Henty George Alfred
Orange and Green: A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick
It was on the evening when all the arrangements were finally settled, that a loud knocking was heard at the door of the house where eight of the principal persons in the affair were assembled. One of them looked out of the window, and announced that the street was full of soldiers. All leaped to their feet, and drew their swords.
"It is of no use to resist, gentlemen," Walter said. "Do you put bottles and glasses on the table, and sit down quietly. I will try to escape. If they find you alone, they can prove nothing against you, and if I get safe off, you also are safe. Is there any way out on to the roof? No doubt the house is watched behind."
"There is a trapdoor," the gentleman, in whose house they were, said, and led the way upstairs at full speed. As he was unbolting the trap, Walter ran into a bedroom and seized an armful of blankets, then ran up the ladder to the trapdoor, and stepped out on to the roof. The door was closed behind him, and he heard the bolts drawn, and then his host ran downstairs and told the frightened servants to open the doors, which had so far resisted the attack from without. Headed by an officer, the soldiers rushed in.
"What means this violence?" the gentleman asked. "Why is my house broken into in this way?"
"I arrest you, and all who are in this house," the officer said, "on the charge of treason."
"Treason!" the gentleman said, coolly. "You will find no treason here. I have a few friends upstairs, who are cracking a bottle of port; but that is not, so far as I am aware, against the law."
The officer ran upstairs to the room where the others were standing, as if surprised at the tumult, round the table, on which were bottles and half-filled glasses.
"Take the names of all these persons," the officer said to the sergeant who followed him, "and then convey them in custody to the castle."
"There is no trouble about their names," the host said. "All are well known and peaceful citizens, as can be testified by any magistrate."
"Where is the man who was with you?" the officer said, looking round.
"There is, so far as I am aware, no one in the house, sir, beyond these gentlemen and my domestics."
"It is a lie!" the officer exclaimed, furiously. "A man was seen to enter this house, an hour and a half ago, and no one has left since."
"A young man! Oh, I suppose you mean the young fellow who brought me a message from my cousin, at Waterford, and who called to ask if I had yet found him any employment. Oh yes, he has been here, but left some time ago, unless he is chatting with the maids in the kitchen."
The officer directed a rigorous search to be made of the house. The soldiers soon reported that every nook and corner had been examined, but that no one was to be found. At this moment, a shot was fired in the street, and a sergeant ran in.
"Captain Peters bid me say, sir, that they have just caught sight of a man on the roof of a house, some distance along the street."
"Take the prisoners to the castle, under a strong guard, sergeant. You will be answerable for their safety," the officer exclaimed, as he ran downstairs.
Directly the trap closed behind him, Walter–sure that some minutes would pass before the method of his escape was known–tore the blankets he had brought with him into wide strips, tied the ends together, and twisted them up into the form of a rope; then, coiling this over his arm, he made his way along the roofs. The street below was now a mass of people. The report that a Popish plot had been discovered, and that a number of important arrests had been made, spread quickly, as the soldiers were seen gathered round the house. The news was sufficient to stir up party feelings, and the mob which collected soon set up the shout which had, of late, been so often raised in the streets of Dublin–"Down with the Papists!"
Soon the crashing of glass was heard, as stones were hurled at the dwellings of known Catholics. Walter, anxious for the safety of Larry, who was, he knew, somewhere without, tried to look down into the street to see what was going on, believing that in the darkness he could not be seen. The flash of a musket, and the whistle of a ball close to him, showed him that his figure had been seen against the skyline.
Drawing back, he paused a moment in thought. The trapdoor would be discovered at once, and a search on the roof commenced, and the soldiers would be placed behind the houses. There was no time to be lost in continuing his search for a house with a building projecting behind, onto which he could lower himself with his rope, which was not nearly long enough to reach the ground.
Looking over at the back, between two of the sharp ridges of the roofs, he hung his rope so that it would fall across a window, fastened the end round a stack of chimneys, and then, taking hold of it, swung himself over. He had been very careful in tying the knots, and had tested them by pulling at them with all his strength; but he did not feel at all certain that they might not draw with his weight, in which case he must have been dashed to pieces on the ground far below him; but there was no time to hesitate, and, as fast as he could, he began to slide down the rope, the frequent knots affording good hold for his hands.
At last he reached the window. It was made of the small diamond-shaped panes at that time in general use. Holding the rope with one hand and his legs, he dashed the other hand through a pane, just where he judged the fastening inside would be. Three panes were beaten in before he felt the latch. This was easily turned. The frame opened outward, and he had some difficulty in pulling it past him; then, grasping the woodwork, he drew himself in, and with a great effort succeeded in gaining a sufficient holding to enable him to leave go of the rope, and make good his footing inside.
He had little fear of the inmates of the house taking notice of the fall of glass; for, had they noticed the sound above the din in the street, they would have supposed that the breakage was caused by one of the flying stones. He ran lightly downstairs, and opened a door at the back of the house, and found himself in the yard. The wall was not very high, and a spring enabled him to get his fingers on the top. He was soon sitting there, and then dropped into the road behind.
The sound of his fall caught the ears of the soldiers, who were stationed at the back of the house from whence he had started, some fifty yards away. There was a sharp challenge, and then, as no answer was given, four or five shots were fired, and there was a rush of feet along the road.
As it was only in the principal thoroughfares that a few lights were exhibited, the road would have been in complete darkness had not the clouds, just at that moment, blown away from the face of the moon, which was half full.
The shots, however, had been fired hastily, and Walter dashed off at full speed, unhurt. He heard shouts from the roofs of the houses, and one or two shots were fired, but the chance of his being hit was but small. The sound, however, told the soldiers and crowd in the front street that the fugitive was escaping at the rear, and there was a general rush down the street to the next turning. Walter was a hundred yards ahead, before the mob reached the turning, and was rapidly distancing the soldiers who were pursuing him. Unfortunately, however, there were many people hurrying from all sides, attracted by the shouting and firing. Several of these, in response to the shouts of the soldiers, tried to stop him as he dashed past, and failing to do so, at once joined in the pursuit.
Walter saw that he must be captured, if he kept straight on, for a group of men approaching, warned by the shouts of his pursuers, prepared to seize him. He therefore turned sharp down a narrow lane to his left. Another fifty yards he was through this, and found himself on the road, running by the side of the Liffey. Without a moment's hesitation he sprang across it, and plunged into the river.
Even in the moment of his spring, he perceived that the tide was running up. Had it been ebbing, he would have made down and tried to gain the shore, under shelter of the shipping moored below. But it was useless to think of swimming against the tide. His pursuers were but a few yards behind him, and the second time he rose to the surface for air, two or three shots were fired. He dived again, and when he next came up, took a deliberate look round in order to judge of his chances.
He was now about a third of the way across. The shore he had left was already lined with people, and several were gathering on the opposite bank. Two or three shots struck the water close to him, and he knew that he was visible to his pursuers. Taking a long breath, he again went under water. He was a first-rate swimmer and diver, having bathed regularly, summer and winter, in the bay below the castle.
He had, this time, turned his face towards the shore he had quitted. The tide, he knew, was sweeping him up. He kept under water as long as he possibly could, swimming his hardest. When he could keep under no longer, he turned on his back, and permitted himself to rise slowly to the surface.
The moment his mouth and nostrils were above water, he got rid of the pent-up air, took another breath, and sank again. He swam on until he felt, by the ground rising rapidly in front of him, that he was close to the edge. He then cautiously came to the surface, and looked round.
He was close under the bank from which he had started, but two or three hundred yards higher up. The bank rose straight up, some twelve feet above him, and he could hear persons talking close to its edge.
"There he is."
"No, he isn't."
"Pretty nearly over the other side."
"I don't see him."
"They will catch him as he gets out."
"I believe he has sunk."
"He never could keep under all this time."
"One of the bullets must have hit him."
Then a voice in the crowd shouted, "There's his head, just in the middle of the river," and a stone splashed in the stream. It was followed by a volley of other stones, and several musket shots in the same direction.
Walter, having now got his breath, sank his head quietly below the water and swam on again, keeping close under the bank. Whenever he came up for air, he listened for a moment. Shots were still being fired below him, and he knew that the attention of all upon the shores was still directed towards the centre of the stream, and that there was but small chance of anyone leaning over to gaze down into the water close to their feet.
His hopes rose, as every minute placed him further from his pursuers. He could no longer hear voices above him when he rose, but he swam on, for upwards of a mile, and struggled up the bank well beyond the walls of the town. He lay down a few minutes to rest himself, walked half a mile along the bank, and then, entering the river again, swam across, for the road he was to follow was on the south side of it.
He made his way across the country until he saw a small shed. He entered this, and finding some hay in the loft, stripped off his wet clothes, and crept deep into the hay to warm himself, for the water was cold, and he was shivering from head to foot.
As soon as it was light, he again put on his clothes and started at a run, which he maintained until he was in a thorough glow, in spite of his wet clothing. He did not approach the village, at which he had arranged to meet Larry, until the sun was high, and his clothes had dried so far that they would not attract the attention of anyone who might be passing. Then he went into the deserted village and took up his place in one of the ruined cottages, from which he could obtain a view of the road from Dublin.
Half an hour later, he saw Larry coming along it. Although there was no one else in sight, someone might be going the other way, and Walter therefore remained in his hiding place till Larry was abreast of him, when he showed his head in the doorway, and called him by name.
Larry gave a cry of joy and, rushing in, threw his arms round him and burst into tears.
"It's a terrible fright you have given me!" he exclaimed, when he could find words. "I have been breaking my heart all night. Sure I thought you were at the bottom of the river."
"Not this time, Larry, though it was a pretty close thing. Did you see it all?"
"Sure and I did," Larry said. "I was sitting on a doorstep, watching the house, when I saw the sodgers coming along. They turned up from a side street, and were so close that I saw I could not get across and get the door opened in time to give you the alarm. Then they began to knock at the door, and for a bit I felt so wake that I could not move. Then the crowd began to gather, and then I said to myself, The master will try to shlip out at the back of the house. So I went round, but I found the thieves of the world waiting for ye there. But I was sure ye weren't the one to let them take ye widout a struggle for it. So I moved a bit away, and jist waited.
"The time seemed long, when on a suddint I heard the sodgers sing out, and then fire, and set out to run. I never doubted it was you, and so off I went behindt them, as hard as I could tare. I wasn't long in coming up to them, and at first I thought ye would get clean away. Then my heart fell, when I saw those villains attempt to seize ye, but, when I thought it was all over, ye turned sharp off and made for the river. I was with the first of them to get there, and I ran, accidental, against the first sodger who got his musket to his shoulder, and there was no saying where the ball went to. He cursed me for a clumsy baste, and would have knocked me down, but he was in too great a hurry to load again.
"I saw the bullets strike the water, close to you, when you came up again. I saw you look round, and guessed ye was thinking what was the best thing to do. Then we saw no more of ye. I didn't think you had been hit, for I saw you go down regular, as if you were diving in the sea for pleasure; and not sharp, as you would have done if a bullet had hit you. I guessed as you were meaning to swim up the stream, and I did the only thing I could to stop them from following up, by shouting that I saw ye, and throwing a big stone into the water close to where I had seen your head before, knowing that, by that time, ye must be nigh a hundred yards up.
"The fools didn't stop to think, but they took to throwing stones, and firing as hard as they could, and by the time they had done I knew, if ye were alive, ye must be nigh a quarter of a mile up the river. Some of them did run up, and I kept with them, but sorrah a glimpse of ye did we get. At last, everyone made sure that you were kilt entirely, and went their ways.
"I went off to our lodgings, but took good care not to go in. And it was well I didn't, for, half an hour later, a troop of sodgers came up, and some of them went in.
"They were led by that black villain who used to come wid messages from Mr. O'Brian, and I have no doubt it was he who set the sodgers upon you. Anyhow, they didn't find much there, but four of them waited till morning inside, the others all going away, so that, if you had got out of the river, they might catch ye in a trap.
"I waited till they had left this morning, thinking, I suppose, that it was no use to stay longer, and then started to see if your honour were here.
"Sometimes I thought I should find you, then again, I tould myself that if you had been alive I must have seen you come up agin; for, knowing the strength of the stream, and how fast you could swim, I could tell pretty nigh about where you would come up, if you were keeping straight up the river. How did you manage it at all, Master Walter?"
"I turned, and swam back again to the bank, Larry. I knew everyone would be watching the middle of the river, and would not be looking at the water in front of them. Of course, the stream took me up a long way. I only came up once, on my back, took a breath, and went down again, and the second time I was right under the bank and well out of sight, though I could hear them talking above me. It was just when I looked round, then, that I saw them throwing stones and firing into the middle of the river, two hundred yards lower down, and after that I had only to keep on swimming under water, close to the bank."
"And that is how ye managed it! It was a grand thought, entirely, to swim back to us. I never thought of that. I was most afraid you would go for the opposite shore, and there were plenty had gathered there, ready to seize you. I didn't think I could have missed you, if you'd kept on in the middle, and I have been puzzled altogether as to what could have become of you, if ye were really alive.
"I have got some bread in my bundle here, and a bottle of spirits, and you had better have a bite and a sup before we go on, for it's pretty nigh as white as a ghost ye are."
The meal seemed to put new life and strength into Walter, and, after its conclusion, he was ready to step out again with fresh energy. They thought it better at once to leave the road, and tramp across the country. By so doing they avoided all parties of the English troops, and reached the Irish army without adventure. Walter at once reported himself to General Sarsfield, and related all that had taken place in Dublin.
"You have done excellently, Mr. Davenant, and your escape from capture was an extraordinary one. Unfortunately, the betrayal of what was doing, and the arrest of our friends, is likely to upset all the plans you had arranged."
"I hope not, sir," Walter said. "I know that they were all careful to have no written documents, for it was always possible that the houses of the Catholics might be searched."
"That may be so," the general said; "but I fear that this traitor will have managed to overhear some of the conversation; and the fact of their meeting, and of your escape, will in itself tell against them sufficiently to ensure their being kept in prison, at any rate for a considerable time; and, even if released, they would be suspected persons, and would be unable to make the slightest move."
The general's previsions were justified. The whole of those arrested were retained in prison for some months, and no such general rising as had been planned was ever carried into effect.
During the winter, stores and ordnance arrived from France for the supply of the Irish army, and from England for the use of the British, and a great number of officers from the Continent also joined both armies.
The discontent among the Irish at the apathy of France was extreme. They had embarked in the war on the strength of the promises of King Louis. None of these promises had been fulfilled. The supplies of arms and money had been most meagre, the few thousand troops sent had never taken part in any of the operations, and their coming had been much more than counterbalanced by the troops sent from Ireland in exchange for them. An additional cause of discontent was given by the fact that William exchanged all the prisoners taken in Ireland for Dutch prisoners, in the hands of Louis, and the Irish so handed over were all incorporated in the French army.
So great was the discontent that, had a proclamation of pardon and protection been offered, the whole Irish army would have disbanded, and all resistance ceased. But Louis, alarmed at finding that it was likely William would be freed from his troubles at home, and be at liberty to give his whole attention to the war on the Continent, sent fresh promises of large and speedy aid; and despatched General Saint Ruth to take the command in Ireland, in place of Lauzun, who had returned to France.
This appointment caused fresh discontent among the Irish. Their cause had already been well-nigh ruined by the interference and incapacity of the French generals, and, on the retirement of Lauzun, they had confidently expected that Sarsfield would be appointed commander-in-chief, and that henceforth there would be unity of design in their operations. Saint Ruth was accompanied by a large number of young French officers, whose demeanour still further widened the breach between the French and Irish.
Saint Ruth at once inspected the army, now concentrated between Limerick and Athlone. Except that there was a great deficiency in horses for the cavalry, the army was greatly improved in discipline and appearance since the battle of the Boyne, for both officers, petty officers, and men had learned their duties. The army had passed the winter in comfortable quarters, and had been well supplied with food.
The difficulty was to find horses. The rapparees had carried off many of the chargers of the English cavalry, by stratagem, and it was a common practice of the Danish and other foreign troops to sell their horses to the Irish, at the outposts, and pretend that they were stolen. Still, the supply was altogether insufficient, and Saint Ruth, finding that he could not get horses from the enemy, determined to take them from his friends.
A proclamation was accordingly issued, inviting all the gentry throughout the country held by the Irish, to meet him at Limerick, mounted and accoutered in the best manner. Reports were spread that an important communication was to be made to the gentlemen of the country, from King James, and that many marks of honour and distinction were to be conferred.
Accordingly, there was a very numerous attendance of gentry on the day fixed. Saint Ruth appeared on the ground with a large body of cavalry. He made a speech to the gentlemen–complimented them on their punctual attendance and gallant appearance; told them that it was necessary that every man should make sacrifices for the defence of his religion and his estates, and requested them to hand over their horses to the cavalry. He then at once rode off the ground, leaving the cavalry to take possession of the horses.
Anger and expostulation were useless, and the gentlemen had to return on foot, sadder men; but the army obtained a large and valuable addition of horses, and Saint Ruth was able to march out at the head of twenty thousand foot, and five thousand well-appointed cavalry.
Their direction was Athlone, towards which point Ginckle was also directing his movements, having assembled his whole force at Mullingar, withdrawing the garrisons from almost all the towns, in order to raise his force in the field. The alarm in Dublin was, in consequence, extreme, and the council and lords justices besought Ginckle not to leave them without protection; but he only replied that they had it in their own power to put an end to the war, by publishing such a declaration of pardon and security, for person and property, as would satisfy the Irish in James's army. But the council, even in this moment of alarm, refused to renounce their golden hopes of confiscation.
Ginckle's first attack was directed against the village of Ballymore, which lay between Mullingar and Athlone. It was defended by a thousand cavalry and infantry, and a sergeant and a few men were posted, in a castle, on an eminence some distance from the village. The first attack was made on the castle, but the sergeant and his little garrison made a long and gallant resistance, and the savage Dutchman was so infuriated at the opposition that, when at last the post was taken, he ordered the gallant sergeant to be at once hung.
He then sent word to the garrison of the village that, if they did not surrender, he would serve them as he had served the sergeant. They were unmoved by the threat, and made a long and gallant defence against the whole of Ginckle's army; and the Dutch general was unable to overcome their resistance, till he at last offered fair terms of surrender. The position being a strong and important one, Ginckle spent some days in adding to the defensive works the Irish had erected, before he moved forward and sat down in front of Athlone. His army was well provided with heavy artillery and everything necessary for a siege, and he was firmly resolved that there should be no repetition of the disastrous failure of the preceding autumn.
