After
Irish History
And
The Fighting Irish
And
The Fighting Irish
bright promises, delays, disapointments he fell ill on his way to see the King again, died
and was buried with princely honours in the Cathedral of St. Francis, Valladolid.
For three hundred years his death was supposed to be from natural causes. Then by chance, it was discovered in an English State paper that Carew with Mountjoy's approval had sent an agent to Spain to poison Red Hugh. He was twenty-eight when he died. It showed in every way the nature of the enemy they were dealing with. Anything was acceptable. And it would be the same down the centuries of time. We remeber Red Hugh, his captivity when a boy, his escape, his brilliancy as a commander, his many victories, his unalterable hatred of the invader, his loyalty to O' Neill, the whole romance of his story has attracted Irish hearts to him through the centuries since his death. " He was the sword, as O' Neill was the brain, of the Ulster confederation. " His voice was sweet and musical. He loved justice and was faithful to his promise. He showed courage annd resource in the presence of difficulties; was quick to sieze opportunities, maintained rigid discipline in his army; was patient in hardships; coureous and affable in manner; absolutely open and sincere. He never married; his private life was without a stain. One who knew him said " he was a great despiser of the world. " Noble. generouss. with tireless activity, daring, with his handsome person, his splendid spirit, as one of the last of Ireland's princes, his name has been a star in the nation's memory.
Three strongholds remained for the Irish in Munster after d' Aquila had capitulated, getting off safe with is men. They held out, hoing for new aid from Spain. Each was isolated. In time they fell. The defence of Dunboy Castle by Donal O' Sullivan and his Captian, MacGeoghegan, and when it fell, of O' Sullivan's march, with one thousand persons including women and children from Kerry to O' Rourke's castle in Leitrim, is a great epic, unknown outside Ireland. It has all the elements of the great tragedies; indomitable souled men; defiance of fate; encounters with foes; encounters with the elements, with storm and frost and snow; men with dying bodies and unquechable spirit, battling, marching, praying. Of the company scarce one hundred reached O' Rourke's country.
O' Neill fought his way up to Ulster, fought there, held hiis own for months. When news came of
O' Donnell's death he knew the cause was lost, he accepted terms offerehim by the Lord Deputy. His territories were to be restored to him; the Catholic religion given free exercise witin them; a fresh patent of earldom drawn out. Red Hugh's younger brother, Ruari O' Donnell, ad aalready submitted, obtained terms, and was made Earl of Tir Conaill.
Before the treaty was signed Elizabeth died - a manic. James of Scotland, who succeeded her, formed a plan for planting Ulster with Sctch and English settlers. But the two Earls were in the way. It was necessary to destroy them. The method was the old one. They were to be charged with a plot. An anonymous letter found by the Council Chamber in Dublin Castle revealed the plot. According to it, O' Neill intended to seize the Castle, slay the Deputy and start another rebellion. The letter really emanated from London. It was devised by Cecil the Secretary of State; St. Lawrence, Lord Howth, was to carry out the plot and to inveigle O' Neill and O' Donnell to a meeting in his house. It was sufficient. They were cited to appear in London to answer the charge. With his perfect knowledge of the English Government's craft, and aware that the planters were waiting for the word to fall upon O' Donnell's and his own territories, O' Neill knew that their destruction had been decided upon. Their case was desperate. Safety alone was in flight. Yet the thought filled them with bitter sorrow. Into exile they must go.
There were those who would welcome them on the continent; the Archdukes in Brussels; the King of Spain; the Pope in Rome. And there were Irish swordsmen in the continental armies. A chance might arise. If O'Neill was old, he was yet unbroken; and there were his sons. Hugh and Shane and Brian, and his nephew Art; to them, or one them, might be given the task to take up that sword that he had laid down, when he accepted Mountjoy's terms.
A French ship entered, anchored in, Lough Swilly. O' Neill journeying northward at the news stayed at a friends house on the way " wept abundantly when he took his leave, giving every child and every servant in the house a solemn farewell which made them all marvel, because in general it was not his manner to use such compliments. " He remained two nights in his own home, Dungannon Castle. There must have been anguish in his soul. Statesman, soldier, victorious general he had been; now all was over. On the border of old age, beset with cruel enemies, what fate might await him? And Ireland - Tyrone? The wolves were out, the bitter planters, the greedy adventurers, who could resist them?
It was 1607. He journeyed to Lough Swilly with his wife Catherine, daughter of MacGuiness, Lord of Iveagh, his three sons, other relations and attendants. Ruari O' Donnell was already there with his two brothers, his sister Nuala, his hereditary bard and attendants. And there was Conor Maguire, brother of Hugh now dead; fifty persons in all in the flight. The Flight of the Earls it is called in Irish history. It stirred darly the hearts of the Irish. The ominous news went from province to province. The bards dirged it. Men knew that the last bulwark against the Saxon Sherriff and the Saxon Law had fallen. " It is certain that the sea has not borne, and the wind has not wafted in modern times. " wrote the Four Masters nearly 30 years later. " A number of persons in one ship more eminent, illustrious, noble in point of genealogy, heroic deeds, valour, feats of arms, and brave achievements than they. Would God had permitted them to remain in their inheritance. "
For three hundred years his death was supposed to be from natural causes. Then by chance, it was discovered in an English State paper that Carew with Mountjoy's approval had sent an agent to Spain to poison Red Hugh. He was twenty-eight when he died. It showed in every way the nature of the enemy they were dealing with. Anything was acceptable. And it would be the same down the centuries of time. We remeber Red Hugh, his captivity when a boy, his escape, his brilliancy as a commander, his many victories, his unalterable hatred of the invader, his loyalty to O' Neill, the whole romance of his story has attracted Irish hearts to him through the centuries since his death. " He was the sword, as O' Neill was the brain, of the Ulster confederation. " His voice was sweet and musical. He loved justice and was faithful to his promise. He showed courage annd resource in the presence of difficulties; was quick to sieze opportunities, maintained rigid discipline in his army; was patient in hardships; coureous and affable in manner; absolutely open and sincere. He never married; his private life was without a stain. One who knew him said " he was a great despiser of the world. " Noble. generouss. with tireless activity, daring, with his handsome person, his splendid spirit, as one of the last of Ireland's princes, his name has been a star in the nation's memory.
Three strongholds remained for the Irish in Munster after d' Aquila had capitulated, getting off safe with is men. They held out, hoing for new aid from Spain. Each was isolated. In time they fell. The defence of Dunboy Castle by Donal O' Sullivan and his Captian, MacGeoghegan, and when it fell, of O' Sullivan's march, with one thousand persons including women and children from Kerry to O' Rourke's castle in Leitrim, is a great epic, unknown outside Ireland. It has all the elements of the great tragedies; indomitable souled men; defiance of fate; encounters with foes; encounters with the elements, with storm and frost and snow; men with dying bodies and unquechable spirit, battling, marching, praying. Of the company scarce one hundred reached O' Rourke's country.
O' Neill fought his way up to Ulster, fought there, held hiis own for months. When news came of
O' Donnell's death he knew the cause was lost, he accepted terms offerehim by the Lord Deputy. His territories were to be restored to him; the Catholic religion given free exercise witin them; a fresh patent of earldom drawn out. Red Hugh's younger brother, Ruari O' Donnell, ad aalready submitted, obtained terms, and was made Earl of Tir Conaill.
Before the treaty was signed Elizabeth died - a manic. James of Scotland, who succeeded her, formed a plan for planting Ulster with Sctch and English settlers. But the two Earls were in the way. It was necessary to destroy them. The method was the old one. They were to be charged with a plot. An anonymous letter found by the Council Chamber in Dublin Castle revealed the plot. According to it, O' Neill intended to seize the Castle, slay the Deputy and start another rebellion. The letter really emanated from London. It was devised by Cecil the Secretary of State; St. Lawrence, Lord Howth, was to carry out the plot and to inveigle O' Neill and O' Donnell to a meeting in his house. It was sufficient. They were cited to appear in London to answer the charge. With his perfect knowledge of the English Government's craft, and aware that the planters were waiting for the word to fall upon O' Donnell's and his own territories, O' Neill knew that their destruction had been decided upon. Their case was desperate. Safety alone was in flight. Yet the thought filled them with bitter sorrow. Into exile they must go.
There were those who would welcome them on the continent; the Archdukes in Brussels; the King of Spain; the Pope in Rome. And there were Irish swordsmen in the continental armies. A chance might arise. If O'Neill was old, he was yet unbroken; and there were his sons. Hugh and Shane and Brian, and his nephew Art; to them, or one them, might be given the task to take up that sword that he had laid down, when he accepted Mountjoy's terms.
A French ship entered, anchored in, Lough Swilly. O' Neill journeying northward at the news stayed at a friends house on the way " wept abundantly when he took his leave, giving every child and every servant in the house a solemn farewell which made them all marvel, because in general it was not his manner to use such compliments. " He remained two nights in his own home, Dungannon Castle. There must have been anguish in his soul. Statesman, soldier, victorious general he had been; now all was over. On the border of old age, beset with cruel enemies, what fate might await him? And Ireland - Tyrone? The wolves were out, the bitter planters, the greedy adventurers, who could resist them?
It was 1607. He journeyed to Lough Swilly with his wife Catherine, daughter of MacGuiness, Lord of Iveagh, his three sons, other relations and attendants. Ruari O' Donnell was already there with his two brothers, his sister Nuala, his hereditary bard and attendants. And there was Conor Maguire, brother of Hugh now dead; fifty persons in all in the flight. The Flight of the Earls it is called in Irish history. It stirred darly the hearts of the Irish. The ominous news went from province to province. The bards dirged it. Men knew that the last bulwark against the Saxon Sherriff and the Saxon Law had fallen. " It is certain that the sea has not borne, and the wind has not wafted in modern times. " wrote the Four Masters nearly 30 years later. " A number of persons in one ship more eminent, illustrious, noble in point of genealogy, heroic deeds, valour, feats of arms, and brave achievements than they. Would God had permitted them to remain in their inheritance. "
Summer and winter the long years have flown
Since you looked your last for ever on the hills of Tyrone;
On the vales of Tyrconnell, on the faces strained that night
To watch you, Hugh and Rory, over waves in your flight.
Not in Uladh of your kindred your beds hath been made,
Where the holy earth laps them and the quicken-tree gives shade;
But your dust lies afar, where Rome hath given space
To the tanist of O' Donnell, and the Prince of Nial's race.
O, sad in green Tyrone when you left us, Hugh O' Neill,
In our grief and bitter need, to the spoiler's cruel steel !
And sad in Donegal when you went, O ! Rory Ban,
From your father's rugged towers and the wailing of your clan!
Our hearts had bled to hear of that dastard deed in Spain;
We wept our Eaglet, in his pride by Saxon vileness slain;
And girded for revenge, we waited but but the call of war
To bring us like a headlong wave from heathery height and scaur.
Ochon and ochon ! when the tidings travelled forth
That our chiefs had sailed in sorrow from the glens of the North;
Ochon abd ochon ! how our souls grew sore afraid
And our love followed after in the track your keel had made !
And yet in green Tyrone they keep your memory still,
And tell you never fled afar, but sllep in Aileach Hill -
In stony sleep, with sword in hand and stony steed beside,
Until the Call shall waken you - the rock gate open wide.
Will you come again, O' Hugh, in all your olden power,
In all the strength and skill, we knew, with Rory, in that hour
When the Sword leaps from its scabbard, and the night hath passed away
And Banba's battle-cry rings loud at Dawning of the Day ?
- From " The Four Winds of Eirinn "
Since you looked your last for ever on the hills of Tyrone;
On the vales of Tyrconnell, on the faces strained that night
To watch you, Hugh and Rory, over waves in your flight.
Not in Uladh of your kindred your beds hath been made,
Where the holy earth laps them and the quicken-tree gives shade;
But your dust lies afar, where Rome hath given space
To the tanist of O' Donnell, and the Prince of Nial's race.
O, sad in green Tyrone when you left us, Hugh O' Neill,
In our grief and bitter need, to the spoiler's cruel steel !
And sad in Donegal when you went, O ! Rory Ban,
From your father's rugged towers and the wailing of your clan!
Our hearts had bled to hear of that dastard deed in Spain;
We wept our Eaglet, in his pride by Saxon vileness slain;
And girded for revenge, we waited but but the call of war
To bring us like a headlong wave from heathery height and scaur.
Ochon and ochon ! when the tidings travelled forth
That our chiefs had sailed in sorrow from the glens of the North;
Ochon abd ochon ! how our souls grew sore afraid
And our love followed after in the track your keel had made !
And yet in green Tyrone they keep your memory still,
And tell you never fled afar, but sllep in Aileach Hill -
In stony sleep, with sword in hand and stony steed beside,
Until the Call shall waken you - the rock gate open wide.
Will you come again, O' Hugh, in all your olden power,
In all the strength and skill, we knew, with Rory, in that hour
When the Sword leaps from its scabbard, and the night hath passed away
And Banba's battle-cry rings loud at Dawning of the Day ?
- From " The Four Winds of Eirinn "
