These Anglo-Normans were a great and famous people, skilful and mighty in war; and they built splendid abbeys, churches, and castles, all over Ireland the ruins of which remain to this day. As an example of what manner of men they were, a sketch of the career of one of them—Sir John de Courcy—is given in this book (page 190).
For hundreds of years after the Invasion, people continued to come from England to live in Ireland both Anglo-Norman and Anglo-Saxon. After settling down they became good friends with the native Irish, intermarried with them, learned to speak and read the Irish language, and quite fell in with the customs and modes of the country, so that it was said of them that they became "more Irish than the Irish themselves." A large proportion of the present inhabitants of Ireland are of this race, mixed up however by intermarriage, with the older Milesian stock.
During the many wars in Ireland, small parties of men had often to traverse the country for long distances to bring messages from one general to another, and for other purposes. They marched by day and put up at night in the woods, choosing some sheltered corner and making a big fire of brambles to keep them warm and to cook their food. After supper they usually sat by the fire, amusing themselves with pleasant conversation or by telling stories: and when at last it was time to go to sleep, they wrapped themselves up in their great coats and lay down round the fire, leaving one of their number to stand guard.
The following short poem—part of a much longer one—describes how a small party of four men passed the early part of the night during a march across country. There was to be a battle in a day or two, and these four friends met, and each told a story by the Watch-fire of Barnalee. And they arranged to meet again after the battle, if any survived. But this turned out to be a sad meeting: there were only two: the other two lay dead on the battlefield.
I.
II.
III.
Robert Dwyer Joyce, M.D.
Roderick O'Connor, the last native king of Ireland retired from the throne towards the end of the twelfth century, to end his days in the monastery of Cong.[62] After his time, as we have said, there was no longer a king over the whole country. But for hundreds of years afterwards, kings continued to reign over the five provinces. Roderick had been king of Connaught before he became king of all Ireland; and after his retirement there were several claimants for the Connaught throne, who contended with one another, so that the province was for a long time disturbed with wars and battles.
Roderick had a young brother named Cahal, who was called Cahal of the Red Hand, from a great blood-red mark on his right hand. He would naturally have a claim to the Connaught throne when old enough; and as he was, even when a boy, a noble young fellow, and showed great ability, the queen of Connaught, jealous of him, feared that when he grew up he would give trouble, and she sought him out, determined to kill him: so that Cahal and his mother had to flee from one hiding place to another.
Finding at last that he could no longer remain in the province with safety, he and his mother crossed the Shannon into Leinster, where no one knew him, and there for several years they remained, while he made a poor living for both, by working in the fields as a common labourer. And as the fame of the brave young Cahal with the red mark on his hand, had gone abroad, he always wore a loose mitten on his right hand for fear of discovery; for he knew well that the queen had spies everywhere searching for him.
At this time the people had no newspapers: but there were news-carriers who made it their business to travel continually about the country, picking up information wherever they could, and relating all that occurred whenever they came to a village, or to any group of people who desired to hear the news. They generally received some small payment; and in this manner they made their living.
One day while Cahal was employed with several others, reaping in a field of rye, they saw one of these men approaching; and they stopped their work for a few moments to hear what he had to say. After relating several unimportant matters, he came at last to the principal news:—that the king of Connaught was dead, and that the leading people of the province, having met in counsel to choose a king declared that they would have no one but young Cahal of the Red Hand. "And now," continued the newsman, "I and many others have been searching for him for several weeks. He is easily known, for his right hand is blood-red from the wrist out: but up to this we have been unsuccessful. We fear indeed that he is living in poverty in some remote place where he will never be found: or it may be that he is dead."
When Cahal heard this, his heart gave a great bound, and he stood musing for a few moments. Then flinging his sickle on the ridge, he exclaimed:—"Farewell reaping-hook: now for the sword!" And pulling off the mitten, he showed his red hand, and made himself known. The newsman, instantly recognising him, threw himself prostrate before him to acknowledge him as his king. And ever since that time, "Cahal's farewell to the rye," has been a proverb in Connaught, to denote a farewell for ever. He returned immediately with his mother to Connaught, where he was joyfully received, and was proclaimed king in 1190.
At this time the Anglo-Norman barons who had come over at the time of Henry II.'s Invasion, nearly twenty years before, had settled down in various parts of Ireland: and they were constantly encroaching on the lands of the Irish and erecting strong castles everywhere; while the Irish chiefs as we have already said, resisted as far as they were able, so that there was much disturbance all over the country. Cahal was a brave and active king, and took a leading part in fighting against the barons.
After he had reigned over Connaught in peace for eight or nine years, trouble came again. There was at this time, settled in Limerick, a powerful Anglo-Norman baron, William de Burgo, to whom a large part of Connaught had been granted by King Henry II. This man stirred up another of the O'Conors to lay claim to the throne in opposition to Cahal, promising to help him: and now Connaught was again all ablaze with civil war. Cahal was defeated in battle, and fled to Ulster to Hugh O'Neill, prince of Tyrone, who took up his cause. Marching south with his own and O'Neill's men, he attacked his rival, but was defeated, and again fled north. He soon made a second attempt, aided this time by Sir John de Courcy (for whom see page 190): but he and De Courcy were caught in an ambush in Galway by the rival king, who routed their army. In this fight De Courcy very nearly lost his life, being felled senseless from his horse by a stone. Recovering in good time however, he and Cahal escaped from the battlefield, and fled northwards.
Cahal of the Red Hand, in no way cowed by these terrible reverses, again took the field, after some time, aided now by De Burgo, who had changed sides. A battle was fought near Roscommon, in which the rival king was slain; and Cahal once more took possession of the throne. From this period forward he ruled without a native rival; though a few years later, he was forced to surrender a large part of his kingdom to King John, in order that he might secure possession of the remainder.
But he was as vigilant as ever in repelling all attempts of the barons to encroach on his diminished territory. Thus when in 1220 the De Lacys of Meath, a most powerful Anglo-Norman family, went to Athleague on the Shannon at the head of Lough Ree, where there was a ford, and began to build a castle at the eastern or Leinster side, in order that they might have a garrison in it always ready to attack Connaught, Cahal promptly crossed the river into Longford, and so frightened them that they were glad to conclude a truce with him. And he broke down the castle, which they had almost finished.
Cahal of the Red Hand was an upright and powerful king, and governed with firmness and justice. The Irish Annals tell us that he relieved the poor as long as he lived, and that he destroyed more robbers and rebels and evil-doers of every kind than any other king of his time. In early life he had founded the abbey of Knockmoy,[63] into which he retired in the last year of his life: and in this retreat he died in 1224.
The ancient Irish people—like those of several other countries—believed that when a just and good king reigned, the country was blessed with fine weather and abundant crops, the trees bended with fruit, the rivers teemed with fish, and the whole kingdom prospered. This was the state of Connaught while Cahal of the Red Hand reigned in peace. And it is recorded that when he died, fearful portents appeared, and there was gloom and terror everywhere. James Clarence Mangan, a Dublin poet, who died in 1849, pictures all this in the following fine poem. He supposes himself to be living on the river Maine, in Germany, and he is brought to Connaught in a vision, where he witnesses the prosperity that attended Cahal's reign. This he sets forth in the first part of the poem: but a sudden mysterious change for the worse comes, which he describes in the last two verses. The whole poem forms a wild, misty sort of picture, such as one might see in a dream.[64]
A Vision of Connaught in the Thirteenth Century.
Among the many Anglo-Norman lords and knights who came to settle in Ireland in the time of Henry II., one of the most renowned was John de Courcy. The Welsh writer, Gerald Barry, already mentioned (p. 113), who lived at that time and knew him personally, thus describes him:—
"He was of huge size, tall and powerfully built, with bony and muscular limbs, wonderfully active and daring, full of courage, and a bold and venturous soldier from his youth. He was so eager for fighting that, though commanding as general, he always mingled with the foremost ranks in charging the enemy, which might have lost the battle; for if he chanced to be killed or badly wounded, there was no general able to take his place. But though so fierce in war, he was gentle and modest in time of peace and very exact in attending to his religious devotions; and when he had gained a victory he gave all the glory to God, and took none to himself."
When King Henry II. divided the country among his lords in 1172, he gave Ulster to De Courcy. But it was one thing to be granted the province, and another thing to take possession of it; for the Ulster chiefs and people were warlike and strong; and for five years De Courcy remained in Dublin without making any attempt to conquer it.
At length he made up his mind to try his fortune; and gathering his followers to the number of about a thousand, every man well armed and trained to battle, he set out for the north. Through rugged and difficult ways the party rode on, and early in the morning of the fourth day—the 2nd February, 1177—they arrived at Downpatrick, then the capital of that part of the country. The Irish of those times never surrounded their towns with walls; and the astonished Downpatrick people, who knew nothing of the expedition, were startled from their beds at daybreak by a mighty uproar in the streets—shouts, and the clatter of horses' hoofs, and the martial notes of bugles. Whatever little stock of provisions the party had brought with them was gone soon after they left Dublin; and by the time they arrived at Downpatrick they were half-starved. They scattered themselves everywhere, and, breaking away for the time from the control of their leader, they fell ravenously on all the food they could lay their hands on: they smashed in doors and set fire to houses, and ate and drank and slew as if they were mad, till the town was half destroyed. And the people were taken so completely by surprise that there was hardly any resistance.
When this terrible onslaught at last came to an end, De Courcy, having succeeded in bringing his men together, made an encampment, which he carefully fortified; and there the little army rested from their toils. At the end of a week the chief of the district came with a great army to expel the invaders; while De Courcy arranged his men in ranks with great skill, to withstand the attack. The Ulstermen who were without armour, wearing a loose saffron-coloured tunic over the ordinary dress, according to the Irish fashion, rushed on with fearless bravery; but by no effort could they break the solid ranks of the armour-clad Anglo-Normans, who, after a long struggle put them to flight, and pursued them for miles along the seashore.
After this victory De Courcy settled in Downpatrick with his followers, and built a strong castle there for his better security. Nevertheless the Ulstermen, in no way discouraged, continued their fierce attacks: and though he was victorious in several battles, he was defeated in others, so that for a long time he had quite enough to do to hold his ground.
But through all his difficulties the valiant De Courcy kept up his heart and battled bravely on, continually enlarging his territory, founding churches and building strong castles all over the province. King Henry was so pleased with his bravery, and with his success in extending the English dominions, that he made him earl of Ulster and lord of Connaught; and in 1185 he appointed him Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. This obliged him to live in Dublin; but he left captains and governors in Ulster to hold his castles and protect his territory, till he should return, which he did in 1189.
By the death of Henry II. in 1189, Sir John de Courcy lost his best friend: and things began to go ill with him when King John came to the throne in 1199. For another Anglo-Norman lord, Hugh de Lacy, grew jealous of his great deeds, and hated him with his whole heart, so that he took every means to poison the king's mind against him. In a very old volume, written by some Anglo-Irish writer, there are several entertaining stories of all that befel De Courcy after his return to Ulster from Dublin in 1189. Two of these, somewhat shortened and re-arranged, are given here, and much of the fine old language in which they are told is retained, as it is easily understood.
The first story relates that whereas Sir Hugh de Lacy, who was now appointed general ruler of Ireland by the king, did much disdain and envy Sir John de Courcy, and being marvellous grieved at the worthy service he did, he sought all means that he could possible to damage and hinder him and to bring him to confusion, and promised much rewards in secret to those who would invent any matter against him; for which De Lacy had no cause but that Sir John's actions and commendations were held in greater account than his own. He feigned also false charges against him, and wrote them over to the king, and sore complained of him.
Amongst other his grievous complaints, he said De Courcy refused to do homage to King John, and he charged him also with saying to many that the king had somewhat to do with the death of Prince Arthur, lawful heir to the crown of England[66]; and many other such like things. All these were nothing but matters feigned by De Lacy, to bring to a better end his purpose of utterly ruining De Courcy. On this De Courcy challenged him, after the custom of those times, to try the matter by single combat: but De Lacy, fearing to meet him, made excuses and refused.
By reason of such evil and envious tales, though untrue they were, Sir Hugh de Lacy was at last commanded by King John to do what he might to apprehend and take Sir John de Courcy. Whereupon he devised and conferred with certain of Sir John's own men how this might be done; and they said it was not possible to do so the while he was in his battle-harness. But they told him that it might be done on Good Friday; for on that day it was his accustomed usage to wear no shield, harness, or weapon, but that he would be found kneeling at his prayers, after he had gone about the church five times barefooted. And having so devised, they lay in wait for him in his church at Downpatrick; and when they saw him barefooted and unarmed they rushed on him suddenly. But he, snatching up a heavy wooden cross that stood nigh the church, defended him till it was broken, and slew thirteen of them before he was taken. And so he was sent to England, and was put into the Tower of London, to remain there in perpetual, and there miserably was kept a long time, without as much meat or apparel as any account could be made of.
Now these men had agreed to betray their master to Sir Hugh de Lacy for a certain reward of gold and silver: and when they came to Sir Hugh for their reward, he gave them the gold and silver as he had promised. They then craved of him a passport into England to tell all about the good service they had done; which he gave them, with the following words written in it:—
"This writing witnesseth that those whose names are herein subscribed, that did betray so good a master for reward, will be false to me and to all the earth besides. And inasmuch as I put no trust in them, I do banish them out of this land of Ireland for ever; and I do let Englishmen know that none of them may enjoy any part of this our king's land, or be employed as servitors from this forward for ever."
And so he wrote all their names, and put them in a ship with victuals and furniture, but without mariners or seamen, and put them to sea, and gave them strict charge never to return to Ireland on pain of death. And after this they were not heard of for a long time; but by chance of weather and lack of skilful men, they arrived at Cork, and being taken, were brought to Sir Hugh de Lacy; and first taking all their treasure from them, he hung them in chains, and so left them till their bodies wasted away.
This deed, that Sir Hugh de Lacy did, was for an ensample that none should use himself the like, and not for love of Sir John de Courcy: since it appeareth from certain ancient authors that he would have it so as that De Courcy's name should not be so much as mentioned, and that no report or commendation of him should ever be made.
And now Sir John de Courcy, being in the Tower in evil plight, cried often to God why He suffered him to be thus so miserably used, who did build so many good abbeys, and did so many good deeds to God: and thus often lamenting with himself, he asked God his latter end to finish.
It fortuned after this that much variance and debate did grow between King John of England and King Philip of France,[67] about a certain castle which the king of France won from King John. And when King Philip had often been asked to restore it he refused, saying it was his by right. But at last he offered to try the matter by battle. For he had a champion, a mighty man, who had never been beaten; and he challenged the king of England to find, on his side, a champion to fight him, and let the title to the castle depend on the issue thereof; to which King John, more hasty than well advised, did agree.
And when the day of battle was appointed, the king of England called together his Council to find out where a champion might be found that would take upon him this honour and weighty enterprise. Many places they sought and inquired of, but no one was found that was willing to engage in so perilous a matter. And the king was in a great agony, fearing more the dishonour of the thing than the loss of the castle.
At length a member of the Council came to the king and told him that there was a man in the Tower of London, one De Courcy, that in all the earth was not his peer, if he would only fight. The king was much rejoiced thereat, and sent unto him to require and command him to take the matter in hand: but Sir John refused. The king sent again and offered him great gifts; but again he refused, saying he would never serve the king in field any more; for he thought himself evil rewarded for such service as he did him before. The king sent to him a third time, and bade him ask whatever he would, for himself and for his friends, and all should be granted to him: and he said furthermore that upon his stalworth and knightly doings the honour of the realm of England did rest and depend.
He answered that for himself, the thing he would wish to ask for, King John was not able to give, namely, the lightness and freedom of heart that he once had, but which the king's unkind dealing had taken from him. As for his friends, he said that, saving a few, they were all slain in the king's service; "and for these reasons," said he, "I mean never to serve the king more. But"—he went on to say—"the honour of the realm of England, that is another matter: and I would defend it so far as lies in my power, provided I might have such things as I shall ask for."
This was promised to him, and the king sent messengers to set him at liberty; who, when they had entered into his prison, found him in great misery. His hair was all matted, and overgrew his shoulders to his waist; he had scarce any apparel, and the little he had fell in rags over his great body; and his face was hollow from close confinement and for lack of food.
After all things that he required had been granted to him, he asked for one thing more, namely, that his sword should be sent for all the way to Downpatrick in Ireland, where it would be found within the altar of the church; for with that weapon he said he would fight and with no other. After much delay it was brought to him; and when they saw it and felt its weight, they marvelled that any man could wield it. And good food was given to him, and seemly raiment, and he had due exercise, and in all things he was cherished and made much of; so that his strength of body and stoutness of heart returned to him.
The lists were enclosed and all things were prepared against the day of battle. The two kings were there, outside the lists, with most of their nobility, and thousands of great people to look on, all sitting on seats placed high up for good view. Within the lists were two tents for the champions, where they might rest till the time appointed. And men were chosen to see that all things were carried on fairly and in good order.
When the time drew nigh, the French champion came forth on the field, and did his duty of obeisance, and bowed with reverence and courtesy to all around, and went back to his tent, where he waited for half an hour. The king of England sent for Sir John to come forth, for that the French champion rested a long time awaiting his coming; to which he answered roughly that he would come forth when he thought it was time. And when he still delayed, the king sent one of his Council to desire him to make haste, to which he made answer:—"If thou or those kings were invited to such a banquet, you would make no great haste coming forth to partake of it."
On this the king, deeming that he was not going to fight at all, was about to depart in a great rage, thinking much evil of Sir John de Courcy. While he was thus musing, Sir John came forth in surly mood, for memory of all the ill usage that had been wrought on him; and he stalked straight on, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and doing no reverence to anyone: and so back to his tent.
Then the trumpets sounded the first charge, for the champions to approach. Forth they came, and passing by slowly, viewed each other intently without a word. And when the foreign champion noted De Courcy's fierce look, and measured with his eyes his great stature and mighty limbs, he was filled with dread and fell all a-trembling. At length the trumpets sounded the last charge for the fight to begin; on which De Courcy quickly drew his sword and advanced; but the Frenchman, turning right round, "ranne awaie off the fielde and betooke him to Spaine."
Whereupon the English trumpets sounded victory; and there was such shouting and cheering, such a-clapping of hands and such a-throwing of caps in the air as the like was never seen before.
When the multitude became quiet, King Philip desired of King John that De Courcy might be called before them to give a trial of his strength by a blow upon a helmet: to which De Courcy agreed. They fixed a great stake of timber in the ground, standing up the height of a man, over which they put a shirt of mail, with a helmet on top. And when all was ready, De Courcy, drawing his sword, looked at the kings with a grim and terrible look that fearful it was to behold; after which he struck such a blow as cut clean through the helmet and through the shirt of mail, and down deep in the piece of timber. And so fast was the sword fixed that no man in the assembly, using his two hands with the utmost effort, could pluck it out; but Sir John, taking it in one hand, drew it forth easily.
The princes, marvelling at so huge a stroke, desired to understand why he looked so terrible at them before he struck the blow: on which he answered:—
"I call St. Patrick of Down to witness, that if I had missed the mark I would have cut the heads off both of you kings on the score of all the ill usage I received aforetime at your hands."
King John, being satisfied with all matters as they turned out, took his answer in good part: and he gave him back all the dominions that before he had in Ireland, as Earl of Ulster and lord of Connaught; and licensed him to return, with many great gifts besides. And to this day the people of Ireland hold in memory Sir John de Courcy and his mighty deeds; and the ruins of many great castles builded by him are to be seen all over Ulster.
The great lords who settled in Ireland in the time of Henry II. became so powerful that they ruled in the land like so many kings. It was so hard to reach Ireland in those times, or even to get from one part of Ireland to another, that their master, the king of England, had generally very little control over them: and he often found it hard enough even to find out what was going on among them. So those mighty barons did very much as they liked. They imposed taxes, raised armies, and made war on each other, just as if they were independent sovereigns.
The Fitzgeralds, or Geraldines, were among the most illustrious of those families. They intermarried with the families of the native Irish kings and princes, such as the O'Neills and O'Conors; and altogether they fell in so well with the ways of the country, that the Irish people came to love them almost better than they loved their own old native kings and chiefs. And for hundreds of years those Geraldines took a leading part in the government of Ireland for the kings of England.
In the time of Henry VII., who became king in the year 1485, Garrett Fitzgerald, earl of Kildare—the "Great Earl" as he was called—was Lord Deputy, or chief ruler of Ireland, for the king: and he was the leading man of his day in Ireland.[68] We are told in the old accounts of him that he was tall of stature, of goodly presence, very liberal and merciful; of strict piety; mild in his government; very easily put into a passion, but just as easily appeased; a knight in valour, and princely in his words and judgments.
Once he got into a great rage with one of his servants for some blunder. It happened that two of the gentlemen of his household were looking on: and one of them whispered to the other, whose name was Boice, that he would give him a good Irish hobby if he went and plucked a hair out of the earl's beard. Boice took him at his offer, and knowing well the earl's good nature, he went up to him, while he still fumed with anger, and said:—
"If so it please your good lordship, one of your horsemen promised me a choice horse if I snip one hair from your beard." "Well," quoth the earl, "I agree thereto; but if you pluck more than one, I promise you to bring my fist away from your ear!"
And Boice plucked the hair, and won the hobby: but he took good care to pluck only one, so that his ear escaped the earl's big fist.
At this time the chief man of the Butlers was James, earl of Ormond: and he and the Deputy were at enmity, each working with might and main to put down the other. The earl of Ormond, who was a deep and far reaching man, not being strong enough to oppose his adversary openly, devised a plan to entrap him by means of submission and courtesy. Certain charges had, it seems, been made against Ormond, and he now wrote to the deputy, who was, of course, in authority over him, asking permission to come to Dublin to disprove them; which the deputy granted. Accordingly, in the year 1492, he marched to Dublin with a numerous army, and encamped near the city.
Now Kildare's councillors, and the citizens in general, disliked the presence of so great an army, suspecting some evil design: and besides, the soldiers used the people ill, often beating and robbing them; so that instead of peace, this visit of Ormond made all the greater discord. Yet still, with an air of great respect and humility, he persisted in asking to be heard, saying he would show that the evil stories about him were all false. At length, Lord Deputy Kildare agreed, and the meeting was held in St. Patrick's Church.
But this meeting was not a quiet or peaceful one; for the two earls, instead of speaking gentle words of forgiveness, began to accuse each other of all the damages inflicted on both sides. The citizens too, who were in great crowds around the church, complained with loud voices of all the ill usage they had suffered from the soldiers; whereupon they and the soldiers fell to jars and quarrels, and the whole city was soon in an uproar. At last, a body of Dublin archers, enraged that such a disturbance should be raised by "this lawless rabble," rushed into the church, shouting out that they would kill Ormond, as the leader of them, and they shot at random hither and thither, leaving their arrows sticking in the timbers and ornaments of the church, but doing no harm otherwise. It is probable, indeed, that out of respect to the place, notwithstanding their rage, they took care to shoot over the heads of the crowd, so as to kill no one.
On this, the Earl of Ormond, fearing with good reason for his safety, fled with a few of his followers to the chapter-house, and slamming the door, bolted and barred it strongly. Kildare followed and called to him to come out, promising upon his honour that he should receive no harm. Ormond replied that he would come forth if the deputy gave him his hand that his life should be safe; so "a cleft was pierced in a trice through the chapter-house door," to the end that the earls might shake hands and be reconciled. But Ormond, still suspecting treachery, refused to put forth his hand, fearing it might be chopped off, till at last Kildare stretched in his arm to him through the hole, and they shook hands. Then the door was opened and the two earls embraced, and the storm was appeased.