# Studies in Irish History, 1649-1775/Sieges of Derry and Limerick

THE SIEGES OF DERRY AND LIMERICK
By H. MANGAN
The Sieges of Derry and Limerick
When England rejected James the Second for his impolitic and arbitrary efforts to introduce the strange principle of religious toleration, his first hope of coming to his own again lay in his Irish Catholic subjects. They, it is true, had no great reason for devotion to a Stuart. For them "the Restoration" had been an empty phrase. While in England and Scotland the Royalists had regained their lands from the Puritans, their Irish brethren had perforce to content themselves with a regal "thank you." Acts of Settlement and Explanation and Courts of Claims left most of the Cromwellians in undisturbed possession of their newly-acquired property. Of the portion they did disgorge, James, then Duke of York, and other royal favourites had appropriated immense slices.
The Irish Catholics at the Revolution numbered some 900,000 of the population. They were poor, and unarmed; opposed to them stood some 300,000 English Protestant colonists, backed by all the resources of their country and the veteran army of the Prince of Orange. But ​King James was coming from France with aid from the great Louis; to strike for him was to strike for their civil and religious rights, so once more the people of Ireland, "home of lost causes," went forth to the fight. The dominant section, on the other hand, seeing with the eyes of their time, regarded as iniquitous the attempt to reduce them to a position of equality—they feared, of inferiority. Macaulay has limned their motives in a phrase: "selfishness sublimed into public spirit." Thus the country was plunged into civil strife, which was at once a racial, a religious, and a land war.
The aim of the fugitive King was not merely to save one crown from the wreck of his fortunes, but also to regain the other two. In devising his schemes, Tyrconnell, his Catholic viceroy, had to weigh many factors: the intentions and resources of James, of his ally Louis the Fourteenth, and of William; of the Irish Protestants, of the Anglo-Irish or pure Jacobites, his own party, and of the Old Irish, whom he regarded with suspicion. "Lying Dick Talbot" was an able opportunist, utilising Irish grievances and French ambitions to advance Jacobite interests; but a sordid political trimmer he was not. His master's account of his policy at least tallies with events. He "strove underhand to amuse the Prince of ​Orange's agents … which made the English slight Ireland for a time … and, with as much prudence as dexterity, soon put the kingdom in a tolerable condition of defence."
Upon his coming to Ireland some three years before, he had disbanded the Protestant Militia, and since then had steadily replaced Protestant officers in the army by Catholics. In December, 1088, he began to issue commissions for new levies, and within two months 50,000 Catholics had enlisted for the war, but a large proportion of them had soon to be disbanded for want of arms and food.
Meanwhile unrest among the Protestants of Ireland grew to ahead. Wild rumours of Popish plots for wholesale massacre were circulated, and memories of the miseries of 1641 were recalled. They were, however, slow to take up arms against the Government, for the issue in England was still in doubt.
Before the end of 1688, Tyrconnell had committed an apparently trifling error, but the gravity of its consequences proved steadily cumulative. On the 23rd of November he withdrew the Protestant Lord Mountjoy's regiment from Derry, but the newly raised regiment of the Catholic Earl of Antrim, with which he intended to replace it, was not ready for this duty until a ​fortnight later, during which time the city was left without a garrison.
On the morning of the 7th of December, 1688, the unwelcome intelligence reached Derry that Antrim's ragged regiment of Irish and Highlanders (bloody-minded scoundrels there was no doubt) were on the march within a couple of miles of the city.
As the news spread, excited crowds gathered in the streets, loudly debating whether they should refuse entry to the King's troops or not. "However, divers of those who had made some figure in the town wished the thing were done, yet none of them thought fit to be themselves active." But the excitement of the populace momentarily increased as they saw Antrim's "Redshanks" appear upon the opposite bank of the Foyle, row over, and advance rapidly towards Ferry Gate. For afew breathless moments great issues hung in the balance. But while the bourgeois were counting the cost, "a few resolute apprentice boys" crossed the Rubicon. Drawing their swords, they seized the keys at the Mainguard, rushed to Ferry Gate, drew up the bridge, and locked the gate in the very faces of the soldiers, who were now but sixty yards away. This overt act of war "like magic roused a unanimous spirit of defence." The other three gates ​were quickly secured, as well as the magazine, containing but eight or nine barrels of powder and a few hundred muskets. In the market place the civic authorities, the officers of Antrim's regiment, and some Protestants, including the Bishop of Derry, tried in vain to dissuade the excited crowd from their project. Next day most of the Catholics were expelled, the Protestant Bishop and others left the city, but numbers poured in from the country to join the rebels. Soon news came that the Enniskilleners, with equal determination and even greater daring, had refused to receive a Jacobite garrison.
Meanwhile Lord Mountjoy and Lieutenant-Colonel Lundy, with six companies of their regiment, were ordered to Derry by Tyrconnell. After much discussion, two companies, all Protestants, were admitted; the others were not allowed in until they had been "purged of Papists." In the South an attempted rising of Protestants was suppressed. In Sligo they occupied several towns, and in Ulster formed a Defence Association and raised regiments. But before their organisation was completed the Jacobites were upon them, and on the 14th of March they fled in panic at the "Break of Dromore." After this many Protestants left the country, and large numbers accepted protection from the Jacobites.
​On the 17th of March King James landed at Kinsale accompanied by De Rosen and some 400 French officers and gunners, bringing 500,000 crowns, and arms and ammunition for 10,000 men. About the same time the first instalment of assistance from William reached Derry: 8,000 stand of arms, 480 barrels of powder, £595, and a commission to Lundy as Governor. Next day the mask was entirely thrown off, and William and Mary were proclaimed in the City. In the beginning of April the Irish army passed the Bann, and the Protestants from all sides fell back on Derry "as their last refuge."
The Derry of 1689 was a walled city, oblong in shape, about a mile in circumference, standing upon the northern face of a peninsula formed on the left bank of the Foyle by a bend in the river, which enters the Lough some four miles: lower down. There was then no bridge over the river at Derry, where it is very deep and in some parts 350 yards wide. The city is built on a hill sloping up from the water's edge to a height of 119 feet, on which the cathedral stands. There were four entrances: Ferryquay Gate on the east, Shipquay Gate on the north, Butcher's Gate on the west, and Bishop's Gate on the south. The walls, which were thick and defended by several bastions, varied in height from twenty-four to ​twelve feet, being lower on the sides protected by the river. Upon them were mounted some twenty pieces of cannon. The hills upon both banks rendered the city untenable against an army provided with a siege train. To the south, and on the promontory, there was another hill on which a windmill stood; beyond it were meadows which merged into a morass skirting the western side.
Dissatisfaction with Lundy had been steadily developing into suspicion. He had advised the falling back on Derry. Now he showed such gross negligence in securing the river fords and passes that Hamilton's dragoons, on the 15th of April, succeeded in crossing at Cladyford in face of superior numbers.
On the very day of the defeat Colonels Cunningham and Richards had come into Lough Foyle with two regiments. On the 16th they came to Derry, and a council of war was held, to which some of the principal officers were refused admittance. Upon Lundy's representations, which were not contradicted by officers who had been some time in the town, the Council resolved that, as the place was not tenable against a well-appointed army, the regiments should not be landed, and the principal officers should privately withdraw.
​King James had now joined his army, and on the 17th of April, from his camp at St. Johnstown, five miles from Derry, offered honourable terms of surrender.
On the 18th, James, having been assured that the sight of their monarch demanding admission would induce the citizens to surrender, rode up with his staff at the head of his army to the strand above the windmill to receive a reply to his proposals. Hamilton had guaranteed that while negotiations were pending he would not march his army within four miles of the city. Lundy and his Council, then in session, had given orders to the gunners not to fire until the King's demands were known; but his advance in force brought on a crisis.
While James was approaching the walls Captain Murray galloped up from Culmore Fort with a strong force of horse. His appearance at their backs roused the men on the walls to such a pitch of enthusiasm that they opened fire upon the King and killed an officer of his staff. Whereupon the Jacobites retreated precipitately to their camp, followed by apologies from the moderate party for the conduct of "so tumultuous and intractable a rabble." A few days later the King returned to Dublin. Meanwhile, in the city, the disorder culminated in revolt. As the Council ​sat drafting articles of surrender, the captain of their guard threw open Shipquay Gate, and Murray rode through the city with his troopers, escorted by an excited crowd. While the echoes of their cheers rang in the Council Chamber, Murray strode in. He scoffed at the idea of surrender, passionately vindicated the soldiers from the aspersion of cowardice Lundy had cast upon them, and telling the Governor to his face that his conduct "had declared him either fool or knave," swung out of the room to harangue the men outside.
The Council proceeded to finish the terms of surrender; but the control of the city had passed into more determined hands. That night, Murray and his party seized the city keys, and placed guards at the gates and upon the walls. Next day, a new Council was called together. Major Baker was elected Governor, and the Rev. George Walker was appointed as his assistant, to take charge of the stores.
Few of the old councillors could show themselves; some escaped to the shipping; Lundy, above all, dared not venture in the streets. Through respect for the commission he bore, the Governors connived at his escape, which he effected with the utmost difficulty, in disguise. He reached Scotland, was arrested, and, upon ​examination before the House of Commons, his conduct was found "very faulty," and the two Colonels who had adopted his suggestions were cashiered. So ended his doubtful record. History must concur with the House of Commons in the verdict of "not proven," for though his acts wore the appearance of treachery, faint-heartedness and incapacity would produce similar effects. He could scarcely know the inefficiency of Hamilton's army; he did not turn his coat; and, it should be noted, the new Council actually continued his policy.
Their first proceeding was to elect deputies to arrange terms of surrender. But Murray refused to be a party to their cowardly tactics, and the populace once more decided the fate of their city. Now began the citizen soldiers' siege. The soldiers, deserted by their former officers, elected their own captains, and the garrison was formed into eight regiments, numbering 341 officers and 7,020 men.
Here, with the exception of the garrison of Enniskillen, were the flower of the fighting men of the British colonists in Ulster. They were inexperienced in war, but living, as they did, amidst a hostile population, most of them had been trained to the use of arms. The superiority of their musketry fire over that ot the Irish levies, ​who had handled their inferior weapons for the first time but a few months before, was decisive. The population at the commencement of the siege is estimated at 20,000, some 10,000 more had been allowed by the besiegers to depart, and this injudicious clemency had a most important effect upon the result of the operations. The besieged were fortified by the assurance of speedy aid from England, and their pastors, Episcopalian and Presbyterian, in turn, used the cathedral to rouse their religious fervour. And so, though abandoned by the regular troops sent to aid them, and with "not a gun well mounted," they stood at bay against a victorious army.
The Jacobite forces were about 10,000, and within a month had risen to 20,000 men. On the 20th of April they occupied Pennyburn Hill, about a mile N.W., so cutting off communication with Culmore Fort (four miles below, upon the left bank of the Foyle), the surrender of which, on the 23rd, lessened the chances of relief by sea.
On the 21st the citizens made their first sortie. All who cared to go went out, heedless of military order.
Colonel Murray, with a few horse, gallantly sustained a charge by James's cavalry, but most of his troops fled, hotly pursued to the city gates by the Jacobites. The Derry foot, however, ​lined the ditches and poured in such a deadly flanking fire upon them as they returned, that they lost over 200 men, including Generals Maumont, Pusignan, and several other officers. The loss of the besieged was comparatively slight. After this baptism of fire they engaged in frequent sallies, conducted after the same fashion. Volunteer skirmishers got into action, and many others straggled out into the fighting line.
Before the end of April the besiegers planted their few culverins and mortars in an orchard beyond the river and within eighty perches of the city. As it would be useless, even were it practicable, to batter a breach on the river side of the city, their intermittent fire was directed against the houses, with some effect. During the whole siege, however, they were unable to throw in more than some six hundred bombs. To minimise the effect upon a city of such small area, the inhabitants erected barricades and tore up the pavements of the streets. As deserters daily brought information to the enemy, they had frequently to shift their magazines, and, at times, were compelled to shelter along the walls and in the most remote quarters of the town.
On the night of the 5th of May, the Jacobites under Brigadier Ramsey drove in the outposts at ​the Windmill Hill. By dawn they had a line drawn across from the river to the bog, and were preparing to plant a battery before the besieged realised they had lost the key to their position. But at 4 o'clock in the morning of the 6th, before their officers could form them properly for attack, the eager Derry men sallied forth and beat back the Jacobites with severe loss.
Baker soon had a strong intrenchment completed across the hill from the bog to the water, where it was protected by redoubts from the enfilading fire of the Irish battery beyond the river.
For some weeks after this, owing, says Walker, to "the enemies' want of courage and our want of horse," unimportant skirmishes were the only incidents. But the investment became much closer. The Jacobites pitched their main camp at Ballougry Hill, two miles south-west of Derry, and erected sixteen forts around the city. in which, however, they could only mount six guns.
The lack of discipline amongst the defenders soon became apparent. Rumours of treachery filled the air. From time to time officers and men deserted. Colonel Mitchelburn was suspected by Governor Baker. They quarrelled, fought, and Mitchelburn was wounded and placed under ​arrest. No less a person than the Rev. George Walker also fell under suspicion. His management of stores, a delicate task, jealously criticised, excited discontent, and it was even proposed to prosecute him for embezzlement and treachery. The old churchman—he was now about seventy years—appears to have been a religious zealot, full of the fierce bigotry of his time, energetic, narrow-minded and conceited. But that he was rogue or traitor is incredible.
On the 4th of June the besiegers made a supreme effort to capture the lines on Windmill Hill. They did not attempt to batter a breach in the intrenchments, and it was after seven o'clock in the morning when they had formed for the attack. On the left, a picked body of Grenadiers led the assault upon the intrenchments between the bog and the Windmill. The main body of the Irish infantry advanced against the Windmill and the lines sloping towards the river. It was low water, and on the right, three squadrons of Irish cavalry prepared by a charge along the strand to turn the position or clear the earthworks, which were lower at this end. The besieged had manned their lines in force. Many were armed with long fowling pieces, which carried farther than the Irish muskets, and, formed in several ranks, maintained a rapid and deadly fire.
​Under cover of their guns beyond the river, which opened a cross fire upon the defenders, the Irish dragoons, carrying fagots before them to fill the ditch, dashed up, cheering as they came.
The first squadron, all picked volunteers, who had sworn to mount the works, were splendidly led by Colonel Butler, son of Lord Mountgarrett, who urged his horse right on top of the intrenchment, but, as he landed inside, was taken prisoner. Some thirty troopers, clad in armour were behind him, but their horses were quickly shot down, and only one or two succeeded in topping the works. While the other squadrons hung back outside, the defenders swarmed out on the strand with musket, pike, and scythe, and put them to flight with great loss. The central attack had as little success. The infantry advancing, with a line of colonels at their head, were met by a tremendous fire. Some of them, however, pushed right up to the works, which could not easily be scaled without ladders, and most of these were killed in the ditch or "hauled over by the hair of their heads." Meanwhile the Irish Grenadiers had pushed home a fierce assault and driven the defenders out of the redoubts upon their right. But the arrival of reinforcements checked their flight; and the very ​women of Derry, who had been carrying ammunition and food to the fighting line, now joined boldly in the fray, and hurled stones upon the Grenadiers, who were, in turn, beaten out of the works and pursued across the meadows with great slaughter.
About this time a gleam of hope came with the appearance below Culmore of three ships, the advanced guard of Kirke's fleet. On the 8th of June the Greyhound frigate opened fire upon the fort, and encountered a heavy cannonade from both sides of the river. In beating out of the narrow channel she grounded, but got off in a sinking condition, with seventeen shots below water and fifty more in her upper works. This warm reception was not calculated to encourage Kirke, who arrived with his fleet a few days later. Colonel Richards, who had been on the Greyhound, reported that it was probable boats were sunk in the channel, and he had seen through his glass an obstruction stretching across the river.
This was the great boom, made of fir timbers chained together, and bound round with cable a foot thick, which had been thrown across the Foyle above Brook Hall, between Charles Fort and Grange Fort, about half way between Culmore and Derry.
​The Jacobites now redoubled their exertions to bar the passage. A fourth redoubt was thrown up on the left bank, and musketeers lined trenches on both sides. So keen a watch was kept, that it was only on the 25th of June, after several attempts, Kirke succeeded in communicating with the city, thanks to a daring exploit by Captain Roche "the swimmer." Then for nearly three weeks longer no further news arrived, and the garrison raged at his unaccountable inactivity. Meanwhile the brave Governor Baker died on the 30th of June, having nominated his former opponent, Mitchelburn, as his successor.
Towards the end of the month General de Rosen had arrived in the Jacobite camp. He drew the lines of investment still closer, transferred the mortars across the river to a hill above the bog on the western side, and bombarded more persistently than before.
On the 27th of June Hamilton had again held out favourable proposals, which de Rosen followed up on the 30th by a proclamation that if the citizens did not come to terms by the 1st of July, they should get none: Ulster should be laid waste, and all the Protestants, protected or not, driven under the walls of Derry. As his threats proved as unavailing as his desultory ​bombardment, he at once proceeded to show his earnestness. On the 2nd and 3rd of July all the Protestants, men, women, and children, within ten miles of Derry—some 1,200 in number—were driven under the walls. There they spent a miserable night: some few were smuggled in contrary to orders, for if their friends took pity upon them the citizens' provisions would soon be exhausted: the poor creatures even entreated the garrison to hold firm. To this stratagem the besieged replied by setting up a gallows in view of the enemy's camp, and threatening to hang a score of prisoners. De Rosen's "barbarous Muscovite" policy, as James termed it, having proved futile—and being bitterly resented in the camp by the co-religionists of the victims—on the 4th of July the unfortunate Protestants were sent to their homes, and actually provided with food and money for the journey. The garrison had taken in some able-bodied recruits, while some 500 of the exhausted citizens mingled with the crowd outside, but many, detected by their emaciated appearance and horrible pallor, were sent back.
On the 11th the Jacobites again offered a parley, and the besieged, now in dire straits, were more disposed to entertain their proposals. About this time tallow, rendered not more palatable by the title of "French butter," formed ​part of the soldiers' rations, and, it is recorded, "mixed with meal, ginger, pepper, and aniseed, made most excellent pancakes." Later on, starch, disguised as "Dutch flour," was even considered wholesome. Salted hides and horseflesh were luxuries; dogs, cats, rats, and mice fetched good prices; herbs and weeds were eagerly devoured; every day scores perished, and hopes from Kirke sank lower. Rumours of treachery were renewed; jealousies arose amongst the leaders, and a mutinous spirit amongst the men, for the city was drifting into the anarchy of despair.
On the 13th of July commissioners were sent out to confer with the Jacobites. While the deliberations were in progress, a message came from Kirke. Relief, he said, was impossible by the river; he was moving round to Inch in Lough Swilly to divert the enemy; he had sent stores to Enniskillen, and hourly expected 6,000 men from England. With them he would attack the besiegers, who could not stand much longer in their trenches; for the condition of the Jacobites was little better than that of their antagonists. Feeding upon oatmeal, water and lean beef, and suffering from exposure, they sickened and died fast.
In the city a council of war on the 14th of ​July adopted the policy of "No surrender," if they were not allowed until the 26th of July, and the negotiations ended.
On both sides now it was a contest of endurance. On the 10th Kirke's fleet left the Lough and the weary monotony of the succeeding two weeks was broken but by a few skirmishes. The pinch of famine grew sharper; the ravages of disease more widespread. Courts-martial sat daily to repress disorder. Still the city endured sullenly.
Sunday, the 28th of July, dawned, and the lean defenders must have prayed that the end—for good or ill—might come.
As the long summer's day dragged on, the dull eyes of the gaunt watchers on the walls, listlessly gazing down the Foyle, lighted on a few distant sails in the Lough, and many a starving man cursed them for laggards. The flag on the church tower dipped sadly, the cannon boomed a last appeal, and over the water came a reply from the guns of the ships. Towards evening a northerly breeze blew fair up the channel. The tide was coming in and the vessels stood up towards Culmore—as the fleet had often done before. But Walker had ere now written to Kirke that the boom was broken; Schomberg had urged him; and he had ordered a last attempt.
​The Dartmouth frigate engaged the fort at close range, while, covered by her guns, two small store ships—the Mountjoy and the Phœnix—slipped by, delivering their broadsides as they passed.
As the two ships were seen to emerge from the smoke of the cannonade, murmurs ran along the walls of Derry, and from all quarters of the city a ghastly crowd came tottering to the ramparts. In silence they gaped, while down the river the Irish musketry crackled, and the guns, dragged from place to place along the banks, harassed the ships. They steadily replied, drifting slowly up the narrow channel, for the wind had dropped.
The Mountjoy first reached the boom. She struck it, quivered, and ran aground; shouts of triumph rose along the Irish lines; and she was lost to view in the smoke of the batteries and her own answering broadsides. The Swallow's longboat had come up with the ships, barricaded, so that to the Irish it looked like "a boat with a house on it." Now, heedless of the heavy fire, her crew plied axe and cutlass vigorously upon the boom, which by this time must have been much damaged by the action of the water. The Irish prepared boats to board the stranded vessel, but the rising tide and the recoil from a ​side floated her again. Her Captain, Browning, had been killed, but once more she was sent against the boom, and this time crashed right through. As she slowly forged ahead, still firing, a hoarse cheer went up from the city. It was the Phœnix, however, that, at ten o'clock that night, first reached the quay. Torches waved, bonfires blazed, cannon roared, the church bells pealed, and the triumphant yells of the populace echoed across the Foyle. Then for two days longer the Jacobites clung to their trenches, and, on the night of the 31st of July, decamped by the light of their blazing huts.
So, after 105 days, ended the historic defence. By sword and disease Derry had lost over 3,000 men and the besiegers some 8,000. Here had been a rough "camp of exercise" for two raw armies, and both sides paid dearly for the lessons of "the ridiculous siege," as A Jacobite Narrative terms it.
Courage and endurance both sides had shown. Strategy could hardly be expected from either, and little was displayed. The Jacobite want of artillery was, to some extent, counterbalanced by the Williamite lack of cavalry. Though many of the Jacobite officers were professional military men, French, English, and Scotch, as well as Irish, a large proportion of them were but ​recruits; many of the captains had been "cobblers, tailors, and footmen;" on the whole, a brave, but careless and ignorant lot. Their General, Hamilton, had never before seen a siege. Maumont and Pusignan had been killed early in the struggle. Pointis, the artillerist, had no siege train. Soon after his arrival De Rosen had written to James that his heart bled at the negligence which supplied his troops with arms, the greater part of which were damaged, while there was not in the army a gunsmith to mend them. His strongest battalions of foot had but 200 effective men, his strongest troops of cavalry but fourteen. The army, too, he pointed out, was weakened by the withdrawal of Berwick's detachment, watching Enniskillen. The river, moreover, hindered free communication. In addition to these sources of weakness, the preliminary operations of the besiegers were aimless; they did not realise the determination of the opposition, and were slow in converting the siege into a blockade. More artillery might have been procured. Such as they had was not used to the best effect, its fire was not sufficiently concentrated, and the poor opposition to the relief gave rise to suspicions of treachery. The boom, too, or a second one, should have been placed under the guns of Culmore Fort, while one or two ​vessels sunk in the channel would have effectively prevented relief.
On the other hand, had the defenders been well handled in the early stages of the siege, they might have successfully adopted offensive-defensive tactics, for which the division by the river of the enemy's force, which at first was but 10,000 men, lent an opportunity. Doubtless they had not recovered from the effects of Lundy's incompetence. Their tardy saviour, Kirke, was neither a Nelson nor a Farragut; indeed, it should be remembered, he was not a sailor at all. His inaction, after every allowance for difficulties of navigation, was pusillanimous; but his Fabian policy was none the less effective. He had wrung out of the citizens of Derry the very last grain of aid they could give the Williamite cause. Had they been relieved earlier, the exhaustion of James's army would not have been so complete. ·····
When Schomberg landed in August, 1689, with 20,000 men, the petty civil war developed into a great international struggle.
The Jacobites did not despair. Arms and money were scarce, but recruits were plenty. In March, 1690, Lauzun brought over 7,000 French troops. The "grand monarch" had not yet realised the importance of the struggle. William ​had—at last—and in June came himself to Ireland.
When on the 1st of July the rival Kings met at the Boyne, James was but half-hearted. By nightfall he and his advisers had entirely lost heart. But their Irish troops were no more cowed after that battle than the Ulster Protestants had been after Cladyford. There had been a skirmish, not a general engagement: the raw army had done some gallant fighting at Oldbridge Ford, and their retreat before a superior veteran force, was by no means a rout. Nevertheless, the beaten trio—the English King, his Anglo-Irish viceroy, and his French generalissimo—promptly threw all the discredit upon their Irish troops. William, too, did not doubt: that the game was over. In reality, it had but begun. He had to encounter a new force—the power of the Irish people, resurgent, after forty years' bitter contact with mother earth. For, to the surprise of all the foreigners, who had not gauged the sentiments behind the Irish uprising, the greater part of the Jacobite army had assembled at Limerick a week or two after the defeat. The Old Irish party attributed the pitiable indecision of James to a "wrong maxim of state," an idea "that the only way to recover England was to lose Ireland," as he could not ​hope to regain the allegiance of his British subjects while he headed an Irish or a French army.
Though James had fled to France, whither Lauzun and his men were anxious to follow, the Old Irish, headed by General Sarsfield, Brigadier Henry Luttrell, and most of the Irish officers, decided to send envoys to assure the two Kings of their resolution to defend the country. Tyrconnell, however, detached Sarsfield with a small party to watch the movements of the enemy, and in his absence gained over most of the principal officers to his peace policy; while Lauzun, declaring that the city "could be taken with roasted apples," marched away to Galway with all the French troops, eight guns and much ammunition. But upon William's approach Sarsfield returned to Limerick, and the defence of the city was resolved upon.
On the 9th of July, William left Dublin on his march to the South. Wexford, Clonmel, and Kilkenny were abandoned. and Waterford and Duncannon Fort surrendered with the honours of war. General Douglas, however, whom he had detached to besiege Athlone, the key to Connaught, was repulsed, and came to join his master, who awaited him at Caherconlish, a few miles from Limerick.
​The old town was then the second city of Ireland in extent and population. The Shannon, navigable to that point, divided it into two distinct segments. The older, known as the English town, containing the cathedral and most of the principal buildings, occupied the southern and more elevated portion of an island some two miles in circumference, low lying in the Shannon. Thomond Bridge, a narrow stone structure some eighty yards long, linked this "King's Island" to the county Clare. It was connected by Ball's Bridge, spanning the narrower, eastern arm of the river, with the Irish town upon the county Limerick bank.
Both towns were fortified after a fashion, which the French officers, trained in the new school of Vauban, scoffed at, as they had at the walls of Derry. The English town was defended by a wall, strongest on the north-east face, which commanded the lower ground of the island, mostly a swampy tract, which was surrounded by a strong line of circumvallation. Just below Thomond Bridge King John's castle stood, on the island at the water's edge. The walls of the Irish town, being unprotected by the river, were stronger, being double, and containing five bastions and some towers. Beyond these, to the north-east, the Irish had erected some outworks, ​and from the south gate, where, on a spur, the heaviest guns were planted, a covered way ran beside the walls to St. John's Gate. Near this was a battery of three guns called, from its colour, the "Black Battery." This north-eastern side bore the brunt of the Williamite attack.
It had already begun. On the 9th of August the King himself appeared before the town. The Irish skirmishers retired to the walls, and William, pitching his camp at Singland, with the river on his right, summoned the city to surrender. Old Boisseleau, whom Tyrconnell had appointed Governor, replied that he preferred to merit the esteem of the Prince of Orange by a vigorous defence.
Tyrconnell now marched off to join Lauzun, having left 8,000 regular but ill-armed troops for the defence. The cavalry, however, returned to the neighbourhood of the city, and a little later a strange figure, one Baldearg O'Donnell, entered with some 7,000 Rapparees, or Irish irregulars, who had rallied around him because there was an Irish prophecy that an O'Donnell "with a red spot" (ball dearg) would free his country, and he fulfilled this essential condition. Thus the defending force amounted to nearly 20,000 men, against which William had an army estimated by Williamite authorities at from 20,000 to 38,500. ​But for siege operations, of course, this disparity of numbers gave him no preponderance.
William, like James at Derry, confident that the city would surrender upon his approach, had brought only a field train. His battering train of guns, stores and pontoons was now on the way from Dublin, escorted by two troops of Villiers' Horse. A French deserter had brought word of this to the Irish, and on the 11th of August a country gentleman reported to the Williamites that the previous night Sarsfield with a party of horse, had passed the Shannon at Killaloe. At first they were not inclined to believe him, but he was brought before the King, who at once called a council of war, and Sir John Lanier, with 500 horse, was sent that night to meet the guns.
Sarsfield was not sleeping. He had ridden out of Limerick the previous evening with 600 picked horsemen. "Galloping Hogan," a hard-riding chief of Rapparees, who knew every inch of the country, was with him. The column marched to Killaloe. Here, passing at the back of the town, they crossed a ford above the bridge between the Pier-head and Ballyvalley, and their long night ride ended at Keeper Hill. Tradition has enshrined every detail.
All next day Sarsfield and his men "lurked among the mountains." Their scouts reported ​that William's convoy had lain at Cashel on Sunday, and on Monday marched beyond Cullen to Ballyneety, or Whitestown, fourteen miles from Limerick. The unsuspecting escort turned most of their tired horses out to grass, made their dispositions carelessly, and, posting a slender guard, fell to sleep, little dreaming of danger from a beaten enemy so near their own camp. Fortune had given Sarsfield an additional chance of success. One of his horsemen, it is said, found out the English password from the wife of a Williamite soldier who had lost her way. Curiously enough, it was the name of the Irish leader. When the moon rose, like the flying clouds which favoured them, Sarsfield's Horse moved down cautiously upon the doomed convoy.
To an outpost's challenge they gave the reply and, quickening their stride, bore down upon the camp. Again a sentinel's call rang out, and this time the Irish reply was "Sarsfield is the word and"—as the sentry went down beneath a sabre-stroke—"Sarsfield is the man!" Then, with a mighty shout, the six hundred swept down upon the Williamites. A bugle shrieked the alarm "To horse!" It was too late. The dragoons were upon them, riding them down, sabring and pistolling them as they started from ​sleep. A few made a hopeless effort to defend themselves, for in that wild onset the vengeful Irish gave little quarter. The rest fled.
Little time was there now to complete the work, for Lanier's escort was upon the road. The spoil to be got rid of consisted of 6 twenty-four pounder cannon, 2 eighteen pounders, 5 mortars, 153 wagons of stores, 18 pontoons, 12 casks of biscuits and 400 draught-horses. The. Irish troopers worked with a will. They smashed the boats, drew the guns together, crammed them with powder, and plunged the muzzles into the ground, dragged the ammunition carts around them, and, scattering the Williamite powder over the great heap, laid a train to a safe distance and withdrew. Then from the darkness came a dazzling flash and a mighty roar woke the echoes of the hills. The dull rumble reached even William's camp. Lanier heard it too. He saw the great brightness, as of dawn, and galloped madly forward.
When he came up, the débris of the convoy was burning furiously. Only two of the guns remained undamaged. The 400 draught-horses and 100 troop-horses were gone. Lanier caught a glimpse of Sarsfield's rearguard, and instantly wheeled to the left to cut him off from the Shannon, but he made a great détour to Banagher, ​crossed the river and returned to Limerick in triumph.
The moral effect of this achievement was immense. The delay to the operations eventually proved the most serious consequence. Some days passed before two great guns and a mortar were brought from Waterford. The loss of the cannon was not so annoying as that of the horses and ammunition, and without the pontoons, guns could not be brought to the Clare side.
Though a sustained artillery duel went on, there was a lull in active operations until the 17th, when the trenches were opened.
From this onward the siege was pressed with great energy. William, from forty pieces, incessantly poured shot and shell and red hot balls into the city, whose guns vigorously replied. After fierce assaults and sallies several of the outworks were captured. On the 25th, under the fire of a new battery raised within sixty yards of . the walls, a breach yawned. The Irish brought up wool-sacks to it, and the English brought up drink to the gunners, "which," says Story, "made them ply their work very heartily, and, for all the woolsacks the wall began to fly again."
All day on the 26th the fire of a score of great guns was concentrated upon the breach, and ​through the anxious night fire-balls, bombs, and "carcasses" rained upon the city, for William had at last decided to deliver the assault.
The breach was now twelve yards wide in the wall near St. John's Gate, and over the Black Battery. On the 27th of August all the Grenadiers in the army, over 500 strong, were marched into the advanced trenches: the regiments of Douglas, Stuart, Meath, Lisburn, and the Brandenburghers were formed up behind: on the right, was a battalion of Blue Dutch: on the left, the Danes. General Douglas commanded.
The forenoon was spent in getting the troops on both sides into position, and it was half-past three when, as William took his stand at Cromwell's Fort to witness the capture of the city, the hush of that sweltering summer's day was broken by the booming of three guns from the camp. Upon the signal, the waiting Grenadiers—strange figures in their uniforms of piebald yellow and red, their cope-crowned, furred caps, with jangling bells hanging from their belts—leapt from the trenches, and ran towards the counterscarp, firing their pieces and throwing their newfangled missiles. They were greeted with a deadly fusillade from the walls, but pushed steadily on: drove the Irish from the counterscarp, and entered the breach pell-mell with ​them. Some of them succeeded in pressing into the town, while their supports rushed forward to hold the counterscarp. This they clung to doggedly, but could make no further headway. For behind the breach a masked battery of three guns now opened upon them, with "cartridge shot." and prevented them from aiding the Grenadiers, who were soon slowly forced back through the breach. They had been roughly handled during their brief visit to Limerick "Some were shot, some taken, and the rest came out again, but very few without being wounded."
The Irish, rallying, manned the breach anew, and for three hours a desperate struggle raged in that narrow way.
Once more William's veterans fought their way into the streets, and Boisseleau called up his last reserves. From the side streets the citizens, seizing the readiest implements, rushed out to aid their hard-pressed soldiers. They turned the tide. Fighting stubbornly, the Williamites were driven back foot by foot, and hurled out through the breach. The King flung forward his reserves. In vain: plied with unceasing cannon-shot and musketry, they could not cross the deadly zone. Missiles of every kind were rained upon them. MacMahon's regiment, having no weapons, cast down stones upon the assailants, and the very ​women, says the Williamite historian, hurling stones and broken bottles, "boldly stood in the breach and were nearer our men than their own."
While the fight was hottest, the Brandenburghers swarmed up on the Black Battery, and a yellow glare shot through the dust clouds, and a louder crash rang above the general uproar, as a quantity of powder was fired beneath them with deadly effect.
Lord Talbot's Dragoons sallied out through St. John's Gate and took the stormers in flank, and then the Irish swept down irresistibly and beat them to their very trenches. It was after seven o'clock in the evening, and a great cloud of battle-smoke trailed away from the city to the top of Keeper Mountain. The assault had cost William some 2,000 men killed and wounded. The loss of the defenders was, of course. much less severe. Yet it had been heavy; and, among the dead and dying on the streets and in the breach, lay not a few of the humble heroines of the city. But, like their sisters of Derry, they had baffled a King. For William, on the 30th of August, after blowing up some of his stores and firing his camp, marched his army into winter quarters, and withdrew himself to England. ·····
After the repulse of William, the hopes of the Irish ran high.
​But when, next year, the tide of war again rolled round the walls of Limerick, their prospects were gloomier than before. Cork, Kinsale, and Athlone had been taken; Aughrim had been lost; Galway, after a show of resistance, had surrendered.
Though the moral effect of Aughrim was greater than that of the Boyne, Tyrconnell, at last aware that the Irish troops could fight, determined to hold out. He appealed to France for an immediate supply of stores, and called to arms all the Irish between the ages of sixteen and sixty. But the Jacobites were soon left without an organiser. Tyrconnell died on the 14th of August, 1691.
Ginkel had already approached Limerick, more confident than even William had been of a speedy surrender.
But seeing no immediate prospect of it, he awaited: his siege train at Cahirconlish; for the fortifications of Limerick. especially of the Irish town, had been greatly strengthened since the preceding year. The conduct of the second siege of Limerick on both sides is puzzling. "It appears to be a mock siege," says A Jacobite Narrative, bitterly. How could Ginkel, coming late in the season, hope to take it with 22,000 men, after his master ​had failed with superior forces? The fact was that the siege was carried on as much by secret intrigue as by open warfare. Ginkel had opened correspondence with many of the Irish officers, who, disheartened by a long series of disasters, began to think of their estates. Sarsfield was compelled to denounce even his old comrade, Henry Luttrell, as a traitor. D'Usson was now Governor of Limerick, with de Tessé second in command, so that Sarsfield, though the soul of the defence, could not take official control.
On the 25th the city was invested. Next day a powerful siege train arrived, and in the evening the trenches were opened. On the 27th an English fleet came up the river within a mile of the town. This gave Ginkel an opportunity of staying longer than William had, for when roads became impassable, he could remove his guns by sea. On the 30th the bombardment began, and before next morning over 100 bombs had been thrown into the town. Time was everything, and Ginkel pressed the attack, which this time was directed at the English town, across King's Island. But though the destruction of houses was enormous and frequent fires broke out, the stout defences sustained little damage. Ginkel grew restless; he landed his heavy guns from the fleet; ordered them to be re-embarked, ​countermanded, and ordered anew. He even thought of blockading the river with a small squadron and retiring to winter quarters. When his main battery on the north-east of the town, near the island, was finished, nearly sixty guns opened together upon the city—the hottest bombardment Limerick had ever sustained.
By the 9th of September a great breach was made in the wall within King's Island, between the Abbey and Ball's Bridge. But stormers should advance under fire 200 paces from behind their battery to the river, ford it, and then cover nearly 400 paces more before gaining its foot. So this undertaking was abandoned.
Ginkel had heard rumours of a French expedition and now prepared to pass into Clare, a movement which did not apparently promise any greater success. His engineers examined the river for miles in search of a suitable crossing-place. At last one was found at St. Thomas's Island, two miles above the town, and he tried a repetition of the tactics that had worsted St. Ruth at Athlone. Most of the guns were drawn off from the batteries, but at midnight on the 15th of September the layings of the pontoons began. Brigadier Clifford, commanding the Jacobite cavalry on the Clare side, was warned that the enemy were at work; but before he ​moved, the bridge was finished; and at dawn the Williamites pushed across. His gross neglect —which he frankly admitted—would stamp him as a traitor, but for the fact that he went, afterwards, with the Brigade to France.
His troops, on foot, lined the hedges, but were quickly driven out, and the Williamites poured over the bridge, and advanced towards Sheldon's cavalry camp, on a hillside two miles away.
Near this, great numbers of the citizens, including the Irish Lords Justices, and many ladies and gentlemen, who had fled from the bombardment, were encamped in rude shelters made of sheets and blankets. Now these wretched people —awakened to find the enemy upon them— streamed in panic to Thomond Bridge. Had Ginkel's cavalry pursued, all was lost. Sheldon, however, showed a bold front and the Williamites retired across the river that afternoon, leaving a strong guard at their bridge.
Ginkel did not at once follow up this success. To do so by military operations was, indeed, so difficult that once more he determined to go into winter quarters. His "correspondence with the moderate party in town, who were for preserving their country by a submission," says William's biographer, cannot have been long formed. It was the 22nd before he crossed the ​Shannon in force. After two hours' skirmishing, his infantry advanced upon the defences covering Thomond Bridge, under an ineffective fire from the walls. In two small forts, and in quarries and sandpits in front of them, 800 Irish were posted. After a fierce struggle, these were outnumbered and driven across Thomond Bridge. Seeing Ginkel's grenadiers pressing forward, the excited French Major of the guard raised the drawbridge, leaving most of the fugitives huddled together on the bridge at the mercy of their foes. Nearly 600 were cut down or drowned.
However, Ginkel's task seemed yet far from accomplishment. His army was now divided; he had not brought over his heavy guns; to ford the wide and rapid river, or cross the narrow bridge, under the fire of the walls, was almost impracticable.
But the country was exhausted, there were but a few weeks' provisions in the city, the cavalry were cut off from it, hope of French aid had gone, Ginkel had offered good terms, and the army could yet be saved. If surrender were delayed a little longer, all was lost. So negotiations were at length opened.
The Lords Justices arrived in Ginkel's camp on the 1st of October, and hearing the Irish had made overtures, suppressed more favourable ​terms which they had been empowered to offer. Finally, on the 3rd of October, 1691, the treaty was signed. Roman Catholics were to "enjoy such privileges in the exercise of their religion as are consistent with the laws of Ireland, or, as they did enjoy in the reign of King Charles the Second." The inhabitants of Limerick, and all then in arms for James, should hold all estates to which they were entitled under Charles the Second, or since, and could exercise all professions and trades as in the reign of James the Second, upon taking the oath of allegiance to William and Mary.
The Irish troops marched out "with drums beating, and colours flying." Those who wished could enter the French service. Sarsfield exhorted them, their bishops blessed them, and, on the 6th, under the eyes of Ginkel and Sarsfield, they made their decision. 12,000 grim and ragged soldiers—they were veterans by now— marched under the standard of Louis. Some 2,000 had filed off to return to their homes, or to enter the service of William.
About a fortnight later, the French arrived, but the long agony of the three years' war had ended.
Seven years later, the longer agony of the Penal Laws began.
​Success attends the side that makes least mistakes, and the management of the Jacobites, says their own chronicler, ruefully, had been "stark naught."
The surrender was not occasioned by the incidents of the siege, but was the culmination of a series of misfortunes. The patriotic movement lacked a head. The brave and chivalrous Sarsfield, the idol of the Irish, was, after all, but a Jacobite officer. He was too great-hearted to be a Cromwell or a Napoleon. Had he, like them, created opportunities for himself, his memory might have been less lovable, but his achievements greater. He was not a Lally Tollendal; but could he have foreseen how the treaty was kept, he would have clung to his defences to the end, like that grim warrior at Pondicherry.
Historical studies, says Renan, are often a danger to nationality, which is built up by the fusion of races: for union is always brutally created. So, for all it is well to know how to forget. ("Pour tous il est bon de savoir oublier.") Yet, surely, Knowledge is better than Forgetfulness? For, though a religious war, the war in Ireland was not one of extermination, and both Derry and Limerick have their memories of glorious deeds of courage and endurance. Both had been abandoned by regular soldiers as ​untenable: both, with newly levied troops, had successfully defied a monarch at the head of a victorious army; both, too, had their unsolved problems of treachery and intrigue. The influence of sea power was one of the chief factors in deciding the fate of each. Had James possessed a navy, Derry would have fallen and Limerick been relieved. Had Louis not possessed a navy superior, at the time, to William's, neither of the sieges would have taken place. Both cities depended for relief upon sea-borne aid from a foreign king. But while William threw his whole energy into the Irish struggle, Louis, until it was too late, regarded it as a side issue, and took but a mild interest in the result. At Derry James lost two crowns, at Limerick the third. Upon the fate of the small city on the Foyle hung the fate of Scotland and England. But for its long defence James might have sent an army to Scotland and entered England with the Highlanders. Even had it surrendered at the end, the result would have been unchanged. Had the city on the Shannon held out, William could not have transferred an army to the Continent to aid the confederacy against Louis, whose foes would have been compelled to sue for peace, leaving him free to restore the Stuart, who was an importunate beggar at his Court.
​Derry was the scene of a great episode in the history of a colony; at Limerick a national tragedy had been enacted. The Jacobite administrators were but "a crowd." Their helplessness' prevented the evolution of an effective national government, and so Ireland, always a nation in posse, had not become a nation in being. Tyrconnell, who could remember the Confederation in session at Kilkenny, and was jealous of "the knot of Irish" who had the ear of Louis in Paris, worked persistently to check such a development as Ormond had been unable to prevent. Surely, as the oak immersed in her bogs, had Ireland absorbed her colonists. The Williamite wars produced a cleavage which arrested the process of fusion. But if, as Renan says, "suffering in common is a closer bond than joy" ("La souf france en commun unit plus que la joie"), the British Government of the time did something to unite the victors of 1689 and the vanquished of 1691. The Protestants and Catholics of Ireland were treated with sublimely impartial injustice; aggravated, on the one hand, by ungrateful indifference, and, on the other, by deliberate breach of faith. The Irish were robbed of the rights they had won; the soldiers of Derry were cheated of the pay they had earned; the moral of which seems to be that, except in small ​or ideal communities, the advantages of centralisation of government gravitate from the circumference to the centre. Little wonder, then, that England felt the vicious pecking of "Wild Geese" at Fontenoy. Little wonder that Irish Presbyterians, driven across the Atlantic by similar persecution, fought shoulder to shoulder with Irish Catholics at Bunker's Hill.
In old Derry, now the heart of a modern city, a lofty shaft upon the walls stands, not for an individual, but for the spirit of the men of 1689. In old Limerick, now little more than a dingy suburb, a dull grey stone stands for the spirit of the Penal Laws.
The one commemorates the triumph of self-reliance, the other the folly of reliance upon English faith.
* ↑ Ash's Journal, 4th of July, 1689.
* ↑ Macariæ Excidium, ed. by O'Callaghan, p. 42.
* ↑ Harris, Life of William III., p. 285.
* ↑ Griffyth's Villare Hibernicum, quoted by O'Callaghan, Notes to Macariæ Excidium, p. 368.
* ↑ 'The period since the Reformation in which the Irish Catholics were most unmolested in their worship was the reign of Charles II.' … ' It is true that the laws of Elizabeth against Catholicism remained unrepealed, but they had become almost wholly obsolete, and as they were not enforced during the reign of Charles II. it was assumed that they could not be enforced after the Treaty of Limerick.'—Lecky: Histroy of Ireland in the Eighteenth Century, vol. i., p. 139.
* ↑ The British Government admitted, but did not pay this debt. Hamill, the representative of the defenders of Derry, having spent his means in dunning the Government for over thirty years, was himself thrown into gaol for debt. From his prison he issued The Danger and Folly of being Public Spirited, &c., Lond.: 1721. Witherow quotes his plaint: 'We have lost all our estates, our blood, and our friends in the service of our country, and have had nothing for it these thirty-three years and upwards but Royal promises, Commissions without pay, recommendations from the Throne to the Parliaments, and Reports and Addresses back to the Throne again, finely displaying the merit of our service and sufferings and the justness of our claims.'

## Notes

Authorities for "Sieges of Derry and Limerick."
Walker's Diary of Siege of Derry, original edition, and Dwyer's edition. Mackenzie's Siege of Derry, original edition. Captain Ash's Siege of Derry, ed. by Witherow, 1888. Colonel Richard's Diary of the Fleet, ed. by Witherow, 1888. Hempton's History of Derry. Witherow's Derry and Enniskillen in 1689. A Jacobite Narrative, ed. by Gilbert. O'Kelly's Macariæ Excidium, ed. by O'Callaghan. Todhunter's Life of Sarsfield. Lenihan's History of Limerick. Macaulay's History of England. Reid's History of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland. MacPherson's State Papers. Dictionary of National Biography—articles on Walker, Lundy, Sarsfield, &c. Harris's Life of William III. Clarke's. Memoirs of James II. Story's Impartial History, &c.