Nor was this all. For while the Irish were kept at a distance in a state of starvation the English soldiers were digging pay and provision out of the desolation, where once the wretched partisans of O'Neill had had their homes. And so by a happy combination of the patient industry of the ploughman and the daring activity of the mosstrooper Monk made the war support itself, a thing as strange as it was palatable to the authorities at home; and while he thus delighted his masters he no less attached his troops to him by his judicious distribution of loot, as well as by keeping an open house to which every officer had at all times a hearty welcome. His maxim was to "mingle love with the severity of his discipline," believing that "they that cannot be induced to serve for love will never be forced to serve for fear." But troubles were at hand. The province was no bed of roses, or if it were, the thorns grew faster than the flowers as the breath of party strife began to reach it in fitful gusts. Ever since Ormonde had left Dublin he had been busily engaged with the King's friends, who were taking advantage of the growing royalism of the Presbyterians to form a new combination against the Parliament. In Scotland and Munster lay their chief hopes of backing a rising in England, and so well did Ormonde play his part that in April, 1648, the Independent officers under Inchiquin found it necessary to make a desperate attempt to save the province by seizing Cork and Youghal. The plot failed, Inchiquin at once showed his hand for the King, and Munster was lost to the Parliament. This was followed at the end of the month by a declaration from Scotland in favour of Charles, and the mobilisation of the forces of the Northern Kingdom.