(J. P.) A Prince of Tyrone

Front matter

A PEINCE OF TYRONE " Our life is like a narrow raft, Afloat upon the hungry sea. Hereon is but a little space, And each man, eager for a place, Doth thrust his brother in the sea. And so our life is wan with fears, And so the sea is salt with tears ; Ah, well is thee thou art asleep." — Old Manuscript. A PRINCE OF TYEONE BY CHAELOTTE FENNELL AND A J. P. O'CALLAGHAN WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCXCVII All Rights reserved Selncateti TO THEODORE FENNELL, HUSBAND AND FRIEND, i;y THE AUTHORS.

Chapter I

The moon shone over the lonely hill. Though the forests of pine clothing its sides were lost in shadow, the ragged thorn -trees and huge boulders scattered about the summit seemed to be literally bathed in silvery light. From the valley below came the sparkle of a river, and farther on, amidst the misty undulations of meadow and moorland, the broader gleam of light from a large lake. Among the scattered boulders on the hill-top, one long low stone deeply engraven with ogham characters was plainly distinguishable, and beside it stood a creature not unknown in the forests and highlands of Ireland in the sixteenth century — a great grey wolf. The wolf on the hill-top was busily devouring a A T\ lamb he had stolen from the valley. When half way through his meal he paused — placed his forepaws on the flat stone, and throwing back his head, sent forth a long howl into the quiet night.

There was a rustling in the grasses at his feet, — an agitated chorus of insects, — a fluttering in the bushes, followed by wild flights of newly awakened birds, but no other answer. Twice — thrice — came the melancholy challenge. He was calling to his mate, inviting her to come and share the unusual meal he had secured, not knowing that the summons came too late — that famine had done its work — that she lay dead in her lair, her two cubs whining and shivering over her rigid body. At length from the distance there sounded a faint cry, repeated once or twice, drawing nearer and nearer, till the form of another wolf was visibly bounding up the last steep bit of wood, that came to an end close to the mountain's crest. The watcher by the stone knew that this was no mate of his ; he stood motionless, with bristling hide, awaiting the intruder's approach.

For a moment the creatures stood and glared at one another, the pangs of hunger being added to natural ferocity in the burning eyes of the new comer. Suddenly he made a dart at the half-eaten carcass : it was the signal for battle. With savage growls and snarls, they sprang and met in conflict, the foam churning from their jaws as they wrestled and bit. Soon their shaggy hides were gashed and torn ; each stroke of the monstrous paws, each snap of the glittering teeth, inflicted a desperate wound : it was a fight unto death. Each bird and beast and insect fled far away in terror, as they rolled over one another on the flat topped stone, their life-blood staining its surface. At length the intruding wolf uttered a last frantic howl and sank — his limbs stiffening in death — his blood welling out over the moss and wild -flowers, and short soft grass.

His antagonist too had dropped on to his haunches, his head hung low, his eyes were blinded by blood. He tried to rise once more, fighting the air with his forepaws ; then he too rolled over and lay motionless. And overhead the moon sailed serenely in the tranquil sky, her light lying in masses of pure silver over the blood-stained stone, and over the mangled bodies of the combatants. It was noonday — a brilliant sunny noon in early summer. Waves of light and shadow chased each other rapidly over the widespread landscape of moor, and meadow, and distant hill. Sunshine glinted from the bosom of the lake, sparkled in the ripples of the river, steeped the hill-top in glory. Through the brightness and warmth a brilliant throng came pressing up the mountain paths, and arriving at the summit, massed in a circle round the stone, across which lay the broad stain of blood.

A 1'liINCE OF TYRONE. This was a proud day for the great house of O'Neill. After many changes of fortune, and much resistance, Shane O'Neill, deservedly called " the proud," was to be acknowledged Prince of Tyrone by all the other chiefs of the North and West. The innermost ring of the circle was formed by the chieftains themselves — some old, with long white beards mingling with locks as white — others in the prime of manhood — and all clad in the historic garb of their country. Tight-fitting hose and square-toed shoes, a burnished coat of chain -mail, showing in gleams the brilliant colour of the tunic worn beneath it, a long yellow cloak fastened at the throat with a jewelled clasp, and a flat velvet cap, completed a costume as picturesque as it was characteristic. Close behind the chiefs stood the gallovj-glasse or warriors, belonging to the different tribes — fierce looking men whose armour and weapons gleamed like silver.

Lastly came the kernes, a motley, noisy crew, among whom were many fine boys, destined to become men of note in the future wars of their country. The gay company was kept in continual good -humour by the scraps of song that rippled from the lips of the professional bards ; and tbe clamour was often drowned in the floods of music that flowed from their harp-strings. But the cynosure of all eyes was the central figure, the Great O'Neill himself. With cap and cloak discarded, his magnificent form displayed to the fullest advantage in a tight-fitting coat of mail, he stood with one foot upon the stone, as his forefathers had stood before him, and from the oldest bard pre sent took the oath to be ever true to Tyrone : to protect his subjects as well as rule them, and to make war on all who dared to trample on their liberties.

Upon this the chiefs advanced in turn, and sinking on one knee, kissed the hilt of the Prince's sword, acknowledged him their lord, and swore allegiance. The bugles now sounded. From the pipes and harps burst strains of the most joyous exultation, while the triumphant cries and shouts of the assembled multitude rent the air. " Do you see that carrion ? " said one of O'Neill's personal attendants to his neighbour, pointing as he spoke at the bodies of the dead wolves. He was a pale - faced man with a tangled mass of thick straight red hair, and with light-coloured glittering eyes, curiously shifty in expression. "A dead wolf or two is no uncommon sight to we men of Tyrone, 'tis true, but methinks there is ill omen in it on such an occasion ; and did you not see that my lord's foot was planted in a pool of scarce-dried blood, as he placed it on the stone ?

" " Silence, croaking raven ! " cried the young man addressed, flushing angrily. " Speak not of ill omens on such a day. Why, the very heavens themselves are smiling on the investiture of the O'Neill." " Nay, do not look so sternly on me, Master Kevin. It was dread, not malice, prompted my boding words. Forget they were said." " Willingly would I forget them ; but such words have an ugly trick of hiding in dark recesses of the memory, and darting forth uninvited in sad and solitary moments. Such words, Nele Gray, savour of spleen in the heart of the speaker. But see ! the ceremony is over; I must attend on my lord." And the young man strode hastily after the Prince, who was now mounting his beautiful black war-horse. At a foot-pace, and still with uncovered head, O'Neill passed through the crowd, responding grace fully to the cries and salutations that met him on every side.

The procession of chiefs and nobles formed in order, followed by the gallow-glasse, and lastly by the kernes; the harpers struck up a stirring martial strain, and from the throats of hundreds rose the song of triumph as the gay company melted away down-hill : — God uphold the Bloody Hand ! l Ever foremost may it stand, In the battle fierce and gory, In the raid, and in the foray. From the hill and from the valley, Round the "Bloody Hand" we'll rally, When we make a valiant stand, 'Gainst the invading Saxon hand. Arm of iron — heart of gold ! Both are thine, O'Neill the bold. 1 The arms of the O'Neills of Tyrone and their war-cry. Darling of thy people — thou ! Lead us on to vict'ry now. Shane the proud, we bend the knee, Chieftain — king — to welcome thee ; Lead us — rule us — we are thine, Thou art ours by right divine ! Nele Gray tarried behind awhile like one whose heart was not in tune with joy and music.

Chapter II

More than two years had passed since the summer day that had witnessed the election of Shane O'Neill as Prince of Tyrone and first Chief of Ulster, — two eventful years of varied fortune and much bloodshed ; the English Government, either from a real or inten tional misapprehension of the justice of his claims, obstinately disputing his right to the title and lands of his father, he, with equal obstinacy, holding his own at the point of the sword, and thus incurring the further accusation of rebellion. He was one of the few legitimate sons of his father, Con O'Neill, — that Con of equivocal memory, created Earl of Tyrone by a king who, from similitude of characteristics, doubtless felt considerable sympathy with him — Henry the Eighth of England. Con, with the carelessness and easy credulity his by nature, had accepted as son a handsome stripling presented to him by the equally handsome widow of a blacksmith (a woman with whom he had been acquainted in his youth), and was easily beguiled by her into making the boy his heir — under the title of Baron Dun gannon — to the exclusion of Shane.

Naturally enough Shane rebelled at this. One day Baron Dungannon was found in a ditch with his throat cut. Shane was accused of being accessary to the murder, if not the actual murderer, and on his father's death the Government refused to sanction his succession either to title or lands. The other chiefs of the North espoused different sides, and the warfare became general, till at length O'Neill by sheer force of arms conquered most of his Irish opponents, and was acknowledged by them as Superior Chief. And now there was a truce to warfare even with the Government. Negotiations had become more temperate, the "great Eliza" herself had condescended to communicate personally with the rebel, and had written him letters with her own hand, in reply to the characteristic epistles by which he strove to convince her that he was no usurper, but his father's rightful heir, and that the so-called Baron Dungannon was no more than the son of Smith Kelly, whose sorrowful relict aspired to aristocratic associations, when there were no longer any convenient means of refuting her statements.

It was significant that his letters always ended with expressions of loyalty to his queen, and fervent delight at being allowed personal communication with her. On one of the last days in November, during the lull in the storm of warfare, a young man stood at the arched doorway of the great banqueting-hall at Dungannon Castle watching the busy scene in the court before him. There was no architectural beauty about this stronghold of the O'Neills ; strength alone seemed to have been the object aimed at in its construction. It was built in a square, with massive towers at the corners, uniting at these four points the outside walls with an inner square of buildings, the dining-hall occupying nearly the whole of one of the sides of the quadrangle. The outer walls were in turn surrounded by a broad moat, and just now the drawbridge was being lowered with a great clanking of chains and much shouting.

Grooms were passing to and fro about the court, ready with laugh and jest, as they gave a final polish to bits and stirrup-irons ; the tuning of harps and pipes sounded fitfully, varied by the neighing of horses and the jingling of their harness, while now and then the voice of some great hound boomed forth a mighty bass note, and the hum of voices in eager talk and much laughter sounded from the banquet-hall. The O'Neill was entertaining a hunting-party at breakfast this morning, and preparations for the sport were in progress amongst his retainers. The young man who watched the proceedings from the doorway was a person of some importance, not only at the castle but in the whole province of Tyrone, being foster-brother, general manager, and chief secretary to the prince. In person, Kevin Adair was of slender build, though well-knit and active.

He had a thin, dark - complexioned face, with clear-cut features, and watchful grey eyes set deeply. He wore his brown hair cut over the forehead, and falling on to his shoulders, according to Irish fashion, and his dark-green tunic and hose were of the best style and make. There was a decided air of culture and refinement in his bearing. " Good morrow, Master Kevin. The morning meal does not occupy you overmuch, it would seem," cried a voice from behind him, accompanied by the touch of a hand on his shoulder. Turning his head, Kevin found the speaker to be the young Earl of Kildare, a cousin and good friend of O'Neill's, and a youth re markable for his courtier-like manners and fashion able attire. " Ah, Kildare ! Welcome ! The same remark applies to you, no doubt, since you have left your fellow-guests still busy with cup and platter."

" I see," said Kildare, with a smile and nod towards some dogs straining on the leash in a distant corner, " that it is the hare we are to hunt to-day. I fancied my good cousin disdained so tame a sport." " Wolf and boar hunting and chasing the deer are certainly more to his taste," answered Adair. "But this coursing is held in great favour by many, and it is in season, and you know the O'Neill is the very soul of hospitality, and always wishful to meet the popular fancy." But here the host, with the rest of his guests, came trooping up the dark vaulted hall, and at a word from him Kevin went forward into the court to give sundry orders to the grooms and huntsmen, in obedience to which the horses were led up and mounted by the various guests, and the hunting-party streamed forth under the archway and over the drawbridge, into the wild moorland country that surrounded Dungannon Castle.

Kildare rode beside his host for some little distance. " And have you heard aught from the Lord Deputy yet concerning the arrangements for your journey ? " he asked rather anxiously. " No," was the reply. " Our messengers have not yet returned from Dublin, though it is high time they were with us again." " You must not count time too closely, good cousin, in playing with Dublin Castle. They favour a waiting game there." " Waiting game ! sure and they do. Still this idea of my visit to the English Court is no new one, Kildare." " True, but a good statesman guards against all possible surprises ; and Sussex is far too cautious an one not to consider every move, however far ahead." O'Neill shook his reins impatiently, causing his horse to swerve and rear, as he exclaimed — " By that speech you imply that the Deputy's attitude towards me is still full of suspicion and insincerity ?

" " I think," answered his companion guardedly, " that the Lord Deputy cannot quite make up his mind to relinquish extreme caution in his dealings with you." " Exactly ! but I put the matter plainly, and declare him to be suspicious and insincere. But by the bloody hand of O'Neill, deep as his suspicions of me may be, mine of him lie deeper." As he spoke, the Chief's brow contracted into a heavy frown, he dug his teeth savagely into his lower lip and stared fixedly before him. Kildare was silent. Though young, he was a thorough man of the world, had travelled much, and was familiar with most of the Courts of Europe. He was well versed too in the particular policy of the times — a policy in which that admirable proverb, " Fais ce que dois advienne que pourra," played no part. It was O'Neill who at length broke the silence by asking abruptly — " Kildare, you know the English Court and the Queen herself.

Tell me, do you think this visit would be to my advantage ? " " I believe," was the reply, given with the air of one carefully considering his words — " I believe that you have everything to gain and nothing to lose from an interview with Elizabeth." " But she must be most damnably prejudiced against me by this time." " Doubtless ; because, in spite of your letters, she is hardly likely to be in possession of all the facts of your case. Still, she is evidently willing to give you a fair hearing ; the result of the interview will depend much on the way you play your game. Through it all you must bear in mind that you have a clever woman to deal with — an amazingly clever woman — dexterous in subterfuge, supple as an eel in wriggling out of any situation she may imagine would end to her dis advantage.

Still, with all her faults, Elizabeth of England can see far, and judge broadly, — while, like bluff Harry's own daughter, she delights in a man of daring and of insinuating address. I, and others who know you, my lord, have little fear for your success in the lists of diplomacy." "Well," cried O'Neill with an impatient sigh. " Successful or not, I am pledged to this visit, I suppose. Of course there is that little mishap to — to — the blacksmith's son I shall have to explain, and " " There are many things you will have to explain. What you so lightly term ' the little mishap to the blacksmith's son ' is perhaps the most serious ; but so long as you render unconditional submission to the Queen herself, she will not, I fancy, question too closely the means by which you sought and won power."

" You speak with confidence, good cousin. But how serious we have grown ! We must push ahead too ; our fellow-sportsmen have left us in the rear." They were riding across wild lonely moorlands, and as they joined their companions, a ferret-eyed old re tainer came up to O'Neill, and pointed to a tract of lichen-covered rock and stunted bushes as a probable shelter for mountain hares. Beaters were soon yelling in a fashion calculated to terrify a much less timid creature than poor puss, and a moment later a large grey-coated mountain hare sped away across the open moor. The dogs were put on and slipped. Excitement ran high, and shouts of encouragement followed the hounds. The mountain breeding of the hare was made evident, however, by the dexterity and ease with which she kept her distance, moving with the quick deer-like motion peculiar to these highland animals.

Suddenly a loud oath escaped the lips of O'Neill. The dogs had followed the hare into a small coppice of thorn-trees. The hare had come out on the other side — the dogs had not. They certainly did appear in a few moments, but they had lost sight and scent of their quarry, and after some aimless running to and fro, they relinquished the pursuit, and returned to the huntsmen with heaving sides and guilty faces. Puzzled and annoyed at this unexpected check, O'Neill dashed into the coppice followed by his companions : in a trice the mystery was solved, and laughter loud and prolonged burst from all present. In the centre of the group of stunted trees and bushes was one of those holy rag -wells held sacred in the country, and in it was sitting a wretched old hag. She was one of the professional keeners of the district, and her wrinkled face was convulsed with rage, at finding that her frantic struggles to escape from the element in nature she loved least were una vailing, owing to the height of the surrounding stones.

O'Neill, who hated to see a woman in trouble, instantly ordered one of his followers to release her from her uncomfortable position ; but when she was seated in safety on a large boulder, he proceeded to question her sternly as to what evil influence she had exercised over his dogs. A witch was perhaps the one thing on earth the iron-hearted O'Neill regarded with anything like fear: he had a deep-rooted hereditary faith in the spells and prophecies of these beldames. The present specimen of witch — Biddy Keogh by name — was well known in that part of Tyrone : she roamed about from hamlet to hamlet, fortune-telling, selling love - philtres and other nefarious wares, and often extorting alms by the abject fear she inspired in the hearts of the superstitious. She was remarkable for her repulsive ugliness, and for her extensive vocabulary in the matter of curses.

Her first proceeding, therefore, when finding herself on terra firma, was to pour forth a choice and varied selection of impreca tions, with a fluency that struck her hearers breathless. After having thus relieved the violence of her feelings, she condescended to make an explanation, and it trans pired that she had fastened her gaudy rags on the magic bush, had walked round the well against the sun three times, and was on her knees invoking the aid of the patron saint, when the dogs ran into her from behind, bringing themselves to a sudden stop and her to a closer acquaintanceship with water than she had known for many a long day. Nor did the matter end here, for presumption, born of knowledge of the fear in which her class was held, made the old hag bold to utter, and very bitter in her utterance.

Fixing her piercing black eyes on O'Neill, she launched forth into a perfect torrent of abuse of him and his house. She cursed him with a knowledge of human anatomy that was startling, accused him of murdering his brother, the rightful Prince of Tyrone, shrieked out how she had sung the praises of the corpses he had left behind him in his many forays, and how their blood flowed anew as their glazed eyes mutely ap pealed to her for vengeance, and finally declared that his life was not worth a Saxon curse, that he would die a violent and dishonourable death, and that neither Irish, Scotch, or English woman would ever wed him. Even after this she would have continued her im precations had not one of the huntsmen placed a dagger at her breast, vowing if she did not desist he would take effectual means for silencing her frog's croak.

All now turned their horses and moved on out of the coppice ; but the spirits of the party were for the moment dashed by the witch's vindictive curses of their chief, while the chief himself, though he tried to carry off the affair with indifference, was evidently perturbed in mind. As the beaters again began their work she was heard chanting — E A woman he keeps in dark disgrace, No mercy nor honour has he ; Hut the day shall dawn when his fair false face Will lie dead, and in infamy. As the men rode on in groups, talk and laughter again became general. Some were loud in their denial of all belief in witchcraft ; others remembered tales of gruesome import, and gave many instances of the ruin worked by witches' spells. Lord Kildare had much to say about the prevalence of belief in necromancy at the English Court, instancing the handsome Lord Eobert Dudley as having great faith in these uncanny ways and means.

Then another hare was found, and the attention of all was turned once more to sport. The promise of the morning was fulfilled, and the sportsmen turned homeward toward nightfall with the consciousness of having had a good day's hunting. Arrived at the castle, O'Neill found that the mes sengers he had sent to the Lord Deputy had returned from Dublin, so he and his secretary at once retired to his private room to read their despatches. " Ah, Kevin, here are enclosures both from Sussex and the Queen herself," said the Chief. "And, by the bones of my father ! a fair and gracious letter she sends me, inviting me to visit her at her Court and speak with her face to face of my affairs, promising me a patient hearing and a just decision." "It implies fair and honourable dealing certainly, my lord; still, we cannot be too cautious," replied the less impulsive Adair.

" Shall I call Gray before you, that we may hear what his quick eye and quicker ear have seen and heard in the Pale ? " At his summons the pale sinister - looking man we last saw on the occasion of O'Neill's investiture entered the room and bowed obsequiously before them. " Give my lord some account of your journey, Gray, and what you saw in Dublin," said Adair, glancing at him sharply. " I saw many things that pleased me," was the reply — and the pale eyes of the speaker turned hither and thither, never meeting those of the man he ad dressed. " These men in the Pale know how to live. Most of them were soldiers out of work, plenty to eat and drink, plenty of wives, nothing to do, and little to wear. Not such a bad life." " 1 would have a straight answer," cried O'Neill with a frown. " What saw you at the Castle ?

" " Nothing out of the common, my lord ; plenty of prisoners, a good deal of filth, and — my Lord Sussex. Wondrous kind he was to me, too, spoke most fair words, and had me shown the wonders of the town." " What ? " exclaimed his lord incredulously. " The Deputy held personal converse with you? If it is a lie, then you are a hardy knave indeed, and merit a sounder thrashing than your back has yet known." " Indeed, my lord, I lie not. The noble Sussex spoke with me long and kindly, as though it pleased him to honour the servant of so might}' a Prince as the O'Neill." " Go ! " said O'Neill shortly. " Go, lest I am tempted to fasten that hideous smile on your lips for ever." "Kevin," he continued, as the man left the chamber, "I do not like this Nele Gray. Advancing years seem but to add bitterness to the gall he must have lapped with his mother's milk.

And yet his wits are keen as the sharpest sword ; he has often been of service to us. Ah, Kevin, on every side we look there are wheels within wheels revolving. Well, be it for weal or woe, I accept this invitation to the English Court. Three days hence, please God, we set out for Dublin. Come, let us to supper."

Chapter III

It was the day before the departure of O'Neill and his retinue for England. From au early hour all had been bustle and excitement. Wardrobes had been overhauled, clothing newly brushed, and in many cases fitted on by the owners — for peace has a startling tendency to increase the bodily dimensions of the fighting man. O'Neill himself gave personal attention to the proper equipment of man and horse, pushing on the prepara tions with characteristic vigour, — for when once bent on an undertaking he could ill brook delay in its accomplishment. Towards evening, however, the ex citement subsided, and comparative peace reigned throughout the castle. " Kevin," said O'Neill, striding into his private study, where Adair sat writing a letter to the Lord Deputy announcing their speedy arrival in Dublin, " I will leave you to see O'Donnelly," — alluding to his sene schal.

" Bid him ride on to Dublin with all speed, deliver the letter to Lord Sussex, and make what arrangements he can for the comfort of our men during the short space we shall tarry there ere we embark for England. He will reach Dublin Castle in time to announce our arrival, but not too long before we arrive ; " adding, with rather a grim smile, " It would be a pity to tempt the Lord Deputy to hatch fresh plots against us by giving him too much time, and — like most Irishmen — O'Donnelly is accustomed to travel by night." With these words he left the little room, and travers ing the great hall beyond it, he gained the open court. It was silent and deserted save for a sentry, who paced to and fro before the gateway, his footfalls sounding regularly on the hard ground. Lights twinkled in many of the narrow windows about the quadrangle ; O'Neill raised his eyes to one in an op posite tower, and crossed the court with hasty steps.