In
Irish History
And
The Fighting Irish
And
The Fighting Irish
the North, the smouldering fire had flamed forth again. Two things rekindled it. One: The predestined
boy had come whose advent a Tir-Conaill seer had long ago foretold. Young Hugh O' Donnell, Aod Ruad, the golden haired, minatory, deadly foe to England; who was to stride through the history of the last years of the 16th century - the boy whose fame and renown was noised through the five provinces of Eirinn even before he reached the age of manhood, as being conspicuous for wisdom, understanding, personal beauty, and noble deeds.
The fame and renown of him had reached the ears of Lord Deputy Perrot, illegitimate son of Henry VIII. Where a strong and ruthless hand, or treachery, was neccessary to advance his Queen's interests in Ireland Perrot used either, as suited the occasion. He would have the boy.
The dreaded lad was being fostered by MacSwiney, Lord of Fanat on the Northern sea's verge. When the boy was 14 an innocent looking merchant ship once sailed into Loch Swilly, and anchored under the white stone castle of MacSwiney. The courteous captain had wine for sale. The captain invited visitors aboard the ship. MacSwiney accepted the invitation with his friends and the young boy. When the guests sat down in the captains state cabin, they suddenly found themselves entrapped and captured by 50 soldiers who were conjured out of the ship's bowels.
MacSwiney and the others were released. But the boys release could not be purchased. It was for him the ship had come. Red Hugh was carried away to Dublin and placed, a prisoner, in the Birmingham tower of the castle. In Fanat, throughout all Tir-Conaill, and indeed through Eirinn there was weeping, wrath, shame and anger. In Donegal Castle, the boy's mother, the dauntless Inghin Dubh " Dark Daughter " of MacDonnell of the Isles, now devoted her life to keep Tir-Conaill for the boy. She negotiated and plotted for his release in vain.
After three years the boy made a wonderful and daring escape on a December night - but alas! was retaken. After another year year, this time spent in irons, in company with Henry and Art, the sons of Shane O' Neill, both in irons also, he made another daring attempt - and this time succeeded in freeing all three. A file had been passed to him. It was Christmas Eve 1591, a dark snowy evening. Christmas cheer was flowing among the jailers and guards. Now the boys thought! Outside the Castle, in a friend's stable, four horses bitted and saddled were stood for three nights. The faithful horse-boy was waiting. While the feast was being celebrated with wine and jollity by the Elizabethan soldiers in the Castle, the boy industriously worked the file. " Link after link yielded to the fierce attrition and the hungry gnawings of the sharp toothed steel, and Red Hugh stood forth free! Free and the guard giving no sign! Henry O' Neill stretched out hands, while Art held the lamp. Swiftly the good file did its work, and Henry, unfettered, snatched the lamp from his brother's hands. Art was the last freed, and Hugh, youngest of the three, did all the the filing with his own sinewy untiring hands. " ( Standish O' Grady )
Free now, unshackled, swift hands tore down the hangings of the bed, knotted them together, and the rope was ready. The hangings secured, Henry went first, then Red Hugh, and last of all Art, who in his descent loosened a stone which fell and struck him. They flung their cloaks from them when they reached the open air, stole to the moat, and entered the icy water. The snow was still falling; waiting on the bank, whitened, listening for the strokes of the swimmers, the horse-boy stood. He carried three pairs of strong shoes; their horses had unfortunately been taken away. Swiftly their guide led them through the dark streets and alleys to the outer ramparts. And there Henry
O' Neill was missing, having fallen behind and lost his way. There was no time to return; to look for him. The Castle and death were behind. ( Henry succeeded in getting to Ulster and was imprisoned by the Earl of Tyrone, who considered him a rival as the son of Shane who had slain the Earl's father )
They were over it; out into the deeper darkness; past the outskirts of the city; into the open country, on towards Slieve Ruadh, the Three Rock Mountain; snow everywhere. They passed over bogs glimmering white, through ravines; up among the snow drifts on the slope, the hardy tireless horse-boy leading. Red High's pace, being vigorous and swift. But Art - his strength and wind had given way - dropped behind. The swift-paced Red Hugh fell back to his side, supported and cheered him; kept slow step with his slow step. Soon Art could only limp, and moved haltingly along, with an arm on Red Hugh's shoulder and another on the horse-boy's. Dawn came; Christmas Day; in the city bells were heralding the Birth. In the Castle there was wrath and fear - and hot pursuit. The Art could walk no longer. Red Hugh and the horse-boy carried him. Red Hugh himself with blistered feet and his own strength failing. All day they were on the white mountains, lingering, resting , advancing, till at last Red Hugh could go no further, and the horse-boy left them, hastening if he might to save them and bring help from Feach O' Byrne. Between the two loughs, Dan and Glendalough, under a rock, or in an open cave, it is thought the boys waited. They slept heavily that night, and awoke in the morning to a second day of cold and hunger. For forty hours they had eaten no food. Their cloaks were gone, shed by the Castle moat; they had only their doublets and hose.
The day passed, the helpless boys waiting in the snow, and the furious foe engirdling the white mountain. When the morning of the third day came Art was dying. Red Hugh ate leaves, and brought some to Art. " Eat something, no matter what, " he said. " See the brute animals, Art, they feed on leaves and grass. True, we are rational, yet also we are animals. " But Art was beyond such food, beyond any food indeed. White death there by the rock was numbing body and brain. The snow began to fall again. Evening came. Red Hugh lay down by Art's side; the boys clasped their arms about each other. The snow covered them. In the closing twilight Feach's soldiers found them in that embrace. Not at once, so hidden were they under the snow. By the light of their lanthorns the four soldiers groped about, finding the search not easy. " So overlaid were they with the snow as if with a blanket which had congealed around them, and frozen to them their skirts of fine linen, and their moistened shoes and leather covering of their feet, and they themselves were completely covered with snow and there was also no life in their members, but they were as dead. "
Their arms were disentwined, their bodies chafed, spirits put between their lips, " the men deeply grieving as they uncovered the white faces, and the limp motionless limbs of the noblest born youths in all the land, the heir of
Tir-Conaill and the son of Shane. " Art passed away. Red Hugh, revived, spoke, and asked for his dying friend. Passionately he wept when, all saving efforts failing, Art died. He refused to eat or drink; he himself, famishing, cold, just snatched from death. For a time the men respected his grief, then removed Art's body from his sight, persuaded him with kindly insistence to eat and drink a little. They wrapped him in their cloaks, made a litter of their spears, and bore him " within the rim of the broad shield extended over that region " - the shield of Feach - his feet swollen within the horse-boy's shoes, and brought him to Feach's house:
Red Hugh's escape sent a thrill through Ireland. Messengers rode north and south and east and west with the joyous word. After hairbreath escapes the boy eventually reached the North.
On a grey of speed and endurance Red Hugh rode with yellow-haired Turlough Boy O' Hagan into Duncannon - to
Hugh O' Neill, " Earl " of Tir-Owen. An alliance was made between him and the earl, he, the boy of 18, who had been so deeply injured, and the grave sagacious man, who foresaw that the English State was working secretly for his overthrow; to whom time must come when he would have to defend his life, his territory, his people. That alliance buried forever clan-diplomacies and feuds between the two great houses.
O' Neill sent him on to the Lord of Fermanagh, Hugh Maguire, a very tall, handsome, gay-spirited young man, valiant in arms, who when a lord Deputy proposed to send a sheriff into Fermanagh, suggested to the Viceroy that he had better let him know the price of the sheriff's head first. Accompanied by a fleet of boats, Red Hugh was carried in Maguire's state barge in triumphal procession down the Erne to a point on the western shore. There gentlemen of Tir-Conaill met him, and he went to his own castle of Ballyshannon. There was joy in its hall; feating, the music of war-pipes, vows to follow him; mens courage renewed. He was laid on a " bed of healing " with swollen feet - one permanently lamed by those nights in the snow. But not long did he lie there. Bingham's captain was besieging Donegal castle. Within it his brave mother, Inghin Dubh, waited for succour.
The fame and renown of him had reached the ears of Lord Deputy Perrot, illegitimate son of Henry VIII. Where a strong and ruthless hand, or treachery, was neccessary to advance his Queen's interests in Ireland Perrot used either, as suited the occasion. He would have the boy.
The dreaded lad was being fostered by MacSwiney, Lord of Fanat on the Northern sea's verge. When the boy was 14 an innocent looking merchant ship once sailed into Loch Swilly, and anchored under the white stone castle of MacSwiney. The courteous captain had wine for sale. The captain invited visitors aboard the ship. MacSwiney accepted the invitation with his friends and the young boy. When the guests sat down in the captains state cabin, they suddenly found themselves entrapped and captured by 50 soldiers who were conjured out of the ship's bowels.
MacSwiney and the others were released. But the boys release could not be purchased. It was for him the ship had come. Red Hugh was carried away to Dublin and placed, a prisoner, in the Birmingham tower of the castle. In Fanat, throughout all Tir-Conaill, and indeed through Eirinn there was weeping, wrath, shame and anger. In Donegal Castle, the boy's mother, the dauntless Inghin Dubh " Dark Daughter " of MacDonnell of the Isles, now devoted her life to keep Tir-Conaill for the boy. She negotiated and plotted for his release in vain.
After three years the boy made a wonderful and daring escape on a December night - but alas! was retaken. After another year year, this time spent in irons, in company with Henry and Art, the sons of Shane O' Neill, both in irons also, he made another daring attempt - and this time succeeded in freeing all three. A file had been passed to him. It was Christmas Eve 1591, a dark snowy evening. Christmas cheer was flowing among the jailers and guards. Now the boys thought! Outside the Castle, in a friend's stable, four horses bitted and saddled were stood for three nights. The faithful horse-boy was waiting. While the feast was being celebrated with wine and jollity by the Elizabethan soldiers in the Castle, the boy industriously worked the file. " Link after link yielded to the fierce attrition and the hungry gnawings of the sharp toothed steel, and Red Hugh stood forth free! Free and the guard giving no sign! Henry O' Neill stretched out hands, while Art held the lamp. Swiftly the good file did its work, and Henry, unfettered, snatched the lamp from his brother's hands. Art was the last freed, and Hugh, youngest of the three, did all the the filing with his own sinewy untiring hands. " ( Standish O' Grady )
Free now, unshackled, swift hands tore down the hangings of the bed, knotted them together, and the rope was ready. The hangings secured, Henry went first, then Red Hugh, and last of all Art, who in his descent loosened a stone which fell and struck him. They flung their cloaks from them when they reached the open air, stole to the moat, and entered the icy water. The snow was still falling; waiting on the bank, whitened, listening for the strokes of the swimmers, the horse-boy stood. He carried three pairs of strong shoes; their horses had unfortunately been taken away. Swiftly their guide led them through the dark streets and alleys to the outer ramparts. And there Henry
O' Neill was missing, having fallen behind and lost his way. There was no time to return; to look for him. The Castle and death were behind. ( Henry succeeded in getting to Ulster and was imprisoned by the Earl of Tyrone, who considered him a rival as the son of Shane who had slain the Earl's father )
They were over it; out into the deeper darkness; past the outskirts of the city; into the open country, on towards Slieve Ruadh, the Three Rock Mountain; snow everywhere. They passed over bogs glimmering white, through ravines; up among the snow drifts on the slope, the hardy tireless horse-boy leading. Red High's pace, being vigorous and swift. But Art - his strength and wind had given way - dropped behind. The swift-paced Red Hugh fell back to his side, supported and cheered him; kept slow step with his slow step. Soon Art could only limp, and moved haltingly along, with an arm on Red Hugh's shoulder and another on the horse-boy's. Dawn came; Christmas Day; in the city bells were heralding the Birth. In the Castle there was wrath and fear - and hot pursuit. The Art could walk no longer. Red Hugh and the horse-boy carried him. Red Hugh himself with blistered feet and his own strength failing. All day they were on the white mountains, lingering, resting , advancing, till at last Red Hugh could go no further, and the horse-boy left them, hastening if he might to save them and bring help from Feach O' Byrne. Between the two loughs, Dan and Glendalough, under a rock, or in an open cave, it is thought the boys waited. They slept heavily that night, and awoke in the morning to a second day of cold and hunger. For forty hours they had eaten no food. Their cloaks were gone, shed by the Castle moat; they had only their doublets and hose.
The day passed, the helpless boys waiting in the snow, and the furious foe engirdling the white mountain. When the morning of the third day came Art was dying. Red Hugh ate leaves, and brought some to Art. " Eat something, no matter what, " he said. " See the brute animals, Art, they feed on leaves and grass. True, we are rational, yet also we are animals. " But Art was beyond such food, beyond any food indeed. White death there by the rock was numbing body and brain. The snow began to fall again. Evening came. Red Hugh lay down by Art's side; the boys clasped their arms about each other. The snow covered them. In the closing twilight Feach's soldiers found them in that embrace. Not at once, so hidden were they under the snow. By the light of their lanthorns the four soldiers groped about, finding the search not easy. " So overlaid were they with the snow as if with a blanket which had congealed around them, and frozen to them their skirts of fine linen, and their moistened shoes and leather covering of their feet, and they themselves were completely covered with snow and there was also no life in their members, but they were as dead. "
Their arms were disentwined, their bodies chafed, spirits put between their lips, " the men deeply grieving as they uncovered the white faces, and the limp motionless limbs of the noblest born youths in all the land, the heir of
Tir-Conaill and the son of Shane. " Art passed away. Red Hugh, revived, spoke, and asked for his dying friend. Passionately he wept when, all saving efforts failing, Art died. He refused to eat or drink; he himself, famishing, cold, just snatched from death. For a time the men respected his grief, then removed Art's body from his sight, persuaded him with kindly insistence to eat and drink a little. They wrapped him in their cloaks, made a litter of their spears, and bore him " within the rim of the broad shield extended over that region " - the shield of Feach - his feet swollen within the horse-boy's shoes, and brought him to Feach's house:
Red Hugh's escape sent a thrill through Ireland. Messengers rode north and south and east and west with the joyous word. After hairbreath escapes the boy eventually reached the North.
On a grey of speed and endurance Red Hugh rode with yellow-haired Turlough Boy O' Hagan into Duncannon - to
Hugh O' Neill, " Earl " of Tir-Owen. An alliance was made between him and the earl, he, the boy of 18, who had been so deeply injured, and the grave sagacious man, who foresaw that the English State was working secretly for his overthrow; to whom time must come when he would have to defend his life, his territory, his people. That alliance buried forever clan-diplomacies and feuds between the two great houses.
O' Neill sent him on to the Lord of Fermanagh, Hugh Maguire, a very tall, handsome, gay-spirited young man, valiant in arms, who when a lord Deputy proposed to send a sheriff into Fermanagh, suggested to the Viceroy that he had better let him know the price of the sheriff's head first. Accompanied by a fleet of boats, Red Hugh was carried in Maguire's state barge in triumphal procession down the Erne to a point on the western shore. There gentlemen of Tir-Conaill met him, and he went to his own castle of Ballyshannon. There was joy in its hall; feating, the music of war-pipes, vows to follow him; mens courage renewed. He was laid on a " bed of healing " with swollen feet - one permanently lamed by those nights in the snow. But not long did he lie there. Bingham's captain was besieging Donegal castle. Within it his brave mother, Inghin Dubh, waited for succour.
Donegal Castle
