No More Learning

Some of them vehemently reproached the
Governor to his face with his treachery. He had sold them, they cried,
to their deadliest enemy: he had refused admission to the force which
good King William had sent to defend them. While the altercation was
at the height, the sentinels who paced the ramparts announced that the
vanguard of the hostile army was in sight. Lundy had given orders that
there should be no firing; but his authority was at an end. Two gallant
soldiers, Major Henry Baker and Captain Adam Murray, called the people
to arms. They were assisted by the eloquence of an aged clergyman,
George Walker, rector of the parish of Donaghmore, who had, with many
of his neighbours, taken refuge in Londonderry. The whole of the crowded
city was moved by one impulse. Soldiers, gentlemen, yeomen, artisans,
rushed to the walls and manned the guns. James, who, confident of
success, had approached within a hundred yards of the southern gate,
was received with a shout of "No surrender," and with a fire from the
nearest bastion. An officer of his staff fell dead by his side. The
King and his attendants made all haste to get out of reach of the cannon
balls. Lundy, who was now in imminent danger of being torn limb from
limb by those whom he had betrayed, hid himself in an inner chamber.
There he lay during the day, and at night, with the generous and politic
connivance of Murray and Walker, made his escape in the disguise of a
porter, [199] The part of the wall from which he let himself down is
still pointed out; and people still living talk of having tasted the
fruit of a pear tree which assisted him in his descent. His name is, to
this day, held in execration by the Protestants of the North of Ireland;
and his effigy was long, and perhaps still is, annually hung and burned
by them with marks of abhorrence similar to those which in England are
appropriated to Guy Faux.

And now Londonderry was left destitute of all military and of all civil
government. No man in the town had a right to command any other: the
defences were weak: the provisions were scanty: an incensed tyrant and
a great army were at the gates. But within was that which has often,
in desperate extremities, retrieved the fallen fortunes of nations.
Betrayed, deserted, disorganized, unprovided with resources, begirt with
enemies, the noble city was still no easy conquest. Whatever an
engineer might think of the strength of the ramparts, all that was most
intelligent, most courageous, most highspirited among the Englishry of
Leinster and of Northern Ulster was crowded behind them. The number of
men capable of bearing arms within the walls was seven thousand; and the
whole world could not have furnished seven thousand men better qualified
to meet a terrible emergency with clear judgment, dauntless valour,
and stubborn patience. They were all zealous Protestants; and the
Protestantism of the majority was tinged with Puritanism. They had much
in common with that sober, resolute, and Godfearing class out of which
Cromwell had formed his unconquerable army. But the peculiar situation
in which they had been placed had developed in them some qualities
which, in the mother country, might possibly have remained latent. The
English inhabitants of Ireland were an aristocratic caste, which had
been enabled, by superior civilisation, by close union, by sleepless
vigilance, by cool intrepidity, to keep in subjection a numerous and
hostile population. Almost every one of them had been in some measure
trained both to military and to political functions. Almost every one
was familiar with the use of arms, and was accustomed to bear a part in
the administration of justice. It was remarked by contemporary writers
that the colonists had something of the Castilian haughtiness of manner,
though none of the Castilian indolence, that they spoke English
with remarkable purity and correctness, and that they were, both as
militiamen and as jurymen, superior to their kindred in the mother
country, [200] In all ages, men situated as the Anglosaxons in Ireland
were situated have had peculiar vices and peculiar virtues, the vices
and virtues of masters, as opposed to the vices and virtues of slaves.
The member of a dominant race is, in his dealings with the subject race,
seldom indeed fraudulent,--for fraud is the resource of the weak,--but
imperious, insolent, and cruel. Towards his brethren, on the other hand,
his conduct is generally just, kind, and even noble. His selfrespect
leads him to respect all who belong to his own order. His interest
impels him to cultivate a good understanding with those whose prompt,
strenuous, and courageous assistance may at any moment be necessary to
preserve his property and life. It is a truth ever present to his mind
that his own wellbeing depends on the ascendency of the class to which
he belongs. His very selfishness therefore is sublimed into public
spirit: and this public spirit is stimulated to fierce enthusiasm by
sympathy, by the desire of applause, and by the dread of infamy. For the
only opinion which he values is the opinion of his fellows; and in their
opinion devotion to the common cause is the most sacred of duties. The
character, thus formed, has two aspects. Seen on one side, it must be
regarded by every well constituted mind with disapprobation. Seen on
the other, it irresistibly extorts applause. The Spartan, smiting and
spurning the wretched Helot, moves our disgust. But the same Spartan,
calmly dressing his hair, and uttering his concise jests, on what he
well knows to be his last day, in the pass of Thermopylae, is not to be
contemplated without admiration. To a superficial observer it may seem
strange that so much evil and so much good should be found together.
But in truth the good and the evil, which at first sight appear almost
incompatible, are closely connected, and have a common origin. It was
because the Spartan had been taught to revere himself as one of a race
of sovereigns, and to look down on all that was not Spartan as of an
inferior species, that he had no fellow feeling for the miserable serfs
who crouched before him, and that the thought of submitting to a foreign
master, or of turning his back before an enemy, never, even in the last
extremity, crossed his mind. Something of the same character, compounded
of tyrant and hero, has been found in all nations which have domineered
over more numerous nations. But it has nowhere in modern Europe shown
itself so conspicuously as in Ireland. With what contempt, with what
antipathy, the ruling minority in that country long regarded the subject
majority may be best learned from the hateful laws which, within the
memory of men still living, disgraced the Irish statute book. Those laws
were at length annulled: but the spirit which had dictated them survived
them, and even at this day sometimes breaks out in excesses pernicious
to the commonwealth and dishonourable to the Protestant religion.
Nevertheless it is impossible to deny that the English colonists have
had, with too many of the faults, all the noblest virtues of a sovereign
caste. The faults have, as was natural, been most offensively exhibited
in times of prosperity and security: the virtues have been most
resplendent in times of distress and peril; and never were those virtues
more signally displayed than by the defenders of Londonderry, when their
Governor had abandoned them, and when the camp of their mortal enemy was
pitched before their walls.

No sooner had the first burst of the rage excited by the perfidy of
Lundy spent itself than those whom he had betrayed proceeded, with a
gravity and prudence worthy of the most renowned senates, to provide for
the order and defence of the city. Two governors were elected, Baker
and Walker. Baker took the chief military command. Walker's especial
business was to preserve internal tranquillity, and to dole out supplies
from the magazines, [201] The inhabitants capable of bearing arms were
distributed into eight regiments. Colonels, captains, and subordinate
officers were appointed. In a few hours every man knew his post, and was
ready to repair to it as soon as the beat of the drum was heard. That
machinery, by which Oliver had, in the preceding generation, kept up
among his soldiers so stern and so pertinacious an enthusiasm, was again
employed with not less complete success. Preaching and praying occupied
a large part of every day. Eighteen clergymen of the Established Church
and seven or eight nonconformist ministers were within the walls. They
all exerted themselves indefatigably to rouse and sustain the spirit of
the people. Among themselves there was for the time entire harmony. All
disputes about church government, postures, ceremonies, were forgotten.
The Bishop, having found that his lectures on passive obedience were
derided even by the Episcopalians, had withdrawn himself, first to
Raphoe, and then to England, and was preaching in a chapel in London,
[202] On the other hand, a Scotch fanatic named Hewson, who had exhorted
the Presbyterians not to ally themselves with such as refused to
subscribe the Covenant, had sunk under the well merited disgust and
scorn of the whole Protestant community, [203] The aspect of the
Cathedral was remarkable. Cannon were planted on the summit of the broad
tower which has since given place to a tower of different proportions.
Ammunition was stored in the vaults. In the choir the liturgy of the
Anglican Church was read every morning. Every afternoon the Dissenters
crowded to a simpler worship, [204]

James had waited twenty-four hours, expecting, as it should seem,
the performance of Lundy's promises; and in twenty-four hours the
arrangements for the defence of Londonderry were complete. On the
evening of the nineteenth of April, a trumpeter came to the southern
gate, and asked whether the engagements into which the Governor had
entered would be fulfilled. The answer was that the men who guarded
these walls had nothing to do with the Governor's engagements, and were
determined to resist to the last.

On the following day a messenger of higher rank was sent, Claude
Hamilton, Lord Strabane, one of the few Roman Catholic peers of Ireland.
Murray, who had been appointed to the command of one of the eight
regiments into which the garrison was distributed, advanced from
the gate to meet the flag of truce; and a short conference was held.
Strabane had been authorised to make large promises. The citizens should
have a free pardon for all that was past if they would submit to their
lawful Sovereign. Murray himself should have a colonel's commission, and
a thousand pounds in money. "The men of Londonderry," answered Murray,
"have done nothing that requires a pardon, and own no Sovereign but King
William and Queen Mary. It will not be safe for your Lordship to stay
longer, or to return on the same errand. Let me have the honour of
seeing you through the lines. " [205]

James had been assured, and had fully expected, that the city would
yield as soon as it was known that he was before the walls. Finding
himself mistaken, he broke loose from the control of Melfort, and
determined to return instantly to Dublin. Rosen accompanied the King.
The direction of the siege was intrusted to Maumont. Richard Hamilton
was second, and Pusignan third, in command.

The operations now commenced in earnest. The besiegers began by
battering the town. It was soon on fire in several places. Roofs and
upper stories of houses fell in, and crushed the inmates. During a short
time the garrison, many of whom had never before seen the effect of a
cannonade, seemed to be discomposed by the crash of chimneys, and by
the heaps of ruin mingled with disfigured corpses. But familiarity with
danger and horror produced in a few hours the natural effect. The spirit
of the people rose so high that their chiefs thought it safe to act on
the offensive. On the twenty-first of April a sally was made under
the command of Murray. The Irish stood their ground resolutely; and a
furious and bloody contest took place. Maumont, at the head of a body of
cavalry, flew to the place where the fight was raging. He was struck in
the head by a musket ball, and fell a corpse. The besiegers lost several
other officers, and about two hundred men, before the colonists could
be driven in. Murray escaped with difficulty. His horse was killed under
him; and he was beset by enemies: but he was able to defend himself till
some of his friends made a rush from the gate to his rescue, with old
Walker at their head, [206]

In consequence of the death of Maumont, Hamilton was once more
commander of the Irish army. His exploits in that post did not raise his
reputation. He was a fine gentleman and a brave soldier; but he had no
pretensions to the character of a great general, and had never, in his
life, seen a siege, [207] Pusignan had more science and energy. But
Pusignan survived Maumont little more than a fortnight. At four in
the morning of the sixth of May, the garrison made another sally, took
several flags, and killed many of the besiegers. Pusignan, fighting
gallantly, was shot through the body. The wound was one which a skilful
surgeon might have cured: but there was no such surgeon in the Irish
camp; and the communication with Dublin was slow and irregular. The
poor Frenchman died, complaining bitterly of the barbarous ignorance
and negligence which had shortened his days. A medical man, who had been
sent down express from the capital, arrived after the funeral. James,
in consequence, as it should seem, of this disaster, established a daily
post between Dublin Castle and Hamilton's head quarters. Even by this
conveyance letters did not travel very expeditiously: for the couriers
went on foot; and, from fear probably of the Enniskilleners, took a
circuitous route from military post to military post, [208]

May passed away: June arrived; and still Londonderry held out. There
had been many sallies and skirmishes with various success: but, on the
whole, the advantage had been with the garrison. Several officers of
note had been carried prisoners into the city; and two French banners,
torn after hard fighting from the besiegers, had been hung as trophies
in the chancel of the Cathedral. It seemed that the siege must be turned
into a blockade. But before the hope of reducing the town by main force
was relinquished, it was determined to make a great effort. The point
selected for assault was an outwork called Windmill Hill, which was
not far from the southern gate. Religious stimulants were employed
to animate the courage of the forlorn hope. Many volunteers bound
themselves by oath to make their way into the works or to perish in the
attempt. Captain Butler, son of the Lord Mountgarret, undertook to lead
the sworn men to the attack. On the walls the colonists were drawn up in
three ranks. The office of those who were behind was to load the muskets
of those who were in front. The Irish came on boldly and with a fearful
uproar, but after long and hard fighting were driven back. The women
of Londonderry were seen amidst the thickest fire serving out water and
ammunition to their husbands and brothers. In one place, where the wall
was only seven feet high, Butler and some of his sworn men succeeded in
reaching the top; but they were all killed or made prisoners. At length,
after four hundred of the Irish had fallen, their chiefs ordered a
retreat to be sounded, [209]

Nothing was left but to try the effect of hunger. It was known that the
stock of food in the city was but slender. Indeed it was thought strange
that the supplies should have held out so long. Every precaution was now
taken against the introduction of provisions. All the avenues leading to
the city by land were closely guarded. On the south were encamped, along
the left bank of the Foyle, the horsemen who had followed Lord Galmoy
from the valley of the Barrow. Their chief was of all the Irish captains
the most dreaded and the most abhorred by the Protestants. For he had
disciplined his men with rare skill and care; and many frightful stories
were told of his barbarity and perfidy. Long lines of tents, occupied by
the infantry of Butler and O'Neil, of Lord Slane and Lord Gormanstown,
by Nugent's Westmeath men, by Eustace's Kildare men, and by Cavanagh's
Kerry men, extended northward till they again approached the water side,
[210] The river was fringed with forts and batteries which no vessel
could pass without great peril. After some time it was determined to
make the security still more complete by throwing a barricade across the
stream, about a mile and a half below the city. Several boats full of
stones were sunk. A row of stakes was driven into the bottom of the
river. Large pieces of fir wood, strongly bound together, formed a boom
which was more than a quarter of a mile in length, and which was firmly
fastened to both shores, by cables a foot thick, [211] A huge stone, to
which the cable on the left bank was attached, was removed many years
later, for the purpose of being polished and shaped into a column. But
the intention was abandoned, and the rugged mass still lies, not
many yards from its original site, amidst the shades which surround a
pleasant country house named Boom Hall. Hard by is the well from which
the besiegers drank. A little further off is the burial ground where
they laid their slain, and where even in our own time the spade of the
gardener has struck upon many sculls and thighbones at a short distance
beneath the turf and flowers.

While these things were passing in the North, James was holding his
court at Dublin. On his return thither from Londonderry he received
intelligence that the French fleet, commanded by the Count of Chateau
Renaud, had anchored in Bantry Bay, and had put on shore a large
quantity of military stores and a supply of money. Herbert, who had
just been sent to those seas with an English squadron for the purpose
of intercepting the communications between Britanny and Ireland, learned
where the enemy lay, and sailed into the bay with the intention of
giving battle. But the wind was unfavourable to him: his force was
greatly inferior to that which was opposed to him; and after some
firing, which caused no serious loss to either side, he thought it
prudent to stand out to sea, while the French retired into the recesses
of the harbour. He steered for Scilly, where he expected to find
reinforcements; and Chateau Renaud, content with the credit which he had
acquired, and afraid of losing it if he staid, hastened back to Brest,
though earnestly intreated by James to come round to Dublin.

Both sides claimed the victory. The Commons at Westminster absurdly
passed a vote of thanks to Herbert. James, not less absurdly, ordered
bonfires to be lighted, and a Te Deum to be sung. But these marks of joy
by no means satisfied Avaux, whose national vanity was too strong even
for his characteristic prudence and politeness. He complained that James
was so unjust and ungrateful as to attribute the result of the late
action to the reluctance with which the English seamen fought against
their rightful King and their old commander, and that his Majesty did
not seem to be well pleased by being told that they were flying over the
ocean pursued by the triumphant French. Dover, too, was a bad Frenchman.
He seemed to take no pleasure in the defeat of his countrymen, and had
been heard to say that the affair in Bantry Bay did not deserve to be
called a battle, [212]

On the day after the Te Deum had been sung at Dublin for this indecisive
skirmish, the Parliament convoked by James assembled. The number of
temporal peers of Ireland, when he arrived in that kingdom, was about a
hundred. Of these only fourteen obeyed his summons. Of the fourteen,
ten were Roman Catholics. By the reversing of old attainders, and by new
creations, seventeen more Lords, all Roman Catholics, were introduced
into the Upper House. The Protestant Bishops of Meath, Ossory, Cork, and
Limerick, whether from a sincere conviction that they could not lawfully
withhold their obedience even from a tyrant, or from a vain hope that
the heart even of a tyrant might be softened by their patience, made
their appearance in the midst of their mortal enemies.

The House of Commons consisted almost exclusively of Irishmen and
Papists. With the writs the returning officers had received from
Tyrconnel letters naming the persons whom he wished to see elected. The
largest constituent bodies in the kingdom were at this time very small.
For scarcely any but Roman Catholics dared to show their faces; and the
Roman Catholic freeholders were then very few, not more, it is said,
in some counties, than ten or twelve. Even in cities so considerable
as Cork, Limerick, and Galway, the number of persons who, under the new
Charters, were entitled to vote did not exceed twenty-four. About two
hundred and fifty members took their seats. Of these only six were
Protestants, [213] The list of the names sufficiently indicates the
religious and political temper of the assembly. Alone among the Irish
parliaments of that age, this parliament was filled with Dermots
and Geohagans, O'Neils and O'Donovans, Macmahons, Macnamaras, and
Macgillicuddies. The lead was taken by a few men whose abilities had
been improved by the study of the law, or by experience acquired
in foreign countries. The Attorney General, Sir Richard Nagle, who
represented the county of Cork, was allowed, even by Protestants, to
be an acute and learned jurist. Francis Plowden, the Commissioner of
Revenue, who sate for Bannow, and acted as chief minister of finance,
was an Englishman, and, as he had been a principal agent of the Order of
Jesuits in money matters, must be supposed to have been an excellent
man of business, [214] Colonel Henry Luttrell, member for the county of
Carlow, had served long in France, and had brought back to his native
Ireland a sharpened intellect and polished manners, a flattering tongue,
some skill in war, and much more skill in intrigue. His elder brother,
Colonel Simon Luttrell, who was member for the county of Dublin, and
military governor of the capital, had also resided in France,
and, though inferior to Henry in parts and activity, made a highly
distinguished figure among the adherents of James. The other member for
the county of Dublin was Colonel Patrick Sarsfield. This gallant officer
was regarded by the natives as one of themselves: for his ancestors on
the paternal side, though originally English, were among those early
colonists who were proverbially said to have become more Irish than
Irishmen. His mother was of noble Celtic blood; and he was firmly
attached to the old religion. He had inherited an estate of about two
thousand a year, and was therefore one of the wealthiest Roman Catholics
in the kingdom. His knowledge of courts and camps was such as few of his
countrymen possessed. He had long borne a commission in the English Life
Guards, had lived much about Whitehall, and had fought bravely under
Monmouth on the Continent, and against Monmouth at Sedgemoor. He had,
Avaux wrote, more personal influence than any man in Ireland, and was
indeed a gentleman of eminent merit, brave, upright, honourable, careful
of his men in quarters, and certain to be always found at their head in
the day of battle. His intrepidity, his frankness, his boundless good
nature, his stature, which far exceeded that of ordinary men, and the
strength which he exerted in personal conflict, gained for him the
affectionate admiration of the populace. It is remarkable that the
Englishry generally respected him as a valiant, skilful, and generous
enemy, and that, even in the most ribald farces which were performed by
mountebanks in Smithfield, he was always excepted from the disgraceful
imputations which it was then the fashion to throw on the Irish nation,
[215]

But men like these were rare in the House of Commons which had met at
Dublin. It is no reproach to the Irish nation, a nation which has since
furnished its full proportion of eloquent and accomplished senators, to
say that, of all the parliaments which have met in the British islands,
Barebone's parliament not excepted, the assembly convoked by James
was the most deficient in all the qualities which a legislature should
possess. The stern domination of a hostile caste had blighted the
faculties of the Irish gentleman. If he was so fortunate as to have
lands, he had generally passed his life on them, shooting, fishing,
carousing, and making love among his vassals. If his estate had been
confiscated, he had wandered about from bawn to bawn and from cabin to
cabin, levying small contributions, and living at the expense of other
men. He had never sate in the House of Commons: he had never even taken
an active part at an election: he had never been a magistrate: scarcely
ever had he been on a grand jury. He had therefore absolutely no
experience of public affairs. The English squire of that age, though
assuredly not a very profound or enlightened politician, was a statesman
and a philosopher when compared with the Roman Catholic squire of
Munster or Connaught.

The Parliaments of Ireland had then no fixed place of assembling. Indeed
they met so seldom and broke up so speedily that it would hardly have
been worth while to build and furnish a palace for their special use. It
was not till the Hanoverian dynasty had been long on the throne, that a
senate house which sustains a comparison with the finest compositions
of Inigo Jones arose in College Green. On the spot where the portico
and dome of the Four Courts now overlook the Liffey, stood, in the
seventeenth century, an ancient building which had once been a convent
of Dominican friars, but had since the Reformation been appropriated to
the use of the legal profession, and bore the name of the King's Inns.
There accommodation had been provided for the parliament. On the seventh
of May, James, dressed in royal robes and wearing a crown, took his
seat on the throne in the House of Lords, and ordered the Commons to be
summoned to the bar, [216]

He then expressed his gratitude to the natives of Ireland for having
adhered to his cause when the people of his other kingdoms had deserted
him. His resolution to abolish all religious disabilities in all his
dominions he declared to be unalterable. He invited the houses to take
the Act of Settlement into consideration, and to redress the injuries
of which the old proprietors of the soil had reason to complain. He
concluded by acknowledging in warm terms his obligations to the King of
France, [217]

When the royal speech had been pronounced, the Chancellor directed the
Commons to repair to their chamber and to elect a Speaker. They chose
the Attorney General Nagle; and the choice was approved by the King,
[218]

The Commons next passed resolutions expressing warm gratitude both to
James and to Lewis. Indeed it was proposed to send a deputation with an
address to Avaux; but the Speaker pointed out the gross impropriety of
such a step; and, on this occasion, his interference was successful,
[219] It was seldom however that the House was disposed to listen
to reason. The debates were all rant and tumult. Judge Daly, a Roman
Catholic, but an honest and able man, could not refrain from lamenting
the indecency and folly with which the members of his Church carried
on the work of legislation. Those gentlemen, he said, were not a
Parliament: they were a mere rabble: they resembled nothing so much as
the mob of fishermen and market gardeners, who, at Naples, yelled and
threw up their caps in honour of Massaniello. It was painful to hear
member after member talking wild nonsense about his own losses, and
clamouring for an estate, when the lives of all and the independence of
their common country were in peril. These words were spoken in private;
but some talebearer repeated them to the Commons. A violent storm broke
forth. Daly was ordered to attend at the bar; and there was little doubt
that he would be severely dealt with. But, just when he was at the
door, one of the members rushed in, shouting, "Good news: Londonderry
is taken. " The whole House rose. All the hats were flung into the air.
Three loud huzzas were raised.
Every heart was softened by the happy
tidings. Nobody would hear of punishment at such a moment. The order
for Daly's attendance was discharged amidst cries of "No submission; no
submission; we pardon him. " In a few hours it was known that
Londonderry held out as obstinately as ever. This transaction, in itself
unimportant, deserves to be recorded, as showing how destitute that
House of Commons was of the qualities which ought to be found in the
great council of a kingdom. And this assembly, without experience,
without gravity, and without temper, was now to legislate on questions
which would have tasked to the utmost the capacity of the greatest
statesmen, [220]

One Act James induced them to pass which would have been most honourable
to him and to them, if there were not abundant proofs that it was meant
to be a dead letter. It was an Act purporting to grant entire liberty of
conscience to all Christian sects. On this occasion a proclamation was
put forth announcing in boastful language to the English people that
their rightful King had now signally refuted those slanderers who had
accused him of affecting zeal for religious liberty merely in order to
serve a turn. If he were at heart inclined to persecution, would he not
have persecuted the Irish Protestants? He did not want power. He did not
want provocation. Yet at Dublin, where the members of his Church were
the majority, as at Westminister, where they were a minority, he
had firmly adhered to the principles laid down in his much maligned
Declaration of Indulgence, [221] Unfortunately for him, the same wind
which carried his fair professions to England carried thither also
evidence that his professions were insincere. A single law, worthy of
Turgot or of Franklin, seemed ludicrously out of place in the midst of a
crowd of laws which would have disgraced Gardiner or Alva.

A necessary preliminary to the vast work of spoliation and slaughter
on which the legislators of Dublin were bent, was an Act annulling the
authority which the English Parliament, both as the supreme legislature
and as the supreme Court of Appeal, had hitherto exercised over
Ireland, [222] This Act was rapidly passed; and then followed, in quick
succession, confiscations and proscriptions on a gigantic scale. The
personal estates of absentees above the age of seventeen years were
transferred to the King. When lay property was thus invaded, it was not
likely that the endowments which had been, in contravention of every
sound principle, lavished on the Church of the minority would be spared.
To reduce those endowments, without prejudice to existing interests,
would have been a reform worthy of a good prince and of a good
parliament. But no such reform would satisfy the vindictive bigots who
sate at the King's Inns. By one sweeping Act, the greater part of the
tithe was transferred from the Protestant to the Roman Catholic
clergy; and the existing incumbents were left, without one farthing
of compensation, to die of hunger, [223] A Bill repealing the Act of
Settlement and transferring many thousands of square miles from Saxon to
Celtic landlords was brought in and carried by acclamation, [224]

Of legislation such as this it is impossible to speak too severely:
but for the legislators there are excuses which it is the duty of the
historian to notice. They acted unmercifully, unjustly, unwisely. But it
would be absurd to expect mercy, justice, or wisdom from a class of men
first abased by many years of oppression, and then maddened by the
joy of a sudden deliverance, and armed with irresistible power. The
representatives of the Irish nation were, with few exceptions, rude
and ignorant. They had lived in a state of constant irritation. With
aristocratical sentiments they had been in a servile position. With the
highest pride of blood, they had been exposed to daily affronts, such as
might well have roused the choler of the humblest plebeian. In sight of
the fields and castles which they regarded as their own, they had been
glad to be invited by a peasant to partake of his whey and his potatoes.
Those violent emotions of hatred and cupidity which the situation of the
native gentleman could scarcely fail to call forth appeared to him under
the specious guise of patriotism and piety. For his enemies were the
enemies of his nation; and the same tyranny which had robbed him of his
patrimony had robbed his Church of vast wealth bestowed on her by
the devotion of an earlier age. How was power likely to be used by
an uneducated and inexperienced man, agitated by strong desires and
resentments which he mistook for sacred duties? And, when two or three
hundred such men were brought together in one assembly, what was to be
expected but that the passions which each had long nursed in silence
would be at once matured into fearful vigour by the influence of
sympathy?

Between James and his parliament there was little in common, except
hatred of the Protestant religion. He was an Englishman. Superstition
had not utterly extinguished all national feeling in his mind; and he
could not but be displeased by the malevolence with which his Celtic
supporters regarded the race from which he sprang. The range of his
intellectual vision was small. Yet it was impossible that, having
reigned in England, and looking constantly forward to the day when he
should reign in England once more, he should not take a wider view of
politics than was taken by men who had no objects out of Ireland. The
few Irish Protestants who still adhered to him, and the British nobles,
both Protestant and Roman Catholic, who had followed him into exile,
implored him to restrain the violence of the rapacious and vindictive
senate which he had convoked. They with peculiar earnestness implored
him not to consent to the repeal of the Act of Settlement. On what
security, they asked, could any man invest his money or give a portion
to his children, if he could not rely on positive laws and on the
uninterrupted possession of many years? The military adventurers among
whom Cromwell portioned out the soil might perhaps be regarded as
wrongdoers. But how large a part of their estates had passed, by fair
purchase, into other hands! How much money had proprietors borrowed on
mortgage, on statute merchant, on statute staple! How many capitalists
had, trusting to legislative acts and to royal promises, come over
from England, and bought land in Ulster and Leinster, without the least
misgiving as to the title! What a sum had those capitalists expended,
during a quarter of a century, in building; draining, inclosing,
planting! The terms of the compromise which Charles the Second had
sanctioned might not be in all respects just. But was one injustice to
be redressed by committing another injustice more monstrous still? And
what effect was likely to be produced in England by the cry of thousands
of innocent English families whom an English king had doomed to ruin?
The complaints of such a body of sufferers might delay, might prevent,
the Restoration to which all loyal subjects were eagerly looking
forward; and, even if his Majesty should, in spite of those complaints,
be happily restored, he would to the end of his life feel the pernicious
effects of the injustice which evil advisers were now urging him to
commit. He would find that, in trying to quiet one set of malecontents,
he had created another. As surely as he yielded to the clamour raised at
Dublin for a repeal of the Act of Settlement, he would, from the day
on which he returned to Westminster, be assailed by as loud and
pertinacious a clamour for a repeal of that repeal. He could not but be
aware that no English Parliament, however loyal, would permit such laws
as were now passing through the Irish Parliament to stand. Had he made
up his mind to take the part of Ireland against the universal sense of
England? If so, to what could he look forward but another banishment
and another deposition? Or would he, when he had recovered the greater
kingdom, revoke the boors by which, in his distress, he had purchased
the help of the smaller? It might seem an insult to him even to suggest
that he could harbour the thought of such unprincely, of such unmanly,
perfidy. Yet what other course would be left to him? And was it not
better for him to refuse unreasonable concessions now than to retract
those concessions hereafter in a manner which must bring on him
reproaches insupportable to a noble mind? His situation was doubtless
embarrassing. Yet in this case, as in other cases, it would be found
that the path of justice was the path of wisdom, [225]

Though James had, in his speech at the opening of the session, declared
against the Act of Settlement, he felt that these arguments were
unanswerable. He held several conferences with the leading members of
the House of Commons, and earnestly recommended moderation. But his
exhortations irritated the passions which he wished to allay. Many of
the native gentry held high and violent language. It was impudent, they
said, to talk about the rights of purchasers. How could right spring out
of wrong? People who chose to buy property acquired by injustice must
take the consequences of their folly and cupidity. It was clear that the
Lower House was altogether impracticable. James had, four years
before, refused to make the smallest concession to the most obsequious
parliament that has ever sat in England; and it might have been expected
that the obstinacy, which he had never wanted when it was a vice, would
not have failed him now when it would have been a virtue. During a short
time he seemed determined to act justly. He even talked of dissolving
the parliament. The chiefs of the old Celtic families, on the
other hand, said publicly that, if he did not give them back their
inheritance, they would not fight for his. His very soldiers railed on
him in the streets of Dublin. At length he determined to go down himself
to the House of Peers, not in his robes and crown, but in the garb in
which he had been used to attend debates at Westminster, and personally
to solicit the Lords to put some check on the violence of the Commons.
But just as he was getting into his coach for this purpose he was
stopped by Avaux. Avaux was as zealous as any Irishman for the bills
which the Commons were urging forward. It was enough for him that those
bills seemed likely to make the enmity between England and Ireland
irreconcileable. His remonstrances induced James to abstain from openly
opposing the repeal of the Act of Settlement. Still the unfortunate
prince continued to cherish some faint hope that the law for which the
Commons were so zealous would be rejected, or at least modified, by the
Peers. Lord Granard, one of the few Protestant noblemen who sate in that
parliament, exerted himself strenuously on the side of public faith and
sound policy. The King sent him a message of thanks. "We Protestants,"
said Granard to Powis who brought the message, "are few in number.
We can do little. His Majesty should try his influence with the Roman
Catholics. " "His Majesty," answered Powis with an oath, "dares not say
what he thinks. " A few days later James met Granard riding towards the
parliament house. "Where are you going, my Lord? " said the King. "To
enter my protest, Sir," answered Granard, "against the repeal of the Act
of Settlement. " "You are right," said the King: "but I am fallen into
the hands of people who will ram that and much more down my throat. "
[226]

James yielded to the will of the Commons; but the unfavourable
impression which his short and feeble resistance had made upon them was
not to be removed by his submission. They regarded him with profound
distrust; they considered him as at heart an Englishman; and not a day
passed without some indication of this feeling. They were in no haste to
grant him a supply. One party among them planned an address urging him
to dismiss Melfort as an enemy of their nation. Another party drew up
a bill for deposing all the Protestant Bishops, even the four who were
then actually sitting in Parliament. It was not without difficulty that
Avaux and Tyrconnel, whose influence in the Lower House far exceeded the
King's, could restrain the zeal of the majority, [227]

It is remarkable that, while the King was losing the confidence and
good will of the Irish Commons by faintly defending against them, in
one quarter, the institution of property, he was himself, in another
quarter, attacking that institution with a violence, if possible,
more reckless than theirs. He soon found that no money came into his
Exchequer. The cause was sufficiently obvious. Trade was at an end.
Floating capital had been withdrawn in great masses from the island. Of
the fixed capital much had been destroyed, and the rest was lying
idle. Thousands of those Protestants who were the most industrious and
intelligent part of the population had emigrated to England. Thousands
had taken refuge in the places which still held out for William and
Mary. Of the Roman Catholic peasantry who were in the vigour of life the
majority had enlisted in the army or had joined gangs of plunderers. The
poverty of the treasury was the necessary effect of the poverty of the
country: public prosperity could be restored only by the restoration
of private prosperity; and private prosperity could be restored only
by years of peace and security. James was absurd enough to imagine that
there was a more speedy and efficacious remedy. He could, he conceived,
at once extricate himself from his financial difficulties by the simple
process of calling a farthing a shilling. The right of coining was
undoubtedly a flower of the prerogative; and, in his view, the right of
coining included the right of debasing the coin. Pots, pans, knockers of
doors, pieces of ordnance which had long been past use, were carried to
the mint. In a short time lumps of base metal, nominally worth near a
million sterling, intrinsically worth about a sixtieth part of that sum,
were in circulation. A royal edict declared these pieces to be legal
tender in all cases whatever. A mortgage for a thousand pounds was
cleared off by a bag of counters made out of old kettles. The creditors
who complained to the Court of Chancery were told by Fitton to take
their money and be gone. But of all classes the tradesmen of Dublin,
who were generally Protestants, were the greatest losers. At first, of
course, they raised their demands: but the magistrates of the city took
on themselves to meet this heretical machination by putting forth a
tariff regulating prices. Any man who belonged to the caste now
dominant might walk into a shop, lay on the counter a bit of brass worth
threepence, and carry off goods to the value of half a guinea. Legal
redress was out of the question. Indeed the sufferers thought themselves
happy if, by the sacrifice of their stock in trade, they could redeem
their limbs and their lives. There was not a baker's shop in the city
round which twenty or thirty soldiers were not constantly prowling. Some
persons who refused the base money were arrested by troopers and carried
before the Provost Marshal, who cursed them, swore at them, locked them
up in dark cells, and, by threatening to hang them at their own doors,
soon overcame their resistance. Of all the plagues of that time
none made a deeper or a more lasting impression on the minds of the
Protestants of Dublin than the plague of the brass money, [228] To the
recollection of the confusion and misery which had been produced by
James's coin must be in part ascribed the strenuous opposition which,
thirty-five years later, large classes, firmly attached to the House of
Hanover, offered to the government of George the First in the affair of
Wood's patent.

There can be no question that James, in thus altering, by his own
authority, the terms of all the contracts in the kingdom, assumed a
power which belonged only to the whole legislature. Yet the Commons did
not remonstrate. There was no power, however unconstitutional, which
they were not willing to concede to him, as long as he used it to crush
and plunder the English population. On the other hand, they respected no
prerogative, however ancient, however legitimate, however salutary, if
they apprehended that he might use it to protect the race which they
abhorred. They were not satisfied till they had extorted his reluctant
consent to a portentous law, a law without a parallel in the history of
civilised countries, the great Act of Attainder.

A list was framed containing between two and three thousand names. At
the top was half the peerage of Ireland. Then came baronets, knights,
clergymen, squires, merchants, yeomen, artisans, women, children.
No investigation was made. Any member who wished to rid himself of a
creditor, a rival, a private enemy, gave in the name to the clerk at the
table, and it was generally inserted without discussion. The only
debate of which any account has come down to us related to the Earl of
Strafford. He had friends in the House who ventured to offer something
in his favour. But a few words from Simon Luttrell settled the question.
"I have," he said, "heard the King say some hard things of that lord. "
This was thought sufficient, and the name of Strafford stands fifth in
the long table of the proscribed, [229]

Days were fixed before which those whose names were on the list
were required to surrender themselves to such justice as was then
administered to English Protestants in Dublin. If a proscribed person
was in Ireland, he must surrender himself by the tenth of August. If
he had left Ireland since the fifth of November 1688, he must surrender
himself by the first of September. If he had left Ireland before the
fifth of November 1688, he must surrender himself by the first of
October. If he failed to appear by the appointed day, he was to be
hanged, drawn, and quartered without a trial, and his property was to
be confiscated. It might be physically impossible for him to deliver
himself up within the time fixed by the Act. He might be bedridden.
He might be in the West Indies. He might be in prison. Indeed there
notoriously were such cases. Among the attainted Lords was Mountjoy. He
had been induced by the villany of Tyrconnel to trust himself at Saint
Germains: he had been thrown into the Bastile: he was still lying there;
and the Irish parliament was not ashamed to enact that, unless he could,
within a few weeks, make his escape from his cell, and present himself
at Dublin, he should be put to death, [230]

As it was not even pretended that there had been any inquiry into the
guilt of those who were thus proscribed, as not a single one among them
had been heard in his own defence, and as it was certain that it would
be physically impossible for many of them to surrender themselves
in time, it was clear that nothing but a large exercise of the royal
prerogative of mercy could prevent the perpetration of iniquities
so horrible that no precedent could be found for them even in the
lamentable history of the troubles of Ireland. The Commons therefore
determined that the royal prerogative of mercy should be limited.
Several regulations were devised for the purpose of making the passing
of pardons difficult and costly: and finally it was enacted that every
pardon granted by his Majesty, after the end of November 1689, to any of
the many hundreds of persons who had been sentenced to death without a
trial, should be absolutely void and of none effect. Sir Richard Nagle
came in state to the bar of the Lords and presented the bill with a
speech worthy of the occasion. "Many of the persons here attainted,"
said he, "have been proved traitors by such evidence as satisfies us. As
to the rest we have followed common fame. " [231]

With such reckless barbarity was the list framed that fanatical
royalists, who were, at that very time, hazarding their property,
their liberty, their lives, in the cause of James, were not secure from
proscription. The most learned man of whom the Jacobite party could
boast was Henry Dodwell, Camdenian Professor in the University of
Oxford. In the cause of hereditary monarchy he shrank from no sacrifice
and from no danger. It was about him that William uttered those
memorable words: "He has set his heart on being a martyr; and I have set
my mind on disappointing him. " But James was more cruel to friends
than William to foes. Dodwell was a Protestant: he had some property in
Connaught: these crimes were sufficient; and he was set down in the long
roll of those who were doomed to the gallows and the quartering block,
[232]

That James would give his assent to a bill which took from him the power
of pardoning, seemed to many persons impossible. He had, four years
before, quarrelled with the most loyal of parliaments rather than cede
a prerogative which did not belong to him. It might, therefore, well
be expected that he would now have struggled hard to retain a precious
prerogative which had been enjoyed by his predecessors ever since the
origin of the monarchy, and which had never been questioned by the
Whigs. The stern look and raised voice with which he had reprimanded the
Tory gentlemen, who, in the language of profound reverence and fervent
affection, implored him not to dispense with the laws, would now have
been in place. He might also have seen that the right course was the
wise course. Had he, on this great occasion, had the spirit to declare
that he would not shed the blood of the innocent, and that, even as
respected the guilty, he would not divest himself of the power of
tempering judgment with mercy, he would have regained more hearts in
England than he would have lost in Ireland. But it was ever his fate to
resist where he should have yielded, and to yield where he should have
resisted. The most wicked of all laws received his sanction; and it is
but a very small extenuation of his guilt that his sanction was somewhat
reluctantly given.

That nothing might be wanting to the completeness of this great crime,
extreme care was taken to prevent the persons who were attainted from
knowing that they were attainted, till the day of grace fixed in the
Act was passed. The roll of names was not published, but kept carefully
locked up in Fitton's closet. Some Protestants, who still adhered to
the cause of James, but who were anxious to know whether any of their
friends or relations had been proscribed, tried hard to obtain a sight
of the list; but solicitation, remonstrance, even bribery, proved
vain. Not a single copy got abroad till it was too late for any of the
thousands who had been condemned without a trial to obtain a pardon,
[233]

Towards the close of July James prorogued the Houses. They had sate more
than ten weeks; and in that space of time they had proved most fully
that, great as have been the evils which Protestant ascendency has
produced in Ireland, the evils produced by Popish ascendancy would have
been greater still. That the colonists, when they had won the victory,
grossly abused it, that their legislation was, during many years, unjust
and tyrannical, is most true. But it is not less true that they never
quite came up to the atrocious example set by their vanquished enemy
during his short tenure of power.

Indeed, while James was loudly boasting that he had passed an Act
granting entire liberty of conscience to all sects, a persecution as
cruel as that of Languedoc was raging through all the provinces which
owned his authority. It was said by those who wished to find an excuse
for him that almost all the Protestants who still remained in Munster,
Connaught, and Leinster were his enemies, and that it was not as
schismatics, but as rebels in heart, who wanted only opportunity
to become rebels in act, that he gave them up to be oppressed and
despoiled; and to this excuse some weight might have been allowed if
he had strenuously exerted himself to protect those few colonists, who,
though firmly attached to the reformed religion, were still true to the
doctrines of nonresistance and of indefeasible hereditary right. But
even these devoted royalists found that their heresy was in his view
a crime for which no services or sacrifices would atone. Three or
four noblemen, members of the Anglican Church, who had welcomed him to
Ireland, and had sate in his Parliament, represented to him that, if the
rule which forbade any Protestant to possess any weapon were strictly
enforced, their country houses would be at the mercy of the Rapparees,
and obtained from him permission to keep arms sufficient for a few
servants. But Avaux remonstrated. The indulgence, he said, was grossly
abused: these Protestant lords were not to be trusted: they were turning
their houses into fortresses: his Majesty would soon have reason to
repent his goodness. These representations prevailed; and Roman Catholic
troops were quartered in the suspected dwellings, [234]

Still harder was the lot of those Protestant clergymen who continued to
cling, with desperate fidelity, to the cause of the Lord's Anointed. Of
all the Anglican divines the one who had the largest share of James's
good graces seems to have been Cartwright. Whether Cartwright could
long have continued to be a favourite without being an apostate may
be doubted. He died a few weeks after his arrival in Ireland; and
thenceforward his church had no one to plead her cause. Nevertheless a
few of her prelates and priests continued for a time to teach what they
had taught in the days of the Exclusion Bill. But it was at the peril
of life or limb that they exercised their functions. Every wearer of
a cassock was a mark for the insults and outrages of soldiers and
Rapparees. In the country his house was robbed, and he was fortunate if
it was not burned over his head. He was hunted through the streets of
Dublin with cries of "There goes the devil of a heretic. " Sometimes he
was knocked down: sometimes he was cudgelled, [235] The rulers of
the University of Dublin, trained in the Anglican doctrine of passive
obedience, had greeted James on his first arrival at the Castle, and had
been assured by him that he would protect them in the enjoyment of their
property and their privileges. They were now, without any trial, without
any accusation, thrust out of their house. The communion plate of
the chapel, the books in the library, the very chairs and beds of the
collegians were seized. Part of the building was turned into a magazine,
part into a barrack, part into a prison. Simon Luttrell, who was
Governor of the capital, was, with great difficulty and by powerful
intercession, induced to let the ejected fellows and scholars depart
in safety. He at length permitted them to remain at large, with
this condition, that, on pain of death, no three of them should meet
together, [236] No Protestant divine suffered more hardships than Doctor
William King, Dean of Saint Patrick's. He had been long distinguished by
the fervour with which he had inculcated the duty of passively obeying
even the worst rulers. At a later period, when he had published a
defence of the Revolution, and had accepted a mitre from the new
government, he was reminded that he had invoked the divine vengeance on
the usurpers, and had declared himself willing to die a hundred deaths
rather than desert the cause of hereditary right. He had said that the
true religion had often been strengthened by persecution, but could
never be strengthened by rebellion; that it would be a glorious day for
the Church of England when a whole cartload of her ministers should go
to the gallows for the doctrine of nonresistance; and that his highest
ambition was to be one of such a company, [237] It is not improbable
that, when he spoke thus, he felt as he spoke. But his principles,
though they might perhaps have held out against the severities and the
promises of William, were not proof against the ingratitude of James.
Human nature at last asserted its rights. After King had been repeatedly
imprisoned by the government to which he was devotedly attached, after
he had been insulted and threatened in his own choir by the soldiers,
after he had been interdicted from burying in his own churchyard, and
from preaching in his own pulpit, after he had narrowly escaped with
life from a musketshot fired at him in the street, he began to think the
Whig theory of government less unreasonable and unchristian than it had
once appeared to him, and persuaded himself that the oppressed Church
might lawfully accept deliverance, if God should be pleased, by whatever
means, to send it to her.

In no long time it appeared that James would have done well to hearken
to those counsellors who had told him that the acts by which he was
trying to make himself popular in one of his three kingdoms, would make
him odious in the others. It was in some sense fortunate for England
that, after he had ceased to reign here, he continued during more than a
year to reign in Ireland. The Revolution had been followed by a reaction
of public feeling in his favour. That reaction, if it had been suffered
to proceed uninterrupted, might perhaps not have ceased till he was
again King: but it was violently interrupted by himself. He would not
suffer his people to forget: he would not suffer them to hope: while
they were trying to find excuses for his past errors, and to persuade
themselves that he would not repeat these errors, he forced upon them,
in their own despite, the conviction that he was incorrigible, that the
sharpest discipline of adversity had taught him nothing, and that, if
they were weak enough to recall him, they would soon have to depose him
again.