My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 1 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union — John Shaqi
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 1 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 1 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
'From every corner of the woods did the people come, creeping on their
hands, for their legs would not bear them. They looked like anatomies
of death; they spake like ghosts; they did eat carrion, happy when
they could find them, yea, and one another; in so much that the very
carcases they spared not to scrape out of their graves.'
Indeed, Queen Bess left her dependency a reeking slaughter-house, in
so abject a misery, that when her successor cleared a whole province
to plant it with Scotchmen, the natives made no resistance, but
plodded listlessly away. Is it surprising that their descendants
should have hated England, and its truckling Anglo-Irish Senate?
In due course followed Charles I., who, with the ingrained perfidy of
all the Stuarts, fleeced his Irish subjects, and then cheated them by
evading the graces for which they paid their gold. His creature
Strafford went too far, and they turned as worms will. There was a
grand Protestant massacre in Ulster, an appalling picture of a
vengeance such as a brutalised people will wreak on its oppressor; and
Cromwell took advantage of this as an excuse for still further
grinding down the Catholics. It was a fine opportunity to avenge the
sufferings of Protestants in other lands--the affair of Nantes,
Bartholomew, and so forth. He made a finished job of it, as he did of
most things to which he set his shoulder. It was no felony now to slay
an Irishman, whose very name was a reproach. He was well-nigh swept
from off the earth. Famine and pestilence reigned together alone.
Wolves roamed at will in the dismantled towns. Newly-appointed
colonists refused to build the walls of shattered cities, for the
stench of the rotting bodies poisoned the breeze.
It remained for Orange William and good Queen Anne (neither of whom
could be expected to feel interest in Ireland) to add a finishing
touch, and the Penal Code was a _chef d'[oe]uvre_. Under its sweet
influence no Catholic could dwell in Ireland save under such
conditions as no man who stood erect might bear, and so there
commenced an exodus of independent spirits, who flocked into the
service of France and Germany, and filled the navies of Holland and of
Spain. Thus did British rulers educate their dependency to loving
obedience, by teaching its children to revile the name of law. Verily
it is no wonder that they loathed the English; that they distrusted
British amenities, and looked askance at the half-English upper class.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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