Orange and Green: A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick

There was a last embrace, and then Captain Davenant and his son sprang on their horses, which were waiting at the door, took their place at the head of the party which had come up from the village, and rode away into the darkness, while the two Mrs. Davenants gave free vent to the tears which they had hitherto so bravely restrained.

At Bray, Captain Davenant found the rest of his troop drawn up in readiness, and after a brief inspection, to see that all were present with their proper arms and accoutrements, he started with them for Dublin, and after a few hours' rest there continued his way towards Drogheda.

The army then proceeded north to Dundalk, and bitter was the disappointment of the troops when, on arriving there, they found that Schomberg, instead of advancing to give battle, had shut himself up in the intrenchments he had formed, and could not be induced to sally out.

In vain King James, who accompanied his army, formed it up in order of battle within sight of the invaders' lines. Schomberg was not to be tempted out, and, as the position appeared to be too strong to be attacked, the Irish were forced to endeavour to reduce it by the slow process of starvation. The English army was soon reduced to pitiable straits–not from hunger, for they were able to obtain food from the ships, but from disease. The situation of the camp was low and unhealthy. Fever broke out, and swept away vast numbers of the men.

The Dutch and Enniskilleners suffered comparatively little–both were accustomed to a damp climate. But of the English troops, nearly eight thousand died in the two months that the blockade lasted. Had James maintained his position, the whole of the army of Schomberg must have perished; but, most unfortunately for his cause, he insisted on personally conducting operations, and when complete success was in his grasp he marched his army away, in the middle of November, to winter quarters; thereby allowing Schomberg to move, with the eight thousand men who remained to him, from the pest-stricken camp to healthier quarters.

The disgust, of those of James's officers who understood anything of war, at this termination of the campaign was extreme. The men, indeed, were eager to return to their homes, but would gladly have attempted an assault on the English camp before doing so; and, as the defenders were reduced to half their original strength, while most of the survivors were weakened by disease, the attack would probably have been successful. James himself was several times on the point of ordering an attack, but his own vacillation of character was heightened by the conflicting counsels of his generals, who seemed more bent on thwarting each other than on gaining the cause for which they fought.

The cavalry were not idle, while the blockade of Schomberg's camp continued, frequently making excursions over the country to bring in cattle for the army; for the villagers had, for the most part, deserted their homes, and herds of cattle were grazing without masters. One day, Captain Davenant's troop had ridden some thirty miles out of camp, and had halted for the night in a village. In the morning, they broke up into small parties and scattered round the country. Walter, with fifteen of the troopers, had collected some cattle and stopped for an hour, to feed and rest the horses, in a deserted village. He took the precaution to place two or three men on sentry round it.

The men were sitting on the doorsteps, eating the food they had brought with them, when one of the outposts dashed in at full gallop, shouting that the enemy were upon them; but his warning came too late, for, close behind him, came a body of wild-looking horsemen, shouting and yelling. There was a cry of "The Enniskilleners!" and the men ran to their horses.

They had scarcely time to throw themselves in the saddle, when the Enniskilleners charged down. For a minute or two there was a confused medley, and then three or four of the troopers rode off at full speed, hotly pursued by the Enniskilleners.

Walter had discharged his pistols and drawn his sword, but before he had time to strike a blow, his horse was rolled over by the rush of the enemy, and, as he was falling, he received a blow on the head from a sabre which stretched him insensible on the ground. He was roused by two men turning him over and searching his pockets. A slight groan burst from his lips.

"The fellow is not dead," one of the men said.

"We will soon settle that," the other replied.

"Don't kill him," the first speaker said. "Wait till the captain has spoken to him. We may be able to get some information from him. We can finish him afterwards."

Walter lay with his eyes closed. He well knew that the Enniskilleners took no prisoners, but killed all who fell into their hands, and he determined to show no signs of returning consciousness. Presently, he heard the sound of a party of horsemen returning, and by the exclamations of disappointment which greeted the news they gave, he learned that some, at least, of his men had made their escape.

Some time later, several men came up to him. One leaned over him, and put his hand to his heart.

"He is alive."

"Very well," another voice said. "Then we will take him with us. He is an officer, and will be able to tell us all about their strength.

"Watkins, you have a strong beast, and do not weigh much. Do you mount, and then we will tie him to your back."

A minute later Walter was lifted up, and felt that he was placed on a horse with his back to that of the rider. A rope was wound several times round his body. He remained perfectly passive, with his head hanging down on his breast. Then a word of command was given, and the troop set off.

For a time, there was no need for him to pretend insensibility, for the pain of his wound and the loss of blood overpowered him, and for some time he was unconscious. After two hours' riding, the troop was halted. Walter felt the rope taken off him. Then he was lifted down, dragged a short distance, and thrown down on some straw. Then a door shut, and he heard a key turned. He felt sure that he was alone, but for some time lay perfectly quiet, as it was possible that one of the men might have remained to watch him.

After a quarter of an hour, hearing not the slightest sound, he opened his eyes and looked round. He was, as he supposed, alone. The place in which he was lying was a stable, lighted only by a small opening high up in the wall. Certain, therefore, that he was not overlooked, he made an effort to rise to his feet, but he was so weak and giddy that he was obliged, for some time, to remain leaning against the wall. Seeing a bucket in one corner, he made to it, and found, to his delight, that it was half full of water, for he was parched with a devouring thirst.

After taking a deep draught he felt greatly revived, and then made a thorough survey of his prison. It evidently formed part of the house of a well-to-do man, for it was solidly built of stone, and the door was strong and well fitted.

The opening in the wall was out of his reach. He could, at ordinary times, by standing on the upturned bucket, have reached it with a spring, and pulled himself up to it, but at present he was wholly incapable of such exertion. He thought, however, that after a night's rest he would be able to do it.

The door was so strong that he had no hope of escape in that direction. As he might at any moment be disturbed, he returned to the straw on which he had at first been thrown, laid himself down, and in a very short time dropped off to sleep.

It was dark, before he was awoke by the turning of the key in the lock, and two men entered, one of them bearing a horn lantern.

"Where am I?" Walter asked, in a feeble tone, as they approached him.

"Never mind where you are," one said roughly. "Get up."

Walter seemed to make an effort, and then fell back with a groan.

The man repeated his order, emphasizing it with a kick. Walter again made an effort, and, as before, sank back.

"Here, catch hold of him," the man said, impatiently, "it's no use fooling here with him."

The men took Walter under the arms and lifted him up, and half dragged, half carried him out of the stable and into the house adjoining. He was taken into a room where four or five men were sitting.

"Now, young fellow," one said sharply, "tell us what corps you belong to."

Walter looked stupidly at his questioner, but made no answer.

"Answer my question," the man said, levelling a pistol at him, "or I will blow out your brains at once."

Still Walter stared at him stupidly, and made no reply, except to mutter, "Water."

"It's no use," one of the other men said. "He hasn't got his right senses yet. It's no use shooting him now, after we have had the trouble of bringing him here. In the morning, he will be able to answer you."

"He had better," the other said savagely, "or we will light a fire and roast him over it. There, take him back to the stable, and give him a drink of water. I don't want him to slip through our fingers, after the trouble we have had with him."

Walter was taken back, as before, to the stable, and one of the men brought him a mug of water, and held it to his lips. He drank eagerly, and then the man placed the mug down beside him, the door was again closed and locked, and Walter was alone. He rose at once to his feet, and felt that his sleep had greatly refreshed and strengthened him.

"I will have another sleep, before I try," he said to himself. "It will not be light till six, and it must be eight or nine o'clock now. I must make up my mind, before I doze off, to wake in about three or four hours; but first, I must see what I can find, here."

He felt round the walls, but failed to find anything like a rope.

"I must trust to luck," he said; "I don't suppose they will post many sentries. These fellows are not real soldiers, and no doubt they will all be sound asleep in a couple of hours."

So saying, he again lay down, and was speedily asleep. When he woke, he felt sure that he had not exceeded the time he had given himself. He listened intently. He could hear a low, confused sound, which he knew was made by horses feeding, but he could hear no human voices. He drank the rest of the water in the mug, then he turned up the bucket, placed it under the opening, and mounted on it.

His first spring failed to reach the sill, and he stood for a few minutes, before making another attempt. He knew that it was a matter of life or death, for he had no doubt whatever that, even if he gave the required information, which he was determined not to do, however much he might suffer, he would be shot afterwards. He braced himself to the utmost, took a long breath, and then sprang. His fingers caught on the ledge of stonework, and, with a desperate effort, he drew himself up, aided by his feet. He had, before making the attempt, removed his boots, partly to avoid the scraping noise which these would make, partly to enable him the better to avail himself of the inequalities in the stonework.

It was a desperate struggle; and when he got his shoulders in the opening, which was just wide enough to admit them, he lay for three or four minutes, panting heavily, with the perspiration streaming down his face. The aperture was too small to admit of his turning in any way, and there was nothing for it, as he knew, but to drop head foremost.

Gradually, he drew himself through the opening, lowering himself as much as he could by holding on to the upper edge by his feet. Then, stretching out his arms to save himself, he let go. Fortunately, the ground was soft, for a garden adjoined the stable; but the shock was a heavy one, and he lay for a minute or two without moving, having some doubt whether he had not broken his neck. Then he got up, and listened.

Everything was still and quiet, and, indeed, his fall had been almost noiseless. He rose to his feet, felt along the wall until he encountered a low paling, climbed over it, and was in the road.

He had, when he jumped for the window, tied his boots to his back, and now carried them in his hand. The night was very dark; but his eyes, accustomed to the greater darkness of the stable, had no difficulty in following the road. He walked slowly, for the exertion he had undergone and the shock of the fall had drawn greatly from his small stock of strength.

After going a quarter of a mile, he put on his boots, and, climbing a wall of sods which bordered the road, struck across country. There were no stars to guide him, and a slight mist had begun to fall. There was but little wind, but this was sufficient to give a direction to the rain. Walter noticed this, and at once struck out in a direction which kept the rain falling upon the right side of his face; and he knew that, by so continuing, he was going in a tolerably straight line. As near as he could tell he walked for two hours, and then, utterly exhausted, lay down on the lee side of a turf wall.

There was, as yet, no gleam of light in the sky, and in a very few minutes he was again sound asleep. He woke up with a feeling of bitter cold, and, on rising, found that his limbs were completely stiffened by the wet. It was morning now, the wind had got up, and a driving rain shut out the view on all sides. Walter stamped his feet and swung his arms for some time to restore the circulation.

He had no idea in which direction he had been travelling, for he did not know whether the road from which he had started ran north, south, east, or west. He noticed that the wind had changed; for, whereas he had lain down under the lee of the wall, it was now the weather side. He walked in the same direction as before for two hours, and could then go no farther. He had seen no signs of human habitation, and had not crossed a road or even a footpath. Since starting in the morning he had passed no more walls or fences, and, as far as his eye could reach through the driving rain, nothing was to be seen save a desolate expanse of moor and bog. He was, at any rate, free from pursuit for the time, and he thought more of obtaining food and shelter than of the Enniskilleners.

It was useless pushing further on, even had he been able to do so, while the rain lasted; for he might have passed within a quarter of a mile of a habitation without seeing it. He accordingly threw himself down beside some low bushes, which afforded him some slight protection from the rain.

Chapter 7: The Coming Battle

Some hours passed, and he was on the point of dropping off to sleep again, when he heard a whistle repeated once or twice, followed by the sharp bark of a dog. It was but a short distance away, and, leaping to his feet, he saw a peasant standing at a distance of two or three hundred yards.

Walter hurried towards him at a speed of which, a few minutes before, he would have thought himself incapable. The man continued whistling, at short intervals, and did not notice Walter till he was within twenty yards distant; then he turned sharply round.

"Who are you?" he asked, clubbing a heavy stick which he held in his hand, and standing on the defensive.

The dress and appearance of the man assured Walter that he was a Catholic, and therefore a friend, and he replied at once:

"I belong to one of the Irish troops of horse. The Enniskilleners surprised a party of us, yesterday, and wounded me, as you see. Fortunately, I escaped in the night, or they would have finished me this morning. I have been out all night in the rain, and am weak from loss of blood and hunger. Can you give me shelter?"

"That I can," the man said, "and gladly. Those villains have been killing and destroying all over the country, and there's many a one of us who, like myself, have been driven to take refuge in the bogs."

"Is it far?" Walter asked; "for I don't think I could get more than a mile or two."

"It is not half a mile," the man said. "You do look nearly done for. Here, lean on me, I will help you along; and if you find your strength go, I will make a shift to carry you."

"It is lucky I heard you whistle," Walter said.

"It is, indeed," the man replied, "for it is not likely anyone else would have come along today. My dog went off after a rabbit, and I was whistling to him to come to me again.

"Ah! Here he is. He has got the rabbit, too. Good dog! Well done!"

He took the rabbit and dropped it into the pocket of his coat. Seeing that Walter was too exhausted to talk, he asked no questions, and said nothing till he pointed to a low mound of earth, and said: "Here we are."

He went round by the side; and Walter perceived that there was a sharp dip in the ground, and that the hut was dug out in the face of the slope; so that, if it were approached either from behind or on either side, it would not be noticed, the roof being covered with sods, and closely matching the surrounding ground.

The man went to the low door, and opened it.

"Come in, sir," he said; "you are quite welcome."

The hut contained two other men, who looked up in surprise at the greeting.

"This is a young officer, in one of our horse regiments," the man said. "He has been in the hands of the Enniskilleners, and has got out from them alive–which is more than most can say. He has had a bad wound, has been wet through for hours, and is half starving. Look sharp, lads, and get something hot, as soon as possible.

"Now, sir, if you will take off those wet things of yours, and wrap yourself in that rug, you will find yourself the better for it. When a man is in health, a few hours wet will not do him any harm; but when he is weak from loss of blood, as you are, the cold seems to get into his bones."

Fresh turfs were at once put on the smouldering fire, which one of the men, leaning down before it, proceeded to blow lustily; and, although much of the smoke made its way out through a hole in the roof, enough lingered to render it difficult for Walter to breathe, while his eyes watered with the sharp fumes. A kettle had been placed on the fire, and in a very short time, a jar was produced from the corner of the hut, and a horn of strong spirits and water mixed.

"Here are some cold praties, sir. It's all we have got cooked by us now, but I can promise you a better meal, later on."

Walter ate the potatoes, and drank the warm mixture. The change from the cold damp air outside, to the warm atmosphere of the hut, aided the effects of the spirits; he was first conscious of a warm glow all over him, and then the voices of the men seemed to grow indistinct.

"You had better stretch yourself on that pile of rushes," the man said, as Walter gave a start, being on the point of rolling over. "Two or three hours' sleep will make a man of you, and by that time dinner will be ready, and your clothes dry."

Walter fell almost instantaneously off to sleep, and it was late in the afternoon before he woke.

"I am afraid I must have slept a long time," he said, sitting up.

"You have had a fine sleep, surely," one of the men replied; "and it's dinner and supper, all in one, that you will have."

Walter found his uniform and underclothes neatly folded up by his side, and speedily dressed himself.

"That sleep has done me a world of good," he said. "I feel quite myself again."

"That's right, yer honour. When you've had your food, I will make a shift to dress that wound at the back of yer head. Be jabbers, it's a hard knock you have had, and a mighty lot of blood you must have lost! Yer clothes was just stiff with it; but I washed most of it out.

"And now, lads, off with the pot!"

A large pot was hanging over the fire, and, when the lid was taken off, a smell very pleasant to Walter's nostrils arose. Four flat pieces of wood served the purpose of plates, and, with a large spoon of the same material, the man who had brought Walter to the hut, and who appeared to be the leader of the party, ladled out portions of the contents. These consisted of rabbit and pieces of beef, boiled up with potatoes and onions. A large jug filled with water, and a bottle of spirits were placed in the centre, with the horn which Walter had before used beside it.

"We are short of crockery," the man said with a laugh. "Here are some knives, but as for forks, we just have to do without them."

Walter enjoyed his meal immensely. After it was finished, the wooden platters were removed, and the jug replenished.

"Now, your honour, will you tell us how you got away from the Protestant rebels, and how was it they didn't make short work of you, when they caught you? It's a puzzle to us entirely, for the Enniskilleners spare neither man, woman, nor child."

Walter related the whole circumstances of his capture, imprisonment, and escape.

"You fooled them nicely," the man said, admiringly. "Sure your honour's the one to get out of a scrape–and you little more than a boy."

"And what are you doing here?" Walter asked, in return. "This seems a wild place to live in."

"It's just that," the man said. "We belonged to Kilbally. The Enniskilleners came that way, and burned it to the ground. They murdered my wife and many another one. I was away cutting peat with my wife's brother here. When we came back, everything was gone. A few had escaped to the bogs, where they could not be followed; the rest was, every mother's son of them, killed by those murdering villains. Your honour may guess what we felt, when we got back. Thank God I had no children! We buried the wife in the garden behind the house, and then started away and joined a band of rapparees, and paid some of them back in their own coin. Then, one day, the Enniskilleners fell on us, and most of us were killed. Then we made our way back to the old village, and came up here and built us this hut. It's a wonder to us how you got here; for there are bogs stretching away in all directions, and how you made your way through them bates us entirely."

"Yours is a sad story, but unfortunately a common one. And how have you managed to live here?"

"There are plenty of potatoes, for the digging of 'em," the man said, "for there are a score of ruined villages within a day's walk. As for meat, there are cattle for the taking, wandering all over the country; some have lately strayed away; but among the hills there are herds which have run wild since the days when Cromwell made the country a desert. As for spirits, I brew them myself. Barley as well as potatoes may be had for the taking. Then, sometimes, the dog picks up a rabbit. Sometimes, when we go down for potatoes, we light on a fowl or two; there's many a one of them running wild among the ruins. As far as eating and drinking goes, we never did better; and if I could forget the old cottage, and the sight that met my eyes when I went back to it, I should do well enough, but, night and day I am dreaming of it, and my heart is sore with longing for vengeance."

"Why don't you join the army?" Walter asked. "There's plenty of room for good men, and yesterday's affair has made some vacancies in my own troop.

"What do you say, lads? You would have a chance of crossing swords with the Enniskilleners, and you could always come back here when the war is over."

"What do you say, boys?" the man asked his companions. "I am just wearying for a fight, and I could die contented, if I could but send a few of those murdering villains to their place, before I go."

The other two men at once agreed. They talked well into the night, and Walter heard many tales of the savage butchery of unoffending peasants, by the men who professed to be fighting for religious liberty, which shocked and sickened him.

It was arranged that they should start on the following morning. The men said that they could guide him across country to Dundalk without difficulty, and assured him that he would be little likely to meet with the enemy, for that the whole country had been so wasted, by fire and sword, as to offer but little temptation even to the most insatiable of plunderers.

Accordingly, the next morning they set out, and arrived late that evening at the camp. Walter found that his father and his followers were absent. They had returned, much surprised at not having been rejoined by Walter's party, but on their arrival they had found there the survivors of his command, who had ridden straight for Dundalk.

After a few hours' stay, to rest the horses, Captain Davenant, with his own men and two of the troops of cavalry, had ridden out in search of the Enniskilleners. Larry, who had been almost wild with grief when the news of the surprise, and, as he believed, the death of Walter, had been brought in, had accompanied the cavalry.