Wars of the Irish Kings (45 page)

After this skirmish, a horseman of Tirones called to owres, and delivered this message;—that Tirone would not fight, nor drawe forthe, but desired to speake with the L. Lieutenant, but not betwixt the 2 armies. Whereuppon the L. Lieutenant, towards 3 of the clocke in the afternoone, drew back agayne into his quarter, and after his returne thither, placed a garrison of 500 foote, and 50 horsse, at Niselerathie, half a mile from the mill of Lowthe, where theare is a square castel and a great bawne with a good dytche rounde abowte it, and many thatchd houses to lodge owre men in.

The commaundement of the garrison was given to Sir Christopher St. Laurence. The next morning, being the 7th of September, we dislodged and marched to Drumconrogh; but ere we had marched a mile, Hen. Hagan comes agayne to the L. Livetenant, and in the presens of the Earle of Southampton, Sir G. Bourgcher, Sir Waram St. Leger, and diverse other gentlemen, delivered this message:—that Tirone desired her Majesties mercy, and that the L. Livetenant would heare him; which if his Lo agreed to, he would gallop abowte and meete his Lo at the forde of Bellaclinche, which was on the right hand by the way which his Lo tooke to Drumconrogh. Uppon this message his Lo sent 2 gentlemen with H. Hagan to the foorde, to vew the place. They found Tirone theare, but the water so farr owte as they told him they thought it no fitt place to speake in.

Whereupon he grew very impatient, and sayed, “Then I shall despayre ever to speake with him; and at last, knowing the foorde, found a place, where he, standing up to the horsses belly, might be neere enough to be heard by the L. Lieutenant, though he kept the harde grownde; upon which notice the L. Lieutenant drew a troupe of horsse to the hill, above the foord, and seing Tirone theare alone, went doune alone: at whose comming Tirone saluted his Lo with a greate deale of reverence, and they talked neere half an houre, and after went ether of them up to their compagnies on the hills.

But within a while, Con O’Neale, Tyrone’s base sonn, comes downe and desired from his father, that the L. Livetenant would lett him bring downe some of the principall men that were with him, and that his Lo would appoynte a number to come downe on ether side. Whereuppon his Lo willed him to bring downe 6, which he did: namely, his brother Cormock, McGennys, McGwire, Ever McCowle, Henry Ovington, and one Owen, that came from Spayne, but is an Irishe man by birthe. The L. Livetenant seing them at the foorde, went down, accompagnied with the Earle of Southampton, Sir G. Bourgcher, Sir Waram St. Leger, Sir Hen. Davers, Sir Edw. Wingfeild, and Sir Will. Constable. At this second meeting, Tirone and all his compagny, stood up allmost to theire horsses bellies in water, the L. Livetenant with his, uppon harde grounde. And Tirone spake a good while, bare headed, and saluted with a greate deale of respect all those which came downe with the L. Livetenant. After almost half an howres conference, it was concluded that theare should be a meeting of certayne commissioners the next morning, at a foord by Garret Flemings castel, and so they parted: the L. Livetenant marching with his armie to Drumconrogh; Tirone returning to his campe.

The next morning the L. Livetenant sent Sir Waram St. Leger, Sir William Constable, Sir William Warren, and his secretarie, Henry Wotton, with instructions, to the place of meeting. Tirone came himself to the parlie, and sent into Garret Flemings castel 4 principal gentlemen, as pledges for the safetie of our commissioners. In this parlie was concluded a cessation of armes for 6 weeks, and so to continue from 6 weeks to 6 weeks, till May day, or to be broken uppon 14 Days warning ….

This being concluded on the 8th of September, on the 9th the Lord Livetenant dispersed his army, and went himself to take phisicke at Dredagh; and Tirone retired with all his forces to the hart of his countrie.

Right trustie and right welbeloved cousin and councellor, we greet you well ….

We never doubted but that Tyrone whensoever he sawe anie force approache, ether himselfe or anie of his principall partisans, wold instantly offer a parley, specially with our supreme Gouvernor of that kingdome, having often don it to those who had but subalterne authority, always seaking these cessations with like wordes, like protestations, and uppon
such contingents, as we gather these will prove, by your advertisement of his purpose to goe consult with Odonnell.

Herein, we must confesse to you that we are doubtfull least the successe wilbe suteable with your owne opinion heretofore, when the same rebels heald like coorse with others that preceaded you. And therefore to come to some aunsweare for the present, it appeareth to us by your jor-nall, that you and the traitor spake togither halfe an howre alone, and without anie bodyes hearinge: wherein, though we that truste you with our kingdome are farre from mistrusting with a traitor; yet, both for comelines, example, and for your owne discharge, we mervaile you wolde cary it no better, especially when you have seemed in all thinges since your arrivall to be so precise to have good testimony for your actions; as, whensoever there was anie thinge to be don to which our commandement tyed you, it seamed sufficient warrant for you if your fellowe councellors allowed better of other wayes, though your owne reason caryed you to have pursued our directions against their opinions; to whose conduct if we had meant that Irlande (after all the calamities in which they have wrapped it) should still have been abandoned, (to whose coorses never any could take more exceptions then your selfe,) then was it very superfluous to have sent over such a personage as you are, who had decyphred so well the errors of their proceadings, being still at hand with us and of our secreatest councell, as it had been one good rule for you amongest others, in moste thinges to have varyed from their resolutions, especially when you had our opinion and your owne to boote.

Furthermore, we cannot but muse that you shoulde recite that circumstance of his beinge sometime uncouvered, as if that were much in a rebell, when our person is so represented, or that you can thinke that ever anie parlee (as you call it) was uppon lesse termes of inequallity then this, when you came to him and he kept the depth of the brooke between him and you; in which sorte he proceaded not with other of our ministers, for he came over to them. So as never coulde anie man observe greater forme of greatenes then he hath don, nor more to our dishonour, that a traitour must be so farre from submission, as he must have a cessation granted because he may have time to advise whether he shoulde goe further or no with us. And thus much for the forme.

For you have dealt so sparingly with us in the substance, by advertising us onely, at first, of the halfe howres conference alone, but not what passed on either side; by letting us also knowe you sent commissioners, without shewing what they had in charge; as we can not tell (but by divination) what to thinke may be the issue of this proceadinge. Onely this
we are sure of, (for we see it in effect,) that you have prospered so ill for us by your warfare, as we can not but be very jealous least you shoulde be as well overtaken by the treatie:—For ether they did not ill that had the like meetinges before you, or you have don ill to keape them companie in their errors; for no actions can more resemble others, that have been before condemned, then these proceadinges of yours at this time with the rebels.

For you must consider that as we sent you into Irlande, an extraordinary person, with an army exceading anie that ever was payde there by anie prince for so longe time out of this realme, and that you ever supposed that we were forced to all this by the weake proceadinges even in this point of the treaties and pacifications. So, if this parlee shall not produce such a conclusion, as this intolerable charge may receave present and large abatement, then hath the managinge of our forces not onely proved dishonorable and wastefull, but that which followeth is like to prove perilous and contemptible. Consider then what is like to be the end, and what wilbe fitte to builde on.

To truste this traytor uppon oath, is to truste a divill uppon his religion. To truste him uppon pledges is a meare illusorye, for what pietye is there among them that can tye them to rule of honestie for it selfe, who are onely bound to their owne sensualityes, and respect onely private utilitye. And therefore, whatsoever order you shall take with him of laying aside of armes, banishinge of strangers, recognition of superiority to us, or renouncinge of rule over our rights, promising restitution of spoyles, or anie other such like conditions, which were tolerable before he was in his overgrowen pride, by his owne successe against our power, which of former times was terrible to him: yet unlesse he yeald to have garrisons planted in his own countrye to master him, to deliver Oneales sonnes, (whereof the detayning is most dishonorable,) and to come over to us personally here, we shall doubte you doe but peece up a hollowe peace, and so the end prove worse then the beginninge. And therefore, as we well approve your owne voluntary profession, (wherein you assure us that you will conclude nothinge till you have advertised us, and heard our pleasure,) so doe we absolutely commande you to continew and performe that resolution.

Allowinge well that you heare him what he proffers, draw him as high as you can, and advertise us what conditions you wolde advise us to affoorde him, and what he is like to receave: yet not to passe your worde for his pardon, nor make anie absolute contract for his conditions, till you doe particularly advertise us by writinge, and receave our pleasure hereafter for your further warrant and authority in that behalfe. For whatsoever we doe, ought to be well weyed in such a time, when the worlde will suspect that we are glad of anie thinge out of weaknes, or apt to pardon
him out of mistrust of our power to take due revenge on him: considering that all which now is yealded to on our parte, succeadeth his victoryes and our disastres. In our lettres of the fourteenth of this month to you and that councell, we have written those thinges that are fitte for them to aunsweare and understande: and therefore we will expect what they can say to all the partes of that lettre, with which our pleasure is that they be fully acquainted, aswell for your discharge an other time, if you vary from their opinions, (when we direct otherwise,) as also because we wold be glad to receave their answeare aswell as yours.

Given under our signett, at Nonsuch, the xvijth day of September, 1599, in the xljth yeare of our raigne.

I
N THE FALL OF
1601, Hugh O’Neill finally got what he had been praying for: a Spanish army landed in Ireland to support his rebellion. It turned out to be a classic example of the danger of answered prayers. Although there had been rumors of a Spanish invasion for years, when it came, it was as much a surprise to the rebels as it was to the English. They put ashore not in the north—as O’Neill and O’Donnell had hoped—but just outside the city of Cork, which was about as far south as they could get. This meant that with little preparation—and delaying only to burn a few villages near Dublin in a vain hope of diverting some English troops—the rebels had to dash down the entire length of the island to meet up with their new allies who had captured the walled village of Kinsale. It also meant that the Irish had to give up the guerrilla tactics that had so frustrated the English. Until Kinsale, O’Neill had rarely attacked a fort or a city. In this he resembled the fourth-century Goth general who explained why he did not lay siege to a Roman town by saying, “I do not war against walls.” O’Neill’s highly successful tactic—which he used at Clontibret, Yellow Ford, and numerous other engagements—was to lure an advancing enemy into a vulnerable position, then attack.

The English troops that had bottled up the invading Spaniards within the walls of Kinsale were under the command of Charles Blount, Lord Mountjoy (1563-1606), the new lord deputy who replaced the disgraced Essex. Mountjoy reacted quickly to the invasion, arriving at Kinsale less than a week after the Spanish put ashore, and before long there were over 7,000 of his men surrounding the town.

Only about 3,500 Spaniards were involved in the invasion, a little more than half the number O’Neill had requested, and the decision to land in the south was not—for them—misguided. If the occupation was to be a long one, the fertile south was far better suited to feed an army than the rocky north. And if the point of the invasion was really to establish a staging area for a future invasion of England, what better place was
there than the south coast? For as O’Neill was to learn, the Spanish were not there to support Irish—or Catholic—liberty but to confront an old enemy, England.

In the end, after a long siege through the beginnings of a dreadful Irish winter, there was a battle that lasted less than three hours. It would have been almost comic in its ineptness, if the results had not been so disastrous for the course of Irish history.