsewhere I shall be well content. An’ the 
 Council have any commands for me I would have them, by 
 nightfall, a^ I leave town early to-morrow. Master Tirlogh 
 O’Neill, I would see you this evening at my lodgings in Patrick 
 street — till then, God be with you.” 
 
 Significant looks were exchanged amongst the Norman lords as 
 the chieftain strode with a stately step down the hall. Many 
 amongst them feared for the result of this ill-advised step, and 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 341 
 
 some were even for recalling O’Neill, and cancelling the appoint- 
 ment in his favor. 
 
 A heavy load was, therefore, taken from their hearts when 
 they heard that from the Council-hall, General O'Neill had 
 repaired to the lodgings of Castlehaven, and frankly congratu- 
 lated the peer on his new appointment.* 
 
 * Castehaven’s Memoirs , p. 46. 
 
342 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 chapter xxyii. 
 
 Now one’s the better — then the other best, 
 
 Both tugging to be victor, breast to breast; 
 
 Yet neither conqueror or is conquer’d, 
 
 So is the equal poise of this fell war.” 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 “ Thou need’st not tell it ; he is dead. 
 God help us all this day !” 
 
 Ayjston. 
 
 The appointment of Castlehaven to the command of the Ulster 
 auxiliaries took plaee early in May, 1645, and the two following 
 months of that summer were stirring and eventful ones for the 
 Confederate Catholics. Owen Roe returned immediately to his 
 camp at Portlester awaiting the arrival of the Leinster troops, 
 hut their coming was more tardy than he expected, for the 
 Supreme Council had found it necessary to dispatch Castlehaven 
 to Connaught, in the first place, to reduce some refractory 
 parties who would not submit to the Cessation. It was July 
 before the Earl was at liberty to turn his attention to the north- 
 ern Province, and then he marched to Granard, in the county 
 of Longford, with what forces he had at his command, the remain- 
 ing portion of the army destined for Ulster being ordered to 
 meet him there. He had hardly reached Granard, however, 
 when the news of Monroe’s advance at the head of a powerful 
 army caused him to fall back hastily on Portlester, where he 
 formed a junction with O’Neill. 
 
 Monroe was not so near as Castlehaven had been informed, 
 and the army was preparing to march northward in order to 
 check, if possible, his devastating course, when all at once it 
 was found that' detachments of his force were approaching in 
 different directions, stripping the country as they advanced of 
 everything in the shape of provisions. The Confederates imme- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 343 
 
 diafcely sent out parties to watch the motions of the enemy, and 
 so it happened that a line was formed by the advanced posts of 
 either army — while the main body, of the Scots especially, was 
 far behind. They at length approached each other so closely 
 that continual skirmishing was going on with varying success, 
 whilst the two Confederate generals were concerting means to 
 check the progress of Monroe. Still there was far from being that 
 cordial unanimity between them that might have been expected 
 from such close identity of interests. 
 
 It so happened that Owen Roe was attacked by a sudden in- 
 disposition on the very eve of a rather serious engagement, in 
 which the Confederates suffered severely. When the news 
 reached Owen on his sick-bed, and the particulars were made 
 known to him, he started to his feet, and though still far from 
 being well, he hastened to Lord Castlehaven’s quarters. 
 
 “ What is this I hear, my lord I” said O’Neill in an agitated 
 voice. 
 
 “ That you ought to know best, General O’Neill !” said the 
 peer coldly. He was engaged at the moment in conversation 
 with some of his officers. 
 
 “ Most likely your lordship knows it, too,” said Owen with in- 
 creasing agitation ; “ how came it to pass, I ask you, that in 
 this late affair, your officers stood by — ay ! even yon cowardly 
 cock with the feather,” pointing to a certain Colonel Fennell 
 who had been in command of the party, “ whilst my kinsmen 
 were cut to pieces by the enemy 1 How was it, I ask you, Lord 
 Castlehaven 1” 
 
 “ Verily I cannot say,” replied the Earl with the coolest in- 
 difference; “your people might have been somewhat rash, 
 or ” 
 
 “Not so, my lord, not so,” said the Ulster general with more 
 anger than he was ever known to manifest ; “ not so, but your 
 people — or rather your officers — were cowards— base, skulking, 
 heartless cowards, else had they not looked coldly on whilst my 
 brave O’Neills were butchered — as for that Fennell ” 
 
 “ Cowards, General O’Neill ! have a cgre what you say — Col- 
 onel Fennell is an officer well esteemed ■” 
 
 “ I tell you, my lord, he is an arrant coward, and since you 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 
 
 344 
 
 refuse to censure his conduct, he shall answer for it to the Su- 
 preme Council in whose service we are all engaged — let him 
 stand forward here and deny, if he dare, the truth of what I have 
 stated.” 
 
 But Fennell had disappeared, and Castlehaven, to cover his 
 retreat, muttered something about having given him a commis- 
 sion. 
 
 “ It is very well, my lord,” said O'Neill sternly ; “I am then 
 to understand that there is no redress to be expected from you 
 — as I have said, it must be sought elsewhere. Fennell and even 
 your lordship may find out that the life of a Tyr-Owen clans- 
 man is worth as much as that of a Leinsterraan. O’Neills have 
 good memories, too, my fine friend, and they cannot but see 
 now what value you set on their lives, and in what account you 
 hold their friendship. Depend upon it, James Touchet, we will 
 keep this day’s work in mind.” 
 
 “ With all my heart, O’Neill,” said the peer with a disdainful 
 smile. “ An’ your clansmen be not able to take care of them- 
 selves, they are ill worth fighting for.” 
 
 Such being the spirit in which the two generals entered upon 
 that Ulster campaign, it is easy to understand that their chances 
 of success were much diminished. Still they bore it bravely, 
 one and the other, in presence of the enemy, and although their 
 forces were far inferior to those of the Scottish general in point 
 of numbers, the latter was fain to retreat back to the far north 
 without coming to any decisive engagement. Owen Roe had 
 his head-quarters at Belturbet, and Castlehaven his at Charle- 
 mont, they had also a strong fort and a magazine at Tanderagee, 
 so that their lines extended over the greater portion of central 
 Ulster. Their chief force was, however, concentrated in the 
 neighborhood of Charlemont, Monroe’s army hovering like a 
 dark storm-cloud on the northern horizon. 
 
 At length the Scottish general advanced to the very banks of 
 the Blaekwater, and there he lay full in sight of the Confederates 
 with the main body of his army far outnumbering theirs. It 
 was a curious sight to see the rival hosts reposing on the oppo- 
 site sides of the old historic stream, watching each other’s move- 
 ments like two surly mastiffs, each one fearful of disturbing the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 345 
 
 other by the slightest motion. As regarded Castlehaven this 
 caution was no more than what prudence required, seeing that 
 his numbers were so far inferior, but that Monroe, with his vast 
 army, should hesitate about risking a battle showed a craven 
 and cowardly spirit — quite consistent with the man’s love of 
 carnage. Monroe, it is plain, had a special vocation for cutting up 
 detached parties, but none whatever for meeting the Confederate 
 soldiers in pitched battles. Castlehaven’s officers made merry 
 over the matter for some days, and then the soldiers becoming 
 impatient at the dela^, the general resolved to cross the river 
 and attack the enemy’s quarters. All that night the Irish army 
 was in gay commotion expecting that the morrow would 
 bring the long wished-for day of vengeance. The morrow 
 came, the summer dawn crimsoned the wooded shores of 
 the Blackwater; the far-spreading plains and the distant moun- 
 tains of Tyrone were gradually revealed in the early sunbeam, 
 but Castlehaven’s soldiers looked in vam for the Scotch batta- 
 lions whose dark outline had for days lain motionless before 
 them. Unseen were their grazing steeds by the river, unheard 
 the roll of their morning drums ; they had vanished during 
 the night, Monroe and his seventeen thousand, and the Con- 
 federates were left to keep watch alone over the passes of the 
 Blackwater ! Monroe had merely waited to collect what pro- 
 visions he could on his own side the river, and then made the 
 best of his way back to his old quarters at Carrickfergus. 
 
 This was esteemed a great triumph by Castlehaven, who, 
 with characteristic self-conceit, took the whole credit to him- 
 self, and boasted that Monroe had feared to .encounter him. 
 Owen Roe listened with a contemptuous smile, and said in a 
 tone of good-humored raillery : 
 
 “Whether was it from our united army, or your lordship’s 
 puissant arm, that the Scotch earl made his escape 1 I think 
 my Rapparees even had somewhat to do with it, they have 
 kept buzzing like angry wasps on the outskirts of his army, 
 stinging where they saw an opening, so that the thick hides of 
 the Scotch must be well blistered ere now. As for you 
 and me, my lord, it be time enough to boast when we have 
 done something. We must follow Monroe.*’ 
 
346 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ When you have furnished your promised supplies, O’Neill, 
 not sooner.” 
 
 “ Hath not my army done its share of the fighting since you 
 came into Ulster V 1 demanded Owen. “ Have not my men home 
 the brunt 1 ?” 
 
 “ Truly they have fought well for their numbers,” said the 
 Earl carelessly, “ but what with your creaghis and herds of 
 cattle, and such like, your men have had their hands full ” 
 
 “ My herds of cattle are small in number, surely,” said Owen 
 with his calm smile, “ an’ my men did no more than keep yours 
 fed — it was not amiss. As for the creaghts, you would not 
 have us leave our women and children to the tender mercies of 
 the Puritans V’ 
 
 “ Not so, but surely there be more men in your country than 
 those we see in your ranks. An’ there be not, I have small 
 hopes of making head against the Scotch.” 
 
 But O’Neill had small hopes of immediate success — he saw 
 clearly that if the Puritans were ever to be driven from Ulster 
 it was not Castlehaven or the soldiers of the Pale that were 
 likely to do it, and he made up his mind to husband his own 
 resources and apply himself once more to gather together the 
 scattered clans and prepare them for one desperate struggle. 
 
 Events, meanwhile, were transpiring which gave a new turn 
 to the affairs of the Confederates, and made Castlehaven draw 
 off his forces with all haste from Ulster while he himself re- 
 paired to Kilkenny much disturbed in mind. The Council was 
 sitting at the time, and as the Earl’s quick eye glanced around 
 the room he speedily detected the presence of a stranger, a 
 man of noble mien and courtly manners, who occupied a seat 
 near the President. 
 
 “ Give us joy, my lord,” said Mountgarret, “ we are at last in 
 a fair way of having peace — the king’s most gracious majesty 
 hath been pleased to move in the matter, and here is my lord of 
 Glamorgan duly accredited from him to treat with us there 
 upon.’’ 
 
 “ How ! Lord Herbert of Glamorgan, son of the loyal and va- 
 liant Marquis of Worcester, who hath done such good service to 
 the king 1” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 347 
 
 “ The same,” said Glamorgan, rising and bowing with a grati- 
 fied smile, 
 
 •'* Then am I well pleased to see you here,” said the peer ; 
 “ there be no man in all England, an’ report speak truly, more 
 fit to treat between his grace’s highness and his Catholic sub- 
 jects of Ireland.” 
 
 “ It is Lord Castlehaven who speaks,” said Mountgarret, turn- 
 ing to the English lord, “ the Earl of Castlehaven, a brave and 
 noble gentleman, right well affected towards the peace.” 
 
 “ It were strange an’ I had not heard of his lordship,” said 
 Glamorgan, and thereupon the two noblemen exchanged bows, 
 and the most perfect understanding from that moment existed 
 between them. 
 
 “ I would ask your lordship,” said the aggd primate, Hugh 
 O’Neill, “ hath his majesty lost his confidence in the great mar- 
 quis that he deemed it expedient to send an envoy extraordinary!’ 
 “ Not so, most reverend lord,” said Glamorgan hastily, “ my 
 lord of Ormond is still one of the foremost in the king’s favor, 
 but being a staunch Protestant he cannot have that sympathy 
 with the Confederates which would move him to consider their 
 claims with intent to give satisfaction. He desires peace on 
 certain conditions not at all favorable to the Catholics — whereat 
 the king my master desires it on any terms. The good service 
 done in Scotland by your men sent over to Montrose hath been 
 
 most acceptable to his grace ” 
 
 “ It had much need, my lord earl,” quoth Tirlogh O’Neill, 
 “ seeing that it hath drawn upon us the full fury of the Parlia- 
 mentary rebels. Had Colkitto and my lord of Antrim left the 
 Graham to make shift with his Highlanders, Monroe had not 
 been roused from his lair and set upon us, nor Inchiquin bought 
 over to betray his king, Marry, my Lord Glamorgan, it was a 
 stretch of generosity on the part of this honorable Council to 
 send some of its best regiments to serve a king who — ahem ! I 
 respect him and will say no more.” 
 
 It appeared on further examination that Lord Glamorgan was 
 vested with the most ample power to treat with the Confede- 
 rates, and to make peace with them, as he said, “ on any 
 terms.” His royal master was at length fully sensible that 
 
348 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 instead of being rebels to bis authority the Catholics of Ireland 
 were his only hope after the loyal cavaliers of England. He 
 had found to his heavy cost that the Irish Protestants, even 
 those who had been serving in Ormond’s army, were far from 
 being devoted to his interest,* whilst the Catholics, notwith- 
 standing their many grievances, were true as the steel of their 
 bayonets. Whatever might have been the king’s secret senti- 
 ments with regard to his Catholic subjects, his necessities were 
 too urgent to allow him any further indulgence of bigotry in his 
 dealings with them, and he was forced to throw himself, as it 
 were, on their generosity, counting largely, it must be confessed, 
 on their Christian forgiveness. 
 
 It was stern necessity that drew from Charles Stuart such 
 articles of peace as those submitted that day in his name to the 
 Confederate Catholics of Ireland who were but too willing to 
 meet his advances. They had been just discussing the terms 
 of a permanent treaty proposed by Ormond, in which that wily 
 statesman was fain to withhold from them those rights which 
 their swords had for the present secured to them, how great 
 then was their joy when they found the so much wished-for 
 peace placed within their reach by their sovereign himself on 
 Such terms as they hardly dared propose to his Protestant 
 viceroy. 
 
 These were the terms agreed to by Lord Glamorgan on the 
 part of the king : 
 
 “ I. That all the professors of the Roman Catholic religion in 
 Ireland shall enjoy the free and public use and exercise of their 
 religion. 
 
 “ II. That they shall hold and enjoy all the churches by them 
 enjoyed, or by them possessed, at any time since the 23d of 
 
 * Of the regiments sent over to^Chester by Ormond during the 
 Cessation, Borlase, in his History of the Irish Insurrection, says : 
 “ Such was the reluctancy of the common soldiers that the sharpest 
 proclamations hardly restrained them from flying their colors, both 
 before and after their arrival in England.” The Irish Catholics, on 
 the contrary, who enlisted in the king’s service, were faithful and 
 true to the very last. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 349 
 
 October, 1G41, and all otlier churches in the said kingdom, other 
 than such a3 are now actually enjoyed by his Majesty’s Pro- 
 testant suhjects. 
 
 “ III. That all the Roman Catholics shall be exempted from 
 the jurisdiction of the Protestant clergy, and that the Catholic 
 clergy shall not be punished or molested for the exercise of 
 their jurisdiction over their respective flocks. And, also, that 
 an act shall be passed in the next parliament for securing to 
 them all the king’s concessions. 
 
 “IV. That the Marquis of Ormond, or any others, shall not 
 disturb the professors of the Roman Catholic religion in posses- 
 sion of the articles above specified. 
 
 “ V. The Earl of Glamorgan engages his majesty’s word for 
 the performance of these articles. 
 
 “VI. That the public faith of the kingdom shall be engaged 
 unto the said Earl by the commissioners of the Confederate 
 Catholics, for sending 10,000 men by order and declaration of 
 the General Assembly at Kilkenny, armed, the one-half with 
 muskets, and the other half with pikes, to serve his majesty in 
 England, Wales, or Scotland, under the command of the said 
 Glamorgan, as lord general of the said army ; which army is to 
 be kept together in one entire body, and all other the officers 
 and commanders of the said army are to be named by the 
 Supreme Council of the said Confederate Catholics, or by such 
 others as the General Assembly of the said Confederate Catho- 
 lics of Ireland shall entrust therewith.” 
 
 Such was the treaty signed on the part of the Confederates 
 by their commissioners, Richard, Lord Viscount Mountgarret, 
 and Donogh, Lord Muskerry. A copy of its articles had pre- 
 viously been submitted to each of the leading members of the 
 Council. The hopes it held out were bright and beautiful, but 
 they vanished, like the roseate blush of dawn. For very spe- 
 cious reasons advanced by the Earl the treaty was not made 
 public, and the Confederates went on fighting the rebellious 
 Puritans, and religiously observing the Cessation with Ormond, 
 further extended to the December following. 
 
 News had by this time arrived of tflk death of the good Pope 
 Urban VIII., and the accession of Innocent X. to the papal 
 
350 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 throne. Anxious to pay their respects to the new Pontiff, and 
 enlist his sympathies in their cause, the Supreme Council dis- 
 patched their secretary, Richard Belling, to Rome to congratu- 
 late his Holiness, and at the same time to report the progress 
 of affairs to their faiihful agent, Father Luke Wadding. That 
 Innocent X. took no less interest in the struggle going on in 
 Ireland than his predecessor, succeeding events w ill show. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Confederates were alarmed, and not without 
 reason, by the threatening aspect of the Parliamentary forces 
 in Ireland. They had hoped that Ormond would unite with 
 them during the Cessation in resisting the progress of these 
 worse than rebels, from whose fanatical fury neither age, sex, 
 nor condition was safe. Where they conquered, indiscriminate 
 slaughter followed, for the extermination of the Papists was 
 their avowed object. Ruthless, gaunt, and terrible as hungry 
 wolves, the Puritans rushed on their prey, intent only on des- 
 truction. Such were the soldiers of the Covenant, and Ormond 
 knew it well — he knew they were bent on uprooting that mon- 
 archy which he professed to uphold, and yet so far from assist- 
 ing the Confederates to oppose them, he secretly abetted their 
 designs as far, at least, as Catholics were concerned. Thus it 
 was that while Mountgarret and Muskerry, and Father Peter 
 Walsh, and all the rest of that faction were blindly playing into 
 the hands of the new Lord Lieutenant, he was coquetting at the 
 same time with Broghill and Inchiquin. Whilst his royal master 
 was urging him by every means to conciliate the Confederate 
 Catholics, and conclude a permanent peace with them, he was 
 raising objections to their just demands, and excusing himself 
 under one pretence and another from joining them against the 
 Puritans. Many fine promises were made by him, and to 
 believe Father Peter Walsh, nothing was so near his heart as 
 the overthrow of the Puritans ; but, nevertheless, things went 
 on as they were, the Parliamentarians steadily gaining ground, 
 the Confederates scrupulously observing the C essation with the 
 king’s troops,* and maintaining the war against the king’s ene- 
 mies and their own. 
 
 * 
 
 * So strict were they in the observance of the truce that Lieuten- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 351 
 
 Whilst the Council was still rejoicing over the concessions 
 made by the king, word was brought that Sligo had been taken 
 by the northern Scotch under Stewart, and was by him held for 
 the Parliament. No news could be more unwelcome at that 
 moment, for Sligo was on the direct road to Galway, and Galway 
 was one of the principal strongholds in possession of the Confede- 
 rates. All was fear and consternation in Kilkenny, for the safety 
 of all Connaught was now at stake. The altars so lately re- 
 covered, the temples so carefully adorned and beautified, all, all- 
 were exposed to the fury of the fanatic, and must be protected 
 at any cost. 
 
 Sir James Dillon was ordered to proceed immediately to the 
 relief of Sligo with what forces were available in the neighbor- 
 hood of Kilkenny, but, alas ! they were far short of the numbers 
 necessary for that perilous enterprize. What they lacked in 
 numbers, however, they made up in courage and resolution, and 
 their enthusiasm knew no bounds when the venerable and pa- 
 triotic Archbishop of Tuam placed himself at their head. 
 
 In vain did his brethren of the episcopacy and even the lay- 
 lords seek to dissuade him from risking a life so precious. 
 
 “ Think you, my lords,” said the heroic prelate, “ I could 
 leave my poor people under the hoof of Stewart and Hamilton — 
 no, no, Sligo must be relieved, come what may, that is to say, 
 we must make the attempt, and should it please God that we 
 fail, Malachy O’Kelly you will see no more. Would to Heaven 
 that the sacrifice of so poor a life could deliver Sligo, or stop the 
 murderous career of the Puritans — oh ! freely, freely were it 
 given !” 
 
 What could be said to such a man at such a moment — his 
 brother bishops could only breathe a silent prayer for his 
 safety and watch his departure with beating hearts. So he 
 girded on his sword to do battle for the faith, and took his 
 place by Dillon’s side amid the cheers and prayers and tears of 
 those who remained behind. His example was eagerly fol- 
 lowed by several clergymen belonging to his archdiocese, who 
 were proud of taking up arms in so holy a cause. 
 
 ant-General Purcell was sent to chastise some of their own number 
 who had violated its articles. 
 
352 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Not many of those who marched from Kilkenny that day ever 
 returned within its walls. A few days after, whilst the whole 
 city was in a fever of anxiety to know the result of the expedi- 
 tion, a small party of cavalry approached the walls with Sir 
 James Dillon at their head, almost every man hearing more or 
 less the marks of bloody conflict. Nor banner, nor music had 
 they, nor baggage of any kind, and it needed not words to de- 
 clare what their wan, dejected faces and doleful plight told all 
 too well. 
 
 ft ews of battle ! who hath brought it ? 
 
 All are thronging to the gate ; 
 
 “ Warder— warder ! open quickly 
 Man — is this a time to wait V 1 
 
 And the heavy gates are opened 
 Then a murmur long and loud, 
 
 And a cry of fear and wonder 
 
 Bursts from out the bending crowd. 
 
 “ Silence !” cried the stern voice of Mountgarret as he and 
 Lord Glamorgan, with some other lords and gentlemen, dashed 
 up at a gallop ; “ Sir James Dillon, this is a dreary sight — where 
 have you left the Archbishop 
 
 “ He hath won the martyr’s crown, my lord,” was the sad 
 reply, “ cut to pieces was he by the swords of Hamilton’s troopers 
 — a little way from the walls of Sligo — with his priests around 
 him faithful to the last.” 
 
 Wo, wo, and lamentation ! 
 
 What a piteous cry was there ! 
 
 Widows, maidens, mothers, children, 
 
 Shrieking, sobbing in despair !* 
 
 “ Good Heavens ! Sir James, and you shame not to tell that 
 you left him there — left his consecrated body a prey to the 
 rage of the fanatic 
 
 “ You would not reproach us, Lord Mountgarret,” said Dillon 
 mournfully, “ an’ you knew but all. We had made our way into 
 
 * Aynton’s Lays qf the Scottish Cavaliers. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 353 
 
 the town over heaps of the dead and dying. His Grace of Tuam 
 fighting like a hero in the van, and the townspeople thronging to 
 our assistance, Sligo would soon have been ours, when, probably, 
 by a sharp device of the enemy, drums and fifes were heard in 
 the distance, and the terrible cry of ‘ Coote' to the rescue V 
 resounded through the streets above the din of battle. Fearful 
 of seeing our brave fellows attacked front and rear by the Puri- 
 tans, in which case their destruction was inevitable, the Arch- 
 bishop commanded a retreat — we retired accordingly with our 
 face f<o the foe, fighting every inch of the way, but, alas ! the 
 terror of Coote had taken possession of our soldiers, and, think- 
 ing every moment that he was on their rear with his fierce blood- 
 hounds, a panic ran through the ranks, the stout arms lost their 
 strength — horse -and foot began to waver, the enemy saw it 
 and pressed us more closely, the cry of ‘ Coote ! Coote !’ ringing 
 in our ears from behind — back, back to the gates — out through 
 them in wild disorder, and by the time the outside was gained, 
 all authority was at an end. A general rout followed, and our 
 heroic Archbishop, disdaining to fly, was cut to pieces with his 
 priests who gathered around him in the vain hope of saving his 
 life. For us, my lords,” he said proudly, as soon as the cries of 
 the multitude permitted his voice to be heard, “For us — the 
 sad survivors of that fatal fray — I say not what we did — suffice 
 it that our numbers had not been so few were it not for the 
 repeated efforts made to recover the Archbishop’s body.” 
 
 “ Heaven help us all this day !’’ said Mountgarret with a 
 heavy sigh ; “ who can wonder, my Lord Glamorgan, that we of 
 the Council long for peace. He was ever opposed to it, and 
 see what thing hath come upon him.” 
 
 Of course it was Lord Glamorgan’s interest to coincide fully 
 with the aged President, and to represent the calamitous death 
 of the Archbishop as a judgment from Heaven on those who 
 kept the people from returning to their allegiance. There was 
 none present there to gainsay so foul a calumny on the dead. 
 
 Far different were the feelings of O’Neill and McMahon, and 
 the other Irish members of the Council, when the doleful tidings 
 reached them. Not to speak of the loss of that powerful and 
 influential prelate whose strong and vigorous mind had exercised 
 
354 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 a salutary control over the temporizing Norman lords, as his 
 fervent piety and sterling patriotism commanded the respect of 
 all, there was the maddening thought that he had fallen by the 
 hands of the Puritan butchers, his consecrated remains hacked 
 and mutilated to glut their diabolical hatred. He that was ever 
 first to feel for their wrongs— he that had been so moved but 
 late by the judicial murder of Maguire and McMahon, he that 
 had never spared himself to advance the common weal, that ho 
 should have been abandoned in his last moments to the fury of 
 the murdering Scotch, while so many thousands of his faithful 
 people were in arms the country ov er — oh ! it was torture to 
 think of it, and the hot-headed chiefs of the Gael, few as they 
 were in that assembly, raised such a commotion that Glamorgan 
 and the Ormondists were alarmed for the peace. The bishops 
 were less noisy in the manifestation of their grief, but they felt 
 their loss most sensibly. They, nevertheless, regarded the fate 
 of their departed brother as enviable, now that the bitterness of 
 deatn was past, and the palm of martyrdom gloriously won. 
 So they celebrated his obsequies with all the solemn pomp befit- 
 ting the occasion, in the old Cathedral of St. Canice, the aged 
 bishop of Ossory presiding at the altar, while bishops and arch- 
 bishops, and stoled priests without number, joined in the funeral 
 chant, and the armed Confederates who thronged nave and aisle 
 made the responses sound like the growl of distant thunder. 
 
 Such was the end of Malachy O’Killy, Archbishop of Tuam, 
 one of the leading spirits of the Confederation — another martyr 
 to the cause of truth and justice ! 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 355 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 “ Oh ! names like his bright beacons are 
 To realms that kings oppress, 
 
 Hailing with radiant light from far 
 Their signals of distress.” 
 
 Spirit qf the Nation. 
 
 It was the thirteenth day of November, 1645, and the old city 
 of Kilkenny was again in motion. The gloom and horror of the 
 Archbishop’s death had passed away — its memory unefFaced, 
 but covered over by newer impressions — and the citizens were 
 again crowding the streets with eager, expectant faces, and the 
 sounds of joy were heard on every side. The city once more 
 wore its holyday garb, and even the glories of that day, four 
 years gone by, when the Confederation took life and form, were 
 eclipsed by the splendor of this new occasion. From the earli- 
 est hours of the morning crowds were hurrying from all direc- 
 tions within and without the walls towards St. Patrick’s Gate, 
 and there they patiently stood regardless of the drizzling rain 
 which all day long streamed down incessantly. 
 
 Just outside the wall, close by St. Patrick’s Gate, was then 
 situate the old Church of St. Patrick, where a new one of the 
 same name now “ rears the cross on high.” The hour of noon 
 was not far off, when on a sudden the bell of the Black Abbey 
 rung out a joyous peal, answered quickly by the Church of St. 
 Francis. Forth at once from the gray old Church outside the 
 gate issued in long procession the regular and secular clergy of 
 the city, heading towards the gate, and preceded by the gor- 
 geous banners of their respective orders. A joyous stir was 
 visible amongst the multitude, and cries of “ he comes ! he 
 comes!” rang through the crowded streets, caught up from 
 mouth to mouth. All eyes were turned on the old gate, and 
 presently appeared from under its arch a sight that made every 
 heart thrill, and brought tears of joy from many an eve. Sur- 
 
356 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 rounded by the noblest gentlemen of tbe country, amongst whom 
 was conspicuous Richard Butler, Lord Netterville, and Rich- 
 ard Belling,* and followed by a dense multitude of people from 
 the adjacent counties, who had joined the cortege as it passed 
 along, came a noble-looking man of middle age, and of foreign 
 aspect, robed as a high dignitary of the Church, and mounted 
 on a horse richly caparisoned. This horse had been led out 
 from the city to meet the exalted personage, who had jour- 
 neyed till then in “ a rude litter.” The rain poured down fast and 
 faster, but it could not damp the ardor of the citizens at that 
 moment, nor dull the sound of the merry peal chiming out from 
 every belfry of the town. The deep-mouthed cannon on the 
 walls lent their thundering voice to swell the chorus of welcome ; 
 and so it was amid the joyous shouts of thousands and tens of 
 thousands, the pealing of bells and the booming of cannon that 
 the stately priest entered the city of the Confederation. A 
 costly canopy was held over him by four of the principal 
 townsmen, their heads uncovered, regardless of the pelting rain, 
 and no sooner had he emerged from beneath the arch than he 
 was met by the Vicar-General of the diocese of Ossory, the 
 mayor and aldermen of the city, and the chief magistrates of 
 the county. Having welcomed the illustrious stranger to the 
 ancient city of St. Canice, these dignitaries took their place in 
 the procession amid the loud plaudits of the people. 
 
 On then moved the brilliant cortege and the mighty multi- 
 tude, faster and louder pealed the bells, and heavier boomed 
 the cannon ; on and on, following the line of Patrick street, till 
 the old market cross stood in its antique beauty before the ad- 
 miring eyes of the stranger, and he paused a moment to look 
 more closely at that interesting monument of medieval taste 
 and piety. Just then issued from the bishop’s house nearly 
 opposite, a company of fifty students clad in their collegiate 
 costume. At their head was one whose noble proportions well 
 became the Roman toga which fell in ample folds around him 
 
 * The Secretary Belling had accompanied the Nuncio from Rome. 
 Butler, Netterville, and some other gentleman of rank had been sent 
 by the Supreme Council to meet him as soon as they heard of his 
 landing on the southern coast. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 357 
 
 and the laurel wreath which encircled his brows. No sooner 
 had the foreign prelate paused before the ancient cross than 
 this young man stepped forward, and with lowly reverence re- 
 cited a Latin oration which appeared to give the stranger no 
 ordinary pleasure for he turned to Lord Netterville at his side 
 and smiled his approbation. When he had responded by a few 
 graceful words in the same language, thanking the young gen- 
 tlemen for their courtesy and delicately alluding to their class- 
 ical attainments, they, in their turn, joined the procession, and 
 the canopy was again in motion, nor stopped till it reached St. 
 Canice’s holy hill. The crowd immediately fell back on either 
 side, and the procession moved slowly up the hill amid the 
 deafening cheers of the multitude. 
 
 Under the deep arch of the grand portal of St. Canice’s stood 
 the venerable figure of Bishop Rothe, bowed down with age as 
 we have elsewhere described him, yet noble and commanding 
 even in decay. His numerous infirmities had prevented him 
 from joining the procession, so he stood at the door of his Ca- 
 thedral awaiting its approach with a cheerful, benignant smile 
 lighting up his shrunken features, while ever and anon he 
 turned to express his satisfaction to the few priests whom he 
 had kept with him, amongst whom was conspicuous the lank 
 figure and pale face of the Italian Scarampi ! 
 
 At length the canopy was set down in front of the Church, 
 and the stately stranger alighting from his horse advanced 
 towards the bishop. Surely it was the proudest moment in 
 David Rothe’s life* when he welcomed to the city of Kilkenny 
 and the old Church of St. Canice the Archbishop of Fermo, 
 Nuncio of his Holiness Innocent X., sent by that good Pontiff 
 to promote the cause of religious freedom in Ireland, and to 
 0 
 
 * Three years before the occurrences here narrated, David, Bishop 
 of Ossory, had erected a monument to commemorate the restoration 
 of St. Canice’s Cathedral to the ancient worship, and it needs no 
 flight of fancy to suppose that on this ifbmerable occasion he may 
 have echoed the words of the Canticle : “ Now dismiss thy servant, 
 because my eyes have seen salvation, and the glory of thy people, 
 Israel ” — Confederation , chap. V., p. 109. 
 
358 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 second by every means in bis power the efforts of the Confede- 
 rate Catholics ! Such was the style and digDity of the stranger, 
 John Baptist Rinuccini, name dear to every Irish heart. 
 
 Old and infirm as he was, Bishop Rothe w T ould have knelt 
 before the representative of the Holy Father, but that the 
 Nuncio would not permit. Raising the old man with an air of 
 filial reverence he tenderly embraced him, and then both 
 together entered the Cathedral, followed by bishops and priests, 
 lords and gentlemen, and as much of the dense multitude as 
 could possibly obtain admission. 
 
 Oh ! it was a grand, a glorious scene, the interior of St. Canice’s 
 at that moment, when the Nuncio ascending the steps of the high 
 altar intoned the Te Deum , the vast multitude catching up the 
 sacred strain till the vaulted roof echoed with the exulting 
 sounds. Never was that noblest of psalms sung on a loftier 
 inspiration, never with more thrilling enthusiarm, as the voice of 
 priest and prelate, knight and noble, blended in one harmonious 
 volume of sound. 
 
 Truly it was a grand occasion. Will Ireland ever see such 
 another sight 7 Why was not Owen Roe there to witness it, or 
 Rory O’More ! Alas! poor 0 More ! how his heart would have 
 thrilled to those glorious sounds, how that vision of light and 
 splendor would have charmed his poetic mind ! But it might 
 not be — it might not be — far in his Flemish exile he heard but 
 the echo of his country’s voices, and saw its joys or sorrows but 
 in dreams. 
 
 “ Oh ! joyously, triumphantly, sweet sounds ye swell and float !”t 
 
 Even now alter the lapse of over two hundred years we can 
 fee) the gushing joy that was “ borne on every note,” but to 
 those who sang there was an under-tone of sorrow running 
 throughout the gladsome strain ; even tiiat stately Italian pre- 
 late thought of the martyred dead — how was it then with the 
 kinsmen of Maguire and McMahon, and the episcopal brethren 
 of O’ Kelly I ^ 
 
 As if reading the thoughts of many there, the Nuncio, after 
 giving his blessing to the multitude from the steps of the altar, 
 
 t Mrs, Hemans. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 359 
 
 demanded of Bishop Rothe whether the Archbishop’s obsequies 
 had yet been celebrated. Being answered in the affirmative he 
 expressed his satisfaction. 
 
 “ For my own part,” said he in Latin, “ I celebrated them in 
 Limerick on my way hither. Oh ! may Heaven receive thy soul 
 in glory !” he added, looking upwards with characteristic fervor, 
 “ faithful guide of these faithful people, — pastor who gave thy" 
 life for thy sheep, a high place in heaven, sure, is thine ! Pray 
 thou for us as we for thee — pray for us that it be given us to 
 accomplish the deliverance of thy people !” 
 
 After an hour or two given to rest and refreshment in the 
 house prepared for the Nuncio’s reception, during which interval 
 Lord Muskerry, General Preston and others of the Confederate 
 Chiefs paid their respects to him, — he set out on foot accom- 
 panied by his Italian retinue, Bishop McMahon, BelliDg, Netter- 
 ville, Butler and many others to visit the aged President of the 
 Council — who had not as yet made his appearance. 
 
 Strangely enough, as it appears to us, it was in the Castle of 
 Kilkenny that Lord Mountgarret received the Pope’s Ambassa- 
 dor, and we may hope that Richard Butler’s heart swelled with 
 joy and pride as he welcomed the Nuncio to the lordly dwelling 
 of his fathers. Bitter, however, must have been the thought 
 that the present head of his house was a renegade from the 
 faith of the stern old Catholic Butlers. 
 
 Those who have seen the Castle of Kilkenny need no descrip- 
 tion of that stately pile, yet even they can hardly realize what 
 it was when the Nuncio Rinuccini honored it with a visit on that 
 memorable occasion. The many additions made to the original 
 edifice by the dukes and marquises of Ormond have added 
 little to its beauty, how much soever they may have increased 
 its splendor. The baronial grandeur is still there, more strik- 
 ing, perhaps, than ever, but the architectural harmony and 
 completeness is gone. Nevertheless, it was then, as it is now, 
 a dwelling not unworthy the Butlers of Ormond, towering in its 
 pride over the rapid waters of the Nore and looking down with 
 an air of protection on the fair city resting at its feet. 
 
 When the Nuncio reached the Castle hall with his retinue, he 
 was received at the foot of the grand staircase by the Arch- 
 
360 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 bishops of Dublin and Cashel, by whom he was conducted to 
 the great gallery, at the farther end of which Lord Mountgarret 
 awaited his arrival. The stately old nobleman was seated on 
 a chair richly adorned, whilst near him was the seat intended 
 for the Nuncio covered with damask and gold, with the ponti- 
 fical arras magnificently emblazoned on the back. 
 
 Mountgarret arose as the Nuncio approached, but instead of 
 going forward to meet him, as etiquette would have required, 
 be stood awaiting his approach. Without appearing to notice 
 this want of courtesy (to say the least of it) Rinuccini at once 
 addressed the President in the Latin language : 
 
 “ My Lord President,” said he with that lofty air of command 
 which was natural to him, “ my Lord President, it is hardly ne- 
 cessary to inform you that his Holiness Pope Innocent X. (suc- 
 cessor to Urban VIII. of happy memory) hath deputed me 
 with the fullest authority to take part in the struggle so nobly 
 maintained by the pious Confederate Catholics of Ireland. Your 
 cause he esteems as the cause of Catholicity, and he well com- 
 mendeth the patience and constancy shown by you in carrying 
 on this thrice-bles ed war.” 
 
 Here the President’s countenance fell, and he seemed for a mo- 
 ment as though about to interrupt the speaker, but he pro- 
 bably thought, better of it and kept silent. 
 
 “ His Holiness,” went on the Nuncio, “ hath it also much at 
 heart that the king of England’s cause should prosper to the 
 confusion of the evil-minded men who have manifested their dis- 
 loyal sentiments towards him. It would give our common Fa- 
 ther much contentment were his faithful children of Ireland in 
 a position to aid their king in his struggle with his rebellious 
 Parliament.” Mountgarret’s face brightened up again, whilst he 
 and the other leading Ormondists exchanged significant glances. 
 
 “ Our desire is to support the king,” repeated Rinuccini, whose 
 keen eye had not failed to detect the meaning looks of those 
 around him, although their full signification was not as yet 
 known to him. “ Truly that is one great object to be kept in 
 view, but the first and greatest duty of you and me and of 
 every Catholic, is to battle for the right— for the free untram- 
 meled exercise of our holy religion, aye ! to the shedding of all 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 361 
 
 our blood. No compromise, no treaty, no tampering with the 
 enemy until the Catholic faith be re-established in this realm as 
 it was at the time of the Reformation, or in the earlier part of 
 the reign of Henry VIII. That, gentlemen Confederates, is the 
 main and primary object of our endeavors, and with less than 
 that I, John Baptist Rinuccini, will never rest contented, nor yet 
 will his Holiness Innocent X., who is fully resolved to uphold 
 you in your struggle to the utmost extent of his resources. 
 Oh ! soldiers of the Cross !” he added, turning with enthusiastic 
 fervor to the crowd of lords and gentlemen by that time as- 
 sembled in the gallery, “ dauntless sons of Catholic Ireland, 
 be not deceived in this matter. Hearken not to those who 
 would cool your zeal or incite you to give up mid-way in your 
 path — treachery is abroad — the enemy is gnawing at the roots 
 of the stately tree whose branches now cover the land — as ye 
 love your own souls — as ye love that faith for which your fathers 
 lost lands, and livings, and life itself, go on with the good work 
 now so far advanced — an’ the tempter lure ye from the path; 
 our cause is lost, Catholic Europe will blush for shame, and the 
 paternal heart of Innocent will bleed for your infatuation. But 
 no ! you will not thus tamely yield what your valor hath won ! 
 By the bones of your slaughtered kin, by the bitter pains of per- 
 secution, by all the memories of your wrongs, it shall not be ! 
 you ' will follow up your advantage, and grasp that glorious 
 victory which is even now within your reach.” 
 
 “ Most reverend lord,” put in Mountgarret, “ you seem in 
 ignorance of the peace which for wise and lawful ends we are 
 negotiating,” 
 
 “ The which is much needed in this distracted country,” echoed 
 Muskerry. 
 
 “ Peace ! peace ! who talks of peace 1” said the Nuncio 
 sharply ; “ what manner of peace would you gain now with 
 the enemy still in full strength 1 I have brought you, my lords 
 and gentlemen, from our Most Holy Father, and other friends 
 of the cause, that which will help you to win real peace, lasting 
 peace — I have brought you such supplies of arms and am- 
 munition as never crossed the seas to you before ; money, too, 
 hath his Holiness sent you from his own treasury, and my 
 16 
 
362 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 valued friend, Father Luke Wadding, hath also forwarded by 
 me some 86,000 crowns, all which I have and do hold for your 
 use in red Spanish gold. By using these to advantage you can 
 make peace, on your own terms, such peace as alone is worth 
 having, that is to say, peace based on full and entire freedom.” 
 
 “ To what extent would your grace have us demand freedom V* 
 said Mountgarret coldly. 
 
 “ To the extent, my Lord President, of placing the Catholic 
 religion on an equality with all others — freedom for your homes, 
 freedom for your altars, freedom for your clergy; also that res *■ 
 titution be made the church for the robberies of these latter ages, 
 which is to say that her property be restored to her intact. 
 This is the freedom which will secure peace, this is the free- 
 dom which the Father of the faithful desires to see established 
 amongst you, and for which end he hath sent me hither, not to 
 make treaties for the convenience and contentment of a Protest- 
 ant viceroy.” 
 
 “ My Lord Nuncio,” said a smooth oily voice from behind the 
 President’s chair, “ I pray you suspend your opinion of this 
 matter till such time ” 
 
 “ And who are you V ’ demanded the Nuncio, breaking in 
 abruptly. 
 
 “An humble son of St. Francis,” said the smooth voice 
 again. 
 
 “And a devoted servant of Ormond,” whispered Bishop 
 French, at the Nuncio’s side. 
 
 “ Advance and show yourself,” said Rinucciniwith some stern- 
 ness, and forthwith Father Peter Walsh made himself visible in 
 the brown habit of his order. The Nuncio returned his lowly 
 reverence with a slight bend of his stately head, and then eyed 
 him for a moment with that keen scrutiny which reads men’s 
 hearts, then waved him back with a motion of his hand, as 
 though desiring no further acquaintance. A crest-fallen man was 
 Father Peter, but his troubles were not yet over. 
 
 “ There now,” said another voice from the depth of an ad- 
 joining doorway; “there now, Father Peter Walsh! take that 
 fur your pains, and it’s you that well deserves it. It isn’t the 
 poor simple Bishop of Clogher you have now f” 
 
THE* CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 363 
 
 Not even the presence of the Nuncio could repress the hurst 
 of laughter that ran around the room, whilst the grave Italians 
 wondered what it all meant, and looked from one to the other 
 in blank amazement. The Nuncio himself, however, could not 
 repress a smile when the matter was explained to him. But 
 no one enjoyed the joke more than Bishop McMahon, albeit 
 that it touched him on a sore spot which he would now fain 
 conceal. 
 
 “ Malachy, my dear man,” said he with a good-humored 
 smile, “ this is not the place for you, sog garth and all as you 
 are.” 
 
 “I know that, my lord,” said the quaint appendage to the 
 see of Clogher, “ and it isn’t the place I’d be in either only for a 
 letter that came for you there a while ago from a place called 
 Flanders, wherever that may be, dear knows ! It’s a priest that 
 came with it, and he says it’s from Master Rory O’More, and 
 that there’s a power of money in it for paying the men, and 
 everything that way.” 
 
 An exclamation of surprise and pleasure escaped many even 
 of the Ormond • faction on hearing this announcement, and all 
 forgot that there was anything ludicrous in the medium through, 
 which it was conveyed. The name of Roger O’More was still 
 dear to all the Confederates, and they rejoiced to hear that 
 he yet took an interest in their affairs, and was working for 
 them beyond the sea. 
 
 “ When it rains it pours,” muttered the old President to 
 himself in a querulous tone ; “an’ we wanted their supplies we 
 might not have them in such plenty.” 
 
 “ They will stand u s in good stead for the king’s service,” 
 suggested Nicholas Plunket in a low voice at his elbow as 
 if reading his thoughts. 
 
 Bishop McMahon, having dismissed Malachy to see after the 
 entertainment of O’More’s reverend messenger, addressed the 
 President -and the assembled Confederates with that overpower- 
 ing' energy which distinguished him from most others. He 
 declared himself entirely opposed to any further negotiations 
 with the enemy until such time as they could command their 
 own terms. 
 
364 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ War ! war ! war !” said he, “ war unceasing ! — no more 
 truce-making, no more parleying — Rome hath spoken, we have 
 hut to obey.' My lords and gentlemen and brother Confede- 
 rates, there is but one way for us, and that is the way that 
 leads to victory. How can we fail to look forward with hope 
 when the Head of the Church has sent his representative to 
 aid us in the contest 1 when money, and arms, and all things 
 needful are showering on us like dew from heaven 1 God is 
 with us, brethren ! that is plain — wherefore, then, lay down 
 the sword that hath gained so much until all is gained 1 Let it 
 not be said of us that we lacked the courage or the perseverance 
 to finish the work so well begun ! Freedom is more than 
 half w'on, shall we not win it 1 Ay, truly, .though we die for 
 it — what is death in such a cause ?” 
 
 Bishop McMahon’s address was heard with alarm by the 
 Ormondists present who had of late been reckoning . on that en- 
 terprising prelate as a friend to the peace. They were fain, how- 
 ever, to conceal their chagrin, but it did not escape the piercing 
 eyes of the Nuncio, who took leave of Mountgarret that day 
 with a feeling of contempt for the pitiful weakness that made 
 so many of the Confederate chiefs actually subservient to Lord 
 Ormond, in whom the astute prelate already saw the arch enemy 
 of the Catholic cause. 
 
 He was accompanied on his return by Lords Muskerry and 
 Netterville, and -on leaving the Castle he found General Preston 
 waiting with his troops under arms to conduct him to his do- 
 micile. The Nuncio seemed pleased with this attention, although 
 it was no more than he had a right to expect. 
 
 Returning to his home he found the Earl of Glamorgan in 
 anxious expectation of his coming. Being introduced by Lord 
 Muskerry, Glamorgan proceeded at once to business, and informed 
 the Nuncio of his royal master’s willingness to do all that lay 
 in his power to ameliorate the condition of his Catholic subjects 
 in Ireland. But, in order to enable him to carry out his benefi- 
 cent designs, the Earl said, he must have good help from them 
 without any delay for the prosecution of the war in England, 
 where the rebels were fast gaining ground. 
 
 “ Thus your grace cannot but see,” added Glamorgan, “ that 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 305 
 
 the king’s cause and that of the Confederate Catholics are at 
 this moment identically the same. To sustain his highness 
 against the rebellious Puritans is in reality to sustain yourselves 
 — ourselves, I would say !” 
 
 The Nuncio smiled at some passing thought, but he said 
 gravely : “ What security have we, my Lord Earl, that such be 
 his Majesty of England’s gracious intentions in our regard”? 
 Here we have his trusted friend Ormond, standing out against our 
 just demands in regard to religion, and protesting that he will 
 never consent to the public re-establishment of the ancient faith, 
 no, not even to secure the peace so necessary to his master’s in- 
 terest. ' How is it, my Lord Glamorgan V* 
 
 “An’ your grace will condescend to read these documents,” 
 said the Earl, “ one of them a- letter to yourself under his 
 highness’ own hand, you will see that my powers in this matter 
 are no less ample than those of my Lord Ormond.” 
 
 As the Nuncio read his dark face gradually brightened, and 
 by the time he reached the end of the last epistle his doubts 
 seemed almost to have vanished. 
 
 “I am much beholden to your royal master,” said he, “in 
 that he hath been- pleased to write me what I take to be a solemn 
 promise to do justice to the Catholics of this realm as soon as 
 his present difficulties will permit. He commends you to me in 
 the highest terms of praise, and assures me on the word of a 
 prince that whatsoever engagements you contract in his name 
 he will see duly ratified — on condition that we will afford him 
 and I esteem it a favorable augury as regards the success of my 
 mission. For the rest, your lordship’s instructions are of the 
 mission. For the rest, your lordship’s instructions are of the 
 most satisfactory nature. Were the Marquis of Ormond less pre- 
 judiced against our cause all would go well.” 
 
 Glamorgan made an attempt to defend the marquis on the 
 score of “ expediency,” but the Nuncio shook his head and looked 
 incredulous. Preston just then made his appearance and Rinuc- 
 
 * This letter of Charles the First to the Nuncio Riouccini is beyond 
 all doubt authentic. Its authenticity indeed is hardly ever called in 
 question. 
 
366 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 ciui abruptly asked for General O’Neill, “ whose bravery and 
 prudence,” said he, “ I have heard much extolled in Rome.” 
 
 “ Humph !” said the Leinster general with a supercilious 
 smile, “ he keeps, for the most part, with his half-naked kern in 
 his own province; — mayhap fame bath blown his trumpet over 
 loudly. But late he hath had to get help here against the Scots, 
 and the Council being of no such opinion as your grace, with 
 regard to his bravery or prudence, gave the command to my 
 Lord Castlehaven, who is, indeed, far beyond O’Neill in military 
 skill.” 
 
 Rinuccini listened with a sad misgiving, too surely justified 
 by succeeding events. 
 
 » 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 367 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 “ Nay, Father, tell us not of help from Leinster’s Norman Peers, 
 
 If we shall shape our holy cause to match their selfish fears — 
 Helpless and hopeless be their cause, who brook a vain delay, 
 
 Our ship is launched, our flag’s afloat, whether they come or stay. 
 
 “ Let silken Howth and savage Slane still kiss their tyrant’s rod, 
 
 And pale Dunsany still prefer his monarch to his God, . 
 
 Little we lack their fathers’ sons, the marchmeu of the Pale, 
 
 While Irish hearts and Irish hands have Spanish blades and mail. 
 
 “ Then let them stay to bow and fawn, or fight with cunning words ; 
 I fear me more their courtly arts than England’s hireling swords ; 
 Natheless their creed they hate us -still, as the Despoiler hates, 
 
 Would God they loved their prey no more, our kinsmen’s lost estates !” 
 
 C. G. Duffy. 
 
 A few weeks after the Nuncio’s arrival in Kilkenny, a meet- 
 ing of the General Assembly took place at his request. He was 
 naturally anxious to see what materials he had to work upon, 
 and the various leaders brought face to face so that he might 
 judge for himself how they stood affected towards each other. 
 It was the first time he had seen the two races brought into im- 
 mediate contact, and he looked anxiously for the result. The 
 meeting was a full one as might be supposed. Castlehaven was 
 there full of the idea that he had been the salvation of the Con- 
 federate forces in Ulster, endangered, as he basely insinuated, 
 by supineness, “ or something worse,”* on the part of Owen Roe. 
 Preston was there, too, looking fierce and warlike as ever, and 
 Owen Roe was there with his cold, calm smile and collected mien, 
 and his keen observing glance. There, too, was Sir Phelim, de- 
 termined to put in his claim for a share in the command of the 
 northern army. Most of the Ulster chiefs were, indeed, present, 
 as were also the great Irish toparchs of the south and west, 
 
 * See his Memoirs. 
 
368 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 whilst the Palesmen were there in full muster anxious to con- 
 clude the peace with Ormond and fearing the opposition' of the 
 Chieftains, now more formidable than over from the presence 
 and declared sentiments of the Nuncio. 
 
 The question of the peace was, of course, the first that came 
 up for discussion, and Rinuccini had soon the desired opportu- 
 nity of fathoming. the hearts of the Confederate Chiefs. 
 
 Mountgarret and Muskerry, Netterville and .Gormanstown, 
 Fingal and Howth, and many another name in high esteem 
 amongst the Confederates, were all urgent for peace — peace on 
 any terms, so as to leave the king at liberty to oppose the Eng- 
 lish rebels. 
 
 “Truly, yes,” said Castlehaven, “it devolves on us as loyal 
 gentlemen to waive all other matters for the present — our treaty 
 with my lord of Ormond doth secure us against religious 
 persecution ” 
 
 “ Until sUch time,” said Owen Roe, “ as the enemy recovers his 
 strength — no longer. See you not, my lords and gentlemen, 
 that we gain nothing by this treaty but bare toleration for our 
 religion — scarcely even that — whereas we bind ourselves to aid 
 the king with men, money, arms, and even provisions ; his 
 majesty, after all, reserving to himself the consideration of our 
 claims 1 What manner of bargain is that, lords and gentlemen 1 
 They have the substance, we the shadow.” 
 
 The Nuncio looked at Owen Roe with a smile of approbation, 
 which did not escape the Norman lords. 
 
 “ Such language well becomes you, General O’Neill,” Castle- 
 haven replied quickly ; “ an’ his highness had no more loyal 
 subjects here in Ireland than they of the old blood, small aid 
 might he hope for in his sore need. Shame on the Catholic 
 who at such a moment presses him for concessions beyond his 
 power to grant !” 
 
 “ Your pardon, my lord !” said Bishop French, “ he did not 
 grant them when he had the power. Far be it from me, how- 
 ever, to make light of his majesty’s distresses — may Heaven 
 confound his enemies — but I am entirely of General O’Neill’s 
 opinion — the king and his deceitful lieutenant, Ormond, are 
 driven by hard necessity to seek our aid — what are they giving 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 369 
 
 us in exchange 1 Nothing, that I can see, only empty promises, 
 and even they far from meeting our just expectations.” 
 
 “ You do his majesty much injustice, my reverend lord,” said 
 Glamorgan, who occupied a seat near the Nuncio ; “ what more 
 can you desire, or in reason demand, than he hath empowered 
 me to promise 'you in his name V* 
 
 “ I deny it not,” said the prelate curtly, “ but I much fear for 
 the performance thereof. An’ your articles, my Lord Glamor- 
 gan, were likely to be carried out, I would be the first to urge 
 a peace, but to my thinking, as matters stand, it were best not 
 to lay down the arms which have brought the proud Ormond to 
 treat us with some show of respect.” 
 
 “ An’ my advice be taken,” said Owen Roe, “ there would 
 be no peace made with any king or any party that could not 
 or would not guarantee the free exercise of our religion, the 
 restoration of Church property, and for our bishops the right of 
 sitting; as spiritual peers — in short, that all penal restrictions 
 be removed — we have the power, lords and gentlemen, to bring 
 this about, wherefore stop short 'l — wherefore throw away the 
 golden fruit within our reach — the fruit of our four years’ heavy 
 toil — the fruit of our martyrs’ blood 1 King Charles’ cause is 
 not without our sympathy, but the ancient faith of our fathers — 
 the sufferings of our own kith and kin on account of their fidel- 
 ity have the first claim on our attention. My lords and gentle- 
 men, I will never consent to any such peace as this of Or- 
 mond’s !” 
 
 “ You speak as though the treaty were in your pocket!” said 
 Castlehaven in a tone of contempt. 
 
 “ Or rather he thinks Hugh O’Neill’s sword sharp enough to 
 cut it !” said Preston wfith bitter irony. “Not that I am much 
 
 in favor of the treaty myself, but ” 
 
 “ General Preston,” exclaimed Sir Phelim with his usual im- 
 petuosity, “Owen and myself are not often of the same mind, 
 but by the Red Hand of Tyr-Owen we are this time. One 
 battle gained is worth all the treaties you could make in a year. 
 The sword and not the pen must secure our rights.” 
 
 “With all respect,” said Philip O’Reilly, “ I humbly submit 
 that his Majesty of England hath no such claim to our grati- 
 
370 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 tude as that we serve him rather than onr Holy Mother the 
 Church, for whose honor and well-being we first commenced 
 this war.” 
 
 In an instant Mountgarret, Muskerry, and Castlehaven were 
 on their feet, all eager to protest against what they were 
 pleased to call this “ seditious language.” Sir Lucas Diilon, too, 
 smoothly expressed his horror, and Nicholas Plunket declared 
 himself much amazed. 
 
 “ Most reverend lord,” said Owen Roe, addressing the Nuncio 
 in the Spanish language, “ I humbly pray that you be not scan- 
 dalized at our warmth of speech. We of the old blood are apt 
 to speak our thoughts over freely, but as for 1 sedition* we hold 
 ourselves as loyal men as those who stood hat in hand but late 
 in front of Ormond’s tent bowing before him like 
 
 “ Like hungry dogs begging for bones!” suggested Sir Phe- 
 lim, whereupon the Irish chieftains laughed and the Normans 
 waxed wroth. 
 
 “ We appeal to the Nuncio,” said Muskerry pale with anger. 
 
 “ So do we,” said Owen Roe, “ let his grace decide between 
 us — you for peace and toleration , we for war and independence , 
 as regards religion !” 
 
 The Nuncio rose and all were silent, while every eye was 
 turned upon him. For a moment his eagle glance scanned the 
 assembly as though taking in its numbers and general charac- 
 ter, then, gradually narrowing its range, it rested on the faces 
 of those who had taken the lead in the discussion. The sternly 
 knitted brow and the keen searching eye that gleamed from 
 beneath it gave no indication as to which party had his sympa- 
 thies, but his words speedily removed all doubt. 
 
 “ General O’Neill,” said he, “ I think as you do.” He paused 
 and looked around as though challenging opposition. No one 
 at first ventured to speak — and Rinuccini proceeded. 
 
 “ I say now in public that which I have said to many of you 
 in private, that I came hither on the part of the Sovereign Pon-. 
 tiff to aid you in your struggle for freedom — whatsoever diverges 
 from that object is beyond my province. I deeply feel for the 
 cruel position wherein your monarch is placed — so does the 
 Holy Father, as witness the sums by him advanced for the sus- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 371 
 
 tainment of the king of England, but nearer and dearer to my 
 heart, yea, and to that of the Holy Father Innocent, is the cause of 
 the long-suffering, ever faithful Catholics of Ireland. My lords 
 and gentlemen of the Confederation, your cause is a sacred 
 cause — it is our own ” — and he pressed his bosom with both 
 hands with the impassioned energy of an Italian — “ it is an affair 
 of life or death, not only to you but to millions yet unborn. 
 Either to worship God as freemen in the stately temples erected 
 by your pious fathers, now happily again in your own posses- 
 sion, or to run once more into the holes and caverns of the earth 
 with the divine mysteries which .are man’s proudest heritage. 
 Like this noble chief, this worthy son of the great O’Neills” — turn- 
 ing to Owen — “I do not choose to accept mere toleration, when 
 we can command the fullest measure of freedom.” 
 
 “ Then,” said Mountgarret with ill-concealed vexation, “ we 
 are to understand that your grace opposes the peace now pend- 
 ing between us and my Lord of Ormond 1” 
 
 “ Assuredly I do,” was the prompt repty, “unless that lord 
 will consent to our just demands — on his terms, no peace — no 
 peace for me — death a thousand times sooner — ay, even the 
 bloody grave of Malachy O’Kelly, whose soul may Christ crown 
 with glory !” 
 
 “ It is well, my Lord Archbishop !” said Mountgarret haught- 
 ily. ; “it is well to know this so soon. Permit me to say, nathe- 
 less, that the treaty hath already proceeded too far to be lightly 
 broken off— ay ! even by a Nuncio — for which good thing our 
 Lord be praised.” 
 
 “ Are you a Catholic, my Lord Mountgarret T’ was the Nun- 
 cio’s stern rebuke. 
 
 “ Truly, yes, most reverend lord ! at least, I hope so.” 
 
 “Nay, nay — say not a Catholic — an Ormondist rather — Or- 
 mondists are ye all who tamper with the freedom of the Church 
 to please that man — these be the Catholics ” — and he pointed to 
 the O’Neills and the other chiefs who had so warmly protested 
 against negotiating with Ormond. “ An’ you would deserve 
 that proud title, do the will of God and His vicegerent on earth, 
 even as they do— rather than the will of a Protestant governor, 
 yea, a man who hates your religion as renegades only can !” 
 
372 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Brows were knitted amongst the haughty Palesmen, and 
 faces grew red and then pale with anger, but it was only Mount- 
 garret that spoke, and his whole frame trembled ani his thin 
 lips were firmly compressed. 
 
 “ Truly, my lord,” said he in a voice that ho vainly strove to 
 keep steady, “ truly it is our misfortune — we of the English race 
 — to have fallen so soon under your grace’s displeasure — I say 
 it is our misfortune, but — but” — he paused and looked around 
 as if to gather the suffrages of his own party — “ but 1 see not 
 that our mishap is like to be soon remedied. We must live 
 without your favor — since we may not have it on other terms 
 than disloyalty to our lawful prince — for -those,” and he in his 
 turn pointed to the chieftains of Irish blood, “ for those, they 
 live and breathe in disaffection — loyalty they hardly know by 
 name — but for us, my Lord Nuncio ! we are proud to acknow- 
 leflge our subjection to his gracious majesty Charles the First — 
 we are British subjects — proud of the name — glorying in our 
 allegiance!” 
 
 “ I tell you again, my Lord Mountgarret,” said Owen Roe 
 more sternly than was his wont, “ we fling the word disloyalty 
 back in your teeth — loyal men are we, but more loyal to God 
 •than to any earthly ruler — an’ your patron, Ormond, will not ratify 
 my Lord Glamorgan’s treaty, he may make cartridges of his own 
 — we'll none of it, so help us, Heaven !” 
 
 “ How can you help it I” said Preston in a taunting tone. 
 
 “ Ways or means are not wanting to us, Master Preston,” 
 O’Neill replied with lofty self-reliance ; “ our motives are known 
 to God — He will not abandon those who fight for the glory of 
 His name.” 
 
 “ Thank God !” said Rinuccini, “ there is still such faith to 
 be found in Ireland !” 
 
 The upshot of this stormy debate was that the Nuncio caused 
 all the arms and ammunition he brought from Italy to be 
 conveyed to Kilkenny, and declared his intention of giving 
 the whole to Owen O’Neill, together with the greater part of 
 the money in his possession. ' This, of course, raised another 
 ’storm in the Council. The Norman lords and gentlemen were 
 furious, and threatened to withdraw immediately from the Con- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 373 
 
 federation if a portion of the supplies were not given to Preston. 
 After some deliberation, Einuccini at length agreed, but the 
 share he assigned to the Leinster general was so small compared 
 with that given to O’Neill that the former could hardly be per- 
 suaded to accept it. 
 
 “ He may or may not,” said the uncompromising prelate, “ no 
 more shall he have. Ulster, I see plainly, must be the scene of a 
 grand campaign, so as to clear it, if possibly we can, of those 
 fanatical Scotsmen. There must our strength be concentrated, 
 and, for the present, General Preston must make shift with what 
 he has.” 
 
 Owen Roe, then, was at length approaching the consummation 
 of his cherished wish ; he was to have at his command the chief 
 army of the Confederation, with supplies of every kind neces- 
 sary for carrying on a determined and energetic war, such as 
 might in a short time clear his own Ulster of the ruthless Puri- 
 tans who had so long kept it in thrall. Stout Phelim, too, was 
 by his side eager for the coming opportunity as a leashed hound 
 for the chase. Surely, then, the day so long rooked for was 
 not far distant. 
 
 Whilst the northern chieftains, inspired with fresh enthusiasm, 
 hastened home to aid in the preparations for the opening cam- 
 paign, the Confederates in Kilkenny were startled by the intel- 
 ligence that Lord Glamorgan who had set out for Dublin with 
 two Commissioners from the Council some days before had been 
 arrested by order of the Lord Lieutenant on a charge of high 
 treason. 
 
 “ And how was it 1” Mountgarret asked in amazement of a 
 gentleman who had accompanied the Commissioners from town ; 
 .“ what was there, I pray you, to substantiate such a charge 
 against a well-known favorite of the king, whose house hath all 
 along been distinguished for devotion to the royal cause V’* 
 
 * The Marquis of Worcester, Glamorgan’s father, was one of the 
 most trusted and efficient of the royal Generals throughout that Puri- 
 tan rebellion — it is said that he and his son, the Glamorgan of our 
 story, between themadvanced the almost incredible sum of £220,000 
 from their own private resources for the sustainment of the king. 
 
374 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ It seems the Marquis thinks there is cause sufficient,” re- 
 plied Sir John Netterville, for he it was ; “ much did I hear at 
 the Castle concerning a certain secret treaty of that Earl’s, a 
 copy of which was found on the body of the Archbishop of Tuam 
 — know you, my lords, anything of it 
 
 The malicious glance of Netterville’s dark eye was not lost on 
 Owen Roe w r ho* could hardly believe his own eyes that what he 
 saw was real. Turning to the old Lord Netterville who chanced 
 to he near him at the moment, he asked in utter amazement : 
 
 “ Do mine eyes deceive me, or is yonder gay cavalier your 
 lordship’s son 
 
 “ Surely, yes— methought Sir John Netterville was well 
 known to you.” 
 
 “ So I thought, too, my lord, hut the Sir John Netterville 
 who was well known to me was a brave adventurous knight of 
 the Confederation — the gentleman before us weareth Ormond’s 
 colors, and cometh hither, moreover, an’ I mistake not, on Or- 
 mond’s errand. I pray your lordship read mo this riddle !” 
 
 “ It is easy of solution,” quoth the Palesman with icy cold- 
 ness ; “ to serve Lord Ormond at the present time is to serve 
 the Confederation.” 
 
 “ Ha ! lieth the land that way V } said O'Neill musingly, yet 
 so loud that his words reached the ear of the young knight. 
 For a moment his bold careless glance sank before the piercing 
 eye of Owen Roe, hut quickly he recovered his self-possession, 
 and making his way behind the high-hacked oaken seats of 
 the hall to the place where O'Neill sat, he extended his hand 
 with a smile which he meant for a cordial one. 
 
 “ It is some time since w r e met, General !” 
 
 “ The longer the better it would seem,” interrupted Owen, 
 drawing himself up with a freezing air of contempt, and thrust- 
 ing one hand into the breast of his jacket, whilst the other 
 rested on his knee. “An’ I were in your hoots with those 
 colors topping my head, I would not stand where you do — no, 
 not for the broad lands of Netterville !” 
 
 Lord Netterville’s brow darkened and his hollow cheek turned 
 ghastly pale. He was fain to speak, but could not, and sat 
 with his eye fixed on O’Neill as though spell-bound by the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 375 
 
 extent of his audacity. His son was less surprised, hut his 
 anger, restrained by the place and the presence in which he 
 found himself, was the deeper and the more concentrated. 
 
 Approaching close to O’Neill, he stooped down and leaning 
 over his shoulder whispered in a hissing tone : “ The favor of 
 the fair Emmeline will surely make up for my defection — I 
 sought her out but late in the sorry habitation your bounty 
 hath given her — sought her, I own it in shame, to renew my 
 suit, and—; — ” 
 
 “ And!” inquired Owen, interested beyond concealment. 
 
 “ And she spurned me from her as though I were a dog ! — 
 ay, marry , did she !” and the unhappy young man ground his 
 teeth in impotent rage, while the livid hue of his wasted cheek 
 touched Owen’s heart with pity. “ She spoke such harsh and 
 bitter w.ords concerning our common ancestry — her own and 
 mine — that madness itself could hardly excuse her. She hath 
 gone mad, it is said within the Pale, since Maguire’s death ; 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! a fitting end he made of it — for my part, I think 
 you Irishry have bewitched her, and I swore an oath which I 
 mean to keep, that henceforth we meet as foemen should !” 
 
 “ But what of the oath of Confederation V' 
 
 “As for that,” said Netterville with alight laugh, “let one 
 cancel the other. I have sworn, I tell you, to thwart your 
 views, and, mark me, the Macs’ and 0’s shall rue the day they 
 stepped between me and Emmeline ! 
 
 “ Young man, you are my prisoner !” said O’Neill aloud, and 
 he grasped him by the shoulder. In an instant all was confu- 
 sion ; astonishment was depicted on every face, for no one had 
 overheard the whispered dialogue; and that Sir John Netterville 
 should have been employed by Ormond to treat with his own 
 friends seemed no way strange to the Norman lords. 
 
 “At your peril, arrest me!” said young Netterville fiercely, 
 and he laid his hand on his sword. “You dare not, Owen 
 O’Neill ! whilst your truce with Lord Ormond lasts — I came 
 hither on the plighted word of your commissioners who might 
 perchance share Glamorgan’s prison by now were it not for 
 me!” 
 
 At this moment the Nuncio entered, and the scene that met 
 
376 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 his eye was anything hut encouraging, for it seemed as though 
 the old and the new Irish were about to spring on each other 
 with murderous intent. 
 
 Several of the bishops were already gathered around Owen 
 Roe and the handsome young knight — to Rinuccim a stranger 
 — who stiil writhed in his iron grasp. There was a deep hush 
 as the Nuncio approached and demanded in Latin of Bishop 
 French what this scene meant. Being informed he smiled sadly 
 and shook his head, muttering to himself: “ It is as I feared — 
 these Ormondists are but one step from the enemy — their oath 
 is the only tie that now binds them to us. May God change 
 their hearts !” 
 
 With a heavy sigh he motioned to O’Neill to let the young 
 man go, and Owen obeyod without a murmur, but he whispered 
 in Netterville’s ear as he flung him back to the wall : “ We meet 
 again at Phillippi ! — go now in peace !” 
 
 With a black scowl of hate which made Owen wince with all 
 his courage, Netterville took his father’s arm and both proceeded 
 down the hall. Another trial awaited the renegade. Sir Phe- 
 lini O’Neill had made his way into the Council-room, and hearing 
 from Tirlogh what had taken place, he grasped Sir John’s arm 
 as he passed him by. 
 
 “ What ! turned traitor so soon 7 Doing Ormond’s dirty work 1 
 Blood of the Nettervilles ! what a fall !” 
 
 “I have not taken to forgery yet, Sir Phelim,” said Netter- 
 ville with a bitter sneer, (t when I do, say I have fallen, not 
 before !” 
 
 The effect of these words was so stunning that before Sir Phe- 
 lim had recovered the shock, the Nettervilles, father and son, 
 had left the hall. Looking round with a ghastly smile, the 
 knight of Kinnard tried to pass the matter off as a jest : 
 
 “ Truly he is a pleasant knave,” said he, “ that young Net- 
 terville — ever ready with his answer. I would he were honest 
 as he is witty !” 
 
 Whatever importance Sir Phelim or Owen. might attach to 
 Sir John’s desertion, the matter weighed but little in the mind 
 of Binuccini compared with the treacherous arrest of Glamor- 
 gan, which justified all his previous suspicions of Ormond. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 877 
 
 Even the most devoted adherents of the Lord Lieutenant dared 
 not in the face of such a fact defend him before the Council, and 
 for the time, Rinuccini had it all his own way. For himself ho 
 manifested no surprise, declaring such an act in perfect accord- 
 ance with the view he had taken of the Viceroy’s character and 
 his real sentiments towards Catholics. 
 
 His private devotions were interrupted that evening by a late 
 visit from some four or five of the Confederates, and the Nuncio 
 wondered very much what urgent affair had brought them at 
 such an hour. Bishop French was happily one of the party, and 
 through him the others explained the nature of their visit. 
 
 “ In case they made up their minds to attack Dublin without 
 delay, what support could the Nuncio give them ?” 
 
 Rinuccini’s heart swelled with joy at the bare suggestion of a 
 step so bold and so decisive. Still he was not in* a position to 
 answer them. 
 
 •“ I would I might tell you on the instant, my lords and gen- 
 tlemen,” he said with an air of satisfaction, “but I know not 
 myself what amount of money will remain at my disposal till I 
 have learned how much will be expended on those frigates, 
 which, as you know, I have sent to Flanders to purchase. TVe 
 have much need of them now, seeing that your privateers have 
 all departed from your coasts since the first commencement of 
 the truce.” 
 
 This uncertainty was not what the Council had expected, and 
 the Nuncio’s answer, reported to them, threw a damp on the 
 fitful flash of their ardor evoked by Glamorgan’s arrest. O’Neill, 
 on the contrary, was roused to more active exertion, and, 
 encouraged by the Nuncio’s undisguised approval, and his pro- 
 mise of speedy succor, he prepared to set out for the north in 
 company with Sir Phelim O’Neill, McMahon of Uriel, and 
 O’Reilly of Breffny. 
 
 It was a gratifying sight to the Nuncio when, the northern 
 chieftains going to crave his blessing prior to their departure, 
 Owen Roe and his fiery kinsman lanelt side by side with bowed 
 heads and clasped hands. Strong, firm man as Rinuccini was, 
 his voice trembled with emotion as he blessed each noble bead, 
 and when they arose he said with a moistened eye : 
 
378 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 
 “ Sons of the Gael, my hope is in you. As God liveth, 
 you must fight the battle for Him and yourselves. What aid I 
 have to give shall be yours, and your fair Ulster shall be first 
 cleared of the tyrant foe !” 
 
 He then took the hands of Sir Phelim and Owen O’Neill, and 
 joining them said : “ Be you as brothers henceforth — in union 
 ye conquer. In wars of this nature, self must be forgotten, and 
 only the common good and the holy cause kept in view.” 
 
 At this moment Sir John Netterville was announced, and the 
 Nuncio, fearing the result of such a meeting after what he had 
 witnessed in the Council Hall, requested the chieftains to withdraw 
 into another apartment till the new visitor had retired. On the 
 threshold they met Netterville. He would have passed them in 
 contemptuous silence, but Sir Phelim could not refrain from 
 giving him a piece of his mind. 
 
 “ An’ your face were not made of brass,” said he, “ you would 
 not dare show it here. After all, you’re more to be pitied than 
 anything else. Pass on 
 
 The fierce retort on Netterville’s lip was changed for a gesture 
 of defiance, for through the open door the young man caught 
 the stern glante of Rinuccini fixed full upon him, and with a 
 strange feeling of embarrassment he entered the room whilst 
 Owen Roe turned and looked after him a moment with a heavy 
 sigh. 
 
 “ Poor fellow !” he said within himself, “ I had better hopes of 
 him through all my dark forebodings !” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 379 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 “ Give praise to the Virgin Mother ! O’Neill is at Benburb. 
 
 The chieftain of the martial soul, who scorns the Saxon curb ; 
 Between the hills his camp is pitch’d, and in its front upthrown, 
 
 The Red Hand points t > victory from the standard of Tyrone ; 
 Behind him rise the ancient woods, while on his flank anear him, 
 
 The deep Blackwater calmly glides and seems to greet and cheer him. 
 
 11 By all the Saints they’re welcome ! across the crested wave, 
 Fq^few who left Kinnad this morn ere night shall lack a grave. 
 
 The hour — the man, await them now, and retribution dire 
 Shall sweep their ranks from front to rear, by our avenging fire ; 
 Yet on they march in pride of heart — the hell-engender’d gloom 
 Of the grim, predestined Puritan impels them to their doom.” 
 
 .IIayes’ Irish Ballads. 
 
 Passing over the spring months of that memorable year of 
 1646, fruitful as they were in stirring events, we will convey the 
 reader once again to those scenes of old renown where the an- 
 cient keep of Benburb overhangs “ the Avon Dhu of the north” 
 — Avon Dhu of the O’Neills. 
 
 It is a radiant night in early June and 
 
 • “ Beneath a bright and bonny moon,” 
 
 shining high in mid heaven, two great armies are again en- 
 camped. Again Monroe is there with his whole force; no less 
 than ten regiments of foot and fifteen troops of horse lie along 
 the Blackwater under his command this summer night. And 
 the Irish army, beyond the river, looked wondrous small com- 
 pared with that Scottish host ; so well it might for it numbered 
 scarce five thousand foot, with eight companies of horse.* But 
 that little army was a host in itself, a mighty host, for not Cas- 
 tlehaven with his Norman auxiliaries from the Pale was there, 
 but Owen Roe O’Neill with the clans of Ulster, the impetuous 
 
 * Rinuccini’s Memoirs. 
 
380 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 sons of the soil, burning to wreak revenge on the Scots, who 
 for six long years had been working their wicked will on man, 
 woman and child, till they had made the fair land a desert. 
 Few were the Catholics as compared with their foes, hut for 
 every man that was wanting the ghosts of slaughtered friends 
 and kindred were there in scores ; their shadowy presence per- 
 vaded all the ranks, for each man there had his share of the dis- 
 mal memories of those bloody years, and every arm was nerved 
 with superhuman strength, now that the cherished hopes of 
 years were approaching their consummation. Owen Roe, with 
 the sanction and advice of the Nuncio, was, at last, confronting 
 the Scots, determined to drive them from Ulster if there was 
 strength in him or his. The clans of Ulster were well represented 
 on that battle-eve, for though few or none were there entii%, 
 hardly one was wanting. O’Neills and Maguires, McMahons 
 and O’ Hanlons, O’Reillys and O’Rourkes from the two Breffnys, 
 O'Boyles and McSweenys, and O’Muldoons from the north, and 
 O’Donnells and O’Cahans from the farthest north of all where 
 the Foyle and the Roe wind their silvery way through the 
 mountain-glens of Donegal and Derry. O’Doghertys were not 
 wanting from wild Innishowen, from the banks of “ the bounti- 
 ful Culdaff” — ay ! they were there, a stalwart band, those song- 
 famed “ tall peasants of fair Innishowen,” well prepared to read 
 the riddlet of Ireland’s fate at the bidding of Owen Roe. 
 
 And how were the clansmen employed during those moonlit 
 hours within sight of the enemy whom they had hurried from 
 the border country to meet I Who were the men in black cas- 
 socks— few they were in number, not more than three or four — 
 who glided hither and thither amongst them, or, seated on ar- 
 tillery-wagons on either slope of the two hills between which 
 the army lay, raised their right hand over the head of every 
 
 t “ When they tell us the tale of a. spell-stricken band, 
 
 All entranced, with their bridles and broadswords in hand, 
 
 Who await but the word to give Erin her own, 
 
 They can read you that riddle in proud Innishowen. 
 
 Hurrah .for the spearmen of proud Innishowen ! — 
 
 Long live the wild seers of stout Innishowen ! — 
 
 May Mary our Mother be deaf to their moan 
 Who love not the promise of proud Innishowen.” 
 
 C. G. Dufy. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 381 
 
 soldier there as 'he knelt in turn before them 1 Reader, the men 
 •were confessing their sins, in preparation for a still more solemn 
 rite, and of the priests who heard them one was Father Eugene, an 
 eminent Franciscan, who had been appointed by the Nuncio 
 Chaplain to the Ulster forces, and another, our old friend, Father 
 Phelimy O’Cahan. On the skirt of a wood in the rear of the army 
 sat Heber of Clogher, on the stump of a fallen tree, engaged in the 
 same pious work, albeit that the stole which marked his priestly 
 office was in stern and strange contrast with the stuffed jerkin 
 which encased his brawny shoulders and the steel morion which 
 lay beside him on the grass. Yes, the patriotic prelate had 
 clearly girded on the sword, ambitious, it might be, of sharing 
 Archbishop Malachy’s glorious fate. Near and around where 
 the bishop sat the men of Uriel were encamped, McMahons and 
 McKennas, and the stout borderers of Farney, and whilst some 
 were on their knees preparing for confession, others were en- 
 gaged in the construction of an altar under the skilful direction 
 of Malachy na soggarth. If ever man was in his element it was 
 Malachy that night, and the usual gravity of his demeanor was 
 deepened into a solemn dignity befitting his high office, for 
 Malachy esteemed himself on that occasion second to no other in 
 importance. His claims were tacitly.a.cknowledged by the bold 
 clansmen around, who came and went, and fetched and carried 
 at Malachy’s high behest, all well pleased to have a hand in so 
 great a work — under the direction of “ Bishop McMahon’s right 
 hand man.” 
 
 Yes ! Malachy was in his glory, and by a curious coincidence, 
 Shamus Beg O’Hagan was again his companion, as on that other 
 night five years gone by when the long unused chapel of Kin- 
 nard Castle was the scene of his pious labors. But Shamus was 
 no idle spectator at this time listening to old-world stories, for 
 with Donogh the Rapparee, and one or two others, he was busily 
 engaged forming a canopy of flags to protect the altar from 
 wind and weather. The manner in which this task was per- 
 formed had given Malachy entire satisfaction, till, stepping back 
 a few paces to ascertain the general effect, he cried out all 
 aghast : 
 
382 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “ Good Lord ! Shamus, isn’t that the Red Hand you have on 
 the top above !” 
 
 “ An’ to be sure it is, Mai-achy ! — what else would it be 1” 
 
 “ Why, my soul to God, Shamus! but you’re a bit of a gho- 
 meril after all — isn’t it our flag that ought to be there, not 
 yours ? ’ 
 
 “ Ha ! ha ! Malachy ! wise as you are, I have you this time” 
 — and Shamus indulged in a low chuckling laugh. “ Sure you 
 needn't object to have the Red Hand uppermost when your 
 chief will fight under it to-morrow V ’ 
 
 Malachy gave in with a heavy sigh, muttering, “ I suppose it’s 
 to be or it wouldn't be.” 
 
 “ Don’t sigh so heavily, old friend,” said the deep voice of 
 Donogh, or rather Phelim McGee. “ They’re not on Irish 
 ground this night that need be ashamed to. follow the beck of 
 the Red Hand. Owen Roe is the man for us !” 
 
 “ Who says he isn’t V' questioned Malachy in a snappish tone 
 all unusual with him. “ My lord !” said he, approaching the 
 bishop who had just dismissed from his knee a gigantic follower 
 of Rory Maguire, “ my lord ! if you don’t take a few hours’ 
 rest you’ll not be able to lift your head in the morning !” 
 
 “ No need to lift it surely when I don’t lay it down,” said the 
 good-humored prelate, “ and besides, Malachy, it matters little 
 when to-morrow’s sunset may find that same head stiff and cold 
 — let me alone, I pray you! for much remains to be done, and 
 the time is short. Kneel !” he said to a stout gallowglass who had 
 been waiting patiently for his turn — “ bestir yourself, Malachy ! 
 — and see that tb.e vestments be all in order — Mass will com- 
 mence ere long.” Away started Malachy to one of the bag- 
 gage wagons in quest of his vestments and altar linen, whilst 
 Shamus Beg stood looking at the altar and the banners all 
 clearly revealed in the moonlight, and somehow a feeling of sad- 
 ness stole over him. It was not fear — for Shamus never feared 
 “ man or devil,” as he often boasted, but rather a heavy weight 
 as of sorrow. Angry with himself for being so “ down-hearted” 
 he muttered between his teeth : “ Ah, then, Shamus boy, what’s 
 coming over you at all 'l — sure it wouldn’t be fear that’s on you, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 383 
 
 after all tlie bloody battles you’ve bad a hand in ! Come, come, 
 rouse yourself now, and b$ a man !” 
 
 Turning quickly to regain Sir Phelim’s tent whence he had 
 issued some half an hour before, he met the deep earnest eyes 
 of Angus Dhu fixed full upon him. The young Rapparee was 
 leaning on the handle of his pike immovable as a statue. His 
 face was paler than usual and his garments covered with dust, 
 for Angus had ridden hard and fast since the night fell to be 
 present at the expected battle. He had but just arrived and 
 exchanged a brotherly greeting with his captain who expressed 
 his joy that he came in time with the little party under his 
 command. Shamus and Angus were ever glad to meet, and it 
 was some time since they had met before. 
 
 “ Well ! if that isn’t queer,” said the foster-brother with a 
 start ; “ you’re the very one I was thinking of, Angus ! When 
 did you get in, or how are you at all 
 
 “ I got in about ten minutes ago, and I’m well enough only a 
 little tired, ftut I mean to take an hour’s sleep or two, if the 
 enemy lets us alone that long, and then, please God, I’ll be able 
 for any Scotch devil amongst them! But how is^ yourself, 
 Shamus 1 I don’t know whether it’s on my eyes it is, but I 
 think you’re not in the best of health.” And the young man’s 
 voice trembled slightly. 
 
 “Health! Angus!” cried Shamus, cutting one of the frolic- 
 some capers of Auld lang syne. “ Is it me not in good health ! 
 — never was- better in all my born days — an’ sure if I wasn’t 
 even, the very thoughts of to-morrow would make me a new 
 man. But listen, Angus, to what I’m going to tell you, for we 
 don’t knoW the minute the alarm may come, and I wouldn’t 
 miss the chance of saying what I have to say — no, not for broad 
 Tyr-Owen. In the first place, then, I’m overjoyed to see you, 
 Angus.” 
 
 '* No need to tell me that, anyhow,” the Rapparee replied 
 with sly emphasis, 
 
 “ Well, well, what I mean is that I’m doubly glad to see you 
 now for a reason I have.” 
 
 “ And what is it*?” 
 
 “ If anything happens me to-morrow, I want you to take this 
 
384 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 broken ring to a gersha down in the County Antrim. She has 
 the other half, and you will give her this, and tell her it’s the 
 only ring she’ll ever get from Shamus O’Hagan. Tell her it isn’t 
 his fault, but he did what he promised to do when the war was 
 over and our rights gained. If I live, please God, I’ll get back 
 the ring from you, Angus, and take it down there myself, but if 
 I don’t*— you’ll be sure to do it.” 
 
 “ But supposing I fab myself—” suggested Angus, smiling 
 through tears. “ How then 1” 
 
 “ Pooh, pooh, you'll not fall — there’s no danger in life ! Keep 
 the ring, and do as I bid you !” 
 
 Angus laughed, yet there was little mirth in his laugh. He 
 suddenly took hold of his friend’s hand and clasped it with con- 
 vulsive energy. 
 
 “ Shamus !” said he, “ you don’t know all the love that’s in my 
 heart for you. You don’t, Shamus, but maybe you will soon. 
 Anyhow, I’ll do your bidding — Aileen Magee shall have the 
 ring — that’s if anything happens you” • 
 
 “ Aileen Magee !” repeated Shamus in amazement, “ why, 
 sure I never mentioned her name — or did I — for, indeed, there’s 
 such a load on my heart that it makes me dull and heavy like 
 — Did I tell you the girleen’s name 1” 
 
 “ Well, no !” — and Angus smiled faintly — “ but if you didn’t, 
 maybe some one else did. ’ Move a little this way, for there’s 
 
 the General going to confession ” 
 
 “ The general ! which general? — oh! I see, it’s Owen Roe you 
 mean ! I thought it might be Sir Phelim, but sure, no matter, 
 it’s all in the family. Well, the Lord be with you, Angus — but 
 stay, stay” — and approaching him, he lowered his voice to a 
 whisper — “ I forgot to tell you where you’d light on Aileen.” 
 
 “ Oh, never mind !” replied Angus, with a careless toss of his 
 head ; “‘when I want to find her, I’ll know where to go. She’ll 
 be little worth, anyhow, by the time your message reaches 
 her.” 
 
 “ What’s that you say 1” 
 
 “ I say it’s not far from daylight now — ahem ! so I’ll off and 
 help Phelim — oh, bother ! Donogh I mean — to get the boys in 
 readiness. Hillo ! there’s his whistle, I must be off.” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 385 
 
 “But Angus — stay one minute ! — where — when will I see you 
 again V ’ 
 
 “ God knows,” said Angus with emotion, “ God knows, Shamus 
 aroon ! — why, the captain is in a hurry !” Putting his hand to 
 his mouth he returned the signal call, then wrung Shamus by 
 both hands, and darted off into the wood, where, for the pre- 
 sent, the Rapparees were placed. An hour later and they were 
 sent by the general to aid in the defence of the bridge already 
 held by a detachment from Sir Con Magennis’s regiment. 
 
 The day was just dawning when Sir Phelim O’Neill stood at 
 the door of his kinsman’s tent and peered cautiously in expecting 
 to find Owen asleep. Not so, however, for the latter was on his 
 knees in full equipment, whilst his two aide-de-camps, also 
 drest, lay sleeping soundly with their heads resting on the side 
 of the heathery couch that had been prepared for the general. 
 
 “ Humph !” said Phelim, as Owen rose and came forward, “ at 
 your devotions so early 1 — what with the squalling of psalms 
 yonder, and the praying and so forth here , so pious a battle was 
 never fought as this is like to be. But that is not what I came 
 to say. They tell me you sent off Colonel Bernard McMahon 
 and Colonel Patrick McAneny over night with their whole regi- 
 ments — up Monaghan side. Is it true, Owen, or is it not 1” 
 
 “ It is true 1 — but what then 
 
 “ Why, I’d like to know what put that in your head, and we 
 scarce half the number of the enemy at our best 'l Come, now, 
 Fabius of your country !* answer me that !” He spoke in a 
 tone half jeering, half friendly, and Owen was not the man to 
 resent a joke, however surly, from a brother-general at such a 
 moment. 
 
 “ I will answer you, Phelim, and truly,” said Owen with per- 
 fect good humor ; “ nay, more, to your satisfaction. I have 
 learned that Monroe had sent to his brother Robert to join him 
 without delay with all the forces at his command, and as the 
 latter would come on us from the rear we should find ourselves 
 between two fires, either of which is enough for our numbers 
 
 * Owen Roe was from an early period of the war distinguished by 
 this proud and honorable title. 
 
 17 
 
386 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 to cope with. How think you, cousin ! was I not right in 
 sparing those two regiments, if happily they can keep Colonel 
 Robert back until we have settled with Covenanting George P’f 
 
 “ Forgive me, Eogliain !” said honest Phelim with some emo- 
 tion ; “ I know you are a wiser man than I, and have a longer 
 head by a great deal. You are the shield , I know well, but let 
 blustering Phelim be the sword and you shall have the planning 
 of all. Tell me, do you mean to attack, or wait Monroe’s onset 
 — which 'l See the sun is already peeping on us from behind 
 the hill !” 
 
 “ Hark ! is not that the low tinkle of a bell 1” said Owen with 
 a start. 
 
 “ Bell, indeed !” answered Phelim with a laugh ; “ sure it’s 
 dreaming you are, Owen Roe ! I hear a sound like the measured 
 clash of steel, but no bell.” 
 
 “ Anyhow, it is the signal for Mass, I know that !” said Owen, 
 and he muttered to himself as he proceeded to rouse his drowsy 
 aide- de- camps ! 
 
 “ When, oh ! when shall I hear thee no more, bell of old 
 Eglish ! Art thou a knell for me or mine this day 1 Not so, for 
 I feel within me the assurance of victory !” 
 
 The sun had but just raised his broad disk above the horizon 
 when Bishop McMahon in his loud clear tones was reciting the 
 Introibo ad aliare Dei at the foot of the military altar, with 
 Father Hartegan, one of the chaplains of the army, serving Mass, 
 and Malachy, of course, in official attendance. On one side 
 knelt Father Phelimy O’Cahan, his aged face beaming with the 
 light of hope, on the other the tall dignified form of the Fran- 
 ciscan, Father Eugene, the Nuncio’s special representative. In 
 a semicircle fronting the altar were Owen Roe and Sir Phelim 
 O’Neill, Sir Con Magennis, Owen O’Rourke, Philip O’Reilly and 
 Art McMahon, the principal chiefs of the army ; the colonels 
 and other officers remained with their regiments for fear of sur- 
 prise. A few yards back knelt Roderick Maguire at the head 
 
 + General Monroe had a little before this taken the “ Solemn 
 League and Covenant” on bended knee in the high kirk of Car- 
 rickfergus. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 387 
 
 of his column, and by his side was Lorcan, looking twenty years 
 younger than when we last saw him, and grasping with the 
 vigor of lusty manhood the long spear which for old times’ sake 
 he still used in war. Like a sturdy oak of his own woods was 
 Lorcan, hale, strong and vigorous even in decay. And how 
 lovingly the old man clutched his spear as he thought of his 
 murdered Connor and wished he had lived to see that day ! 
 
 And as he wished, he raised his eyes towards the altar, and 
 lo ! what sight was there that enchained his wandering glance ] 
 Two female figures wrapt in sable drapery knelt close behind 
 Father Phelimy, their faces concealed by deep riding-hoods. 
 
 “ Lord save us !” ejaculated Lorcan, “ are the spirits come in 
 broad daylight ] I suppose, now, nobody sees them but myself, 
 for sure the sight of them would make more of a scatterment 
 than Monroe’s cavalry. Well ! who knows but they come for 
 me at last — indeed one oi them puts me in mind of my poor dead 
 sister, Eveleen O’Cahan — and they’re welcome as the flowers in 
 May, if that be their errand — let me only have a few hours’ good 
 hard fighting with those Scotch devils below and see them fairly 
 taken to their legs, and Til go with all my heart wherever God 
 pleases.” 
 
 Lorgan’s surmise appeared correct, for no one but himself 
 appeared to notice the shadowy forms. For himself, he could 
 hardly take his eyes off them though he struggled hard to avoid 
 so grievous a distraction, especially as he was preparing to re- 
 ceive the holiest of sacraments. But the sight of the dark mo- 
 tionless figures, fresh from the world of spirits, was more than 
 Lorcan’s piety could resist, and do as he would his eyes were 
 ever turning stealthily in their direction, whilst his lips and his 
 heart prayed with fervor and his fingers told the beads of his 
 Rosary. 
 
 It was a solemn sight, take it altogether, when the soldier- 
 bishop offered up the Atoning Sacrifice of the New Law in 
 sight of that valiant army on the banks of the Blackwater — 
 when every head was bowed in adoration, and every heart 
 raised to heaven. It was a goodly sight, too, to see the rough 
 warriors of the mountains, the kerns and gallowglasses of many 
 a clan, kneeling in whole battalions in the light of the morning 
 
388 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 sun, with the rich rays playing on their shining arms and accou- 
 trements, and the fresh breeze sporting with the plumes which 
 shaded noble brows and rustling in the banners above the 
 simple altar, whilst the Sacred Host was elevated between, earth 
 and heaven by the bishop’s consecrated hands. No less solemn 
 or imposing was the sight when, at the Communion, the General 
 and all his officers advanced in regular order and received the 
 Bread of Life, the musicians striking up at the moment a soft 
 and plaintive air. Many a glorious scene had old Avon Dhu 
 witnessed on its banks, but never one more glorious than that. 
 Oh ! the ineffable grandeur which encircled the brow of Owen 
 Roe as he stepped forward first of all, making a sign to Sir 
 Phelim to take his place by his side. It was not that the 
 chieftain looked exalted in his own estimation, for his demeanor 
 was that of an humble and sincere Christian, calm and collected 
 — no, but the effect of his example was such, and so striking, 
 that there was not a man on the hill of Benburb that hour who 
 did not bow down in spirit before so great and good a man. 
 
 After the Ite Missa Est Father Eugene, putting on his stole, 
 ascended the steps of the altar (they were formed of mountain 
 heather closely packed together beneath many folds of tent- 
 canvas) and gave the solemn Papal benediction. That done, 
 there was a mighty rushing sound and a deafening clang of 
 arms ; it was the men rising from their knees and each grasping 
 his weapon. Then arose on the morning air a wild enthusiastic 
 cheer from those thousands and thousands of brave hearts ; it 
 was for his Holiness Innocent X., the friend and protector of 
 the oppressed Catholics of Ireland. That cheer echoed far and 
 wide over the country, and pealed on the ears of Monroe’s grim 
 Puritans as a challenge to mortal combat. They had witnessed 
 from afar the morning devotions of the Irish, and the sight of 
 the altar filled them with fury ; the cheers of the Catholics were 
 answered by them with howls of execration, and cries of 
 “ Death to the worshippers of idols ! — wo to the followers of 
 Baal ! The sword of the Lord and Gideon !” 
 
 Monroe had effected a junction on the previous day with 
 Hamilton’s forces, and the presence of that savage leader was 
 speedily detected by the Clan O’Rourke, who testified their joy 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 389 
 
 by shouts of fierce exultation. Oar old acquaintance, Manus, 
 had risen to the rank of captain, and his company was com- 
 posed of his own kinsmen, every man of them sworn to deadli- 
 est revenge on the murderer of their youthful Tanist. The 
 blood-stained flag of the Hamiltons waving on the right flank 
 of the Scottish army was early in the day pointed out by Manus 
 to his men, and even the calm chieftain himself, noble and 
 chivalrous as he was, could not help expressing his satisfaction 
 that the day so long wished for was come at last. 
 
 Never did two armies face each other with more stern deter- 
 mination or greater ardor for the fight than on that day at 
 Benburb. On the part of the Scotch there was the fanatical 
 desire to clear the land of the old idolatrous natives, the “ Am- 
 monites” and “ Moabites,” of their Scriptural cant. Fancying 
 themselves, like the Hebrews of old, commissioned to destroy 
 and exterminate a race so odious to their God, they stood glaring 
 on the Irish enemy across the watery barrier which, as yet, they 
 might not pass. They had tried the bridge early in the morning, 
 but were repulsed by its gallant defenders in a style that fully 
 justified Owen’s choice. The serried pikes of the Rapparees 
 were found as a wall of iron which no Scottish steel might pen- 
 etrate. Again and again the attempt was made, and again and 
 again did the exulting shout of the Rapparees mark the enemy’s 
 discomfiture. Loudly laughed the woodsmeD, and fondly they 
 patted their trusty pikes, vowing that they should make a 
 closer acquaintance with “ the murdering Scotch” before noon- 
 day. It was long since they felt their hearts so light— 
 
 “ The fearless Rapparees ! 
 
 Oh ! the jewel were you, Rory, with your Irish Rapparees !” 
 
 But the covenanters were too fiercely athirst for Papist blood 
 to be so easily baulked, and Monroe, urged by Hamilton and 
 others of his officers, resolved to march along the river edge to 
 Kinard and there effect a passage. 
 
 Leaving them to accomplish this design, marvelling much at 
 what they considered the neglect of O’Neill in leaving the ford 
 at Kinard undefended, we will return again to the Irish army 
 and to Lorcan Maguire at the close of the apostolic benediction. 
 
390 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 He had bowed his head reverently to receive the blessing, and 
 his first glance on raising it again was towards the supposed 
 spirits. They had vanished, and Lorcan crossed himself devout- 
 ly, muttering between his teeth : 
 
 “ Heaven’s rest to you, Eveleen Maguire ! — but I wonder who 
 the other is — maybe my own fair Una!” — meaning the wife of 
 his youth lost in the first year of their marriage — “ pity Connor 
 wasn’t with them — but I suppose he wasn’t allowed. No matter, 
 no matter, I'll see them all soon , and, through God’s mercy, for 
 ever more !” 
 
 The old man little dreamed that the supposed spirits had 
 merely emerged from the wood to hear Mass, or that Owen Roe 
 and Father Phelimy had been trying in vain to exorcise them 
 hours before the first cock-crow. The most stubborn of ghostly 
 creatures, they refused to quit the place come what might. 
 Surrounded by a small party of the Rapparees commanded by 
 Angus Dhu, they busied themselves in making what prepara- 
 tions their poverty permitted for the relief of those who should 
 be wounded in the battle, whilst a cross formed of two branches 
 was nailed to the trunk of a tree, as though to sanctify the place. 
 Who that saw Emmeline Coote when she reigned supreme over 
 Dublin drawing-rooms, and bestowed prizes with smiling grace 
 on those who shed the most of Papist blood, could have recog- 
 nized her in the sad companion of Judith O’Cahan that day, 
 raising her soul-lit eyes ever and anon to the rude emblem of 
 salvation the while she prayed for success to the Catholic arms 1 
 Yet Emmeline herself it was, and not even Judith was more 
 wildly anxious for the overthrow of the Puritans than that 
 daughter of the bloody Cootes. 
 
 Apprised by the faithful Rapparees of the expected collision 
 of the hostile armies, the two ladies with their aged protector 
 had journeyed with all haste to the neighborhood of Charlemont, 
 as the probable scene of the coming conflict. Father Phelimy 
 having once joined the army, determined to remain for the 
 spiritual succor of the soldiers, but he shrank, and so did Owen 
 Roe, at the thought of the dangers to which Judith and Emme- 
 line voluntarily exposed themselves. 
 
 But Judith would not hear of danger. “ Your turn is corn© 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 891 
 
 now,” said she to Owen, as at midnight the four stood together 
 looking out through an opening of the wood upon the motion- 
 less columns of the army, as they knelt in preparation for con- 
 fession ; “ God is with you — the shadow of His presence is over 
 your army — fear not, oh ! first of the sons of Ireland ! the Al- 
 binach is delivered to the swords of our avengers, so sure as 
 yonder moon walks the heavens in light !” 
 
 “ First of the sons of Ireland !” repeated Owen to himself with 
 a thrill of joy ; aloud he said : “ An’ we conquer, the lady Judith 
 hath no small share in our success ; much hath she done of late 
 in nourishing the flame of patriotic ardor.” 
 
 “ I pray you name it not,” said Judith hastily, as she turned 
 away ; “I did nothing — the Scottish murderers did all — all ! 
 Come, Emmeline, let us retire ! — God keep you, general ! Bless 
 us, father, before you go to enter on your sacred office !” 
 
 Not to rest but to prayer did the ladies retire, and Malachy’s 
 signal found them still kneeling before their cross. 
 
392 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 “ Our rude array’s a jagged rock to smash the spoiler’s power, 
 
 Or need we aid, His aid we have who doom’d this gracious hour. 
 Of yore He led His Hebrew host to peace through strife and pain, 
 And us He leads the self-same path, the self-same goal to gain.” 
 
 C. G. Duffy. 
 
 “Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger’s pang, 
 
 Right up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang, 
 
 Bright was their steel, ’tis bloody now, their guns are fill’d with 
 gore ; 
 
 Thro’ shatter’d ranks, and sever’d files, and trampled flags they 
 tore ; 
 
 The English strove with desperate strength, paused, rallied, stag- 
 ger'd, fled — 
 
 The green-hill side is matted close with dying and with dead ; 
 Across the plain and far away pass’d on that hideous wrack, 
 
 While cavalier and fantassin dash in upon their track, 
 
 On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun, 
 
 With bloody plumes the Irish stand— the field is fought and won.” 
 
 Thomas Davis. 
 
 It was high noon that day when Owen Roe O’Neill appeared 
 again before the anxious watchers in the wood. He was paler 
 than his wont, and when he spoke his voice trembled slightly, 
 but his manner was even more collected than usual. 
 
 “ Judith !” said he, “ the final moment is well nigh come. 
 They have crossed at Kinnard, and driven back Colonel O’Far- 
 rel from the defile where I had placed him. They are rapidly 
 approaching.” 
 
 “ You mean to wait for them, then!” 
 
 “ Assuredly I do — my position here is well worth keeping — 
 but— but — I came to say farewell— should we meet no more — 
 God in heaven protect you and this noble damsel who hath left 
 her own to cling unto us — once more, let me persuade you to 
 remove from a place so fraught with danger — do, for God’s 
 sake, ere yet the enemy is upon us.” 
 
 “I have told you I will not go,” said Judith loftily, “and 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 393 
 
 Emmeline is resolved as I am. Whither, in God’s name, should 
 we go — our hopes are here, and here our safety lies, for if, which 
 God forfend ! Monroe is the victor to-day, no spot on Ulster 
 ground will he safe for us henceforth. A way, then, Owen ! 
 away to your post, and may the just Lord God watch over your 
 precious life, for a day of carnage, yea, a bloody day is before 
 you, — howsoever the battle goes, the slaughter will be fearful — 
 where revenge strikes on one side, and fanatic hatred on the 
 other, mercy will have no place.” 
 
 “It is true, Judith, too true,” said the chieftain sadly, then 
 turning to Angus who stood near leaning against a tree, he said 
 earnestly, “ Angus, my brave lad, I know you well. I know 
 you will guard these ladies as you would the apple of your eye. 
 Hence it is that I leave them with you. But mark me ! — if the 
 battle goes against us, take them to Charlemont without delay 
 — wait not till all is over, for then it will be too late, but go 
 before your retreat is cut off. Mark my words, I say again ! as 
 you shall answer it to me at the last great day !” 
 
 “Never fear, General! never fear!” said Angus with emotion, 
 “ but before you go, I would ask you one question. Where 
 have you placed Sir Phelim V* 
 
 “Yonder on the right wing — why do you ask, Angus'?” 
 
 “ Oh, nothing in life, general, only that I’d wish to know.” 
 Once more O’Neill turned to the fair companions. Emmeline 
 was pale as death, and trembled in every limb as she gave him 
 her hand at parting, but on Judith’s noble brow there was no 
 trace of fear ; no dark misgiving smote her heart. Her usually 
 pale cheek was tinged with a roseate hue, and her dark blue 
 eyes gleamed through their long lashes like the sapphires in a 
 royal crown. O’Neill looked at her and his heart-pulse quick- 
 ened. Like the genius of the land she stood in that hour, beau- 
 tiful and stately, bearing on her features the imprint of sorrow 
 and suffering, yet radiant with the light of hope and the inner 
 life which passes show. 
 
 “ Go forth to conquer !” said the lady as she place? her hand 
 on the chieftain’s arm ; “ son of Niall, the daughter of Cooey-na- 
 gall stakes her life on your success. Go forth — and the God of 
 battles be your aid, and Mary the Help of Christians !” 
 
394 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Strong in the righteous cause for which he fought, strong in 
 the encouragement of her whom he regarded as in some sort 
 inspired, and strong above all in the might of Him whose cor- 
 poral presence was within him, Owen Roe did go forth, and 
 mounting his war-steed, reached the centre division of his 
 army just as the Scottish columns planted their standards in 
 the plain beneath. O’Farrel’s regiment, somewhat the worse 
 for its encounter with the Scottish vanguard,* was placed in 
 the rear with the reserved corps , and then the general, with his 
 staff, rode along the line amid the enthusiastic cheers of the 
 soldiers, while 
 
 The generates beating on many a drum, 
 
 and the pipes strike up the various clan tunes. These after a 
 few bars are all merged in the noble and warlike strain, known 
 then as Planxty Sudley,f the grandest, the most inspiriting that 
 ever broke on warrior’s ear. And the hearts of the bold clans- 
 men throbbed high with joy and hope as they listened, and 
 their feet beat time to the gladsome strain, and the very horses 
 pranced and danced as though they, too, were eager for the 
 fray. Oh ! sight of joy for Erin, who would not wish to see it ! 
 
 “ When hearts are all high beating, 
 
 And the trumpet’s voice repeating 
 That song, whose breath 
 May lead to death, 
 
 But never to retreating. 
 
 Oh ! the sight entrancing, 
 
 * “ As they (the Scots) advanced they were met by Colonel Rich 
 ard O’Farrel, who occupied a narrow defile through which it was 
 necessary for the Scotch troops to pass in order to face the Irish. 
 The fire of Monroe’s guns compelled O’Neill’s officer to retire.” — 
 Confederation , p. 149. 
 
 t This noble war-tune is happily preserved to us by the artistic 
 zeal of Si^John Stephenson. Through the delightful medium of 
 Moore’s vense, it is known, I hope, to many of my readers as “ Oh ! 
 the sight entrancing !” I pity the Irish heart that is not stirred to 
 its depth by that glorious strain, so full of the martial fire which ran 
 in the veins of our Celtic fathers. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 395 
 
 When morning’s beam is glancing 
 O’er files array’d 
 With helm and blade, 
 
 And plumes in the gay wind dancing. 
 
 “ Yet, ’tis not helm or feather — 
 
 For ask yon despot, whether 
 His plumed bands 
 Could bring such hands 
 And hearts as ours together. 
 
 Leave pomps to those who need ’em — 
 
 Give man but heart and freedom, 
 
 And proud he braves 
 The gaudiest slaves 
 That crawl where monarchs lead ’em. 
 
 The sword may pierce the beaver, 
 
 Stone walls in time may sever, 
 
 *Tis mind alone, 
 
 Worth steel and stone, 
 
 That keeps men free for ever.”$ 
 
 Those words of fire were as yet unbreathed, but their spirit 
 throbs in every vein of those saffron-coated warriors who stand 
 skilfully ranged in order of battle beneath the flags of the 
 Ulster chiefs — those flags which at dawn canopied the sacred 
 elements. 
 
 As Owen O’Neill rode slowly along the line, he was joined by 
 Bishop McMahon, who had been surveying the ground and the 
 different arrangements with the eye of a veteran soldier. 
 “ Owen !” said he, “ our position here is every way admirable, 
 but how shall we manage the sun yonder, shining full in our 
 eyes %” 
 
 “ I have thought of that, my Lord,” said the general with an 
 anxious glance at the too brilliant luminary ; “ would the enemy 
 but keep quiet for a few hours all were well, but an’ they will 
 attack us, we must e’en keep them in play till the sun begins to 
 descend. How, now, Rory V’ — he was passing the Fermanagh 
 men at the moment, and the young chief stepped forward, indi- 
 cating by a sign that he wished to speak. 
 
 “ I fear for my poor uncle,” said Rory ; “he hath made up his 
 mind that he is to die this day, but not till he hath worked out 
 
 f Moore’s Irish Melodics. 
 
396 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 some conceit of his own, the which I take to be so perilous that 
 it may well end as he forebodes. Could you not send him to 
 keep guard in the wood yonder '?” 
 
 “ An’ he did, too,” said Lorcan at his elbow, “ I would not go. 
 Others can keep guard in the wood as well as I, and I might 
 thereby lose my chance of revenge. For shame, Rory ! plotting 
 against your old uncle !” 
 
 “ But, uncle, you do not know ” 
 
 “ Lorcan ! it were a post of honor, an’ you knew but all!” 
 
 “ Small thanks to either of you,” said the old man snappishly ; 
 “ I know enough to take care of my own honor — in the van I’ll 
 be, I tell you that — it wasn’t to hide myself in the wood that I 
 got the sight I did this morning !” 
 
 “ Steady, men, steady !” cried Owen O’Neill, “ they are ad- 
 vancing rapidly. Keep your ground — obey your officers — they 
 know my plans.” 
 
 “ The cavalry ! the cavalry !” — “ oh ! the hell-hounds ! a warm 
 welcome to them !” 
 
 On they went, Lord Ardes at their head, their terrible clay- 
 mores flashing in the sun. Heaven help the Irish kern, with 
 only their barradhs and glib-locks to protect their heads ! Yet 
 firm as a rock they stand with their pikes and bayonets firmly 
 clasped, prepared to resist the shock. But on and still on they 
 come, Monroe’s bloody troopers — hurrah ! mid-way on their 
 course they are greeted by a scathing fire from the bushes on 
 either side — they reel — they attempt to rally — Lord Ardes waves 
 his sabre and urges them on — thick and fast comes the deadly 
 volley from the brushwood — down go the Scots one after one, 
 man and horse rolling over down the hill-side — a panic seized 
 the troopers, and their officers losing all command of them, they 
 hastily made their retreat to the sheltering columns of the army. 
 Loud and long was the laugh that pealed after them, and Owen 
 Roe riding once more to the front, cried out : 
 
 “ Bravely done, my faithful Rapparees ! I knew it was in 
 you'?” 
 
 “ Methinks Lord Ardes will scarcely try it again, Owen,” said 
 Phelim coming forward at a gallop. “ Who may we thank for 
 that V* 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 397 
 
 “ Captain Donogh and his brave comrades,” said Owen, “ they 
 are the boys for the scrogs and bushes ! But back — back, 
 Phelim ! as I live they’re opening a cannonade ! — Heavens ! what 
 a peal ! Spare, oh, Lord ! spare our brave fellows ! Ha ! Our 
 Lady shields us well !” 
 
 Again the shout of mirthful mockery burst from the Irish 
 ranks as shot after shot boomed in quick succession from the 
 enemy’s guns without so much as harming a single man.* 
 
 “Oh! the darling were you, Owen Roe!” “The Lord bo 
 praised ! isn’t he the wonderful man !” “ See that, now !” 
 
 Amid these exulting shouts and cries of admiration, and the 
 dull roar of the heavy cannonade, a cry of anguish was heard so 
 loud and shrill and piercing that every eye was turned in the 
 direction of the altar whence the sound appeared to proceed. 
 Few could see what was going on there, but those that did found 
 it hard to keep their places in the ranks in obedience to the 
 stern voice of the general calling out at the moment : 
 
 “ Stir not a man of you, on pain of death !” 
 
 But the cry went round “ Poor Malachy na Soggarth !” and 
 soon it reached the McMahons, and the Bishop himself was 
 quickly on his knees beside the bleeding body of his humble 
 friend, for Malachy indeed it was. The poor fellow, in making 
 some new arrangement about the altar preparatory to the grand 
 celebration of thanksgiving to which he looked forward, had in- 
 cautiously ascended the steps, and, thus exposed, became a 
 mark for some deadly shot, the Puritans, doubtless, taking him 
 for a priest. Fitting death surely for Malachy na Soggarth ! 
 
 Judith and Emmeline were already on the spot supporting the 
 inanimate form between them and endeavoring to stanch the 
 blood that flowed profusely from the breast. 
 
 “ My poor, poor Malachy !” said the bishop in a choking 
 voice as he leaned over him ; “ is there life in him, think you'?” 
 Laying his hand on the poor fellow’s heart, he shook his head 
 
 * Rinuccini and other good authorities state that in this first can- 
 nonade of the Scotch hut one man of the Irish was slain, owing to 
 the admirable disposition of the army by the skill and foresight of 
 Owen Roe. 
 
398 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 mournfully — “ Alas ! alas ! Malachy !” he murmured while the 
 tears streamed from his eyes, “ it will never beat again ! God 
 rest your soul in peace ! Let us lay him here on the steps, my 
 daughters ! till we see how the battle goes ! Your lives are 
 not safe here, and / must away where duty calls ” 
 
 “ But can we do nothing for him, my lord?” said Judith anx- 
 iously. 
 
 “Nothing, nothing! — my poor Malachy is beyond mortal 
 succor !” 
 
 “ For Heaven’s sake, Judith ! let us go !” said the more timid 
 Emmeline, shrinking with terror as a cannon-ball raked up the 
 ground within a few feet and went bounding away towards the 
 wood. 
 
 “ She is right,” said the bishop ; “ haste away, I implore — I 
 command you !” — and then tenderly he laid the body of his late 
 sacristan on the lowest step of the altar, saying : “ Rest you 
 there, Malachy ! till I return, if return I do or may.” 
 
 By this time Angus and some others of the Rapparees were 
 hurrying the ladies back to the wood, and seeing Malacliy’s 
 body they would have taken it too, but hearing that the bishop 
 had placed it where it was, they reluctantly left it behind. 
 
 “ Poor Malachy na Soggarth ' are you the first ?” sighed An- 
 gus; “ God knows who will be the last — you’ll be well revenged, 
 anyhow, before night !” 
 
 Back to the post of danger flew the bishop, and he found the 
 Clan McMahon busily engaged in a skirmish with the enemy 
 whilst Owen Roe himself and young Rory Maguire were charg- 
 ing with well-feigned impetuosity ; indeed all along the line the 
 Irish forces were more or less in action, now advancing, now re- 
 tiring, yet still maintaining their ground, with all the disadvan- 
 tage of a strong sun shining full in their faces, and the wind 
 blowing the smoke of the Scottish guns right against them. 
 Still they had the counter advantage of position, posted as they 
 were between two hills with the wood on their rear, whereas 
 the Puritans were hemmed in between the river and a wide- 
 spreading bog. Little recked they, in their pride, that the saf- 
 fron-coated kern held the hill-sides above them — were they not 
 delivered unto them? yea, even the elements lent their aid 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 399 
 
 against them, and the snn himself struck them, as it were, with 
 blindness — verily, God’s judgments were upon those idolators, 
 and their strength must wither like grass before the wrathful 
 eyes of the elect. 
 
 With this impression on their minds, the Puritan generals 
 made charge after charge on the Iri h columns, now with horse, 
 now with foot, and again with both. Somehow, “ the idolaters” 
 were not quite so easily overcome, as they, in their fanatical 
 faith, had believed. It is true they seemed to fight rather shy, 
 as though fearing to come in too close Contact with the swords 
 of the righteous, but with the agility of mountain-goats and the 
 cunning of foxes they managed to elude the furious onslaught 
 of the Puritans. Truly was Owen Roe styled the Fabius of his 
 country, for such generalship has rarely been displayed in any 
 age — such consummate skill and prudence, as the field of Ben- 
 burb witnessed that day. 
 
 It was a strange and a curious sight to see the way in which 
 Owen kept Monroe and his legions in play for full four hours on 
 the bright June day, until the patience of his own people was 
 all but worn out, and the Scotch, who had been fighting with 
 all their might, well nigh exhausted and frenzied with disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 Monroe’s shrill voice was heard full often urging on his offi- 
 cers, and O’Neill’s made, as it were, a mocking echo. It was 
 “ Cunningham forward on the right” — “ McMahon to the front’ !‘ 
 — “ Hamilton advance !” — “ O’Rielly forward !” 
 
 Much grumbling was heard amongst the O’Rourkes on find- 
 ing that the O’Reillys, not they, were in front of the Hamiltons, 
 and Sir Phelim O’Neill could hardly restrain his indignation that 
 he was left out of the count and reduced to a state of inactivity, 
 which he deemed a grievous wrong. Owen Roe smiled as he 
 heard these complaints, and told them all to have patience. 
 “ Wait till you can see them,” said he, “ and then, men of Erin, 
 you may, perchance, have your way !” 
 
 It was fortunate that the army had such boundless confidence 
 in the wisdom of its general, for there lived not the man on Irish 
 ground, save Owen himself, that could have kept the clans back 
 so long, and to rush headlong on the Scotch with the dazzling 
 
400 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 sun and the drifting smoke striking full upon them, would have 
 been certain destruction. 
 
 Old Lorcan Maguire was on thorns. Although perfectly com- 
 prehending the cause of Owen’s holding back, he still could not 
 restrain his impatience, and many an angry glance he gave 
 through his closed eyelids at the provokingly bright sun that 
 would not let him see what most he wished to see. 
 
 “ Rory !” said he at last to his nephew, “ your eyes are young- 
 er and stronger than mine — can you tell me whereabouts Blay- 
 ney is — they say he’s with the cavalry.” 
 
 “ Why, to be sure, uncle ! there he is with his troop on the 
 left flank close by Hamilton’s dragoons. I have my eye on him 
 never fear !” . 
 
 “That’s well, my boy, that’s well — God bless you, Rory!” 
 A ball whizzed past the old man’s ear at the moment, but so 
 wrapped was he in his own thoughts that he heeded it not, al- 
 though it drew from his nephew an exclamation of alarm. A 
 very short time after that a stir was perceptible amongst the 
 Irish. The sun was, at length, behind them, and the wind sud- 
 denly changing, the smoke of all the artillery was blown in the 
 faces of the Scotch, stunning them with the effect of a hard 
 blow. * 
 
 By some rapid evolutions, made at the moment, by the or- 
 ders of Owen Roe, Hamilton of Leitrim found himself faced by 
 his neighbors, the O’Rourkes, amongst whom were conspicuous 
 the square-built, athletic figure of Manus, and the stately form 
 of his chief. Blayney was likewise confronted by his old ac- 
 quaintances, the McMahons of Uriel, headed by their own chief, 
 whilst Sir Robert Stewart and his bloody troopers stood face to 
 face with the stern O’Cahans of the mountains. All these 
 changes were effected with the quickness almost of thought, and 
 then Owen Roe, surveying with that piercing eye of his the con- 
 fusion prevailing amongst the Scotch, cast another glance along 
 his own line to see that all was to his liking. He smiled and 
 murmured softly to himself : “ Now may Christ and His Blessed 
 Mother be our stay !” • 
 
 Ay ! the moment is come at last — the Scotch are confused and 
 bewildered — they cannot fight, it would seem, as the Irish did, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 401 
 
 through sun and smoke — their generals see the danger — they 
 see the ominous movements going on amongst the Confederates 
 — they use every effort to restore order in their own ranks, and 
 in part they succeed. With oaths and curses Hamilton forces 
 his men into line — Monroe conjures — commands his stern Scot- 
 tish veterans to stand fast for the dear sake of the Covenant, and 
 smite the reprobate with the strong arm of righteousness. 
 
 But the Irish — how eagerly they watch their General’s eye- 
 how bitterly they laugh as the blasphemous’ exhortations of the 
 Scottish generals reach their ears. 
 
 “ A hundred years of wrong shall make their vengeance strong ! 
 
 A hundred years of outrage, and blasphemy, and broil ; 
 
 Since the spirit of Unrest sent forth on her behest 
 
 The Apostate and the Puritan, to do their work of spoil.”* 
 
 By a sudden impulse, as it were, Owen Roe threw himself 
 into the midst of his army, and pointing to the enemy, he cried : 
 
 “ Soldiers ! you have your way ! — They have sun and wind 
 against them now as we had before. They waver already, 
 though Monroe is trying to rally for another charge. Strike 
 home now for God and Country, — for martyred priests and 
 slaughtered .kin — for your women’s nameless wrongs — the Ham- 
 iltons are there — remember Tiernan O’Rourke and the sacred 
 martyr of Sligo — remember all — all , my brothers — remember 
 all the past — Lhink of the future that awaits your country if you 
 are beaten here to-day — but beaten you cannot be — you have 
 purified your souls in the laver of penance, you have received 
 the blessing sent you from the vicegerent of Christ — you are 
 strong — your cause is holy — you must and shall conquer. On, 
 then, on, to death or victory ! I myself will lead the way, and 
 let him that fails to follow remember that he abandons his 
 general !” 
 
 “ Cursed be he who does !” cried Sir Phelim ; “ I’ll take care 
 it shan’t be me !” 
 
 He threw himself from Brien’s back as he spoke, and flung 
 the bridle to Shamus, who was close by his side. Every colonel 
 of the army instantly followed his example amid the applauding 
 
 * Hon. G. S. Smythe’s Catholic Cavalier. 
 
402 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 cheers of the men, and then waving their broadswords on high, 
 down they dashed on the astonished Puritans, their men hound- 
 ing after and around them, with the terrible force of the cataract. 
 Once more the cry of “ Lamb dearg aboo !” awoke the echoes 
 of the woods, striking terror to the hearts of the murderous 
 crew who had so long revelled in the blood of the Irish. In vain 
 did Monroe, seeing the approaching avalanche, order Lord Ardes, 
 with a squadron of horse, to clear a way through the Irish foot ; 
 in vain — in vain — his cavalry met the rushing war-ade, and the 
 pikes of the kern, piercing the breasts of the horses, drove 
 them back, maddened and affrighted, on the ranks of their own 
 infantry whose bayonets met them in the rear. Death ! death ! 
 death and fury ! where is that haughty squadron now 1 Annihi- 
 lated, save a few officers who were taken prisoners, Lord Ardes 
 himself amongst the number. Now Hamilton and Blayney — 
 Stewart and Montgomery look to it — look to the doom that is 
 on you ! Strong, fierce and powerful this day are those whom 
 so long you have hunted as beasts — the O’Rourkes are in your 
 midst with their terrible pikes and battle-axes — the McGuires 
 and McMahons are flaying you down as though each had the 
 strength of an hundred men — the O’Cahans are drunk with joy 
 as Stewart’s men go down in heaps beneath their crushing blows, 
 and the wild aboo is ringing high over all the sounds of fight, as 
 the clansmen follow their valiant chiefs on and on through the 
 dread array, shouting as they go the words of doom. Oh ! the 
 might that was in Owen’s arm a^, first of all, he clove his way to 
 the heart of the Scottish host, hi3 plume of green and white 
 passing on like a meteor through the battle-cloud. And close 
 behind him followed Sir Pbelim, dealing death on every side 
 and smiling grimly at the dull inertness of the Scotch, for it 
 seemed as though a spell had fallen on them all and the strength 
 had left their arms. Here and there, however, the generals 
 were making an effort to rally them, reminding them that retreat 
 was death. Once the savage Hamilton encountered the knight 
 of Kinnard, and leaning forward in his saddle aimed such a 
 deadly thrust at his heart that stout Phelim's life were not worth 
 a straw, had not a pike at the moment pierced Hamiltons’s horse 
 through the head, and he fell to the ground with his rider under. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 403 
 
 It was the faithful Shamus who had dealt the blow that saved 
 his chieftain’s life, but he well nigh paid the penalty of his own, 
 for some three or four of Hamilton’s men, believing their leader 
 slain, attacked the brave fellow with their ponderous axes. 
 
 “ Come on, you hell-hounds ! I’m ready for you !” cried Sha- 
 mus with a flourish of his trusty pike, while Sir Phelim, turning 
 at the sound of his voice, clove the foremost of his assailants 
 well nigh to thebelt. Alas ! the tide of battle rushing on, speed- 
 ily carried away the knight, and left Shamus still wedged in 
 with the wrathful followers of Hamilton. Forgotten as he 
 thought himself by his friends, O’Hagan faced his enemies with 
 the courage of a lion, and two of them fell beneath his stalwart 
 arm, but the third, a gigantic fellow, maddened by the fate of 
 his comrades, grasped his weapon with both hands and aimed 
 such a blow at his opponent’s head as would have shattered a 
 bar of iroD. Great God ! what means that piercing scream ! 
 Who is it that rushes between, receives the impending stroke, 
 and saves the life of Shamus 1 It is Angus Dhu whom Shamus 
 catches in his arms with a cry of anguish, and forgetful of his 
 own danger, of all save the friend who has given his life for him, 
 he makes his way with maniac force through the thick of the 
 fight, brandishing his bloody pike in one hand, while the other 
 arm clasps to his breast the bleeding form of the gallant young 
 Rapparee to all appearance dead. By the time he laid his 
 sorrowful burden on the sward beside the altar, the gay green 
 jacket, ever worn so jauntily, was wet with the life-blood from 
 the faithful heart, yet the youth opened his eyes for a moment, 
 and smiled as he saw Shamus. He murmured faintly : 
 
 “ Aileen has got the ring, Shamus ! — the Lady Judith will 
 find it— next the heart — that loved you best — she will tell you 
 — all ” 
 
 “ Judith is here,” said a soft voice close at hand. “ But, mer- 
 ciful God! Angus — Aileen, my child! is it you 'l Oh, woe! woe ! 
 was it for this you left me 1” 
 
 “ What else would take me — dearest lady ! — but to watch — 
 over Shamus 1 I know it was wrong — to leave my post — ask 
 the general’s pardon for me — he’ll not refuse it to you. Shamus ! 
 poor Shamus ! don’t look so wild — be pacified— I couldn’t live 
 
404 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 forever, and what death could be more welcome to me than 
 this ? We’ll meet again — maybe soon — I’d wish to see Phelim 
 — but there’s no time — bid him farewell for me, and tell him I 
 have done my share — in revenging — Island Magee ! Pray — 
 pray for poor Aileen — Lord Jesus ! have mercy — mercy ! Mary, 
 Mother of Christians ! — help me now — now ” 
 
 “ Aileen ! Aileen !” shouted Sliamus, and he snatched the 
 dying girl to his breast again — “ Aileen ! sure it isn’t dying you’d 
 be 7 — sure you wouldn’t leave me after all thisl” A bright 
 smile beamed again on the pallid face, and there it rested — 
 Aileen was with the dead ! 
 
 It was hard to convince * Shamus that all was over, but when 
 once he was convinced, he sprang to his feet, and imprinting a 
 long kiss on the pale lips of his betrothed, he placed her gently 
 in the arms of Emmeline who sat weeping by whilst Judith 
 knelt to offer up a prayer for the departed spirit. 
 
 “ I’ll leave her here,” said he, “ for a start till I go back to 
 my work. My work! ha! ha! ha! ay! my work! We must 
 make an end of it this day, anyhow ! Oh ! ladies ! dear ladies ! 
 look at her — wasn’t she the beauty! But oh! oh! the trick 
 she played on me ! And she telling me that time when Phelim 
 and me went to see her that I was never, .never to go back 
 next or nigh her — either me or Phelim — till the war would be 
 over and the country free, and the Scotch murderers clean 
 gone! — oh Aileen! Aileen! But what am I standing here for 
 when there’s such good work to be done ! Now God direct me 
 to Sir Phelim !” 
 
 Away he darted with the speed of a lap- wing, nor stopped till 
 he made his way again to the side of his chief, thanking God 
 that he, at least, was still spared. 
 
 Just then old Lorcan Maguire was carried by bleeding pro- 
 fusely from a wound in the chest. The brave old man was near 
 his last, yet he caught Sir Phelim’s eye for a moment, and he 
 smiled a grim smile. 
 
 “I’m done for, Phelim!” he hoarsely articulated, “but so is 
 he too ! The villain that swore Connor’s life away ! I swore to 
 do it this day, and I’ve kept my word ! God have mercy on 
 my soul !” The seer of Fermanagh spoke never more. 
 
• THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 405 
 
 It was true enough foi Lorcan. Blayney was found amongst 
 the slain. His fall struck terror into the hearts of the Scotch, 
 but their misfortunes were not at the height. All that dreadful 
 evening the work of death went on — the fanatics falling every- 
 where like grass benea'h the scythe of the mower. Many hun- 
 dreds had already perished, when the Rapparees, breaking from 
 the bushes and thickets around, rushed into the contest fresh 
 and vigorous with the terrible cry : 
 
 “ Island Magee — Death to the bloody Scots !” 
 
 Like a fiery torrent on they passed, young Donogh at their 
 head looking like one of the athletes of old, his slight figure 
 dilated, it would seem, beyond its wonted proportions, his arm 
 endowed with giant strength by the mightiness of his wrongs, 
 though he knew not then that the last of his race had fallen 
 beneath a Scottish axe but a little while before. 
 
 It was the day of awful retribution: The opportunity so long 
 promised to the outraged clans of Ulster, and good use they 
 made of it. The might of the oppressor was withered as grass, 
 and the stoutest soldiers of the Covenant went down before the 
 fiery clansmen of the north, and the legions of the tyrant were 
 swept away like dry stubble in the flame, until the terrified- sur- 
 vivors, as evening drew on, finding no other retreat open to 
 them, began to precipitate themselves into the river, where 
 many hundreds perished.* Monroe did not wait to see the end 
 of it.’ He made his escape from that scene of carnage long be- 
 fore the set of sun, nor drew bridle, as was afterwards found, 
 till he gained the protecting walls of Lisnagarvey — a feat quite 
 in keeping with the man’s character. 
 
 The strangest thing of all was that but seventy of the Irish 
 were slain in that battle, whilst two thousand three hundred of 
 the enemy were found dead on the field, exclusive of those who 
 found a grave in the Blackwater. 
 
 * Protestant and Catholic historians all agree that the Battle of 
 Benburb was one of the most tremendous victories ever gained by 
 Irish valor. The admirable prudence and military skill displayed 
 by Owen O’Neill are loudly extolled even by such writers as War- 
 ner, Wright, Leland, &c. 
 
406 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Of the chiefs and gentlemen of Ulster, not one fell that day 
 save Lorcan Maguire. Some were wounded but not dangerously. 
 When the drums sounded the recall, and all came together at 
 the foot of the altar, by the light of the rising moon, how warm- 
 ly did each press the other’s hand, how fervently thank God. 
 Bishop McMahon and the priests intoned a solemn thanksgiving, 
 and recited the De Profundis for those who had fallen. Then 
 Owen Roe demanded of his officers what prisoners they had 
 taken, and first of all addressed Sir Phelim. 
 
 “ Prisoners !” said the stalwart knight disdainfully, “ prisoners, 
 Owen ! by my word, I have not one — my object was to kill 
 what I could !” 
 
 “I have a prisoner!” said Donogh coming forward with a 
 bob-wig on the end of his pike, and a war-cloak carelessly over 
 his arm ; “ Monroe left us these as love-tokens.” 
 
 A roar of laughter greeted the trophies, indicative, as they 
 w r ere, of the haste wherewith the owner had decamped. But 
 the wig and cloak were not the only trophies of the victory. 
 All the baggage, artillery, and ammunition of the Scotch was 
 taken, and, likewise, all their banners. These, with twenty-one 
 officers,. remained in the hands of the Irish, and it is graphically 
 said by some of our historians that so great was the amount of 
 booty taken, that “ even the meanest soldier was weary with 
 plunder.” Other matters connected with this splendid victory 
 will be found in our next chapter. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 407 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 “ Hide not thy tears ; weep boldly — and be proud 
 To give the flowing virtue manly way ; 
 
 ’Tis nature’s mark to know an honest heart by, 
 
 Shame on those breasts of stone that cannot melt 
 In soft adoption of another’s sorrow !” 
 
 Aaron Hill. 
 
 “ When love’s well-timed, ’tis not a fault to love : • 
 
 The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise, 
 
 Sink in the soft captivity together.” 
 
 Addison’s Cato. 
 
 The bonfire that blazed that night on the hill of Benburb sent 
 a thrill of delight through the heart of old Ulster. Its meaning 
 was well understood, for in rapid succession every mountain-top 
 sent up its pillar of fire shaming the brightness of the summer 
 moon. The joyous acclamations of the multitudes reached not 
 the ears of the victorious chieftains by the Blackwater, but they 
 watched, nevertheless, with swelling hearts, the beacon-fires 
 that were proclaiming to a grateful people the news of their 
 triumph. They knew that prayers were going up for them from 
 ten thousand happy hearts, and that hi Is and vales were ringing 
 with the joyful sounds : 
 
 “ Owen Roe has beaten the Scotch !” 
 
 Oh ! it was a joyous night, a glorious night for the Catholic 
 people of Ulster ; and they basked in the brightness of the mo- 
 ment without thinking of the clouds that might yet darken the 
 horizon. Owen Roe himself as he stood with Bishop McMahon, 
 Sir Phelim and others of the chiefs, looking abroad over the 
 rejoicing land, could not help catching the enthusiasm of all 
 around, and his bosom throbbed with the buoyancy of early 
 youth as, turning to the Bishop, he said : 
 
 “ Truly we have cause for rejoicing — blessed be His name 
 who hath done such great things for us ! Have I not redeemed 
 my word, oh ! friends and brothers — said I not well that we should 
 have a day of reckoning I” 
 
408 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 “By the soul of Nial ! Owen,” said Phelim with a vigorous 
 grasp of the hand, “ you have made clean work of it ! A few 
 such days as this would leave Ireland in our own hands mayhap 
 for eyer ! If that rascally crew in the Pale above would only 
 put their shoulders to the wheel as we do, we would soon send 
 the robbers packing — that is, if any were left to pack !” 
 
 “ I hope McMahon and O’Rourke are pleased now,” said 
 Owen again, as he turned to the chieftains named, “and my 
 young friend Roderick — but where is Roderick 7 — I trust no 
 harm hath come unto him !” 
 
 “ Not so, general,” said Bishop Heber, “ not so — thank God ! 
 the young chief is well in body, but grievously troubled in mind 
 for the loss of his good old uncle ” 
 
 “ What ! is Lorcan slain ?” 
 
 “ Ay, marry is he — methought you knew how he sought 
 Blayney out and struck him down in the midst of his troopers, 
 then sold his life as dearly as he could — alas ! poor Lorcan ! — 
 the hero of many a field — he hath gone to the company of his 
 friends ‘ the spirits !’ And my poor Malachy — ah ! Owen, my 
 heart is sore for that queer, quaint, simple, and most faithful 
 follower whose oddity diverted me full oft from grave and pain- 
 ful thoughts ! May he rest in peace, 0 Lord.” 
 
 “ Who else hath fallen 7" said Owen with emotion. He 
 started on hearing the name of Angus Dhu. So, too, did 
 Phelim. 
 
 “ Angus Dhu !” repeated Owen in a faltering voice, “ it 
 cannot be — I left him on guard in the wood with a small party 
 of his comrades — could he have betrayed his trust 7 — no, no, I 
 will not believe it !” 
 
 “ It is true, nevertheless,” said the trembling voice of Father 
 Phelimy from behind ; “ it is true, but blame not the youth till 
 you have heard all !” 
 
 “ Good God ! father, and how fares it with — our friends 1” 
 cried Owen in an agitated voice. 
 
 “ They are well, I thank my God, but much occupied in 
 caring the wounded.” 
 
 “ Lead me to them, reverend father ! I pray you !” said 
 Owen in a low voice, and they turned away together. No smile 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 409 
 
 was on tlie face of any left behind — not even Sir Phelim ven- 
 tured on a jest, though all knew well who were the general’s 
 “friends.” The exalted character of the Lady Judith and the 
 immensity of Emmeline’s sorrows placed them far beyond the 
 reach of mockery or derision, and, moreover, the chieftains of 
 Owen Roe’s army looked upon both as the special objects of 
 their protection. 
 
 An hour later and 
 
 “ The mess-tents are Full, and the glasses are set,” 
 
 and the chieftains and the officers all await the coming of Owen 
 Roe to commence the banquet, but Owen Roe cared little for 
 festivity; he still lingered in the sylvan hospital where Judith 
 and the priests were in attendance on the wounded. In many 
 cases the general himself assisted the doctors to dress and bind 
 up the wounds of the sufferers, and the fervent blessings which 
 greeted him on every side in that abode of pain were dearer to 
 his heart than the enthusiastic cheers of his army. 
 
 It was there lie found the young chieftain of Fermanagh with 
 some gentlemen of his own blood, kneeling beside the corpse of 
 p'oor Lorcan where it lay with a war cloak thrown over it in 
 the shade of a spreading sycamore. At the opposite side was a 
 slight female figure crouched on the ground, and wrapped in a 
 dark mantle. It was easy to guess that this was Emmeline, 
 whose absence from Judith's company Owen had noticed. She 
 looked up for a moment from under her hood and met the 
 general’s eye. A slight flush suffused her cheek, and she 
 murmured in tremulous accents : 
 
 “ He is dead — Connor’s uncle is dead — he who was so long 
 my protector and companion in danger — he was more a father 
 to me than he who bore that name — he is dead, dead — and I am 
 desolate!” She covered her face again. 
 
 “ It is even so, general !” said Roderick rising from his knees 5 
 “ Lorcan Maguire is no more — look there !”— and raising the 
 cloak which covered the body he showed the face of the stern 
 old warrior, noble even in the fixed repose of death. “ Ay ! 
 you may wail him, too, Owen O’Neil ! for no truer heart followed 
 your standard — wo ! wo ! for the sons of the waters ! — heavy 
 18 
 
410 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 will their hearts be, brother of my father ! and loud the wail of 
 our women when Lorcan is borne home to them thus from this 
 field of blood !” 
 
 Owen said not a word, but he took the chieftain’s hand in 
 silence, and he pressed it between his own, while the tears that 
 moistened his eye-lid showed the strength of his emotion. 
 Turning, he ga-zed a moment on the venerable face of the dead, 
 then knelt and bowed his head on his hand, and thus remained 
 for several minutes in earnest supplication for the repose of 
 that guileless soul. 
 
 Passing on a little farther, the general found a numerous 
 party of the McMahons keeping watch around the body of poor 
 Malachy. It lay on the velvet sward in front of the altar which 
 his hands had raised, with the cold pale moonlight streaming 
 down on the stony features. Bishop Heber knelt beside the 
 mortal remains of his humble friend, and the chieftain stood 
 leaning against the end of the altar with folded arms and a 
 moody brow looking down on the ghastly shell that had en- 
 closed so pure a spirit, so loving a heart. Ow§n Roe knelt to 
 say a short prayer for the dead, and the sight of him there 
 drew tears from the eyes of Art Oge, for he thought how proud 
 poor simple Malachy would be were he conscious of the honor 
 done him by “ the general.” And the clansmen who sat or 
 knelt in silence around, felt their bosoms glow and their hearts 
 throb with renewed affection for that chosen leader. He tar- 
 ried but a moment amongst, them, however, for his mind was 
 full of troubled thought, and his heart impelled him onward to 
 the place where, like a ministering angel, the lady Judith was 
 bending over a wounded soldier, whose tartan pointed him out 
 as a McDonnell from the Glynns. 
 
 Owen O’Neill spoke not, but he stood a moment looking on 
 the beautiful picture of Christian charity and his shadow falling 
 over the wounded, and (as it appeared') dying man, Judith was 
 made aware of his presence. She looked up with a sad smile, 
 and said almost in a whisper : 
 
 “ He is passing away, I fear — Father Eugene administered to 
 him a little while ago. Ah ! my friend ! such is the price of 
 victory !” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 411 
 
 “God help us all, so it is! — but, Judith, can I have speech 
 of you a moment 1” 
 
 One of the doctor’s attendants came up just then, and Juditb, 
 giving the man in charge to him, walked on by the general’s 
 side. They were still in sight of all, but not in hearing, when 
 O’Neill stopped and so did the lady, and their eyes met. A 
 glow was on the cheek of each, but it was the 'glow of enthu- 
 siasm and not of passion. 
 
 “ Judith !” said Owen Roe, “ are you so far content!” 
 
 “ How could I be otherwise ! Heaven be praised ! you have 
 done marvellously well. An’ this day’s work be followed up as 
 it ought to be, the Puritans will speedily betake themselves 
 whence they came, to avoid utter annihilation. Then, Owen,” — 
 she stopped as if overcome by the strength of her own vivid ima- 
 ginings. Her dark thoughtful eyes were suffused with tears, 
 but they were tears of joy and fervent hope. 
 
 “And then!” — O’Neill repeated in a tone of eager expect- 
 ation all unusual with him. 
 
 “ Why, need I tell you what will follow! — surely, Owen Roe 
 can well picture to himself the joy, the peace, the happiness of 
 a people ransomed from slavery — the glory that will shine on 
 our ancient hills when the Lord of Hosts manifests His power 
 on behalf of His so-long afflicted people, and the pride of the 
 tyrant will be humbled — yea for ever!” — she fixed her gaze 
 on the starry firmament where the queen of night was shining 
 in lonely splendor, and a dreamy, yet tender look stole over 
 her noble features — “ yea for ever — for ever,” she slowly ejacu- 
 lated; “ no more such pitiful murders — no more such sights as 
 I have seen — and this will you do, Owen O’Neill — you yourself,” 
 she added with sudden animation, turning her kindling eye on 
 the chieftain. “ Who but you is in all things fitted for so great 
 a work !” 
 
 “ Your commendation is sweet to mine ear,” said Owen, “ ay, 
 truly, and balm to my heart — but, Judith, sister, friend, coun- 
 sellor ! you have given me leave to hope that a yet closer tie 
 may one day bind us to each other. When will the day come !” 
 
 “ When the last link is broken of Ireland’s galling chain,” 
 Judith promptly replied “when the dark valley of blood and 
 
412 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 death is^passed, and the halcyon settles down on the storm-tossed 
 waters, — when the sons and daughters of Ireland are free to 
 worship God in open day without let or hindrance, then, Owen 
 O’Neill ! my hand shall go with my heart to him whose plume 
 waved the highest, whose arm struck the heaviest in this day’s 
 fight — to him v^hose matchless skill and wisdom have brought 
 about, under God, this glorious result — the precursor, I trust in 
 Heaven’s mercy ! of yet greater things to come.” 
 
 Owen O’Neill was no passionate lover, — neither was Judith 
 O’Cahan the woman to inspire or to feel what is commonly called 
 love — no, the heart of each was engrossed by higher and holier 
 aspirations than any purely selfish feeling could ever elicit — they 
 were both chastened and refined by the pure flame of patriotism 
 commingled with religion — yet was there in the depth of either 
 heart an enthusiastic appreciation of the other, and a sympathy 
 had from the first existed between them more strong and endur- 
 ing than mere love could ever be. The esteem and approbation 
 of Judith were amongst the strongest inducements which Owen 
 had in view, as the lofty enthusiasm of her character and the 
 womanly grace and delicacy of her demeanor threw a charm 
 around the brief moments of their intercourse and diffused a 
 halo of poetic light over the dreary toils of warfare. Few w r ere 
 the souls with which Owen O’Neill held communion, and of those 
 few Judith O’Cahan’s was the first. The effect of such words as 
 she had just spoken, then, may well be imagined. 
 
 He took the hand which she held out to him, and held it fast, 
 and he looked long and earnestly on the faded but still beau- 
 tiful face of his betrothed, and he read as in a book through 
 the soft clear eyes, the loving and gentle, yet high and holy 
 thoughts that were passing within. He felt that as far as 
 Judith’s heart was accessible to human love it was his, and he 
 asked no more. He was well content that God should hold the 
 first place in the heart of that perfect creature of His hands. 
 
 “Judith!” he said still holding her hand between his own, 
 “ Judith ! I am content to wait until the work of redemption 
 be accomplished — like you I feel that the present is not the 
 time for .selfish enjoyment — no, no, we could not be happy 
 even in each other, whilst our friends are falling around us, 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 413 
 
 martyrs to the holy cause. Go back now, beloved, to your 
 tlirice-blessed ministry of mercy — and I will return to the 
 duties of mine office, cheered and refreshed by these few 
 moments — alas! how few and brief! spent in your sweet 
 company.” 
 
 Yet another fond pressure of the hand, another wistful, ling- 
 ering look and Owen Roe was hurrying away to see after the 
 condition of his prisoners, when a low moaning struck painfully 
 on his ear, and starting he said : 
 
 “Good God, Judith! are there yet other mourners here- 
 abouts T’ 
 
 “ Truly yes, Owen ! mayhap the most heartstruck of all — 
 an’ you heard not of this before, prepare yourself for a pitiful 
 sight !” 
 
 “ Mother of Heaven ! my brave Donogh — and Shamus Beg ! 
 ■ — who — who is the dead 
 
 “ The one that was known to you as Angus Dhu,” said the 
 Rapparee. Captain rising slowly from his half-recumbent posture. 
 
 “ Angus Dhu !” repeated Owen in faltering accents; “ surely, 
 surely, he is not dead — the bravest, noblest, gentlest heart” — 
 he could say no more. 
 
 “ God bless you, general !” said Donogh in a choking voice ; 
 “ Angus was all you say, but he is dead for all that ” 
 
 “ Ay, dead, dead and cold,” muttered Shamus in a dreary, 
 dreamy tone, without raising his head from between his hands 
 where he sat on the ground near the head of the corpse. “ And 
 I’m here alive, God forgive me !” 
 
 The body was laid on a couch of fresh green fern, and ovpr 
 it was thrown, whether by accident or design, one of the flags 
 captured from the enemy, a costly piece of snow-white silk, 
 emblazoned with the arms of Blayney, and tinted in many places 
 with a crimson hue, suggestive of the death struggle in which 
 it was lost and won. Slowly and reverently Owen Roe raised 
 the covering from the face of the corpse, but seeing it, he 
 started back amazed and bewildered ! it was the face of a young 
 and handsome female — it was that, too, of Angus Dhu, wanting 
 the light of the dark flashing eyes, and softened into feminine 
 gentleness by the smile that rested on the features. The form 
 
414 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 was arrayed in the ghastly habiliments of the grave, and this 
 was, of itself, not the least of the marvels that struck Owen’s 
 sight. 
 
 “ Donogh ! — Lady Judith!” he exclaimed, “who is this? — 
 what do I behold?” 
 
 “ You behold my sister Aileen, General !” said Donogh in 
 tremulous accents; “she and I were all of our family that 
 escaped alive from Island Magee. It was Shamus there that 
 saved her at the risk of his own life (there was a promise of 
 marriage between them long before), and as he and I both 
 thought, we left her in a place of safety till the war would be 
 over. The poor colleen made us promise at our off-going that 
 we wouldn’t either of us go next or nigh her till the Scots were 
 cut off root and branch, and the ancient faith established once 
 more in Ulster. She had taken it in head, you see, General, 
 to be with us herself, without our knowing it, and to do what 
 she could, be it less or more, against the cursed crew that had 
 shed the blood of our aged parents and all our kin.* And sure, 
 sure it was little myself thought when I used to see Angus 
 slashing away at the bloody Puritans, cutting them down right 
 and left, that it was our light-hearted little Aileen that was in it 
 all the time — Aileen that we never could get to kill a chicken— 
 Aileen that wouldn’t crush a worm ” 
 
 “You didn’t tell how she came by her death,” broke in 
 
 * Let no reader suppose this an improbable occurrence in a time 
 of such universal excitement, when all ages, and both sexes were 
 drawn, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, into the vortex of stormy 
 passion. Grose, in the second volume of his Irish Antiquities , re- 
 lates an affecting instance of this kind which occurred in 1642, in the 
 battle fought near Ballintubber, in the County Roscommon : “ It is 
 recorded,” says he, “ that a young Irish gentleman behaved on this 
 occasion with singular bravery ; for, after his party fled, he placed 
 himself at the corner of a ditch, where he defended himself with his 
 pike against five horsemen, who fired on him : a gigantic English 
 soldier, getting behind him, slew him. Being stripped, and his mon- 
 tero taken from his head, long tresses of flaxen hair fell down ; this 
 farther exciting curiosity, it was at length discovered that this gallant 
 youth was a female.” 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 415 
 
 Shamus with a wild glance around ; “ tell the General, can’t you! 
 that the life I saved for her she gave up for me— how she came 
 between me and the stroke of death — and got it herself — but 
 now that you have heard so much, General !” he added, jump- 
 ing suddenly to his feet, “ I must tell you the rest — do you sea 
 those stains on the banner there'?” pointing to the one that 
 covered the body. 
 
 “I do, Shamus!” said Owen Roe very gently; “what ba 
 they ?” 
 
 “ I’ll just tell you that,” and approaching him, he laid his 
 hand on his arm and whispered in quite a confidential way, still 
 pointing a-t the ghastly object, “ that’s the heart’s-blood of 
 Lindsay — Lindsay, you know, that was foremost in the chase 
 of Aileen and me that night — Lindsay that swore he’d have her 
 in spite of hell— ho ! ho ! ho ! when I had him in my power 
 once before, honor and your bidding tied my hands — but I met 
 him to-day, after I left Aileen here dead , and there’s no use 
 saying what I did, but — but— there's the stain on the flag he 
 had in his hand — that tells the story ! But oh ! Aileen, 
 Aileen !” — with a sudden burst of grief — “ sure that doesn’t bring 
 you back to me — bow can I live at all and you dead and gone 
 from me ! — oh ! Blessed Virgin ! is it dreaming I am or what — 
 or what V’ And with that poor Shamus sank again into the 
 listless apathy of woe. 
 
 “ Heaven’s mercy on her soul !” ejaculated Judith as she care- 
 fully smoothed back the dark tre«ses which the raising of the 
 strange pall had slightly ruffled on poor Aileen’s marble brow. 
 “ It is long since she told me her secret, and the heroic soul 
 which dwelt within that slight form was mayhap better known 
 to me than to any other human being. Emmeline, too, was of 
 late in her confidence, and it was our privilege to prepare her 
 for decent burial ere yet any of the soldiers had returned from 
 the field.” 
 
 “ May Heaven reward your ladyship, for we can not !” said 
 Donogh fervently ; “ the poorest of the poor are we Rapparees — 
 and yet we are rich in love and gratitude, would our Lord per- 
 mit us to prove it !” 
 
 “ I doubt it not, Donogh,” said J udith kindly, “ but you owe 
 
416 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CniEFTAINS. 
 
 me nothing, I do but pay a debt of long standing — oh ! would 
 that I could do aught for the ever-faitlifnl Rapparees who were 
 friends to us when we had no other friends !” 
 
 Here a pressing message from Colonel O’Reilly, who had charge 
 of the prisoners, called Owen Roe away, and Judith hastened to 
 resume her duties in their sylvan hospital. 
 
 During the course of that night and the following morning 
 many additional prisoners were brought in, some of these had 
 been found hi ling in the bushes and thickets, others were caught 
 when attempting to make their escape. 
 
 A solemn scene took place on the day following that “ fam- 
 ous victory.” The Catholics who had fallen, to the number of 
 seventy, were borne to their final rest in the consecrated mould 
 of Eglish. On ordinary occasions, those slain in battle are con- 
 signed to the earth which their last footsteps pressed — * 
 
 “And every turf beneath his feet 
 Becomes the soldier’s sepulchre,” 
 
 but not so after the battle of Benburb. Each clan insisted on 
 carrying its own dead to Eglish, but a few miles distant, and the 
 general was not the man to offer any objection. But even 
 Eglish, old and venerable and hallowed in its associations, was not 
 deemed a meet resting-place for Lorcan Maguire. His honored 
 remains were borne by Roderick and his clansmen home to the 
 ancient burial-place of his family near the blue waters of their 
 own Lough Erne. They laid the old warrior down to rest by 
 the side of his fair-haired Una, 
 
 “ And the church-sha low falls o’er his place of rest 
 Where the steps of his childhood bounded.”* 
 
 Happier than his martyred nephew is “ Lorcan of the Spirits” 
 in that his body awaits the resurrection amongst the brave and 
 noble of his own race. 
 
 Not so poor Malachy na soggarth — not so poor Aileen Magee. 
 Far from their kindred dust they were laid to rest, but not by 
 stranger hands, nor yet amongst strangers. They had company 
 enough on their death-march, and those they loved best bore 
 
 * Landon’s Poem of The Soldier's Grave . 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 417 
 
 them to the graves prepared for them amongst the de- 
 parted sons and daughters of Tyr-Owen. And the churchyard 
 bell rang clear and loud that day as none ever heard it ring 
 before, or perchance ever again. 
 
 It was a solemn, yet scarcely a sorrowful sight, for even the 
 crowds of country people who raised the caoine as the mighty 
 funeral passed along, were heard to mingle somewhat of exulta- 
 tion with the doleful strain. Why should they mourn those who 
 had fallen in defence of their country and their faith 1 — why 
 should they grudge them the glory of the martyrs death 1 Was 
 it not well for them to die as they did, were it only to have 
 Owen Roe and Sir Phelim, and the Lord of Iveagh, and O’Reilly 
 and McMahon, and those chiefs of high renown walking after 
 them to the grave, and no less than a bishop blessing the clay 
 that was to be their bed till the end of time 1 Truly, they were 
 not to be pitied, those heroes of Benburb — 
 
 “ Whose death-wound came amid sword and p’ume 
 Where the banner and the ball were flying.”* 
 
 Before the army moved from Benburb a Requiem Mass was 
 said at poor Malachy’s altar for the souls of those who had fallen 
 in the battle, and as the joyful news of the great victory sped 
 on through the country, the Atoning Sacrifice was offered up 
 for them at every altar, and in the great cathedrals of the four 
 provinces, their obsequies were celebrated with clouds of in- 
 cense and “ pealing anthems,” and the solemn mourning of the 
 church. 
 
 The thunders of the cannon of Benburb echoed from shore to 
 shore and filled the whole island, for no such victory had yet 
 crowned the confederate arms. The Norman lords heard it in 
 Kilkenny and it hushed their cabals awhile. It reached Castle- 
 haven and Netterville in the Viceregal halls of Dublin Castle, 
 and the swaggering peer was driven to his wit’s end for some 
 plausible inuendo against Owen Roe O’Neill. None, however, 
 could he find, for the glorious victory of the Black water was 
 too stubborn a fact to be twisted one way or the other. “ There 
 it was,” as Netterville observed in a disconsolate tone, “ staring 
 
 * Lan don’s Poem of The Soldier’s Grave. 
 
418 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 you in the face, turn which way you would. It was well to 
 hear of the Scotch getting their due, but an’ it went to pamper 
 the overbearing pride of the Irishry, particularly those of the 
 north, he would be content to leave Monroe as he was a while 
 longer.” 
 
 Castlehaven administered a faint rebuke to this unworthy ad- 
 mission, but so very faint was it that Netterville laughed and 
 tossed his head, as much as to say : “ I understand your lord- 
 ship— a blind man may see bow the land lies !” 
 
 It was in “ Limerick of the Ships” that the news from Ben- 
 burb reached the Nuncio. He had gone thither some weeks 
 before with the chief men of the Supreme Council to superin- 
 tend in person the siege of Bunratty, a strong Castle belonging 
 to the Earl of Thomond. Glamorgan having failed in this im- 
 portant enterprize, Muskerry had been appointed in his place, 
 and the noble-hearted Italian himself accompanied the army — 
 and, in fact, directed its operations. It pleased Heaven to 
 prosper his efforts, and, after a vigorous siege.of twelve days, the 
 garrison was compelled to surrender, and one of the strongest 
 places on the Shannon was in the hands of the Confederates* 
 The flush of this great victory had not yet subsided when the 
 news of the still greater one of Benburb reached Limerick. It 
 was Saturday afternoon, and the pious prelate was kneeling 
 in prayer before an image of the Virgin Mother, when word was 
 brought him that O’Neill had conquered at Benburb, and that 
 whole battalions of the Puritans had been cut to pieces. 
 
 “ Blessed be the Lord of Hosts !” said Rinuncini, bowing his 
 head reverently, “ and thou. Mary, Help of Christians ! receive 
 my thanks for thy gracious aid !” 
 
 So saying he calmly resumed his orisons, as though dismissing 
 the subject from his thoughts. Some half an hour after he was 
 listening, his face radiant with joy, to Father Hartigan’s vivid 
 description of the battle of which he had been an eye-witness. 
 
 “ Truly, our Ulster campaign doth begin well,” he said cheer- 
 ily, after taking notes of the principal details, “ but say, good 
 
 * Meehan’s Confederation , p. 146. 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 419 
 
 father! how fares it with our noble friends'? — hath Owen O’Neill 
 escaped unhurt, and the valorous knight, his kinsman V 1 
 “ They are well, most reverend father !’ 
 
 “ And our right reverend brother of Clogher'?” 
 
 “ In most excellent bodily health, and uplifted beyond mea- 
 sure in spirit at the great things achieved by our northern 
 army.” 
 
 “ Went he forth to battle'?” the Nuncio asked with a smile. 
 
 “ Sooth to say he did, and I would your Grace had seen how 
 he wielded his broad claymore that day ! — suffice it, he fought 
 at the head of the McMahons by the side of their valiant chief, 
 as became a son of his princely line — that he escaped unhurt is 
 little short of a miracle.” 
 
 “ Our Lord be praised for these His signal mercies !” said the 
 Nuncio, with a fervor all his own. “How the noble heart of 
 Innocent will rejoice at these tidings ! But the trophies, good 
 father ! what said you of trophies '?” 
 
 “Yea, my good lord! trophies we have in abundance. Our 
 noble general, whose days may Heaven prolong ! desiring above 
 all to pleasure your Grace, hath sent hither with what dispatch 
 we could make, the standards captured at Benburb. They 
 await your inspection.” 
 
 The citizens of Limerick witnessed next day one of the grand- 
 est scenes of that long-protracted struggle. At the close of the 
 Vesper service, the trophies from Benburb were borne in solemn 
 procession from the abbey church of St. Francis, where they 
 had been placed on the previous day, to St. Mary’s Cathedral, 
 where the Nuncio had already deposited the banners taken at 
 Bunratty. Who may describe the enthusiasm of the mighty 
 multitude that thronged the streets when they saw thus borne 
 in triumph no less than thirty-two standards bearing the arms 
 of the principal Puritan generals and the most notable Scottish 
 “ undertakers” of Ulster. The Chichesters, Montgomerys, and 
 Coles, the Blayneys, the Stewarts, and the Hamiltons, were all 
 and each represented there by their several heraldric devices. 
 
 And these thirty-two banners were borne by a like number of 
 the Confederate Chieftains, Skerrin, Dunboyne, Louth, Howth, 
 Fingal, Slaney, and Netterville, the Dillons, and the Plunkets, 
 
420 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 and many another magnate of the Pale, nothing loath to share 
 with their brethren of the old blood the high honor purchased 
 for them by the rare generalship of Owen Roe and the bravery 
 of his Celtic followers. Yet even there the difference between 
 the races was plainly discernible, for the exultation visible on 
 the faces of the Irish chiefs, and the joy of their hearts, mani- 
 fested in the bounding lightness of their step, was too strongly 
 contrasted by the clouded brows and grave demeanor of the 
 Norman Confederates. It was easy to see that the former iden- 
 tified themse'ves with the victory of Benburb, whilst the latter 
 grudged the glory of it to an Irish chieftain. 
 
 Stately and grand as became his high office, calm and col- 
 lected as a Christian priest ought to be, Rinuccini walked after 
 the standard-bearers, accompanied by the Archbishop of Cashel, 
 w r ith the bishops of Limerick, Clonfert, and Ardfert. Then 
 came the mayor and aldermen of the city, with the multitude 
 of citizens in their gala dress. At the head of the procession, 
 preceding the trophies, marched the soldiers of the garrison 
 with the national colors — the white and green of the Confede- 
 rates waving proudly above the stately column.* 
 
 Having reached St. Mary’s Cathedral, the procession came to 
 a stand, the banners, torn and bloody as they were, were car- 
 ried up the aisle to the high altar, at the foot of which they 
 ■were laid, whilst the Nuncio, and the bishops, and all the priests, 
 and the nobles of the Pale, and the Celtic chiefs, and all the 
 vast assemblage of soldiers and citizens intoned together the 
 hymn of thanksgiving, till crypt, and nave, and chancel echoes 
 the joyous sound — 
 
 “ As thro’ the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.” 
 
 Truly, it was a glorious, a soul-stirring scene, and no heart in 
 all that countless throng felt its inspiration more vividly than 
 that of the Nuncio, Rinuccini. The people’s cries of “O’Neill 
 for ever! — glory to the Red Hand !” found an echo in his gene- 
 rous heart. 
 
 * When shall we see a Maclise, or a Barry, giving Ireland a fitting 
 representation of such scenes as that above described? When shall 
 the history of our country be illustrated on canvas by the genius of 
 ^er sons ? 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 421 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 “ Strike — till the last arm’d foe expires ; 
 
 Strike for your altars and your fires ; 
 
 Strike for the green graves of your sires ; 
 
 God, and your native land!” 
 
 Fitz-Green Halleck. 
 
 “ While the tree 
 
 Of freedom’s wither’d trunk puts forth a leaf 
 
 Even for thy tomb a gariand let it be.” 
 
 Byron’s Childe Harold. 
 
 The glories of Benburb and of Limerick passed away like a 
 dream. O’Neill was not suffered to follow up bis victory in 
 Ulster, for the Nuncio found it necessary to recall him to Leins- 
 ter with his victorious army to keep Preston and the Ormondists 
 in check. The Council was bent on concluding the peace on 
 Ormond’s terms, and Rinuccini was just as bent on preventing 
 it for the dear sake of religion. Armed with the power of the 
 Church, and strengthened by the firm adhesion of the Ulster 
 general, who had given his army the distinctive title of Catho- 
 lic, to the great offence of Preston and the others — the Nuncio 
 carried matters with a high hand. The struggle which followed 
 brought out in strong relief the indomitable energy of that 
 prelate, his burning zeal for religion, bis uncompromising ho- 
 nesty and singleness of purpose, together with a love for Ireland 
 and a devotion to the interests of her Catholic people never 
 entertained by any foreigner. For three long years did this 
 high-souled and generous stranger combat the narrow selfish- 
 ness, the unworthy prejudices, and the cold indifference of the 
 English or Ormond faction. With the clergy on his side, and 
 the old Irish, and money and war-supplies in abundance, Rinuc- 
 cini felt himself strong enough to set the Ormondists at defiance, 
 and to threaten them with the severest penalties in case they 
 dared to. persist in their fatal course. Persist they did, never- 
 theless, making use of every effort to thwart the Nuncio’s views 
 and to advance those of Ormond, the arch-enemy of their faith. 
 
422 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Enraged by the undisguised favor in which the Nuncio held 
 Owen Roe and the “Irishry,” Preston and Castlehaven, and 
 Mountgarret and Muskeriy, cared little what measures they 
 took or what party they joined, so that the too-formidable 
 Ulster general was humbled and his power destroyed. Hotter 
 and fiercer grew the contest. Ormond and his infatuated 
 henchman, Father Peter Walsh, buoying up their party in the 
 Council with delusive hopes of advantageous compromise, the 
 while they embittered them more and more against the Nuncio, 
 and O’Neill, and the old Irish. On the other hand, the Catholic 
 party in the General Assembly was sustained and invigorated 
 by the commanding talents and untiring zeal and lofty patriot- 
 ism of Bishop French, who, through all that miserable period 
 of storm and strife, and low intrigue and shameless partizanship, 
 stood ever in the van of the clergy, their mouthpiece, their 
 standard-bearer, so to speak.* His word was law with the 
 Catholic party, whilst the highest and proudest of his adversa- 
 ries were compelled to yield him a measure of respect. Ormond 
 and his “shadow,” Father Walsh, were especially obnoxious to 
 the far-seeing, clear-headed prelate, for he saw in them the 
 roots of all the evils that were coming upon the Confederates, 
 and the Marquis and his party in turn both feared and hated 
 Nicholas French. 
 
 Rinuccini, French, O’Neill ! guardian spirits of the rapidly- 
 decaying Confederation ! how grandly and boldly do your 
 figures stand out on the dark back-ground of that stormy time, 
 your genius, your faith, your lofty self-devotion, the anchor and 
 stay of the Confederacy, the beacon and example unto all. 
 
 * Mr. McGee, in his Gallery of Irish Writers , has done ample 
 justice to the character of this great man, in all respects one of the 
 most illustrious prelates that ever adorned the Irish Church. “ He 
 had been,” says he, “an Ambassador to four different Courts. He 
 had ruled with episcopal power in four different countries. As a 
 public man and an ecclesiastic there can be no doubt of his powers, 
 his address, the extent of his accomplishments, nor of the greatness 
 of his labors. He was the leader of all work to the Catholic Confe- 
 deracy. He was one of the best known Christian bishops of his 
 age,” 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 423 
 
 With three such men at their head the Catholics could not fail 
 to command success had they been all of the same mind, all 
 equally devoted to the cause of freedom. But Ormond and 
 Father Peter had long ago undermined the union that should 
 have existed, and by sowing dissensions, fomenting jealousies, 
 and fanning the small flame of private piques into public confla- 
 grations, had dried up the sap from the stately tree that had 
 promised so fair for Ireland, till they made it a useless and 
 withered thing, cumbering the ground and tottering to its fall. 
 
 It were sad to tell how fiercely the partizans of Ormond in 
 the Council resisted the noble efforts of Rinuccini and Bishop 
 French. How Preston and O’Neill became open foes, and when 
 sent to besiege Ormond in Dublin with two noble armies, took 
 to quarrelling between themselves, and allowed the common 
 enemy to escape the ruin which their joint attack would have 
 been to him. That saddest of sights was seen on the Liffey’s 
 banks, just when the Confederates had the capital all but sur- 
 rounded, when one vigorous and simultaneous effort would have 
 made them masters of the city. Failing in that, they failed in all, 
 and missed an opportunity which never came again. The bond 
 of union so rudely rent asunder was never again to be cemented 
 — thenceforth, “ O’Neill and the old Irish” — “ Preston and the 
 new Irish” stood as openly arrayed against each other as any 
 two parties amongst the belligerents. In vain did Rinuccini 
 put forth all the powers wherewith nature and religion had 
 endowed him; in vain did he exhort, entreat, menance — the 
 Mountgarrets and Muskerrys, with the tribe of Plunkets and 
 Butlers, were encased in triple folds of envy, self-conceit, and 
 self-interest (perhaps thickest of all !), which rendered them 
 proof against the Nuncio’s exertions. The peace with Ormond 
 was signed on his own terms, and the affairs of the Catholics 
 left once more to the king’s discretion. Seeing this the Nuncio 
 had recourse to an expedient which set all Ireland in a blaze. 
 He caused the refractory members of the Council to be impris- 
 oned in Kilkenny, and new members elected in their place. 
 By this arrangement more of the bishops and fewer of the lay- 
 men were in the Council, the generals were all brought under its 
 control, and Rinuccini after a little time was placed at the head 
 
424 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 of the provisional government. It was a strange state of affairs, 
 but stranger still was to come, ay ! strange beyond all belief. 
 Ireland became one wide battle-field ; the distinction of parties 
 was at times all but lost, so frequent were the changes and 
 transitions from one side to the other amongst the great captains. 
 Thus Ormond had been forced to fly from Dublin, and the city 
 was left in the hands of Jones, the Parliamentarian General. 
 Jones was in turn surrounded by the armies of the Confederates, 
 and Owen Roe, with his army, sat down at Trim, watching 
 him so closely that he dared not stir beyond the walls of the 
 metropolis. 
 
 Strangest and most unnatural of all was the truce proposed by 
 Inchiquin to the Confederates — Inchiquin still reeking with the 
 blood of slaughtered Catholics, abominable from his sacrile- 
 gious crimes, and of all men living the most feared and hated 
 by those of the old faith. This man, finding it his interest to 
 unite with the king’s troops, desired a truce with the Confede- 
 rates, and the Ormandists gladly embraced his offer, with the 
 avowed expectation of his alliance being profitable to their 
 patron. Rinuccini declared vehemently against so unholy a 
 compact, but his admonitions were disregarded and his opinions 
 overruled. The chiefs of Irish blood were his sole dependence, 
 and first of all Owen Roe, his faithful and devoted friend, the 
 confidant cf all his projects for the good of religion, the able 
 and judicious counsellor, the zealous executor of his will. Dur- 
 ing all those dreary years of heart-wearing struggle and 
 fierce dissension, when all within and without the Confedera- 
 tion was discord, storm, and strife, Owen Roe stood firm as a 
 rock by the side of his illustrious patron, his very name an 
 intimidation to the internal and external enemies of the cause. 
 Second to Owen Roe in command was the heroic Bishop of 
 Clogher, a kindred spirit if there was one in Ireland, as far as fer- 
 vent patriotism, and singleness of purpose, and devotion to the 
 interests of religion went, 3 et not to be compared to Bishop 
 French in statesmanlike qualities, for which, indeed, that pre- 
 late was famous amongst the men of his time. Nevertheless, 
 Heber of Clogher was one of the firmest pillars of the Confede- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 425 
 
 racy, his bold, uncompromising, and somewhat fiery spirit mak- 
 ing him a special favorite with tho Nuncio. 
 
 Then O’Reilly, “ the green-mantled chief of Breffny,” McMahon 
 and Maguire, O’Rourke and Magennis, and honest Phelim 
 O’Neill, and, indeed, all the Ulster chiefs were true and staunch, 
 full of that noble enthusiasm which fired them on the field of 
 red Benburb ; opposed as ever to the selfish and traitorous prac- 
 tices of the Normans, and prodigal as ever of their own blood 
 where religion and love of country beckoned them on to deeds 
 of daring. 
 
 Alas ! there were fearful odds against the national party. 
 The Scots were rapidly recruiting their shattered strength in 
 Ulster and burning to wipe out the disgrace of Benburb. Pres- 
 ton was willing to unite even with Inchiquin provided the 
 alliance would enable him to crush Owen O’Neill — that chieftain 
 had removed his quarters to Dunamase, and in the ancient 
 Castle of the O’Moores, looking forth from their embattled rock* 
 over the plains of Leix, he awaited the decision of the Council 
 with regard to Inchiquin’s truce. He was not alone in that 
 eyrie-like fortress — he had Phelim and Tirlogh O’Neill, Bishop 
 McMahon and Art Oge, O’Reilly, Magennis, and the brave 
 young chieftain of Fermanagh. How often their hearts swelled 
 as they thought of Rory, the rightful lord of that princely domain 
 over which their eyes wandered, as they remembered the infant 
 days of the Confederacy, and his noble enthusiasm in the cause ! 
 — how bitterly they cursed the narrow prejudice of the Pale lords 
 which bad given to the choleric and unstable Preston the com- 
 mand of that army which should have been his, and thereby 
 driven him from their ranks at the first tug of war ! 
 
 All at once came the astounding intelligence that the truce 
 with Inchiquin was completed, that “ Murrogh of the Burnings” 
 
 * Dunamase, the ancient stronghold of the 0’ Mores, is one of the 
 most remarkable places, perhaps, in Ireland. The rock is of great 
 height, and presents the appearance of an embattled fortress. Ita 
 top is crowned by the once proud Castle of Dunamase, where the chiefs 
 of Leix, the noble and chivalrous 0 Mores, dwelt of old in prinoely 
 state. 
 
426 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 was the ally of the Confederate Catholics, Murrogh still reeking 
 with the blood of the Cashel massacre, Murrogh accursed of 
 God and man on account of his sacrilegious crimes.* 
 
 The burning indignation of the chiefs was beyond all bounds, 
 and they had well nigh made up their minds to mar ch with all 
 speed against the madmen who were wantonly casting from 
 them the barest possibility of success. But the Nuncio — they 
 must await his decision, and see what course he would have 
 them take. Great Heavens ! what tremendous tidings were the 
 next that came from Kilkenny. Who could have dreamod that 
 even Binuccini would have had recourse to so terrible an expe- 
 dient. 
 
 A few days after the publication of the truce the stern repre- 
 sentative of Innocent X. caused to be posted on the doors of 
 St. Canice’s Cathedral a sentence of excommunication against 
 all the abettors and observers of the truce, and declaring at the 
 same time all towns, cities or villages wherein it was observed, 
 
 * Some of the noblest flights of Rinuecini’s eloquence were direeted 
 against this fatal truce. “ Make no truce with this man,” said the 
 Nuncio, “he has three times changed sides. If the massacre at 
 Cashel has left no trace on your memories, recollect that a month 
 ago he pillaged the town of Carrick and slew the inhabitants, who 
 were Catholics, palliating the atrocity by asserting that he could not 
 restrain his soldiers. Remember, too, that he has driven the Catho- 
 lic clergy out of the Cathedral of Callan, and introduced those who do 
 not profess your religion. Talk not of your inability to carry war 
 
 into his quarters Inchiquin has not more than 3,000 men in 
 
 Munster ; they are naked and hungry, and you fear him when you 
 ought to despise him. In Connaught and Ulster, the Scotch are able 
 to do little more than commit robberies for their sustenance. At the 
 present moment, Owen O'Neill has an army of more than 6,000 men. 
 He is ready to act against Inchiquin in the South, and I wdll supply 
 money to pay his troops, and thus rid you of these scruples with 
 which the ravages of his sol iers have so long afflicted you. I ex- 
 hort you to union of heart and purpose; and remember that your 
 rulors of England have never treated you, Catholics, with respect, 
 except when you stood in a united and formidable league.” — Rin- 
 uccini’s Relatione , pp 312, 420. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 427 
 
 as solemnly interdicted. Amongst the old Irish this, of course, 
 put an end to the truce with Inchiquin, but the Ormondists faith- 
 fully observed it, in utter disregard of the dread anathema of 
 the Church, some of them even boasting that they were “ex- 
 communication proof.” Preston, however, was made to feel 
 that his soldiers, at least, were not so, for immediately on the 
 promulgation of the decree 2,000 of them deserted to O’Neill’s 
 army. 
 
 At last the time came when Rinuccini had to call on Owen 
 Roe and the Irish chiefs to unfurl their banners and draw their 
 swords against the recreant Catholics who had already broken 
 the oath of Confederation by accepting treaties and making 
 various agreements with the enemy without the consent of the 
 entire body. Many brilliant achievements shed lustre on the 
 arms of these true sons of the Church led on by Owen Roe and 
 fighting under the immediate direction of the Nuncio. At the 
 pass of Ballaghmore, this great tactician defeated and foiled no 
 less than five generals who had united their forces against him.* 
 When any other commander of the Catholic party failed in an 
 enterprize, O’Neill was called into action, and seldom indeed 
 did he fail to effect his object. 
 
 But what availed all his valor and military skill 1 what availed 
 all the talents and all the energy of Rinuccini and French 'l 
 Preston was not ashamed to let his rancorous jealousy carry 
 him so far as to form a league with Murrogh O’Brien for the 
 avowed object of crushing O’Neill. Conspiracy, dark and dire, 
 was at work. Plots were even formed amongst the quondam 
 Confederates and their new allies against the very life of the 
 Nuncio, whom they branded as the disturber of the peace, the 
 arch-agitator whose influence alone kept the old Irish from ac- 
 cepting peace on Ormond’s terms, and turning their arms with 
 him against the king’s enemies. Even some of the bishops were 
 won over to oppose the Nuncio’s policy, on the plea of condemn- 
 ing “ the censures.” That fatal measure, however necessary it 
 might have appeared to a man of Rinuccini’s temperament so 
 situated, was eventually the cause of yet more fearful dissensions 
 
 * Meehan’s Confederation , p. 223. 
 
428 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 in the Confederate camp, seeing that it divided the clergy into 
 two distinct parties. Things came at last to such a pass that the 
 bishops on either side were, of necessity, escorted to and from 
 Kilkenny by detachments from their respective armies. Yet 
 still Rinuccini kept his ground, and by his side Nicholas French 
 — they did not quite despair so long as Owen Roe had an army 
 in the field, and together they toiled, struggling against all odds, 
 exhorting, persuading, anathematizing when all else failed. In 
 vain, in vain, “ the national spirit only survived in the hearts of 
 O’Neill and the clergy,”* and the chiefs of the old blood, for 
 they alone were willing to sacrifice all for the cause now rapidly 
 becoming hopeless. 
 
 At the storming of the Castle of Drumruisk on the Connaught 
 boundary, the Irish army sustained a heavy loss in the brave 
 and chivalrous Roderick Maguire, who fell at the head of his 
 regiment — meet death for the brother of Connor Maguire, the 
 nephew of gallant old Lorcan — that fiery young chieftain who, 
 in the first outbreak of the rebellion, had inflicted such severe 
 chastisement on the robber-planters of Fermanagh ! He fell, 
 like his martyred brother, in the flower of his years, his death 
 no less heroic than that of Connor. The chieftains by whose 
 side he had so often fought, and the general whose fortunes he 
 had so faithfully followed, mourned him, as well they might. 
 Could any amongst them have looked but one short year into 
 the future they would have envied the fate of their gallant friend. 
 As it was they only saw in his premature death the loss of one 
 of their truest hearts and strongest arms — one of the first of the 
 Confederate Chieftains, one of whom it might truly be said, from 
 the dawn of the Confederacy, that 
 
 “ Never then, nor thence, till now, hath falsehood or disgrace 
 Been seen to soil Maguire's plume, or mantle on his face.’ 
 
 Another laurel lor “ the sons of the waters,” but, alas ! too 
 dearly purchased. 
 
 Would that pen of mine could do justice to the memory of 
 those who upheld the banner of faith and nationality through 
 
 * Meehan’s Confederation. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 429 
 
 the disastrous times which followed, under the leadership of 
 that holy and zealous prelate who had adopted the cause of 
 poor Ireland as his own, and loved her patriotic and faithful 
 sons with all the capacity of his great heart. But my tale has 
 already far exceeded the bounds which I had prescribed for it, 
 and I must draw a veil, however reluctantly, over that most 
 eventful period. 
 
 In 1648 the final peace was concluded which virtually dis- 
 solved the Confederation. The false-hearted Norman peers who 
 had come so reluctantly into the Union were the ultimate ruin 
 of the cause. In order to leave their great patron, Ormond, at 
 liberty to carry out his own plans, they accepted the bare tol- 
 eration which he chose to give them, instead of the complete 
 restoration of their faith to its ancient independence, according 
 to the just demands of Rinuccini and Owen Roe, the clergy, and 
 the chiefs of the old blood. For ever execrated be the memory 
 of those craven Catholics, unworthy the name, who threw the 
 game into the hands of the enemy, and bartered away the rights 
 of their country and religion for les3 than “ the shadow of a 
 shade !” 
 
 About the same time that witnessed the final fall of the once 
 powerful Confederation, the truckling and hollow-hearted 
 Charles ended his life on the scaffold, a victim no less to his 
 own want of principle and disregard of justice than the bloody 
 fanaticism of his Puritan subjects. 
 
 It was a dismal year for Ireland, the year ’49. Almost at its 
 opening, the old City of the Tribes witnessed a mournful scene. 
 The Nuncio Rinuccini, worn out at last by the heart-wearing 
 cares and troubles of his office, and despairing of effecting the 
 liberation of a country whose sons were so split up into factions, 
 and so embittered against each other, made up his mind to 
 return to Italy, at least for a time, until some favorable change 
 might take place in Ireland. 
 
 In vain did Owen Roe and the bishops who w T ere his friends 
 seek to dissuade him from this step, reminding him of all he had 
 done for the cause, and imploring him not to give it up whilst 
 success was still possible. The Nuncio shook his head with a 
 melancholy smile, and pointed to his shrunken cheek and his 
 
430 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 hollow chest. The hint was more than sufficient for the true 
 friends who surrounded Rinuccini. They knew that his health 
 had been undermined by the superhuman labors of mind and 
 body, which for tour long years he had unceasingly undergone, 
 and worse than all, the grief of seeing his mighty efforts thrown 
 away, and that Ireland, which he hoped to leave free and pros- 
 perous, in no better condition than when he landed on her shore. 
 
 “ Ask me not to stay, kind friends !” he said mournfully, 
 “ my doing so could not now benefit Ireland — if it could, there 
 were no need to ask me, for the shattered remnant of my 
 strength were well employed in the service of your faithful na- 
 tion. But so long as you are cursed with such Catholics as 
 Clanrickarde, Muskerry and Mountgarret, and that young Net- 
 terville who is now Ormond’s aid-de-camp, and Castlehaven who 
 doth assuredly serve that lord with more zeal than he ever 
 served the Confederacy, all you or I — or any man living could 
 do to recover your national and religious independence were not 
 worth a feather.” 
 
 “ What, then,” said Bishop French with some show of resent- 
 ment ; “ would your Grace have us give up at once I” 
 
 “ Not so, my reverend lord,” said Rinuccini with a kindly 
 smile, and turning he laid his hand on Owen Roe’s shoulder; 
 “ there is hope for Ireland whilst O'Neill lives — darkness will 
 never quite overshadow the land so long as the Red Hand 
 banner is afloat— when that goes down, the cross goes down 
 with it, and tin hoof of the fanatic will crush the heart of 
 Ireland — oh faithful, long-enduring Ireland! when, when shall 
 the Sabbath of peace dawn for you I” 
 
 He then turned and thanked the assembled crowd for tlis 
 gallant stand made by the citizens of Galway against the fatal 
 peace,* and as they fell on their knees with tears and sobs, he 
 extended his hand and gave the apostolic benediction. 
 
 * Galway, in common with many others of the principal cities, 
 totally refused to have “the peace” proclaimed within its walls. 
 “ It would be idle,” says Rov. Mr. Meehan, “ to imagine that this 
 peace gave satisfaction to the people of Ireland. On the contrary, it 
 was soon ascertained that it gave them no guarantee for those rights 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 431 
 
 « To you,” said he, “ people of Galway, and to all true and 
 faithful Catholics in this land of Ireland. Be ye blessed for 
 ever, and your children throughout all time ! Were your faith- 
 less nobles like unto you in devotion to the Church, my mission 
 would have had a different result— — 
 
 Turning to Owen Roe and Bishop French, he took a hand of 
 each and said with much feeling : “ Beloved fellow-laborers ! 
 farewell ! — blame me not if my mission hath been unsuccessful 
 — you know I did all I could to free the Church of Ireland— 
 you know how my best endeavors were met and thwarted at 
 every move by those who had sworn to defend the ancient faith 
 at all hazards nor lay down their arms till its shackles were all 
 broken — you know how recreant Catholics have maligned and 
 traduced me — yea, even at the Court of Rom9— and that some 
 amongst them have even conspired against my life — all this 
 you know, noble and right trusty friends, but you do not know 
 — cannot know — all the love that I cherish in my heart for you 
 and yours ! My lord of Clogher, your hand ! I may never see 
 the face of any one of you again, but — but — I will not forget 
 you ! I will do what in my power lies to advance that sacred 
 cause the which I leave, for the present, in your hands ! Be 
 firm and faithful as you have been, and leave the issue to 
 God!” 
 
 “May Heaven requite your Grace an hundred-fold,” said 
 Nicholas of Ferns with strong emotion, “ for all you have done 
 in behalf of poor bleeding Ireland !” 
 
 “ Say rather, my dear good brother, for what I meant to do, 
 and would have done, were it not for the treachery of those 
 amongst you who have made Ormond their idol. Pray Heaven 
 they discover that man’s hollowness ere it be too late !” 
 
 which aroused them to take up arms and maintain a war of so many 
 years duration. It was indignantly rejected by the whole province 
 of Ulster, the cities of Waterford, Limerick, Clonmel, and Dungarvan. 
 Twenty of the great Irish families in the province of Munster signed 
 a protest against it. Galway .... refused to receive it : and, 
 in the province of Leinster, it was treated with contempt by all the 
 heads of the old Irish.” — Confederation , p. 159. 
 
432 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Rinuccini departed, and with him went the sun of Ireland’s 
 prosperity ; from that day forth, the Ormondists had it all their 
 own way, at least in three of the provinces ; their arms were 
 devoted, as their hearts had been, to the advancement of 
 his views, and, as they fondly believed, the upholding the falling 
 throne of t'he Stuarts. Little did they dream, until sad experi- 
 ence forced conviction on them, that their patron was all along 
 playing a double game — coquetting with the rebellious Parlia- 
 ment, both before and after the execution of his royal master, 
 the while he kept Preston, and even the astute Clanrickarde, 
 and indeed the whole body of the Anglo-Irish Catholics dangling 
 after him as most approved good servants of his mightiness, 
 James Butler. It was not till he had delivered Dublin into the 
 hands of the Parliamentarians, and sent his son Richard to them 
 as a hostage for the fulfilment of his compact with them, that 
 the duped Catholics began to see their error, and mourn when 
 too late the share they had taken in breaking up that powerful 
 Confederation which, had all its members been true to its prin- 
 ciples, must and would have prevailed. They found that even 
 Ormond himself did not attach the same importance to their 
 adhesion as when they formed a part of that magnificent body 
 whose influence was felt in every corner of the island. Ah ! 
 dismal retribution ! Mountgarret, waiting in Ormond’s ante- 
 chamber, found himself only “ my Lord Mountgarret”— and the 
 old man groaned in spirit as he thought of the days when, as 
 President of the Supreme Council, his name and office com- 
 manded respect. Muskerry, too, was doomed to realize Rin- 
 uccini’s prophetic words. When, some years after, he lay 
 extended on his bed of death, and the past appeared to him in 
 its true colors, viewed by the ghastly light of the tomb, he said 
 in a contrite spirit to those who were in attendarce upon him, 
 “ that the heaviest fear that possessed his soul, then going into 
 eternity, was his having confided so much in his Grace (meaning 
 Ormond), who had deceived them all, and ruined his poor 
 country and countrymen.’’* 
 
 * Dr. French’s Unkind Deserter , quoted by Meehan. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 433 
 
 Well for you, Donogh McCarthy ! you who might have helped 
 to make Ireland 
 
 “ Great, glorious, and free” 
 
 by joining heart and hand with the other chieftains of your own 
 blood and your own faith. You chose rather to sell yourself 
 body and soul to James Butler of Ormond, one of the bitteres-t 
 enemies of Catholicity that Ireland ever produced, and so he 
 treated you in the end, 0 degenerate son of the McCarthys, 
 unworthy the name you bore ! May Heaven forgive the share 
 you had in the failure of that grand attempt to free Ireland and 
 her Church from foreign thrall ! 
 
 But in Ulster the spirit of the Confederation still lived. There 
 no slavish Norman peers threw their icy shadows athwart the 
 popular enthusiasm — there the chieftains were still loyally 
 devoted to the cause — there the clans were burning to rush 
 again on the Puritan foe who had so often quailed before them 
 — there O’Rielly and McMahon, Magennis and O’Rourke of 
 Leitrim, were still up and stirring, and there the Red Hand still 
 waved over many a tower and town. Sir Phelim was hot as 
 though no reverse had come to cool his ardor, and Owen Roe 
 was as powerful to do and dare as when he swept Monroe’s 
 proud army at Benburb like chaff before the wind. No, all hope 
 was hot lost — the Red Hand still waved on the northern 
 horizon ! 
 
 19 
 
434 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 “ Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One ! Wail, wail ye for the dead ; 
 Quench the hearth, and hold the breath — with ashes strew the head. 
 How tenderly we loved him ! How deeply we deplore ! 
 
 Holy Saviour ! but to think we shall never see him more. 
 
 “ Sagest in the council was he, — kindest in the hall, 
 
 Sure we never won a battle — ’twas Owen won them all. 
 
 Had he lived — had be lived — our dear country had been free ; 
 
 But he’s dead, but he’s dead, and * tis slaves we’ll ever be. 
 
 ****** 
 
 “ Wail, wail him through the Island ! Weep, weep for our pride*. 
 Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died ! 
 
 Weep the Victor of Benburb — weep him, young man and old ; 
 
 Weep for him, ye women— your Beautiful lies cold ! 
 
 “ We thought you would not die — wo were sure you would not go, 
 And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell’s cruel blow — 
 
 Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky — 
 
 0, why did you leave us, Owen l Why did you die 1 
 
 “ Soft as woman’s was your voice, O’Neill ! bright was your eye. 
 
 0, why did you leave us, Owen 1 Why did you die 1 
 Your troubles are all over, you’re at nest with God on high ; 
 
 But we’re slaves, and we’re orphans, Owen ! — why did you die I” 
 
 Thomas Davis. 
 
 Like unto these were the piteous cries that pierced the gray 
 November sky around Cloughoughter Castle* on the sixth day 
 of November, of the same year of ’49. Along the lake shore lay 
 encamped the main body of O’Neill’s army, making as gallant a 
 show as it did on that day three years gone by when the col- 
 umns were forming on the heights of Benburb under the eye of 
 its valiant chief. There was none to take pride in the marshalled 
 host that day by dull Lough Oughter’s shore— mournfully 
 
 * This Castle, now a ruin, is situate on a small islet near the shore 
 of a lake in the county Cavan. The country around it is very pic- 
 turesque, abounding in wood and water. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 435 
 
 drooped the banners flapping heavily in the gray damp air — 
 voiceless was pipe and drum and trumpet — nought was heard 
 save the voice of human sorrow — the wail that rose from a thou- 
 sand breaki; g hearts. 
 
 “ Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warrior-men.”* 
 
 And do wonder the sternest warrior there “ hid his faoe and 
 wept,” — no wonder — it were strange if he did not, for within 
 that gray old castle of the O’Reillys, there by the lake shore, 
 lay the idolized leader of the Irish clans — the valiant, the wise, 
 the noble, the kind — Owen Roe lay there dead — Owen Roe the 
 hope of Ireland — the terror of the Puritan enemy — the greatest 
 captain of his age — he who had stood like some stately column 
 firm and unmoved whilst all around w T as desolation. He whose 
 name was the watchword of Irish freedom, — whose banner was 
 the beacon of his country’s hope — Owen Roe was dead . Yes ! 
 
 “Weep for him through the Island ! weep, weep for our pride !” 
 
 Ay ! well may ye weep, Clan-0 wen ! for since Hugh was laid in 
 Italian mould far away from the land he loved, no son of Nial 
 has brought with him to the tomb so much glory, so much pro- 
 mise, or left behind him so drear a void ! Well may ye weep, 
 Clan-Owen ! this day, for he that made your name glorious is 
 gone, 
 
 “ Like a summer-dried fountain, 
 
 When your need was the sorest !’’+ 
 
 He that was wont to cheer you on with his beaming smile and 
 his bland sweet voice, he is gone and forever — never more shall 
 you hear from his lips those words that stirred you up to deeds 
 of noblest daring — “ sons of my heart, advance !” Ah ! yes, sons 
 of his heart you were — he breathed his spirit into you, and 
 moved you at will, — but he is dead, that voice is hushed forever, 
 and that arm that so often waved you on to victory is stiff now 
 and'cold ! 
 
 In the flower of his days the great chieftain died, and in the 
 zenith, too, of his glory. By a signal stroke of retribution, 
 even Ormond himself was compelled to mourn his death, and 
 
 * Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 t Sir W. Scott. 
 
436 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 Preston, and Castleliaven, and all those unworthy Catholics who 
 had so lately conspired against his life. He died just when Crom- 
 well had been sent to Ireland by the Parliament as Lord Lieu- 
 tenant* — already had the torrent of blood burst forth from the 
 heart of Ireland beneath that butcher’s sword — that torrent 
 which was to drench the land 
 
 “ With the mingled blood of the brave and good, of mother, and maid, 
 and child.” 
 
 The massacre of Drogheda had reached Owen’s ears, and the 
 cries of the women of Wexford — slaughtered by the tyrant’s 
 orders — had penetrated to his far northern home and moved 
 his chivalrous soul with pity. He had vowed to stop the mur- 
 derous career of the regicide in Ireland, or he, and all who bore 
 his name, should perish. Ormond, baffled at every turn, strait- 
 ened in means, and seeing in the ruthless republican general a 
 military genius of the highest order, before whom all obstacles 
 vanished like mi-t — seeing him sweeping the country like a 
 furious whirlwind destroying all that dared to oppose him, 
 Ormond began to look around for aid, and in all the land of 
 Ireland he saw but one man whom he deemed able to cope 
 with Cromwell. That man was Owen Roe O’Neill, to whom he 
 sent off without delay, beseeching him to come to the rescue, 
 and that all his former demands should be conceded. After hold- 
 ing a council of war, Owen agreed, smiling pleasantly to him- 
 self at the thought that Ormond was humbled indeed when he 
 could stoop to sue so abjectly for his assistance. It was hard 
 to persuade Sir Phelim to make common cause with Ormond, 
 who, according to him, “ would betray his old Popish grand- 
 father, Walter the Rosary, were he back again in tho flesh.” 
 Some of the other chiefs objected to the alliance on various 
 grounds, but Owen, with his calm, clear reasoning, speedily con- 
 vinced them all. 
 
 “ I have no more faith in my lord of Ormond,” said he, “ tlian 
 hath any one here, but in the present instance, we have the 
 strongest guarantee of his sincerity, in that his interest binds 
 him to us. He knows that this Cromwell is not a man to be put 
 
 * Lord Ormond still holding that office for the Royalist party. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 437 
 
 down — by him at least — and he knows, too, that all his courtly 
 arts of intrigue would he thrown away on the stern ill-mannered 
 Puritan ! Believe me, friends and brothers, Ormond is in earn- 
 est now in seeking our alliance, for on it his safety depends, as 
 he knoweth full well !” 
 
 “ Well ! well ! Owen,” cried Sir Phelim, “ have it your own way 
 — for a man that talks little, you talk wondrous well— my opinion 
 is that you could coax the birds off the bushes had you no hot- 
 ter employment for that oily tongue of yours !” 
 
 Owen Roe smiled and laid his hand caressingly on the great 
 brawny shoulder of his rough kinsman just as a keeper of an- 
 imals would fondle a pet bear. “ It is easy to persuade men 
 like you, Phelim, to do what religion and patriotism dictate. 
 You all here present have perceived at a glance that our best 
 chance for eventual success is now to join with Ormond — let us 
 do it, then, in God’s name, for the sake of that cause to which 
 we are devoted for weal or woe. Ormond cannot impose on us 
 — we know him all too well — but if by uniting our forces with 
 his, we can oppose an effectual barrier to the murderous designs 
 of the Parliament of England and send back its psalm-singing, 
 hypocritical blood-hounds to hunt down their employers at 
 home, we shall assuredly have the best of the bargain. Let us 
 once get rid of this gloomy regicide Cromwell who esteems the 
 shedding of Papist blood nothing more than a godly pastime, 
 and we can easily hold our own with the marquis.” 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution, cheerfully adopted by the 
 chiefs, the vanguard of the army was sent southward imme- 
 diately to join Ormond and Castlehaven, whilst Owen himself 
 prepared to follow with the main body. His last charge, to 
 O’Rourke who commanded the vanguard, was characteristic: 
 
 “ I have chosen you, Owen^” said he, “ for this post of dan- 
 ger, not because you are braver, but because you are cooler 
 than any of these. Were this sturdy kinsman of mine somewhat 
 less fiery than he is, I would have sent him forward, but know- 
 ing his hot haste when the foe is before him, and knowing, too, 
 that Cromwell is the coolest and most calculating of generals, I 
 feared for my brave Phelim whom we could ill afford to lose, 
 and, therefore, I chose you, Owen O’Rourke, the coolest officor 
 
438 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 in my army. Go forth, then, in God’s name, but I charge you, 
 Owen, avoid an engagement with this formidable fanatic until 
 we come together again. Keep to the passes and defiles and 
 try his patience — the winter is setting in and it will befriend us 
 — by the time Oliver and his canting knaves are getting sick of 
 our rain and sleet, we can come down on them all together like 
 a sledge hammer.” 
 
 What wonder was it that even the rejected Phelim, choleric 
 as he was, had nothing to say in opposition to this appointment, 
 whilst the other chiefs, catching up the martial fire that burned 
 in their leader’s heart and sparkled in his eyes, shook off the 
 supineness that had of late been creeping over them and longed 
 to meet the tyrant sword in hand. 
 
 It was the day before that appointed for the march of the 
 army and Owen Roe stood once more with Judith O’Cahan in 
 the roofless church of Dungiven by the side of a new-made grave 
 — it was that of Father Phelimy who had been buried there but 
 a week before. At a little distance from where they stood fair 
 Emmeline knelt in prayer, looking up with faith-inspired eyes at 
 the cold blue heavens above the ruined altar whereon “ the 
 clean oblation” of the New Law had been made of old. With 
 her exception, there was no human being near, and the voice of 
 the wind and the roar of the torrent made a chorus of unearthly 
 music in and around the ancient church of the O’Cahans. The 
 place was lonely, wild and desolate, yet there was grandeur in 
 its loneliness and utter desertion, and to souls like those of Owen 
 and Judith, its silence was eloquent with voices from the past. 
 
 Having ma^ up his mind to go south next day with the army, 
 Owen had journeyed to Dungiven to say farewell - to Judith, and 
 on reaching the poor dwelling which she and Emmeline had of 
 late shared with Father Phelimy he found in it only the aged 
 crone who had been maid of all work to the comfortless house- 
 hold. Then it was that Owen first heard of the old priest’s 
 death, and was told that the ladies had just gone to visit his 
 grave “in the church above.” 
 
 It was a strange surprise when Judith raised her eyes as she 
 knelt by the grave of her aged protector to see General O’Neiil 
 standing by her side, looking down with tearful eyes on the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 439 
 
 brown bare heap which engrossed her own sad thoughts. Em- 
 meline was there, too, but she soon wandered away to the roof- 
 less chancel where we have seen her. 
 
 “ So he is gone, too,” said Owen, pointing downwards as Ju- 
 dith arose from her knees. 
 
 “ Even so, Owen ! those we loved are dropping off in quick 
 succession.” 
 
 “ God help you, Judith ! — that noble heart of yours is sorely 
 tried — may their souls all rest in peace ! I know not whether 
 the news I bring will give you joy or sorrow — mayhap both.” 
 
 “ What is it, I pray you 1 Fear not to speak — I can hear 
 anything.” 
 
 Owen then told her of his treaty with Ormond, and ended by 
 saying that he came to bid her farewell. 
 
 “ Farewell !” repeated Judith somewhat wildly ; “ fare-well ! 
 it is a sad word over a new-made grave — fare-well /” she said 
 again, slowly and abstractedly, “ I like not the word” — and 
 she shuddered. 
 
 “ Why, Judith,” said Owen Roe surprised and no little disap- 
 pointed by her unwonted dejection ; “ why, Judith ! an you 
 speak so drearily, to whom must I go for hope, and faith, and 
 fervor in the cause V* 
 
 Hearing this, Judith, by a strong effort, shook off her strange 
 depression, and walking away a few bteps from the grave beck- 
 oned Owen to follow. She then placed her hand in his, and 
 said with something like her former spirit : 
 
 “God be with you, Owen, till we meet again! May He 
 strengthen your arm and nerve your soul to yet more heroic 
 efforts — may He bless all who will go up with you to battle 
 for His name. And He will — but — but — why this is strange !” — 
 she stopped as if gasping for breath, and pressed her hand on 
 her bosom — “ there is something wrong here — here. Ah' Owen, 
 there is a weight on my heart — beware of Ormond, Owen ! his 
 duplicity is well nigh as dangerous as Cromwell’s sword ” 
 
 “ With^aid from above, Judith,” said O'Neill, “ I fear neither 
 one nor the other. Be you but of good heart and pray for our 
 success — Emmeiine too,” as that lady approached them, “in 
 the silence aud solitude of this ruined fane, with the dead he* 
 
440 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 roes of your race around you, invoke the God of battles for us. 
 A fierce struggle is before us, Judith, my best beloved! — the 
 might of England is now indeed to be arrayed against us, and 
 Cromwell and Ireton are just the men to carry out the designs 
 of the fanatics in our regard. An’ we fail now, Judith” — he 
 paused and looked her steadily in the face as though to read 
 the depth of her soul, if perchance any sad foreboding lurked 
 there — u an' we fail, Judith" — he repeated slowly. 
 
 “ An’ you fail,” said Judith with a shudder, her voice trem- 
 bling with emotion, “ Heaven help the children of the Gael, for 
 your past triumphs will but whet the sword of Cromwell : failure 
 now were ruin!” 
 
 “Your thought is mine,” said Owen with a bright look of 
 affection; “bless you, Judith, bless you! and may Mary our 
 Mother shield vou from harm ! should we meet no more, pulse 
 of my heart ! I would have you demand protection, both you and 
 Emmeline, from the Marchioness of Ormond. She hath a noble 
 spirit, and will compassionate your forlorn state ” 
 
 “ Heaven bless her ! I know it well,” said Emmeline, “ and 
 yet methinks I would be hard driven for shelter when I applied 
 to her after my open abandonment of home and early friends. 
 Rather a thousand times for me a nook in some desolate ruin 
 where the short remnant of our days might be passed in peace.” 
 
 “ And for me,” said Judith drawing herself up, “ my father’s 
 daughter were brought lower than she ever will be when she 
 humbled herself before Elizabeth Preston, the wife of a man 
 whose intrigues have ruined our cause — or at least broken up the 
 Confederation. I little expected, Owen O’Neill ! to hear such coun 
 sel from your lips. No, if God willed that you should fall — which 
 I will not, cannot, dare not think — Emmeline and myself must 
 take our chance with the Catholic daughters of this land. Be 
 not troubled on our account, Owen,” she added in a softened 
 tone as she met his reproachful eye, “ we have a good Father to 
 protect us, and a Mother, too — and you will be back to us, 
 Owen ! your brow wweathed with laurels — surely, sorely you 
 will ! you have ever conquered — you must conquer now, for 
 there is only you fit to measure swords with Cromwell, and your 
 defeat by him would leave our poor country at bis feet heart- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 441 
 
 broken and helpless — oh, God ! I will not, must not think of it !” 
 “ And that reminds me, dear one !” said Owen sadly, yet with 
 kindling enthusiasm, “ that while I stand here forgetting all 
 but the happiness of seeing you, the horrors of Drogheda or of 
 Wexford may be renewed. Judith ! stay of my life ! I must say 
 farewell !” 
 
 He took the hand which she freely gave, but it was cold, 
 cold as ice, and her face was bloodless as that of a corpse. Her 
 eyes, too, when she raised them to Owen’s face, had a wild, 
 haggard look in them which made the chieftain tremble, brave 
 and fearless as he was. Twice the thin pale lips parted and 
 Judith seemed about to speak, but they closed again with a 
 convulsive motion, and only for the restless glance of the spirit- 
 like eyes, the face would have been rigid as one of marble. 
 
 “Judith!” said Owen at length, “ I can stand this no longer 
 — speak but a word — a word of benediction — and I am gone!” 
 Slowly the pale lips opened again, and a heavy sigh came forth, 
 and then whispered words that sounded like, “ Oh, my country !” 
 and then the blood rushed to the pale cheek, and Judith beat 
 down into her heart the dark presentiment that had for a 
 moment overcome her, and she said in her own clear, musical 
 voice : 
 
 “Go, then, Owen! — your suffering country calls — religion 
 commands — what are Judith’s wishes, Judith’s womanish fears'? 
 With the blood of heroes in my veins — ay ! even the blood of 
 Cooey-na-gall , how can I yield to puerile weakne s 1 Go forth 
 to conquer, sword of the Gael ! — lead the clans to battle as 
 before, and the host of heaven will aid you !” 
 
 “ There spoke my own chosen one,” said Owen cheerfully ; 
 “ now can I set forth with a hopeful and right good heart, but 
 your sadness weighed on me like lead — God in heaven be your 
 
 safeguard till I return, and then, Judith ” 
 
 “Then, Owen! if you have prevailed over Cromwell, the 
 Church will have peace and the country rest, — the hero of a 
 hundred fights may well look forward to the poor reward of 
 Judith’s dowerless hand.” 
 
 “ Enough ! I desire no more — farewell ! Judith ! — if I live, 
 Drogheda and Wexford shall not go unrevenged — Cromwell and 
 
442 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 myself shall soon come together — the shock of our meeting 
 will make the island quake, and one or the othor of us will be 
 dashed to pieces — but for God and my right I tear not to face 
 him were he an hundred king-killers ! Emmeline ! child of our 
 adoption, my blessing be upon you — should the day of my hap- 
 piness ever come, Judith’s home and mine shall be yours — weep 
 not, fair maiden! this is no time for tears — see! Judith hath 
 none to give ’ 
 
 The words stuck in his throat, and he moved away abruptly. 
 Emmeline caught his cloak and when he turned back looked 
 timidly up into his face. 
 
 “ What would you, Emmeline said the chief. 
 
 “ A word — -just a word. In the storm of battle you may meet 
 Sir Charles Coote — dare I ask you to spare his life should you 
 have the power ” 
 
 O’Neill frowned. “ No, Emmeline, not even to you can I 
 make such a promise — it were a cruel betrayal of my own peo- 
 ple to spare one of the Cootes in battle ” 
 
 “ Oh ! say not so, General O’Neill ! say not so, I implore you ! 
 — it is for my mother’s sake not for his — bad as he is I can for- 
 give him now through divine grace, but I would not ask you to 
 spare the life of such as he were it not for the mother that bore 
 him and me — and — and — his wretched soul ” 
 
 “ Fair Mistress Emmeline ! I may never have the opportunity 
 you speak of — but if I had — -justice would demand its victim at 
 my hand. No more — no more — farewell! — Judith! I will live 
 on the hope of our next meeting!” 4 
 
 “ It will be in heaven !” said Judith half aloud, as she stood 
 leaning against the dilapidated wall and watched him mounting 
 his war- steed. Ouce again the chieftain turned, and smiled a 
 fond farewell as he met Judith’s glance, then spurred his pranc- 
 ing steed and cantered down the slope. Did he murmur to 
 himself like Roderick Dhu leaving ElleL Douglas : 
 
 “It is the last time — ’tis the last, that angel voice shall Roderick 
 hear ?” 
 
 Not so, for no dark misgiving weighed on Owen’s heart. 
 Health glowed on his cheek, life was coursing warm and ardent 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 443 
 
 through his veins — how could he think of death being at hand % 
 
 1 The sense of right and the power to smite are the spirit that 
 commands.” 
 
 Was not this spirit his 7 True, Cromwell was no ordinary- 
 adversary — true, his legions were full of his own fanatical spirit, 
 and every man was inflamed with his leader’s thirst for Papist 
 blood — but Owen Roe was as strong, and as valiant, and as wise, 
 as when he conquered at Benburb — his army was the same that 
 had swept Monroe’s battalions into the Black water — their hearts 
 clung around him as ivy round the oak — the blessing of the 
 Pontiff was on their arms — why should he fear that ultimate, 
 nay, immediate, success would crown their heroic efforts 7 
 
 Words cannot describe the enthusiasm of that gallant army 
 when Owen placed himself again at its head. What was the 
 terror of Cromwell’s army to men who marched under the 
 banner of Owen Roe O’Neill, that glorious banner with the cross 
 and keys interwoven with the Red Hand on its snowy surface 7 
 The more danger the more honor, and the more terrible the 
 advancing foe the greater need of stopping his course. Pear 
 indeed, had no place in their hearts — 
 
 “High, high are their hopes, for their chieftain has said 
 ThaD whatever men dare they can do. 
 
 * * * # * 
 
 And proudly they follow that chief to the field 
 Where their laurels were gather’d before.’ * 
 
 Great Heavens ! the first day’s march was not completed when 
 the general was seized with a sudden and violent disease which 
 rendered him unable to keep his seat on horseback.f Struck 
 
 * Scotch ballad. 
 
 + This sudden and fatal illness of Owen Roe at such a critical 
 juncture is very generally attributed to poison — a pair of poisoned 
 hoots, some will have it, which caused a defluxion of blood from the 
 knees. Whether it be so or not, God alone knows. It is probably 
 one of those historical secrets which man can never fathom, and on 
 which the shroud of mystery will for ever rest. One thing is certain, 
 that it was the current belief at the time that poison had been 
 administered, and various parties were suspected of the heinous 
 deed. It were worse than useless now to mention these names, some 
 
444 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 with terror and consternation the whole army came to a stand 
 ■ — Bishop McMahon and the chiefs would fain persuade the 
 general to send forward the army and remain behind, but of 
 this Owen would not hear — whilst God spared him life he would 
 go with his men — what would they do without him ? Besides, 
 his illness could not last long. 
 
 “ Not as it is now,” said the bishop significantly to the chiefs 
 who stood around in speechless terror ; “ an’ it continue so, it 
 will soon end ” 
 
 “For the love of God, my lord, don’t say that!” whispered 
 Sir Phelim in a broken voice, and stooping down he said 
 anxiously : 
 
 “ How are you now, Owen ? ” 
 
 “ Much the same, Phelim, much the same — I’ll be better 
 soon, however — with the help of God” — then turning suddenly 
 to the bishop he asked : 
 
 “Are they getting that litter ready for me? I depend on 
 your lordship to hurry them.” 
 
 “ My dear son,” said the bishop, “ make your mind easy — 
 better wait a day or two till you are over the worst ” 
 
 “ My lord of Clogher,” said the chieftain raising himself on 
 his elbow, “ how can you talk of a day or two, when there is 
 question of meeting Oliver Cromwell — you know the stern ne- 
 cessity that doth urge us on !” 
 
 “ I know, my son, I know, but — but ” 
 
 “ But what — I pray your lordship say it out — be it what it 
 may — I am not the man, I thank my God, to shrink from pain 
 or sickness ” 
 
 “ Ay, but, Owen — there be worse than pain or sickness ” 
 
 “ Humph !” said Owen contemptuously, “ you would not 
 have me think that there is danger of death — I have been sick 
 ere now.” 
 
 “Not with such sickness as this. Owen, Owen, be persuaded 
 — let the army march on with McMahon, and O’Kielly, and Sir 
 Phelim, if you will — let all go, but myself ” 
 
 of them still holding high position in Ireland. It is also certain, 
 that the voioo of tradition invariably asoribes this disastrous event to 
 poison. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 445 
 
 “ And wherefore yon, my lord V ’ 
 
 “ I — I — am a skilful nurse, Owen, and, moreover, somewhat 
 of a leech ” 
 
 Owen smiled and muttered strangely to himself, then suddenly 
 starting with renewed animation, gave positive orders for the 
 litter to he made ready, alleging that he felt much better even 
 as it was, and to move again at the head of his army would 
 speedily restore him to health. 
 
 His wishes were obeyed, and Owen Roe was carried to the 
 front amid the deafening cheers of his faithful followers. On 
 one side of the litter rode the bishop and Sir Phelim, on the 
 other, McMahon and O’Rielly, while Sir Con Magennis and 
 O’Rourke of BrefFny followed close behind. Oh ! how fervent 
 were the prayers put up by each in his own heart for the pre- 
 servation of that precious life, so all-important in that hour! 
 The fear that was gathering in raven darkness over them all, 
 no one dared to communicate— they even shrank from meeting 
 each other’s eyes, but rode on silently, wrapt in gloomy thought. 
 And still the general’s voice was heard at intervals urging bis 
 officers to speed the army on. Nevertheless, his sufferings 
 increased to such a degree in consequence of the motion of the 
 litter, that he was obliged to give in at last. 
 
 “ I can go no farther,” said he ; “ God’s will be done !” 
 
 It so happened that they were then within sight of the gray 
 waters of Lough Oughter, where O’Reilly’s old Castle looked 
 down in sullen grandeur on the wintry flood. On being told of 
 this, Owen Roe smiled sadly. 
 
 “ Here, then, will I rest- Beneath the roof-tree of O’Reilly, 
 I can lay down my head in peace.” 
 
 At his own urgent request, the last Sacraments were admin- 
 istered without delay. 
 
 “ Lose not a moment, my dear lord !” he said to the bishop 
 in a failing voice ; “ that is the only affair that imports me now 
 — my heart is breaking for the woes of Ireland, but I cannot 
 serve her now — my own soul — eternity — death — judgment — 
 haste, my lord ! lest I go forth unshriven on my long journey !” 
 
 With a heavy heart Bishop McMahon set about his doleful 
 task, and when all his spiritual wants were supplied, the chief- 
 
446 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 tain rallied for a short time. He conversed calmly with his 
 friends on the affairs of the country, advised them as to the 
 prosecution of the war, and charged Sir Phelim to keep the 
 Red Hand afloat as long as there w T as the slightest possibility of 
 success. 
 
 “ Now, Phelim,” said he with startling energy, “ may I depend 
 on you 1 ? So long as the Red Hand of Tyr-Owen is up, the 
 clans of the north will rally around it — you know that, Son of 
 the Hy-Nial — there is hut you now to keep the old flag unfurled 
 — will you do it, Phelim ! for God and our bleeding country I — 
 will you fight manfully to the last, nor give in while a chance of 
 success remains 
 
 “ I will, Owen — brother of my heart, I will !” said poor 
 Phelim, bursting into tears like a very child. “ So help me 
 God, I will! The Red Hand shall never be furled whilst I live, 
 unless our lawful demands are conceded.” 
 
 “ It is well, Phelim ! give me your hand on that !” Sir Phelim 
 did, but at the touch of Owen’s hand his grief burst forth anew, 
 for it was already clammy and cold. 
 
 “ Oh ! the villains ! the cow r ardly, black-hearted villains !” cried 
 the knight waxing furious at the thought of what had caused 
 this so dire calamity ; “ they couldn’t conquer you by fair means, 
 so they must needs ” 
 
 “ Don’t say it, Phelim !” said the dying chieftain ; “ it mat- 
 ters little how my death cometh, so long as it is come. We 
 have no certainty touching the poison, and it is a fearful crime 
 wherewith to brand any man — yet it is none too black for my 
 enemies,” he said musingly ; “ it may w T ell be so — but even an’ 
 it were, chieftains of the Gael ! I charge ye let the matter 
 rest. We have no proof, I say again, as to who is the culprit — 
 if one there be — as my God shall judge me, then, I desire to die 
 in peace with all men, in that I bear no ill-will to any for this 
 thing, or, indeed, for any other matter of a personal nature. I 
 fought while I was able, and would fight again, for the sacred 
 rights of my country and religion — and my heavy grief is now 
 that I die when my services are most needed — but private malice 
 bear I none, for which blessing I thank my God.” 
 
 Some of the chiefs conversing together in low whispers, the 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 447 
 
 name of Preston caught Owen’s ear, whereupon he turned his 
 head quickly and said with surprising energy : 
 
 “ Who talks of Preston 1 Be his name unnamed here ! He 
 hath much to answer for in regard to our common cause — he 
 hath done Ormond’s work not ours — so have all the Norman 
 lords and gentlemen — all — all — may God forgive them is my 
 dying prayer — but let no man name Thomas Preston in connec- 
 tion with my death — name no names, once more I tell you ! I 
 would speak with Donogh the Rapparee, in private.” 
 
 What passed between the two, the chiefs could but guess, but 
 Donogh remained by the bed-side until the last struggle was 
 over. The brave fellow was so overcome with sorrow that he only 
 roused himself from his stupor when Owen spoke to him, as he 
 often did, and then he bent over him to catch the faintly breathed 
 words of love and pity to be wafted to Judith when he was no 
 more. “ My peerless love — spouse I may well call her — the 
 lone mourner in far D ungiven — the winter-winds sighed when I 
 bade her farewell, and there was death between us, Donogh ! 
 She felt it, though I did not. Tell her I blessed her with my 
 dying breath — and mind, Donogh, charge her by the love I bore 
 her to leave this land at once with Emmeline — the money I 
 gave you will suffice to take them to France or Spain — tell her 
 there is a fearful time coming — she must go hence, Donogh ! 
 and you must go to watch over her — for my sake you will — I 
 know you will !” 
 
 The loud wailing of the soldiers without breaking sud- 
 denly on his ear, Owen started from a heavy trance-like slumber, 
 and a groan of anguish burst from his heart. “ My brave 
 fellows !” he murmured, “ Heaven help you all this day ! Never 
 again will Owen Roe lead you on to victory ! Well may ye 
 weep, for I loved ye well — proud I was of you — and good reason 
 I had.” 
 
 Calling to him Bishop McMahon he then begged him to give 
 his blessing to all his soldiers and his thanks for their faithful 
 service — he also charged them to follow the standard of Sir 
 Phelim O’Neill, on whom the chief command devolved. 
 
 Having taken leave of the sorrowing friends who surrounded 
 his bed, and of all the officers of his army, Owen closed his eyes 
 
448 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 in what seemed at first the sleep of death. But just as the 
 bishop was about to commence the prayers for the dying, his 
 lips were seen to move, and like low, faint music words came 
 forth : 
 
 “ Benburb ! — Rinuccini ! — Rome ! — Ireland ! — I could do no 
 more. Sweet Jesus ! mercy ! — Mary ! receive thy child ” 
 
 A shudder, a long heavy sigh, and the noblest of Ireland’s 
 sons had ceased to breathe — the Fabius of his country — the 
 sword of the Gael — Owen Roe wa*s dead. 
 
 Weep, Ireland, weep ! — your hero, your pride is gone, and 
 ages may roll away before you look upon his like again. The 
 greatest, the bravest, the wisest of your Confederate Chief- 
 tains lies stark and cold in that desolate castle on Lough 
 Oughter’s shore ! 
 
 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 449 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 “ ’Tis come— their hour of martyrdom 
 In Iran’s sacred cause is come ; 
 
 And though their life hath pass’d away 
 Like lightning on a stormy day, 
 
 Yet shall their death-hour leave a track 
 Of glory, permanent and bright, 
 
 To which the brave of after-times, 
 
 The suff’ring brave shall long look back 
 With proud regret, and by its light 
 Watch thro’ the hours of slavery’s nigh 
 For vengeance on th’ oppressor’s crimes.” 
 
 Moore’s Lalla Rookk. 
 
 Yes, so it was! whilst the banners he had so gloriously won 
 at Benburb were waving in triumph in an old fane of the Eter- 
 nal City,* Owen Roe was stricken down, 
 
 “ And he died at Lough Oughter upon St. Leonard’s Day.” 
 
 “He died, and took with him to his grave the lingering hopes of 
 Irish independence.” He died and left Ireland in her greatest 
 need, with Cromwell and his Ironsidesf already sweeping the 
 land like the red thunderbolt charged with death. 
 
 Of the noble northern army, some few officers joined Ormond 
 with the men under their command, chiefly because it had been 
 the last move of Owen Roe to effect a junction with that “ slip- 
 pery politician some other battalions broke up or scattered 
 away over the country in search of homes, but the greater por- 
 tion kept together under the command of Sir Phelim 0 Neill. 
 Most of the veterans who had shared Owen Roe’s victorious 
 
 * Rinuceini had sent the banners to Rome where they were received 
 with great rejoicing, and the Holy Father himself assisted at the Te 
 Deum sung in honor of the victory of Benburb. 
 
 t By this characteristic name Oliver was wont to address his sol- 
 diers. 
 
450 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 career, and the Kinel-Owen to a man, still gathered around their 
 ancient standard, and to do Sir Phelim justice, he bore it 
 bravely and steadily as became the head of the Hy-Nial race. 
 For three long years did he keep that flag afloat, his chance of 
 success diminishing month by month and year by year, manoeuv- 
 ring so as to elude the Puritans where their strength was far 
 beyond his own, and giving them battle where there was even 
 a chance of success. He had learned a lesson from his illus- 
 trious kinsman, and displayed during that trying and perilous 
 time a coolness' and tact little to be expected from his natural 
 character. During those three years of bloody and unequal 
 contest, when the clans of Ulster were struggling, not alone for 
 freedom, but for life itself, some feats of chivalric bravery were 
 performed not unworthy of the heroes of ancient story. On 
 the hill of TullymaDgan, in their own border- country, the sons 
 of Breffuy-O'Reilly met and defeated the iron warriors of 
 Cromwell, reviving for a moment the fading memory of Benburb, 
 and adding another bright name to the records of Irish valor. 
 In the south and west, the native tribes everywhere made a gal- 
 lant resistance to the terrible power of Cromwell. In some 
 places they refused to receive assistance from Lord Ormond, 
 preferring rather to take their chance in opposing the Puritans 
 single-handed rather than have any connection with a man 
 whom they knew to be at heart their bitter enemy. This was 
 especially the case in Waterford, Limerick, and Clonmel. The 
 former city was besieged by Cromwell himself, but the heroic gar- 
 rison, commanded by General Farrel, defended the town with such 
 determined bravery that the tyrant was forced to retreat with 
 loss, leaving to the citizens that proud motto which has ever 
 since graced their arms : Urbs Intacta — the Unconquered City. 
 Clonmel was defended with equal success by some fifteen hun- 
 dred Ulstermen under Hugh O’Neill,* a nephew of Owen Roe, 
 who had come over from the Continent a short time before. 
 The brief career of this gallant young officer, during the bloody 
 
 * This defenee of Clonmel by Hugh O’Neill is equal to anything of 
 the kind on record. It forms, indeed, one of the most memorable 
 events of the eleven years’ war. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 451 
 
 days of Cromwell, form another glorious page in the Annals of 
 the princely O’Neills, and it must have gladdened the stout 
 heart of Sir Phelim to find his own efforts in the north so nobly 
 seconded by another champion of the Red Hand. 
 
 These were truly “ the days that tried men’s souls.” Limerick, 
 like Clonmel and Waterford, would have baffled the efforts of 
 Cromwell, for Hugh O’Neill was within its walls, and the towns- 
 men fought like heroes, but treachery undid their work. A cer- 
 tain Colonel Fennel was there, who betrayed the city to Ireton. 
 It is true the plague was raging within the walls, but more fatal 
 was the treachery of Fennel.* He had twice before betrayed the 
 Catholic party, viz., at Killaloe and at Youghal, but Ireton, to 
 his honor be it said, gave the traitor his deserts. “ It is satisfac- 
 tory to know,” says a Protestant historian, “ that of the 24 per- 
 sons excepted from pardon, by way of example, upon this occa- 
 sion, one of the first led out to execution was this infamous 
 traitor.”f But alas ! from the same gibbet hung the heroic Bi- 
 shop of Emly, Terence Albert O’Brien, executed for his noble 
 defence of the city in conjunction with Hugh O’Neill. Forever 
 memorable is the prediction made by this venerable soldier of 
 Christ when, Ireton having passed sentence of death upon him, 
 he summoned that ruthless tyrant to meet him at the bar of di- 
 vine justice in the space of three days. The haughty Puritan 
 laughed his words to scorn, but he found them true to his cost, 
 for the plague that was decimating the citizens, laid hold on his 
 iron frame, and he was dead at the time specified by the mar- 
 tyred prelate. 
 
 In those days, too, died Heber McMahon, the illustrious Bishop 
 of Clogher, the friend of Owen Roe and Rinuccini, and Nicholas 
 French. His end was the same as that of the two prelates just 
 mentioned. After maintaining, in conjunction with Sir Phelim 
 O'Neill, the struggle for freedom in Ulster, until every hope of 
 success had well nigh vanished, displaying in his military career 
 
 * It seems very probable that this unprincipled wretch was the 
 very same Colonel Fennel who was branded by Owen Roe as “the 
 cowardly cock with the feather.” 
 
 t Smith’s Ireland , Yol. II., p. 62. 
 
452 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 so many noble qualities and varied abilities as to command the 
 respect of all parties,* he was captured by a certain Major King 
 of Coote’s division, and hanged by order of that savage general, 
 the worthy son of his father ! The patriot prelate had been de- 
 feated in a bloody engagement but the day previous, the victory 
 being entirely owing to the enemy’s superior cavalry. When 
 attacked he had with him only a small party of horse — “ he de- 
 fended himself with heroic bravery,” says a Protestant writer 
 of our own day, “ and it was not till after he w r as disabled by 
 numerous wounds that he was taken prisoner.” f Yet they 
 hung that heroic bishop, that great and gifted man ! 
 
 Oh ! the nobleness of such a life, and the glory of such an 
 end ! If the Maguires have their Connor and their Roderick to 
 boast of well may the McMahons exult in the name of Heber ! 
 Malachy O'Kelly, Terence Albert O'Brien, Boetius McEgan and 
 Heber McMahon, illustrious martyrs to Ireland’s faith and Ire- 
 land’s freedom, the world has never seen men of greater worth, 
 or of loftier souls, or more fervid zeal for the faith of Christ ! 
 An Archbishop and three bishops martyred for justice’ sake! 
 Oh ! Church of Ireland ! venerable Mother of Saints ! for thee 
 they suffered, fought and died ! may thy children never forget 
 the honor due to their thrice-hallowed names ! 
 
 Meanwhile, Preston and Castlehavenj: had betaken them- 
 selves beyond seas — the latter, indeed, long before the death of 
 Owen Roe, and was doing amateur fighting in France during 
 the war of the League, whilst the priests and prelates of Ireland 
 were in battle-harness for the faith. Mountgarret, old and 
 broken in spirit, died a contrite and humble man in one of his 
 own castles near Kilkenny, and those who visit the Cathedral 
 of St. Canice may see in the nave thereof a stately monument 
 
 * He discharged hia new functions with vigor and skill, against the 
 Parliamentary troops, which he contrived to annoy in every quarter 
 ot the Province, by skirmishing parties of all dimensions.— ‘Wills' 
 Illustrious and Distinguished Irishmen , Yol. IV., p. 183. 
 
 t Ibid . 
 
 $ “Since the rebellion of 1641,” says he in his Memoirs, “ I had 
 nothing but war and trouble, until the peace of 1646. Then I went 
 for France.” Oh ! chivalrous and patriotic Castlehaven ! 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 453 
 
 to the memory of Richard, third Viscount Mountgarret , obit 
 A. D. 1651. In the south transept of that same venerable edi- 
 fice there is another tomb far more interesting to the Catholic 
 or the patriot. It is that of David Rothe, the learned, and zeal- 
 ous, and patriotic Bishop of Ossory in the stormy days of the 
 Confederation — the aged prelate whom we have seen sharing so 
 largely in the toils and cares, and also in the glories of that 
 legislative body which for a brief space — alas! too brief! — 
 swayed the destinies of Ireland. Norman by blood, he was Irish 
 in heart, and labored with all the might that was in him to effect 
 the liberation of his native land, and the restoration of her 
 ancient worship. Peace be with thee, David Rothe! simple, 
 guileless soul, patriarch of the Confederation ! may thy glory in 
 heaven be commensurate with thy good deeds ! 
 
 All this time Ormond had been intriguing with one party and 
 another in the vain hope of recovering that power which had 
 passed from his hand for ever. When all else failed him, the 
 baffled politician was fain to have recourse to the prelates of the 
 national party, that is to say, those who had been the supporters 
 of Rinuccini and of Owen Roe. But they knew him too well 
 to trust him then with the bitter experience of a ten years’ 
 fruitless struggle weighing on their minds. The Catholic pre 
 lates of Ireland could only see in Ormond the main cause of 
 the ruin which had come upon their noble Confederation, and 
 they knew it was his pressing necessities which induced him to 
 make any advances to them. They saw in him the founder 
 and protector of Protestant ascendancy,* the man who had 
 never conceded any measure of justice to Catholics when he 
 had the power, and the man, too, whose insidious counsels had, 
 in all probability, kept up the breach between the ill-fated sov- 
 ereign who trusted him so blindly, and the Catholic subjects 
 who would have been his most faithful and devoted adherents. 
 The prelates rejected with scorn the overtures of the once-pow- 
 
 * The Irish fabric of Protestant ascendanoy in Church, State, and 
 property, was thus mainly raised by James Butler, twelfth Earl, and 
 first Duke of Ormond— a fatal labor preceded by one civil war, and 
 followed by another. — Smith’s Ireland , Yol. II , p 95. 
 
454 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 erful dictator of Ireland, and the consequence was thai Ormond, 
 having no other move to make, was forced to leave the country 
 in company with Lord Inchiqnin, whose troops had mutinied 
 and left him without a man to command. Admirable compa- 
 nionship in ignoble flight ! James Butler of Ormond, and 
 Murrough O’Brien of Inchiqnin ! “ So far,” says the candid 
 
 Protestant, Gr. L. Smith, “ the Roman Catholic party was 
 revenged, if not righted. Ormond would not yield them reli- 
 gious freedom, and their prelates drove him out of the country.” 
 Was ever a more signal instance of divine retribution 1 ? De- 
 feated as they were, and by his machinations, the hierarchy 
 of Ireland had still power enough to drive their arch enemy 
 from the land which he had ruled with all but kingly power ! 
 
 At Ormond’s departure, he appointed Lord Clanrickarde his 
 deputy, hoping thereby to conciliate the Catholics, but, alas ! 
 Clanrickarde was just as much distrusted by his co-religionists as 
 Ormond himself, and as he had kept coldly aloof from them 
 when his aid might have perchance crowned their efforts with 
 success, so now they looked on with stoical indifference whilst 
 he vainly struggled to check the power of Cromwell and the 
 Puritans. Sir Pbelkn O'Neill, however, was at last induced to 
 join him with what forces he had yet at his command, but their 
 joint efforts were of no avail. On and on swept the destroying 
 host, laying waste all the land, and sparing neither man, woman 
 nor child in its fanatical fury. The new Lord Lieutenant and 
 his ally were driven back, back into the far north, still fighting 
 against tearful odds ; they succeeded in taking Ballyshannon 
 and Donegal, but lost both again, and were at last surrounded 
 on all sides. Lord Clanrickarde was so fortunate as to effect his 
 escape, but Sir Phelim was captured and taken in chains to 
 Dublin on account of the reward offered for his apprehension. 
 
 The last scene in Sir Phelim’s life was as noble as any we 
 have witnessed during the whole of that long-protracted strug- 
 gle. His capture was justly considered as a death-blow to the 
 national cause, and although he had the semblance of a trial, 
 his condemnation was more from his well-known character as a 
 Catholic leader than any evidence brought against him. There 
 was a distinctive feature in his case, nevertheless, which some- 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 455 
 
 what delayed the execution of his sentence. The horror where- 
 with the execution of Charles the First was regarded by all 
 Europe, and even by the greater part of the English realm, had 
 driven the regicide parliament fo look around for plausible pre- 
 tences to justify their crime, and finding Sir Phelim O’Neill at 
 last in their clutches, they remembered the royal commission 
 which, at the first rising in Ulster, he had exhibited to his fol- 
 lowers. This was ostentatiously alluded to on his trial, but to 
 the surprise of all, Sir Phelim boldly declared that the so-called 
 royal commission was an ingenious device of his own, and that 
 his gracious majesty, Charles the First, had no more to do with 
 his making war than the great Mogul or the Caliph of Bagdad. 
 He was asked, how then did he come by the commission, to 
 which he frankly replied that when he took the Castle of 
 Charlemont in the year of ’41, he found in an old cabinet in a 
 certain room of that edifice, a patent with the broad seal of 
 England appended, and immediately conceiving the idea of 
 counterfeiting a royal commission, he then and there cut off* the 
 seal and had it transferred to a document prepared by him.* 
 
 This statement, so humiliating and yet so praiseworthy, was 
 more galling to the regicide Puritans than can well be imagined. 
 Some of their most eminent officials in Ireland visited Sir Phe- 
 lim in his prison, and made use of every art to induce him to 
 criminate the late man , Charles Stuart. But Sir Phelim was 
 firm as a rock. Truth was truth, and not to save his life would 
 he, the descendant of a princely line, the champion of Catholic 
 rights, prevaricate in that final hour. 
 
 His fate was sealed, and he stood on the scaffold. Let the 
 Protestant minister, Warner, tell of his last moments.f He is 
 
 * It will he remembered that Sir Phelim O’Neill was a member of 
 J;he legal profession. 
 
 t Yet this same Warner, in the very same paragraph, speaks of this 
 very Sir Phelim as “ profligate to the last degree” — in God’s name, 
 how could a man manifesting so much heroism, such a conscientious 
 regard for truth in bis last moments, be considered as “ profligate to 
 the last degree Truly, this is a fair specimen of Protestant logic 
 as regards Catholics and their religion. 
 
456 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 quoting the testimony of a certain Dean Ker, no friend, surely, 
 of poor 'Phelim O’Neill : 
 
 “ Hoping still that they should prevail with SirPhelim O’Neill, 
 when the terrors of death were nearer, the Dean deposeth fur- 
 ther, that he was present and very near Sir Phelim when he was 
 upon the ladder at his execution ; and that two Marshals came 
 riding to tbe place in great hurry, calling aloud ‘ stop a little,’ 
 and having passed through the crowd, one of them whispered 
 him some time, and Sir Phelim O’Neill answered him, in the 
 hearing of the Dean and several hundreds round him, ‘ I thank 
 the Lieutenant-General — meaning Fleetwood — for this intended 
 mercy ; but I declare, good people, before God and His holy 
 Angels, and all you that hear me, that I never had any commis- 
 sion from the King for what I have done in levying or prosecut- 
 ing this war.’ ” 
 
 He also expressed himself truly sorry for any unnecessary 
 bloodshed or outrage of any kind which, in furtherance of their 
 lawful and conscientious war, his followers might have commit- 
 ted, and commending his soul to God, the fatal drop was lowered 
 and Stout Phelim — stout and staunch to the last, w r as launched 
 into eternity — the martyr of truth, as he has been aptly styled. 
 
 The death of Sir Phelim 0 Neill is assuredly no less noble 
 or heroic than that of Lord Maguire or Costelloe McMahon. If 
 in that one instance he had swerved grievously from the path of 
 rectitude, he nobly expiated his fault, a fault which was cer- 
 tainly extenuated, if not justified, by the motive he had in view. 
 The hatred which the Puritans bore to his name was manifested 
 after his death. His head was placed over the gate at the 
 Bridge-foot in Dublm,* and the four quarters of his body sent to 
 various cities for similar exhibition, and the greater intimidation 
 of all traitors. 
 
 And this was the end of Sir Phelim O’ Neill. In-felix Felix , 
 the most hated and calumniated of all the Confederate Chieftains 
 — the first who raised their standard in Ulster, and the last to 
 let it fall. His name and his memory should be dear to the 
 Catholics of Ireland, and they, at least, should remember that 
 
 * See Gilbert’s Dublin , Yol. I., p. 325. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 457 
 
 the heroic devotion of so many years to a great cause, and the 
 nobleness of his end, should efface the memory of any human 
 frailties to which he was subject. He was a man of strong 
 passions, and nature had cast him in a rough mould, but we 
 have ample evidence in the facts already mentioned that there 
 was an innate nobleness and elevation of character beneath that 
 ungracious exterior. 
 
 “ Why is his name unsung, 0 ! minstrel host ? 
 
 Why do you pass his memory like a ghost? 
 
 Why is no rose, no laurel, on his grave ? 
 
 Was he not constant, vigilant, and brave? 
 
 Why, when that hero-age you deify, 
 
 Why do you pass ‘ In-felix Felix by V 
 
 “ He rose the first— he looms the morning star 
 Of that long, glorious, unsuccessful war? 
 
 England abhors him ! Has she not abhorr’d 
 Ad who for Ireland ventured life or word ? 
 
 What memory would she not have cast away 
 That Ireland hugs in her heart’s heart to-day ? 
 
 “ He rose in wrath to free his fettei’d land, 
 
 ‘ There’s blood— there’s Saxon blood— upon his hand.’ 
 
 Ay ! so they say !— three thousand less or more, 
 
 He sent untimely to the Stygian shore — 
 
 They were the keepers of the prison-gate— 
 
 He slew them, his whole race to liberate. 
 
 “ 0 ! Clear-eyed Poets, ye who can descry, 
 
 Thro’ vulgar heaps of dead, where heroes lie— 
 
 Ye to whose glance the primal mist is clear— 
 
 Behold there lies a trampled Noble here. 
 
 Shall we not leave a mark ? shall we not do 
 Justice to one so hated and so true ? 
 
 “ If even his hand and hilt were so distain’ d, 
 
 If he was guilty, as he has been blamed, 
 
 His death redeem’d his life— he chose to die, 
 
 Rather than get his freedom with a lie ; 
 
 Plant o’er his gallant heart a laurel tree, 
 
 So may his head within the shadow be. 
 
 “ I mourn for thee, 0, hero of the North — 
 
 God judge thee gentler than we do on earth ! 
 
 I mourn for thee, and for our Land, because 
 She dare not own the martyrs in her cause. 
 
 But they, our poets, they who justify 
 They will not let tby memory rot or die.”* 
 
 * If Ireland owed no other debt of gratitude to Thomas D’Arcy 
 McGee than the above spirited stanzas, it would be no trifling one. 
 20 
 
458 
 
 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 It was well for Rory O’More that his generous heart was 
 spared the misery of those tragic scenes. He died, we are told, 
 in Flanders, “ of a broken heart,” on hearing of the fatal dissen- 
 sions tearing asunder the glorious Confederation which his ge- 
 nius had planned.* Well for him that he lived not to witness 
 the utter ruin of the cause, the bloody extinction of the nation’s 
 hopes, but late so fair and rich in promise! Well for him that 
 he was taken hence before the infuriate followers of Cromwell 
 were left to work their will on faithful, devoted Ireland. 
 
 A terrible picture of the bloody Cromwellian period is found 
 in the truthful pages of George Lewis Smith to which I have so 
 often referred : “ The cruelties of the Puritans,” says he, “ dur- 
 ing their uncontrolled occupation of Ireland, are not to be 
 outmatched in the long catalogue of enormities by which the 
 history of Christian Europe has been blackened. Fanaticism 
 never exhibited itself in a mood at once so stern and wild. 
 Vindictive interpreters of the spirit of the Old Testament, they 
 imbibed a blasphemous conviction that God had punished an 
 idolatrous people by subjecting their lives and properties to.the 
 despotic authority of a ‘ purer race elect.’ As Joshua used the 
 Gideonites so the Puritans scourged their Irish serfs with rods of 
 iron. At least 40,000 Irishmen were transported as slaves to 
 the West Indies. The peasantry were strictly forbidden to stir 
 out of their respective parishes without leave ; they were not 
 allowed to assemble for religious worship or any other purpose ; 
 their priests were commanded to fly the country under pain of 
 death ; and when it was discovered that some faithful pastors, 
 unmoved by these frightful denunciations, still administered the 
 consolations of religion in caverns, hid amidst the wild fastnesses 
 of uncultivated mountains, or in turf-covered huts, pitched upon 
 
 There have been few amongst us to do justice to the memory of this 
 gallant but unfortunate chieftain — let us hope that after times and 
 after generations of Catholics may give him credit for his unexam- 
 pled devotion to the cause of his country and her ancient faith, 
 
 * Some writers say that it was in Kilkenny Rory O’More ended his 
 mortal pilgrimage, but I am rather inclined to the opinion of those 
 who lay the scene of his death abroad. 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 459 
 
 the cheerless centre of some deserted bog, bloodhounds were 
 employed to track the martyrs to their retreats, and priest- 
 hunting became one of the field sports of the country.”* 
 
 Such was the dismal condition to which the suicidal policy of 
 the Norman nobles, and the bickerings and dissensions within 
 the Catholic body had consigned Ireland — such the state of 
 things which followed on the final overthrow of The Confeder- 
 ate Chieftains! 
 
 Those of my readers who take an interest in the fortunes of 
 Judith O’Cahan and her young friend Emmeline, will be glad to 
 know that they were safely conducted to Madrid by Donogh the 
 Rapparee, in pursuance of the last solemn injunction of Owen 
 Roe. Long before the horrors of the last tragic era had com- 
 menced — before Cromwell had crimsoned one field of Ulster 
 with the blood of its heroic children — whilst Phelim and Heber 
 were yet masters of the north, and the Red Hand was still in 
 its power, the betrothed of Owen Roe and of Connor Maguire 
 were sheltered beneath the roof of a Spanish Dominican con- 
 vent, where the greatness of their sorrows commanded respect, 
 and won tender sympathy. There, 
 
 “ The world forgetting, by the world forgot,” 
 
 they spent the remaining years of their earthly sojourn in the 
 practice of penance, and the soothing exercise of that devotion 
 which souls purified by suffering can alone appreciate. The 
 memory of the loved and lost never faded from their minds — • 
 identified as they were with all that was great and noble, but 
 the wild excitement of the stormy war-time gradually blended 
 with the pa t, and seemed through the mist of years no more 
 than the troubles of a feverish dream. 
 
 As for Donogh he was nearly alone in the world — Shamus 
 Beg had fallen in the vain effort to save his chief from the hands 
 of Coote’s troopers — most of his brave associates had dropped 
 one after another in their ceaseless encounters wdtli the enemy, 
 but the few who remained were resolved to fight the Crom- 
 wellians whilst an Irish banner was on the breeze, and Donogh, 
 
 i 
 
 * Ireland , Historical and Statistical , Vol. II , p. 65. 
 
460 
 
 TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 himself of the same mind, contrived to make his way back from 
 Spain just in time to see the end of it. He was slain a few 
 months after the tragical end of Sir Plielim ; — whilst he and a 
 few of his gallant Rapparees were conveying an aged priest 
 through the fastnesses of Donegal on their way to Connaught, 
 they were suddenly beset by a party of Montgomery’s horse, and 
 every man of them fell fighting around the priest who was then 
 hung from the crag of a neighboring rock. 
 
 Clanrickarde reaped the reward of his worldly wisdom. On 
 the restoration of the Stuarts, he retired to his Euglish estates, 
 where he spent the few remaining years of his life in what the 
 world calls “ dignified retirement.” Peace, we can hardly think 
 he enjoyed with the groans of Cromwell’s victims ringing in his 
 ears, and the blood of thousands of martyrs weighing on his soul. 
 
 There remains but one of the prominent characters of our 
 tale to be noticed — the great, the learned, the saintly Nicholas 
 French. After doing all that man could do with his voice and 
 with his pen for the liberation of his country, he was destined 
 to outlive nearly all the associates of his arduous toils. He had 
 gone abroad before the breaking up of the Confederacy for the 
 purpose of soliciting yet more liberal aid from the Catholic 
 sovereigns of Europe, and he never returned, for the utter ruin 
 of the cause and the bloody persecution going on in Ireland, 
 made it well for him to be abroad. Yet though absent from 
 Ireland his heart was there, and in the seclusion of various uni- 
 versities where his fame and his learning made him an honored 
 guest, he devoted his powerful pen to the service of his op- 
 pressed country. 
 
 At the conclusion of the Life of Bishop French, in McGee’s 
 Gallery of Irish Writers, we find the following beautiful and 
 most vivid account of the end of that patriotic prelate : 
 
 “ On the 23d of August, in the year of grace, 1678, the vast 
 Cathedral of Ghent saw a melancholy sight. In its basilica 
 was laid the corpse of a bishop. Many lights gleamed around 
 — the mitre and the staff were by his side, the shoes on his 
 feet, and the purple over his cold bosom. Whoever looked 
 upon that face, newly inanimate, might perceive the lines 
 of thought, and the lineaments of high resolve and noblest 
 
THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 
 
 461 
 
 courage imprinted upon it. It was the mortal form and face 
 of the great exiled Irish bishop. He had yielded up his soul 
 to God, and his memory to his country. His monument and 
 grave are under the roof of that sombre Cathedral. His char- 
 acter and his fame are our inheritance. Let us consider how to 
 appreciate their value.”* 
 
 As for Luke Wadding there is reason to think that his heart 
 was broken by the failure of the Catholic cause in his native 
 land, that cause for which he had done so much and labored 
 so devotedly. He died in 1657 in Rome, honored and beloved 
 by the highest dignitaries of the Church, and the greatest lite- 
 rati of that age, for Wadding was a distinguished scholar and 
 an eminent writer, as well as an illustrious patriot. “His funeral 
 was solemnly celebrated ; his grave is in St. Isidore’s, and over 
 it a tomb, raised to Ms memory by a noble Roman, who was 
 his friend through life. ... It bears a brief inscription in 
 
 Latin.”t 
 
 And Rinuccini — did he forget Ireland on his return to Italy ? 
 Not so — he did all that in his power lay to advance her cause, 
 but he did not long survive the close of his Irish nunciature, 
 and died, Heaven be praised ! before the dark days came again 
 upon that Church of Ireland, for whose freedom he had labored 
 so strenuously. It is recorded that on his return to Rome he 
 caused a series of frescoes to be painted in his palace at Fermo, 
 illustrating the principal battles fought in Ireland during his 
 nunciature 4 No better proof could be given of his love for that 
 country than thus perpetuating on canvas the glories of Benburb, 
 Bunratty (where himself had commanded), and Ballaghmore ! 
 
 Their souls are, we trust, with God, those illustrious Confede- 
 rates, and their ashes spread abroad over many lands, but so 
 long as the children of Ireland are true to their ancient faith, 
 so long will their names be a rich inheritance, their deeds and 
 their virtues a glorious model for all after times ! 
 
 * Gallery of Irish writers, p. 163. t Ibid, p. 101. 
 
 $ Meehan’s Confederation, p. 227 
 
 THE END. 
 

 
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