Deeply impressed with this conviction, the defence of Athlone had been tenacious, and desperate even to recklessness.[63] Other considerations, too, tended to heighten the importance of this siege. It was the opening event of the campaign; it was carried on under the eye of their new general, of whom fame had spoken so loudly, and above all, it was hoped that a successful result would remove all misgivings from the mind of the French monarch as to the wisdom of his advocacy, and prompt him to immediate and more effective intervention. But the fall of Athlone at once dashed all these bright anticipations. The mind of Louis, continually warped by the misrepresentations of de Lausen and Louvois, had from the beginning wavered on the sustenance of the war; the ill success of his generals had been hitherto attributed to the intractability of the native race; deceived by the subterfuge, he adopted the accusation, and would, it might now be inferred, refuse any further support to a cause whose fate was already foreshadowed. Nor could it be doubted that the error of St. Ruth, though too palpable for evasion, would have its palliation, while the brave men whom his pride and arrogance had cheated out of assured victory, would again be the victims of covert calumny. It is no wonder, then, that the Irish soldiers felt the loss of Athlone with a grief bordering on despair, and the Irish officers with a rage strongly savoring of mutiny. To those it seemed as though they were to be perpetually the dupes of every adventurer in search of a reputation, and to these, that their dearest liberties weighed as nothing, and that their country was but as a diversion from the military chess-board of Europe, and they deemed the neglect of St. Ruth a crime scarce less detestable than covert treason. To all it was an overwhelming calamity, opening at once to the tread of the invader the province which they had so long and so gallantly defended, and which until this day they could proudly claim as their country.