GO IW Mtmtixvn .wrarg !l!!';A. ■,; E-xbIBI\l§ PHELkfJ T H E BATTLE OF FONTENOY W. J. COEBET, ^L.r KKVISJ-D EDITIOX. KEAD V,Y J. M. BELLEW, ESQ., AT THE GAIETY TIIEATIIE, DUBLIN, OX THE 18 lu DECEMBER, 1.S71 DUBLIN ]\I. H. GIILL AND SON, 50 "UPPER SACKVILLE STREET LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO. KDlNBUlUJli: JOHN MENZIES AND CO. 1885 IMce 0"" SJ'^Uiiij. t %Mt xrf iaidm^. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/battleoffontenoyOOcorbrich THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY %, f tstorttal f otiti' • i • k ! '■•: i'/A BY W. J. COEBET, M.P 1/ BEVISSD EDITION. BEAD BY J. M. BELLEW, ESQ., AT THE GAIETY THEATRE, DUBLIN, ON THE 18th DECEMBER, 1871 DUBLIN M. H. GILL AND SON, 50 UPPEE SACKVILLE STEEET LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO. EDINBURGH: JOHN MKNZIES AND CO. 1885 PHEUt* M. H. GILL AND SON, PRINTERS, DUBLIN. INTRODUCTION. The long record of coercion and blood-guiltiness on the part of the English government in Ireland, extending as it does from generation to generation and century to century, is so appalling, no one who takes the trouble to examine into it can wonder why the Irish people do not love English rule, and no one can wonder at the exertions made by the authorities to exclude Irish history from the schools. Few, outside the official circle, have any accurate knowledge of the atrocious crimes perpetrated wholesale in the name of law, the authentic records not being easily available to ordinary students, and those within the circle have been anxious for obvious reasons to conceal the truth. Ireland for centuries had to submit to the most sanguinary mas- sacres, wholesale confiscation, and plunder. To seek a parallel for the massacres of the Irish Catholic people it is necessary to go back to the persecution of the early Christians under the pagan empire of Rome. They were turned into the Colosseum and ravenous wild beasts, lions, and tigers, let loose amongst them. Ireland was one vast Colosseum with human wild beasts preying upon her people with relentless fury. When the people fled into the woods endeav- ouring to escape from their persecutors, the furze brakes where they tried to shelter themselves were surrounded and set on fire, and when thus forced to leave their places of concealment, they were driven back into the flames by the weapons of their merciless assail- ants. Infants were carried aloft writhing on the bayonets of brave Englishmen. Women big with child were brutally hanged. The poor people were tied back to back and cast into the rivers or into the sea in multitudes. Wexford, Drogheda, Kilkenny, Cashel, Island Magee, Newry, Clonmel, and innumerable other places were scenes of the indiscriminate slaughter of men, women, and children, under circum- stances of the utmost barbarity. Froude describes, not without apparent relish, and regret that 774242 6 INTRODUCTION. success was not attained, the deliberate eflforts made by infamous leaders and a brutalized soldiery to exterminate the Irish race. Goldwin Smith, another English author of anti-Irish proclivities, ; . • admits-that " the conquest of Ireland was completed with circum- ' '-Stances of cruelty sufficient to plant undying hatred in the breast : .;of the pefOt)le." And Mr. Gladstone, no mean authority, tells us the Irish people in leaving their country for other lands ** bear with them, on the one hand, a passionate attachment to the homes they quit, and on the other a bitter and burning hatred to the laws and government they leave behind." If anyone is sceptical about the truth of the horrid acts of the English in Ireland, and wishes to clear up his doubts, let him read the authorities on the subject for himself and his scepticism will be short-lived. No doubt there are numbers of good-natured people of various classes in both England and Ireland who cannot bring them- selves to conceive it possible that such crimes could be committed, not believing human iniquity could go so far. But the evidence is overwhelming. Not to speak of the writings of Catholics, bishops, priests, and laymen, who have described the savage ferocity witnessed in their own times, there is abundant testimony from Protestant sources of the diabolical crimes perpetrated by the administrators of English misrule in Ireland. The State papers from the earliest period to the latest, and which are the production of those administrators them- selves, prove incontestably that their deeds fell nothing short of actual deviltry. No savage nation on the war-path ever inflicted such cruel tortures on its enemies or prisoners as the English in Ireland inflicted on the Irish people. Bishops, priests, and nuns, were special objects of their malevolence. These they persecuted with a malignant ingenuity, a fertility of inventive cruelty, that could only emanate from the arch- fiend himself. There was neither manhood, humanity, nor honour, to be met with amongst these savage invaders. They belied their man- hood and humanity when they massacred women and children. They were false to every sentiment of honour when, having induced the defenders of fortified places to surrender on the promise of sparing life, they then slew all indiscriminately, young and old, women and children, combatants and non-combatants, regardless of the pledges given for their safety ; the murderers at the same time, exulting in, INTRODUCTION. 7 rand openly boasting of, their broken faith. It could hardly be other- wise, as the adventurers who came to Ireland were the oflfscouring of English towns and garrisons, wretches of the vilest character and most abandoned lives, without conscience or scruple, without morality -or religion, saturated with wickedness and iniquity, demons in human form. How else could human beings be brought to prey on their fellow-creatures like wolves, and exult with demoniacal joy in wit- nessing their agonies ? If anyone is doubtful of the facts, or desires to verify them, I give a list of authors whose works are to be found in most public libraries. It is well, however, to mention, as stated in the preface to Myles O'Reilly's Memorials, p. 10, "From 1650 the destruction was so utter, the blow so crushing, the slaughter so immense, that all idea of recording particular incidents seems to have been abandoned in despair for nearly a century." Nevertheless, the record of England's blood-guiltiness and barbarity is a very full one, as a brief glance at this period will sufficiently indicate. In Vols. CIV. to CVIII. will be found in the Public Record Office, London, under the head ** Ireland," the original correspondence be- tween the Lords Justices and the Council in England, on the subject of the administration of Irish affairs. Take the trial of the then Arch- bishop of Cashel, the Most Rev. Dr. O'Hurley. Sir Henry Wallop, Treasurer of Ireland, was at the time the ruling spirit in Dublin Oastle, and a greater monster of cruelty never existed on earth, as shown by his own acts, and recorded under his own hand, ** littera scripta manet." In a letter to Robert Beale, Her Majesty's acting Chief Secretary, dated 10 Dec, 1583, following on previous correspondence regarding the Archbishop's arrest and the evidence offered against him by an infamous informer named Barnewell, who falsely accused him of many -crimes, the firm and gentle Wallop, finding Dr. O'Hurley steadfast in repudiating the accusations of the informer, thus writes: "we want here either rack or other engine of torture to terrify him." The Law Officers of the day, finding no legal evidence against the Archbishop, as stated in a subsequent letter of Wallops, dated 8th March, 1584, "think it better, O'Hurley having neither lands nor goods, that he be executed by martial law rather than by any ordinary trial." In the further examinations had before the Lords Justices, Dr. O'Hurley denied the charges made against him by the informer, when he was O INTRODUCTIOX. inhumanly tortured by their directions, under the authority of Her Majesty's Council. It does not appear that the rack applied for was sent over in time, but Wallop was equal to the emergency. And this is the treatment an Archbishop of Cashel met with at hia hands, as recorded by himself in a letter addressed to Sir Francis Walsingham, principal Secretary to Her Majesty, dated 7th March, 1584. Having failed by questioning to extract any admission of guilt, Sir Henry Wallop's official report goes on to say : — " Not finding that easy manner of examination to do any good, we made commission to Mr. Waterhouse and Mr. Secretary Fenton to put him to the torture, such as your honour advised us, which was to toast his feet to the fire with hot boots." The following description of the torture is re- corded by one who had the facts from eye-witnesses (Stanihurst, pp. 29-30.) " The executioners placed the Archbishop's feet and calves in tin boots, filled with oil ; they then fastened his feet in wooden shackles or stocks, and placed fire under them. The boiling oil so penetrated the feet and legs that morsels of the skin and flesh fell off and left the bone bare." The recital makes one's blood curdle, and there cannot be a doubt but the firm and gentle Sir Henry Wallop improved upon the engine of torture he was so anxious to import from England. Just reflect on the condition of a country and of a people placed at the mercy of such reprobates. Through all the correspondence which is, as I have said, to be seen in the Eecord Ofiice in London, this in- human miscreant was, it is evident, resolved to take the Archbishop's life at all risks. A sudden change of government came about, Sir John Perrott was to replace him in office, and fearing Sir John might show mercy he was determined to make sure of his victim. He had the Archbishop taken out with only three or four guards early at dawn from his dungeon in Dublin Castle, and hanged in his own presence, wishing, it would seem, to enjoy the spectacle of the Archbishop's agonies. No doubt the term to " Wallop," meaning to punish severely, had its origin in the acts of this vile wretch, just as the saying "■ the curse of Cromwell on you," so common throughout Ireland, had in those of that other atrocious monster of English cruelty. Another illustrious victim of England's merciful rule, was the Most Rev. Doctor Oliver Plunket, Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of all Ireland. He was falsely accused of conspiring against the govern- ment. His chief accuser amongst others was an apostate friar named McMoyer, whom Doctor Plunket had suspended for various crimes. INTRODUCTION. 9 and who was noted for his violence, drunkenness, and immoralities. Doctor Burnet, the Protestant Bishop, refers to the informers produced at the trial as follows : " The witnesses were brutal and profligate men ; yet the Earl of Shaftesbury cherished them much, they were examined by the Parliament at Westminster, and what they said was believed." A Grand Jury of the County Dublin would not find the bill on the evidence of Mc Moyer and the rest. Government next attempted to try the Archbishop at Dundalk, but the character of the wit- nesses being known there, they refused to appear, and Murphy, the second witness fled in terror out of the kingdom. Doctor Plunket's innocence is attested by numbers of Protestant writers of unques- tionable authority ; but the government meant murder, and the venue, as in more recent times, was changed. The Archbishop was taken to London and put on his trial there, time not being allowed him to bring over evidence and witnesses to prove his innocence. He was, as a matter of course, found guilty. The judges, of whom there were three constituting the court, treated him during the whole course of the trial in the most barbarous and insulting manner, and when the corrupt English jury gave their verdict, the following sentence was passed on the venerable Primate of Ireland by the English Lord Chief Justice Pemberton : •* The judgment which we give you is that which the law says and speaks. And therefore you must go from hence to the place from whence you came — that is Newgate, and from thence you shall be drawn through the city of London to Tyburn ; there you shall be hanged by the neck, but cut down before you are dead, your bowels shall be taken out and burned before your face, your head shall be cut off, and your body be divided into four quarters, to be disposed of as His Majesty pleases." This sentence was carried out to the letter. The great Archbishop met his death like a holy martyr with Christian courage and fortitude, an innooent victim of English treachery and brutality. A full account of the trial and execution was published in 1681 and will be found in extenso in "O'Reilly's Memorials of those who suffered for the Catholic Faith in Ireland " (Bums, Gates, & Co., London, 1868), p. 322 and following. Just one more instance of a different character. The priest-hunters had surprised the Rev. Daniel Delany, parish priest of Arklow, and slain his servant named Walsh, who was endeavouring to escape with the sacred vessels and ornaments, before his eyes. They promised la 10 rNTRODTJCTION. to spare the priest's life, and this is how the promise was kept, a& given in Cambr. Evers. vol. iii. p.p. 182-3. "So far from keeping their solemn promise, they immediately stripped the venerable man naked and tied him to a horse's tail ; the rider goaded his horse to full speed along a road covered with brambles and thickets, and rough with frost and frozen snow, and dragged the priest to the town of Gorey."^ The relation proceeds to say he was "delivered up to a guard of soldiers who were to watch in turn during the night. While he lay there naked, sleepless, frozen with cold and livid with bruises, his guards amused themselves with twisting and plucking his long beard with a cane and cruelly beating his sides with cudgels. . . . Next day he was three different times hanged to the bough of a tree, and three times let down to the ground to protract the agony of his torture ; but he was strangled with a rope at last, and thus ended his life of suffering to reign triumphant in heaven." And so the persecution, murdering, and confiscation went on in all its barbarous intensity until Ireland was so to say literally drowned in her own blood. To enter into further details of particular instances of atrocity would prolong this introduction beyond ordinary limits ; suffice it to say that during the 150 years ending about the middle of the eighteenth century, no less than 16 Irish Archbishops, 23 Bishops, inumerable Priests, Nuns, and members of the Religious Orders, suffered death, imprisonment, or transportation. And as for the general inhabitants, not to speak of the multitudes who were massacred, Dr. Lingard cites authority to the effect that about this time 60,000 Catholics were sold into slavery to the undertakers of the West Indian Islands, to work on the sugar and tobacco plantations. The history of the period immediately preceding the defence of Limerick, " the city of the violated treaty," by the great Irish chief Sarsfield, is better known, and does not need to be dwelt on. The firmament over the line of march of the English was blackened by the smoke of the burning homes of the Irish people, as the ground beneath was reddened with their innocent blood. Limerick made a glorious defence. Ginckle, the English general, in vain again and again tried to carry the old city by the Shannon by assault. It was defended by the flower of Irish chivalry, and storming party after storming party was hurled back crushed and defeated. Ginckle then issued a proclamation offering the most favourable terms of surrender. The Irish leaders, seeing no hope of ultimate success,- INTRODUCTION. 11 no prospect of relief, and trusting in that Punic faith so often pledged and broken, unfortunately agreed to accept the terms. The treaty of Limerick consisted of 42 articles or conditions, 29 military and 13- civil. The former secured to the garrison the honours of war, the latter pardon and protection to all who had served under King James, the privilege of the exercise of their religion to Boman Catholics, and ** such further security in that particular as may preserve them from any disturbance," No treaty was ever made in a more deliberate and solemn manner, or apparently with greater assurance that its sacred covenants would be observed. The Lords Justices came specially from Dublin, a long and weary journey in those days, to ratify the articles, which were signed with all possible solemnity and formality on the famous " treaty stone." Almost before the ink was well dry that treaty was broken by the perfidy of England. No sooner had the Lords Justices returned from Limerick than the Protestant pulpits resounded with denunciations of those who would observe the treaty, and Dopping, Bishop of Meath, preached a celebrated sermon before the Lords Justices themselves on " the crime of keeping faith with Papists." The penal laws were enacted and the last state of Ireland became worse than the first. The evil spirit, which it was hoped had been cast out, returned bringing with him not merely seven but seven legions of evil spirits worse than himself *' and entering in they dwelt there." The great Edmund Burke, a Protestant, but an enlightened statesman, thus describes the ordeal through which Ireland had now to pass. *' The code against the Roman Catholics was a machine of wise and elaborate contrivance, and as well fitted for the oppression, impoverishment, and degradation of a people, and the debasement in them of human nature, as ever proceeded from the perverted ingenuity of man." On the 5th October, 1691, the treaty having been duly ratified, Sarsfield and his soldiers crossed over to France and made the green flag a glory on every battle-field from Dunkirk to Belgrade. Sarsfield himself met a glorious death on the 29th July, 1693, while leading the brigade to victory on the field of Landen. It is recorded that he placed his hand where the ball had entered his breast, and holding it out, filled with blood, said, as he expired : ** Oh, that this were for Ireland." 12 INTRODUCTION. It is not my purpose to follow the fortunes of the brigade through the intermediate years during which the Irish name became synony- mous with heroism and fidelity throughout Europe. The battle of Fontenoy was fought on 1 1th May, 1745, under the walls of Tournay, a city of Flanders. The contending forces were, on the one side France, under the personal command of the king, on the other England, Austria, Hanover, and Holland, under the Duke of Cumberland, son of George the II., commander-in-chief of the allied armies, the same who won for himself the unenviable title of " the Butcher of CuUoden," from the fact that, not content with the immense slaughter of the Highland clans during that sanguinary battle, he massacred the prisoners and wounded in cold blood after the fighting was over. That the forces engaged at Fontenoy were great and the contest fierce and bloody, may be gathered from the number of the slain — 12,000 men were killed on the side of the allies, and nearly as many on that of France. The battle was virtually decided in favour of the former, and the retreat of the French determined on when the Irish leader, as it is stated through Count Lally, besought the king to give the Brigade leave to charge the English troops as they were advancing down the slope in the full flush of victory. One-fourth of the oflficers, including Colonel Dillon, and one-third of the Brigade, or over a thousand men, died gloriously in that tremendous charge, but in dying they conquered, and have left behind a name as heroic as can be found in the world's history. A similar glorious record of how the sentiment of nationality and the memory of cruel wrongs and innumerable acts of tyranny and oppression, can steel the sword and nerve the arm of a nation is to be found in the victory won by the heroic Poles at the battle of Grokow, which was fought on the 5th February, 1831. An immense army of 160,000 Russians, with over 300 pieces of cannon, com- manded by General Diebitsch *' the crosser of the Balkan " was utterly routed under the walls of Warsaw on that day by the bravery and prowess of the gallant Poles. The resemblance does not end there, for, like the Irish Brigade under Sarsfield and Clare, the Polish legions led by Dombrowski and Poniatowski kept alive in Europe the recollections of the military glory of their oppressed nation. FONTENOY A HISTORICAL POEM. When the Creator formed the earth, He placed Two Isles of Beauty on it side by side, Like two fair sisters with all graces graced, Each of a gallant race the home and pride. Fairest and first the lesser island shone A peerless jewel upon nature's breast — So fair they named her, from the precious stone, *' The emerald " — in brightest verdure dress 'd ; Enamoured Poetry, with silvery tongue. Chanted her praises as love only sings ; And Bards, whose souls were music fountains, sung Her melodies, and swept her wild harp-strings ; And there a gallant people, brave and free. Tended their flocks and herds and till'd the soil. Rich in a glorious birthright, liberty ! And happy in the earnings of their toil. Religion, learning, virtue, hand-in-hand, Around the sacred light of wisdom shed, "While far away to many a distant land; The fame of Erin's sanctity was spread. 14 THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. The greater of tlie sister Isles became For wealth of gold, and mines, and ships, and ores, The wide world's wonder, till her name and fame Familiar grew on earth's remotest shores. She ruled the waves, go east, go west, and yet Upon her flaunting blood-red battle flag The Run of Heaven itself could never set — Thus, in her pride of heart she grew to brag. And so of fruitful years a golden tide Flowed, ebb'd, and flowed upon her prosperous shore. Prosperity, thou pampering nurse of pride, — Of pride, that sin satanic as of yore, When envious Cain in seeming friendship stood Before God's altar at his brother's side, Regardless of the tie of brotherhood, Then, fiU'd with rancour, impiously dyed His fratricidal hands in Abel's blood. So Hke an echo of that ancient tale- Britannia's envious sons with greedy eyes Beheld the Isle of emerald mead and vale ; They saw her rivers flow and mountains rise, And came as friends, to stay as enemies. Their faith was mammon worship — God's commands, *' Thou shalt not covet " and "thou shalt not kill," Were both reversed in their ferocious hands ; Their only law a brutal leader's will. *Twere long and sad to tell what next arose, What cruel confiscations, treacherous arts, THE BATTLE OF FONTENOT. 15 Were practised now by these rapacious foes — Or how they burned into the victim's hearts. Thus time rolled on, nor did oppression cease ; First plundered, then reproached for being poor; Call'd rebels and disturbers of the peace, When roused by wrongs too cruel to endure. Branded as cowards, though they faced despair, And fiercely turned, like hunted beasts at bay, Undisciplined, unled, unarmed, to dare Their proud oppressors to the battle fray. Romancist never tale so dark has told, This fairest land on earth became the prey Of ruthless hordes who butchered young and old, Men, women, children, babes in open day. Some in their homes, or in the harvest field — Along the highway, in the market-place Around the Cross* — as if that sign could shield, When Britain's aim was to stamp out the race — The old grandmother and the old grandsire. Bedridden, weak and helpless, were they spared ? Slain in their beds or by the cabin fire, They too the universal havoc shared. And God's anointed — venerable men, Bishops and priests, nuns, too, whose lives were given * As an instance, hundreds of innocent men, women, and children, kneeling round the great cross in the market-square of Wexford, were massacred on 11th October, 1649. Dr. Moran's " Persecutions of the Irish Catholics," pp. 104-5. 16 THE BATTLE OF FONTENOT. To teach the truth eternal or again Lead back the erring ones to hope and heaven — How did they fare? — what bloodhounds on their track, Hiding in woods and caves to shun the slaughter^ Or dying martyrs on the torturing rack, The gibbet or the scavenger's grim daughter.* A price was set upon each sacred head — They set upon the wolf's the very same ;t And guiltless Irish blood in oceans shed That crimsons England with eternal shame. So fell the Emerald Island, and her chiefs And bravest sons were outlaws on her shore, Because they would not bear their country's griefs With meek submissive patience ; but the more Her bonds were tightened, fought with furious hand Until all feeling in their hearts was dead, But one — undying love of native land — And then to foreign climes all friendless fled. Yet, ere departing, on* the bloody strand They knelt, the true of heart, the good and brave — Oh ! 'twas a mournful sight that glorious band Bowed down with grief beside the Shannon's wave, * The scavenger's daughter was an instrument of torture for compressing the body, invented by an ingenious Englishman named Sir W. Skevington. t £5 was the sum offered by government for the apprehen- sion of a priest, the same price that was set upon the head of a wolf. THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. 17 Each with his clansmen — proud MacCarthy More, O'Neill, Fitzgerald, Dillon, Butler, Clare — And kneeling all an oath of vengeance swore, Praying a day might come — Heaven heard the prayer. Part II. *Tis Spring-time — Nature is all fair and bright, Her robe embroidered with the flowers of May, Diffusing everywhere a glad deUght, Like a bride's presence on her wedding day. Yet the grim war fiend hovers o'er a scene, Bright as heart ever sighed for, eye beheld. The rich luxuriant plains that lie between Fair Brussels and the banks of sluggish Scheld. Austria, Holland, Hanover, allied With England, vow to crush the power of France, Whose noblest chivalry in martial pride Round Tournay's walls await the foe's advance. The King commands — and on a litter borne. The brave old Saxe maintains his former fame, While Richelieu leads the guard, the guard whose name Is synonym for glory — hope forlorn, To be ere night a wreck o'er which all France shall mourn. Who leads the allies on ? — 'tis Scotland's scourge, Haughty and bold, and skilful in command, The warlike son of England's monarch George, " The butcher of Oulloden," Cumberland; 18 THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. Regardless of the blood he dooms to flow, So that his soldiers conquer in the strife, He hurls his brave battalions on the foe Reckless of carnage and of human life ; His heavy guns from every vantage ground Flash forth their fire with a ceaseless boom, Affrighting echo with the deafening sound, And shrouding nature in sulphurous gloom. JSnough, 'tis vain, 'tis needless to relate, The varied action of the battlefield, Which told for France- it soon must be her fate To fly, or, vanquished, to the victor yield. The long- sustained and murderous cannonade Has filled her boding heart with direst fears ; While firm and steady, as upon parade, Charge down the slopes the British Grenadiers, Converging on the centre of the host, Where panic and dismay already reign. The ranks are broken^-aid or all is lost ! Her noblest blood bedews the crimson plain. Her ancient chivalry alas ! has failed To guard the honour of the Fleur de Lis, Oh, shall it o'er the gory ground be trailed ? A woeful sight for hapless France to see ! Shattered and crushed by England's fierce attacks, Her bravest regiments, fighting still, give way, l^or kingly Louis, Richelieu, or Saxe, Can turn the tide of this disastrous day. THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. 19 The glittering wreath of glory seems to fade, Of which those martial brows were once so proud, And withering, perish in the blighting shade That closes round them like a thunder cloud. France travails in the anguish of defeat, While Saxe, disheartened, urges on the King The wisdom of a quick and safe retreat. The risk, the danger, that delay might bring. Then Erin's voice amid the gloom is heard— A trumpet call to arms — a rallying cry. And hope revives at each inspiring word Which breathes resolve to conquer or to die. ** Hold 1 hold ! all is not lost, for in reserve There yet remain to France three thousand men, Who ne*er from fire or steel or death will swerve, If they with England once can close again ; Then by the honour of your crown, O Sire, Let them of sweet revenge obtain the chance, And ere you give the order to retire, Give them, at least, the order to advance." The king assents. Behold the gallant band Comes dashing fiercely in upon the scene, And with bold front takes up its fearless stand, The beaten and the conquering hosts between. Who are these valiant warriors who come. With dauntless bearing and with proud array Of weapon, flying banner, beat of drum. To fight on foreign soil in foreign fray ? 20 THE BATTLE OF FOXTENOY. Their scarlet- coated ranks, deployed, beliold Stand with victorious England's face to face, So like in stature, dress,*' and martial mould, They seem a people of a kindred race, That should of right be marshalled on her side — And one who marked them closely might suppose Her picked and chosen soldiers and her pride. Not alKes fighting for her foreign foes. These are no " ragged rebels " armed with pikes, With hunger weak, and by oppression cow'd ; Tell it Cremona's streets, and Holland's dykes, Lift up your voices and speak out aloud, For 'tis a name to make a nation proud. These are the Irish exiles ; the Brigade Which fought and bled for England's king, King James ; Which fought and conquered but to be betrayed. As Limerick's treaty tells that shame of shames. Oh, that was perfidy so foul ! it cast All former perfidies into the shade, 'Twas treason too gigantic and too vast, In the great scales of justice to be weighed — Deceived and plundered in the name of God, The spoil — the thirty pieces — for reward — *Twas only once surpassed by mortal fraud When Judas, with a kiss, betrayed the Lord. * The similarity of uniform of the Brigade and the British caused the French carbiniers to mistake the former for the latter ; fortunately the mistake was quickly discovered. THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. 21 The sacred pledge on England's honour given To foster Irish freedom as her own, And signed and sealed before the face of heaven, At Thomond-bridge on the old treaty stone ; How was it kept ? — Behold the Penal Code — A written record none can now gainsay — There contemplate the bloody scourge and goad Which swept all trace of nationhood away, And even made it crime for Irish lips to pray. Which bound and stripped poor Erin naked first, Then with the lash forced many a bitter tear, And then with fiendish hatred most accursed Assailed the cherished faith she holds so dear— But that defied all malice, all control, Scorning alike the snare, the bribe, the rod ; The faith St. Patrick planted in her soul She keeps unsullied still before her God. Part III. But now the time has come — the day, the hour For which through years of banishment they've sighed ; Oh ! never yet did tyrant long for power. Gambler for gold, by fortune still denied, The hunger- stricken for a bounteous meal, Or man to gain the heart of heart's desire, With half th' impatient, longing, madd'ning feel, That fills each bosom there with vengeful fire — 22 THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. As gaze-hounds, witli their game in view, that strain Hard on the leash within the hunter's hand, Which scarcely can their red-hot haste restrain, They burn to hear their glorious chief's command. Not long delayed — no regulation word Of loud command has flashed along the line, What impulse then the old Brigade has stirred As though the electric spark had fired the mine ? Quicker than thought itself is heard to fly From rank to rank the burning words he spoke, As from his lips with fierce impassioned cry The accumulated wrongs of ages broke. "Remember Limerick and Saxon faith — * Pull not a trigger 'till your bayonets touch Their very breasts," — 'tis all, so history say'th, Their leader uttered, yet it meant how much.- It meant a drop of blood for every tear Their country shed in agony and shame, It meant the hero's couch, a bloody bier Or glorious victory and deathless fame. Steady and cool, as if upon parade, A bright red line sweeps charging down the hill ;. Another bright red line as undismayed Sweeps up to meet it with an eager will. The air is rent as, like the lion's roar, Peals out the thunder of the British cheer — * " Cuimhnigidh ar Luimnech agus feall na Sassenach."^ THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. 23- A sound by foemen never heard before, From Fontenoy to ancient Agincourt, Without a shock that shook the heart Avith fear It falls on no affrighted ears to day, For now 'tis fiercely answered back again With a tumultuously wild hurrah Which swells, a paean, o'er the battle plain — A shout of mingled hope, and rage, and joy. The voice of vengeful valour, sound sublime ! That o'er the reeking field of Fontenoy Shall echo on until the end of time — The righteous anger treasured up for years In the true hearts that loved their land so well, The outraged wife's, and maid's, and widow's tears,. The prisoner pining in his prison cell — The memories of rapine, wrong, and crime. The dungeon deep and dark, the scaffold high, And all the tortures of the penal time Have found, at last, a voice in that wild cry, That shout of vengeance and of victory — ** Remember Limerick and Saxon faith" — *Tis Erin's war-cry rings upon the air, To fire their hearts, with fear their foes to scathe, " To death or victory, lead on ! Lord Clare." "Stand fast and flinch not now, my gallant Guards,"' Thus bravely spoke King George's royal son, " The fate of battle hangs upon your swords, Eemember 'tis already well-nigh won." — Quick falls the rapid tramp of many feet. 24 THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. As o'er the ground in rank on rank they dash, To meet as steel-clad ships on ocean meet — Amid the thunder's roar and liofhtninof's flash. Clashing together with appalling clash, And horrid sound of metal crushed and riven, The crash of breaking bolt, and plate, and mast- So steel to steel by strong hands fiercely driven. In the death struggle thus they close at last. Part IY. Now, England, now thy bull-dog courage show — That courage ever claimed for thee alone. This is no weak assault, no wavering foe— The Irish wolf-dog at thy throat has flown. Though many a time his fangs have shed thy blood When starved and scourged, and kept upon the chain. On equal terms he ne'er till now has stood Before thee thus upon the battle plain. Thy dread artillery's tremendous hail. The withering fire of thy fusilade, Are coigns of vantage that will scarce avail — 'Tis manhood now behind the naked blade — A day has come of retribution dire, Each heart and weapon in the serried line That presses on with such resistless fire, Is vowed to vengeance upon thee and thine. THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. 25 Thy proud battalions staggering shake and reel, Before the f nrions charge of the Brigade : " Pull not a trigger — nothing but the steel, The laurels won to-day will never fade — Strike, and strike home, to conquer or to die, No craven fear, no thought of life or flight." Thus Lally, Clare, and Dillon fiercely cry, Above the clang and tumult of the fight. There's blood upon Clare's breastplate and his scarf. The purest that e'er warmed a mortal's veins. The self -same current flowed at red Clontarf, When Brian's breast was pierced by flying Danes ; Heedless of wounds, the dauntless-hearted Clare, While life and strength are left his sword to wield Through fire and steel a thousand deaths would dare The honour of the land he loves to shield ! He waves that sword — there's magic in the flash, A beacon light it shines where'er it waves, And there is made some fiercer, deadlier, dash, . And there lie corses ready for their graves. In wild confusion heaped upon the ground, Which reeks a trampled mire of gore and clay. The ghastly human harvest scattered round Bears bloody witness of the fearful fray. Fighting with all the courage of their race, The routed Guards are driven against the hill. But turn and turn again their foes to face, Who press them with the steel of vengeance stilL 26 THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. Ten thousand furies ! — shall Britannia's fame Be dashed to earth ; by Irish hands struck down Full in the tide of victory — oh ! must shame Replace the glory of her old renown ? No, never !— one last rally — now they stand Shoulder to shoulder, bayonets levelled low, Brows knitted, weapons gripped in tight-clenched hand, And foot advanced to meet the coming foe. As Erin charges home with vengeful cheer, As well might England's Guards attempt to stay An Alpine avalanche in mid career That sweeps o'er all on its tremendous way. As well attempt to turn the lava back When bursting from its fierce volcanic source, The fiery torrent on its burning track Brings death and desolation in its course. That final stand, in desperation made But serves to swell the carnage and to shed Fresh glory round the flag of the Brigade. The spotless folds of green at morning spread Are set with jewels now, bright rubies bloody red. At last the sanguinary strife is o'er, St. George's banner in the dust is laid. The Fleur de Lis floats proudly up once more, And high o'er all the flag of the Brigade. Then as the dreadful truth on England burst, O'er all the land a w^ail of anguish rose ; THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. 27 While England's king in livid anger cursed The laws that made such gallant soldiers foes.* Part V. The artist's hand on polished steel can trace With higher tempered steel some noble name, Which time will wear away or rust efface ; But on the brightest tablet known to fame, "Those gallant Irish exiles with their steel Engraved a name which time shall ne'er destroy, While language lives, or men have hearts to feel For noble deeds — that name is Fontenoy. And like the melody of wedding bells. Whose every tone is voiceful with delight, Through Erin's isle the tale triumphant swells Of how her children conquered in the fight. The father, poor and proud, the story hears — For he to Fontenoy sent forth a son — And claps his shrivelled hands and proudly cheers For well he knows his own has bravely done. The widowed mother's heart beats high with joy, Despite her quivering lips and tearful face, Her only child — in years but yet a boy — Has nobly filled his gallant father's place And with strong hand avenged the ruin of his race. * When the news reached England, King George got into a ^reat rage and exclaimed, "Accursed be the laws that deprive me of such subjects." 28 THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. The maiden conjures up her lover's form, And as the vision floats before her sight, She hears that none more fiercely faced the storm, That 'mid them all his was an arm of might, And fondly beam those eyes with love's seraphic- light. The wife is listening breathless to the tale, And quick her flickering colour comes and goes ; But he is safe, and she no longer pale, Flushes with pride the while her heart o'erflows, His was the sword, 'tis said, that dealt the dead- liest blows. The sister, in a lonely garret room, Sits by the fireless grate with bended head, A wretched candle lights the midnight gloom. Upon her lap an open letter spread. Despite deep poverty, that form and face, Though worn with want and crushed to earth with grief. Proclaim a lineage high and ancient race. The orphan sister of an Irish chief. A comrade who had battled by his side. Writes from the field of Fontenoy to tell How gallantly her brother fought and died. And how he slew his foes before he fell. How he had led the charge — how when 'twas o'er, They found him at the farthest front where lay A heap of slaughtered foemen, in their gore. To prove how well he bore him in the fray, THE BATTLE OP FONTENOY. 29 And how their country's wrongs her exiled sons repay . Poor, desolate, bereft, and all alone ; That brother was her all, her hope, her pride, And yet she shed no tears and made no moan, But with clenched hands and flashing eyes she cried " Oh that I were a man to such a death have died! ** The thrilling tale, thus shown in many a phase, One burning thought to every heart conveyed ; And Erin's harp swells loud and high to praise The vengeful valour of her own brigade. And friends embrace each other as they meet, One word in every heart, on every tongue ; 'Tis passed from mouth to mouth in every street, Caught up by man and woman, old and young ; In groups they freely clasp the proffered hand, While rings a universal shout of joy, A hymn of victory throughout the land. Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! for Fontenoy. Yes ; Erin loves its memory to recall. Though wisdom's hand might long have closed the scar Were equal justice done alike to all — Even as the soldier loves to show the star That shines upon his decorated breast, May she not too in all good faith contrast Those days of woe with these of less unrest, The hopeful present with the cruel past— 30 THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. And though some memorable wrongs remain As yet unreached by truth's resplendent ray — The canker from the chafing of the chain — May she not hail with joy the coming day, ** The sunburst" that shall chase the darkness al^ away. GOD SAVE IRELAND " APPENDIX Eeference to authorities, parliamentary, official, Protestant and Catholic, on the acts of barbarism perpetrated by the English Government in Ireland, principally during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, including wholesale massacres and confis- cations, tortures, burnings, laying waste the crops, starving, im- prisonment, transporting to the West Indian Islands, selling into slavery, Priest-hunting with bloodhounds, driving into exile, and aiming to exterminate the people, with every conceivable form of iniquity that could emanate from the perverted ingenuity of man. Acts of Parliament, Penal Laws, suppression of Irish manufactures. Bruodin, Propugnaculum Catholicae Veritatis. Burnet, Protestant Bishop, Writings of. Carte MSS. Colgan, Acta Sanctorum. Curry, Historical Review of Civil "Wars in Ireland. De Burgo, Eibemia Dominicana. Froude, English in Ireland. Leland, History of Ireland. Gilbert, Aphorsm. Discov. Hardiman, History of Galway. Haverty, History of Ireland. Lynch, Dr. John, Cambrensis Eversus, translated by Father Meehan. Meehan, Rev. C. P., Works, Flight of the Earls, Confederation of Kilkenny, &c. Moran, Most Rev. Dr., Persecutions of Irish Catholics, &c. O'Callaghan, J. C, Green Book, Irish Brigade. 32 APPENDIX. O'Reilly, Myles, Memorials of those who suffered for the Catholic Faith in Ireland. Petty, Sir William, Political Anatomy of Ireland. Prendergast, Cromwellian Settlement. Records, State Papers (various) Record Office, London. Renehan, Dr., Collections on Church Hist. Stafiford, Pacata Hibernia. Sullivan, A. M., Story of Ireland, &c. Thurloe, Memoirs. Turner, Sir James, Memoirs of his own Life and Times. Wadding, Rev. Luke, Annales Ordinis Minorum. It could serve no useful purpose to include in this list those rare works which can only be found in foreign libraries, as at Rome, Louvain, Brussels, &c. The above are to be had in most public libraries at home, and many of them contain references innumerable to other authentic sources of information, sufficient to satisfy the most sceptical mind that if the Divine vengeance has not as yet •overtaken England on account of her actions in Ireland, it has at least been excellently well deserved. M. H. Gill & Son, Printers, Dublin. RETURN TO nll£^'^ USE ^" 0£SK FROM WHr/-iT •>« LD s> ^-^^S^". ^ 774242 UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY wmmimmm^mmmmMmmmm '■'''■;■ ^■■•-■■. ■ 5(!':T:;';S:- :*''':■'•' -■' .s'^i ■■ '^■B'^i: ■•''' ;■ '^'^ '"'■, V '■ '.y . ' ^^:V'' ;, ,•:', ■ ^/.' ■,^!- ' ■ '. ; ' . \.., ;'!f .*'; ■ .■^■'..-■f^''^ > ',/.'