My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
Through this defile Walpole led his men towards Gorey, carolling his
stave, piping his little song, in close column, without flanking
parties or skirmishers. The infantry were well advanced. As the road
narrowed the progress of the column became slow and difficult.
Suddenly, from the enclosures, a wild yell burst forth, accompanied by
a rain of musketry. The carpet-knight fell on the first fire. The
confusion was tremendous; to fight or to retreat impossible. The
height and mazy number of the fences made the ground most favourable
for bandit warfare, as the long pikes of the insurgents reached
well-nigh across the narrow road, and those who escaped the first fire
were perforated from behind by invisible assailants. The surprise of
the troops was complete. Dragoons and infantry rolled in hopeless
confusion one on the other. They were butchered to a man. The
victorious rebels followed up their advantage, and hastened to occupy
Gorey, but alas! cajoled by whisky the men of Father Murphy were no
more tractable than the men of Father Roche. Vainly he set mattrasses
against the cellar-doors, in hopes that these would escape their
scrutiny. But the instinct of Pat would find out a cellar-door on the
pitchiest night. Regardless of the father's exhortations, Pat hurried
to put that in his mouth which should steal away his brains--aye, and
his hopes too--and remained in a frantic paroxysm of drunkenness for
five whole days and nights.
Now, had this triumphant detachment (twenty thousand strong it was)
marched straight on Arklow, then on Wicklow, both would certainly have
given way without an effort, and Father Murphy's ambition might have
been gratified of sleeping in my lord Camden's bed. But as the
elements fought for England, so did the unstable Irish nature combat
on the side of the Executive. There was a panic, of course, in Dublin.
The Senate tore up Dame Street to the Castle, begging, with tears,
that their valuable lives might not be placed in jeopardy. And the
Privy Council, perceiving that things might be going just a little too
far, graciously acceded to the humble petition of the faithful Lords
and Commons, and despatched reinforcements southwards.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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