CHAPTER XVI.

THE SIEGE OF ATHLONE.

Athlone—Ford of the Moon; so called, it is believed, from its connection with some ceremony of Druidic mythology—stands on both sides of the Shannon, in the counties of Westmeath and Roscommon; that part of it on the eastern or Leinster side, being designated Englishtown; and that on the western or Connaught side, Irishtown. Its position is as nearly central as the formation of the island will admit, and the country around it is rich in historic and traditional reminiscences. It was the scene of many a stirring event during the sway of the native kings and chieftains, nor has it lost in importance since the era of the English invasion; for ages it marked the greatest western limit of the "Pale," and it is still the strongest fortress and most extensive military depot in the kingdom. At the period under consideration, the two divisions of the town were of nearly equal extent, and a portion of each was encompassed by a wall of considerable strength, beyond which the suburbs extended for some distance into the country. The portion of the English town within the wall, was little more than half a mile in length, its greatest width being somewhat over a furlong, and the Irish town was similar in every respect, but extended a little farther towards the north and south on the river. In the middle of the eastern wall stood the Dublin Gate, facing the main street and market-place, and opposite to it a bridge of nine arches, connecting the two sections, being the only line of communication between them. The eastern end of this bridge abutted on the bank of the river, but at the western end there was a drawbridge of about thirty feet span, and beyond it, but a little northward, stood the castle, or chief citadel, built in the reign of King John; enlarged and strengthened in that of Elizabeth, who wished to make it the seat of her Lords-Justices; and the town was incorporated in the reign of James I. This castle commanded the whole extent of the bridge, in a slanting direction, and, with adequate artillery, could render it impregnable; but in the approaching siege, as in all others through this war, the native army was deficient in this arm of the service, and had for the defence of this castle, and two bastions that protected the fords on the river, but six pieces of light artillery and two mortars. The wall of the English town was in a dilapidated condition, and incapable of any protracted resistance. On the approach of General Douglas, about ten months before, its suburbs had been given to the flames by its governor, Colonel Grace, and the houses within the wall levelled and left in the same condition as when the siege had been abandoned. The Dublin Gate and its barriers were of great strength, but another which opened towards the north, had been breached by the artillery of Douglas, had undergone but slight repairs since that time, and was incapable of offering a day's resistance to the immense siege-train of de Ginckle. The present governor, Colonel Fitzgerald, in pursuance of the plan which had proved so successful in the former siege, had determined on the destruction of this section of the town, when, contrary to the general advice, St. Ruth resolved on holding both sections, and issued his command to that effect, as Ginckle was about to move from Mullingar; and for this important service, Fitzgerald had but 400 garrisoned troops, and a regiment of cavalry, which came to his aid on the same day that he received notice of the general's resolution. His position was therefore most critical and embarrassing.—To abandon the English town without a defence, would be contrary to the orders of his superior, and subject him to the gravest military punishment; to withdraw his cavalry from the protection of the river was inadmissible, as it would uncover the town on the north and south, in case they should be cut off by a flank movement of the enemy, and compel him to surrender without a blow. His only course was then to make the best defence at all points: to dispatch a part of his garrison to retard the enemy's advance, and gain time for the arrival of the main army, which was known to be approaching, and within a day's march of the town.

Fortunately, the country stretching towards the enemy was well adapted to defensive measures, being such that a small body of resolute men could throw great impediments in the way of an army like de Ginckle's, encumbered with baggage and artillery, and arrayed in all the panoply of war. An extensive sweep of marsh and bog lay to the north, both difficult and dangerous to infantry; to the south the country was broken and irregular; and the road along which the enemy approached was lined on either side with hedges and thickets, affording convenient shelter at almost every step of the way.—Such was the country through which the English army had to march, and determined to seize on every advantage that could, even for a moment, retard it; the governor dispatched about two hundred foot dragoons and grenadiers of his garrison on their perilous adventure.

Ginckle left his encampment at sunrise on the morning of the 19th, and throwing out detachments towards Ballinahown and Killinure, where the Rapparees were reported to be troublesome, he took up his line of march. At Bealin, about a mile from his camp, his advance-guard received a warm salute from the ambushed Irish pickets, and, falling back on the main body, caused some confusion; when, throwing out detachments to clear the brush on his right and left, he approached slowly and warily towards the town. The Irish Guards now disputed the ground with the most obstinate valor; every hedge and thicket became the scene of assault and defence; when they yielded a position to the overwhelming force of their assailants, it was but to renew the strife with still greater desperation at another; the nearer the enemy approached to the town the more deadly the conflict became; many, both assailants and assailed, lay dead by the wayside, and it was well on to noon, when, forced from their last intrenchment outside the wall, the latter retired within their fortifications, and the English army appeared before Athlone.

Ginckle, who, finding that St. Ruth's army had not yet arrived, determined to press his advantage, immediately set to work in the construction of batteries, and had soon two at work outside the walls of the English town: one of three guns to the north of it, over against a bastion, on the western side of the river, and another of five guns to the south, and both played fiercely all day without cessation. At six in the evening another of nine eighteen-pounders was opened against the northern gate, and all worked steadily until noon on the following day. It was then found that the last one had effected a breach of its own width, practicable for the passage of infantry, when the fire of the two first was turned on the interior of the town, a council of war was held, and it was determined to assault it in force that evening.

The Governor, anticipating the result, and seeing that section of the town no longer tenable, resolved on the destruction of the bridge, as the only means of protracting the siege. For this purpose, after withdrawing his artillery, he detailed a part of his force, while the rest were stationed behind the breach to check the assault, and gain time for the accomplishment of this work, which was now a matter of vital importance.

The order of assault was soon arranged by the British generals, and was to be substantially as follows:—Five hundred grenadiers, with triple the usual number of officers, and a corps of sappers and miners, were to be arrayed in two divisions to support each other and lead the advance. The first, after effecting an entrance into the town, was to turn to the right, while the other was to follow close upon its footsteps, and, at the same time, file to the left. That which took the right was to be supported by 2,000 picked men, under the command of Brigadier Stuart and Prince Frederick, and the other by an equal number under Colonel Brewer and the Count of Nassau. The first column was to make its way to the bridge, and, seizing it, cut off the retreat of the besieged; or, failing in that, to seek cover in the nearest walls and await the support of the other division, which was to gain the Dublin Gate, and throw it open to the army outside. Then all were to push forward and seize on the bridge and fords, if successful, to assail the Irish town immediately, and if not, to cover themselves with intrenchments along the river.—All preliminaries were to be completed at five o'clock; the moment for assault was to be announced by the firing of one signal-gun; the grenadiers, in the mean time, were placed under cover to the northward of the town; and the whole movement was under the direction of Major-General Mackey and Brigadier-General Vittenhoff.

It was now the evening of the second day: the army of St. Ruth had not yet appeared in view; its delay was unaccountable; for he had received timely notice of Ginckle's approach. The cannon from without poured an incessant storm of ball and bomb into the town, and the defenders behind their torn ramparts calmly bided their time, but knew not the moment of assault. The fate of the Irish cause was in their hands, and their determination rose with the importance of their trust. Their Governor having done all that a brave and intrepid soldier could do, committed the rest to the bravery of his soldiers, and the gallant old Colonel Grace, who now served as a volunteer, took his stand beside them, and in his presence no man dare turn his back on an enemy.

At five o'clock the fire of the northern battery suddenly ceased, and the peal of a single gun immediately announced the moment of action. The report had scarcely died away, when it was echoed by a cheer from the British grenadiers, as, springing from their ambush, they rushed headlong towards the breach. A French officer of Cambon's regiment first mounted it, waved his sword, and pointed onward, when the Irish soldiers rose from their cover, levelled their muskets on the advancing foe, and in a moment the gallant Frenchman and many of his immediate followers were numbered with the dead. Still they pressed on, and hundreds of them thronged the breach, when a second volley, more deadly than the first, swept through their ranks, and the defenders stepped forward and stood to confront the whole force of the assailants. The conflict now became desperate, but the result could not be long doubtful; overwhelmed by numbers, they were borne through the breach, and the enemy gaining the open space inside the wall, commenced filing to the right and left in pursuance of their purpose. The way to the right was narrow and tortuous, and, though pressed on by the weight of 2,250 men, their way was disputed foot by foot, and dearly purchased in that direction. But that to the left being less obstructed, the result was terribly ruinous to the defenders. At the end of an hour one-half of them lay dying and trampled among the débris, and still the rest stood and fought as resolutely as ever. At length the gate was gained, the assailants thronged by thousands into the market-place, and the strife was transferred to the street leading down from it to the river. Another hour passed on, and the defenders were borne back towards the bridge; its destruction was not yet completed; and to win it on the one side and maintain it on the other, became the work of life and death. The assailants rushed on in their fury, but were steadily resisted, and even for awhile repelled, their overwhelming numbers defeating the very object of their assault. At length the arch was sprung, the word was given to retire; the defenders rushed along the bridge; some of them succeeded in crossing it, but their assailants pressing closely on them, many were borne over the battlements, to rise no more. Further persistence was now in vain; the work was done; the arch had given way, and sunk beneath the waters of the river; and the enemy retired under an effective fire opened on them from the opposite side; the bridge was rendered impassable.

History has few parallels for the bravery and devotion of the gallant men who performed this act of self-immolation. Two hundred of them strewed the way from the breach to the bridge; but not a prisoner was taken, nor a color, to grace the enemy's triumph. This happened on the 20th of June. On the 22d a French lieutenant-colonel was found wounded and dying under the bridge; and, three days after, a pair of colors was found in the same place, under a heap of the slain, for which Ginckle gave the finder a reward of five guineas. Nor was it a defence without a purpose,—for valor is generally estimated by the end attained:—it saved the Irish town from the immediate grasp of the enemy, and was a fitting inauguration to a siege which, for heroic daring and unbending fortitude, has few examples in the history of warfare. They had done their work at the sacrifice of their lives; the siege was now about to be renewed between more equally matched forces; for, just as they had retired across the drawbridge, on the western side, St. Ruth's army appeared beyond the town, and he took speedy measures to stop the progress of the enemy.—Wauchop was placed in the command of the castle; d'Usson and de Tessé were installed as joint commandants of the town, and Fitzgerald retired to his former position in the army, as colonel of his few remaining veterans.

Ginckle having thus gained the English town, removed all his artillery within the walls, and a train of eleven guns and three mortars having arrived in the mean time, he spent all the succeeding night in the erection of batteries. By the next morning he had five of them in full play against the Irish town and its defences:—two above the bridge, two below it—and one of five twenty-four pounders and six mortars at the foot of the bridge over against the eastern wall of the citadel. He next sent orders to hasten up his pontoons, which were on their way from Mullingar, and, warned by the desperate resistance he had just met, he took his precautions accordingly, and sent a requisition to Dublin for additional reinforcements.

Nor was St. Ruth now idle on his part. Encamping his army in a good position about two miles from the town, he garrisoned the castle with fresh troops, threw up lines of intrenchment along the river, and at once opened on the works of the enemy. His guns were few and of inferior calibre, but they were worked with a spirit and vigor that soon caused Ginckle to shift two of his batteries from the river, while the fire from the castle swept the bridge and rendered any approach along it impracticable.

Ginckle soon saw that to silence the guns of the castle was a work of the first necessity, and to this end all his heavy guns and mortars were at once directed. The labor of the gunners on both sides now became incessant. Night brought no respite to the toils and dangers of the day. The weather was extremely hot; an unusual drought had prevailed, rendering the fascines as dry as tinder; and their continual ignition made the work of the soldiers more harassing. The skies were clear, and the evening twilight almost ushered in the dawn, while the glare of the batteries lit up the intrenchments and rendered the assailants and assailed continually visible to each other, while the fire of Ginckle's mortars, being directed on the houses beyond the castle, added perpetual conflagration to the other horrors of the scene. After a short time, a mill which stood in the middle of the river, to the north of the bridge, and into which the Irish had thrown a detachment of sixty-four men to keep up a fire on the broken arch, attracted the fire of the enemy. The passage which connected it with the bridge was soon broken down, and the building itself taking fire, the whole detachment—with two exceptions—perished in the flames. The wall of the castle crumbled bit by bit, a rent became discernible in the eastern wall, and gradually widening, the greater part of the front gave way, strewing the passage to the bridge, choking up the sally-port, and exposing the interior to the great guns of the besiegers.

Such was the condition of the besieged on the morning of the 26th, and all that day the bombardment continued with increased fury. Towards evening the bastion opposite the ford was beaten down so as to be passable to horse and foot, and the battery which protected it was completely silenced; the castle was deemed no longer tenable, and Ginckle contemplated an assault in force on the following morning. Preparatory to this, he resolved to try once more the passage of the river, in order to create a diversion on the Irish rear while putting his design in execution; and, having lately received information that a ford had been discovered to the north of Lanesborough, which might be easily crossed in the face of the small garrison stationed there, had dispatched a strong force to that place, with orders to approach it in the night, and having captured the town, to make a demonstration on the enemy's left, while he himself, with the main body, would storm the bridge and fords on their front. But the design was communicated to General Wauchop, and he immediately sent a regiment of cavalry to the assistance of Colonel O'Reilly, who commanded there, with orders to defend the place to the last extremity. The troops of Ginckle had started on their expedition on the night of the 25th, under direction of a guide, and, after making a wide detour to the north-east, approached the ford with great caution on the night of the 26th; but, arriving there, they found the opposite side strongly intrenched and the Irish cavalry drawn up to oppose them. They, however, tried to force their way through, but being routed with severe loss, they returned, and reported that it would take the whole army to cross there, so the project was finally abandoned. Nor was this his only disappointment. The morning of the 27th broke over a scene as startling as unexpected, for in its light he beheld that the Irish battery above the bastion had been repaired and strengthened, and that the castle which he expected to find abandoned had been put in a better state of defence than before. An opening had been made in the western wall, through which rocks and beams had been conveyed to the top of the breach, and firmly imbedded there, while its one solitary tower, the Connaught Tower, still commanded the broken arch, and displayed its flag as proud and defiant as ever. He was therefore obliged to forego his intention for that day, and direct his whole force to the total destruction of the citadel before risking an assault on the bridge. To the five batteries already at work two more were now added, and an incessant storm of shot and shell was directed all day on the castle and the houses beyond it. Three times during the siege the town had been set on fire; the population had fled to the suburbs, and nothing having life remained within the walls but the gunners behind their crumbling earth-works, and the soldiers laboring to check the flames extending in all directions.

St. Ruth, believing that the tower could not long withstand the terrible fire brought to bear on it, set to work in the erection of earth-works to answer the same end, and for this purpose he conveyed some guns outside the town, and erected two batteries—one to the north and the other to the south—both bearing across the eastern angles of the bridge. Their fire soon drove the English gunners from their batteries, and during the cessation of their fire two intrenchments were thrown up on a high ground to the right and left of the castle. The fire from these dislodged the English musketeers from the walls near the river, and from this forward the contest became a duel of artillery. Ginckle's heavy missiles still bore down all obstructions; the ingenious traverse and change of position were unavailing; nothing could withstand the heavy guns of the besiegers but the Connaught Tower, and that, though crumbling bit by bit, still sent its shot with the same precision as before. In this manner the conflict raged during the whole of the 27th. The bombs of the enemy became exhausted, but this brought no respite to the besieged. Immense blocks of stone, even more destructive than shell, were hurled into the Irish intrenchments, crushing their fascines to atoms, and breaking down all barriers. Towards evening a body of the besiegers, moving behind an improvised breastwork, stormed the bridge, gained possession of the broken arch, and secured themselves behind a strong breastwork. The defence was stubborn, and cost both sides dearly; "for," says the English annalist, "what we gained here was inch by inch, as it were, the enemy sticking very close to it, though great numbers of them were slain by our guns, and the service cost us a great store of ammunition." But ammunition was of small account with Ginckle. One hundred wagon-loads of shot and shell reached the camp that evening; thirteen squadron of wagon-horses were sent to Dublin for more, and two batteries were added to the seven that had been at work since the morning of the 25th. One of these was on a hill outside the wall, which commanded the western end of the bridge, and the other in a meadow to the south of it, which raked the passage leading from the Irish town to the castle. Under cover of these nine batteries the English reached the last broken arch, and secured themselves by a breastwork overlooking that of the Irish on the other side. Here the grenadiers of both armies now stood firing their muskets and hurling their grenades across the narrow space that separated them. At length the fascines of the Irish breastwork took fire, the whole was soon a sheet of flame, its defenders were forced to retire, and on the night of the 27th the English remained masters of the last broken arch of the bridge.

The situation of the besieged was now most desperate. The town seemed all but in the possession of the enemy. The bastion opposite the southern ford, about fifty yards from the bridge, was levelled, and practicable to infantry and cavalry. The ford itself was easily passable, for the river was unusually low for the season. The town was a heap of smouldering ruins, and the castle,—with the single exception of the Connaught Tower—was beaten down to the level of the besiegers' guns. Beams had been extended across the last broken arch of the bridge, the planking was partially set, while the fire of their forty-seven guns was fierce and active as ever. Still the Irish relaxed neither in courage nor intrepidity. Though but one gun alone sent an occasional response to the incessant roar of nine batteries, sweeping every foot of their intrenchments, "they worked like horses, checking the fire within the town; carrying fascines to fill their trenches;" and exhibited a courage and endurance "such as was never excelled by man." Such was the situation on both sides through the night of the 27th:—the one in the face of inevitable death trying to reconstruct their shattered defences, and the other in exultation preparing to force the river at sunrise the next morning.

The night passed on, and the morning rose bright and clear above the river. The besieged seemed to have exhausted all the means of defence. Some lay close in the cover of their trenches, and others drawn up behind the western wall of the castle, waiting for the approaching conflict. The enemy alone were at work. The planking was nearly completed across the last broken arch of the bridge. The fire from their right and left traversed its western end between their workmen and the besieged, and their grenadiers were advanced along the bridge waiting for the expected signal. At this moment a sudden commotion was observable in the Irish quarters, and a simultaneous shout rent the air, as eleven men, cased in armor, were seen to clear their trenches, and bear directly for the bridge. A silence still as death fell over the besiegers and besieged, and for a moment all seemed spellbound. In another the noble fellows had reached the bridge, and "with a strength and courage beyond what men were thought capable of," commenced to tear away the planks and beams, and cast them into the river. The amazement of the English soldiers soon gave way to the stern necessity of war. A discharge of great and small guns swept the bridge, and the devoted men passed forever from the earth! Undeterred by their fate, eleven more sprang forward to complete the work! Another peal rang out as before, a cloud of smoke enveloped them for a moment, and, clearing away, it was found that their work was completely accomplished, that the bridge was rendered impassable, and that two of the eleven had escaped within their intrenchments.62

Ginckle, greatly chagrined by his disappointment, withdrew his soldiers to their camp, called a council of war, and deliberated on the alternatives of continuing the siege, or seeking a passage at some other point of the river. The council continued far into the evening; the questions were discussed in all their bearings, and another assault was determined on for the morning of the 29th.

In the mean time it became necessary to gain possession of the broken arch which had been lost in the last assault, and to silence the battery on the Connaught Tower, or, which was the same, to destroy the tower itself. This tower stood at the north-western angle of the castle, and though it had cost more ball and ammunition than all the rest of the defences together, it had never ceased for a moment to annoy the enemy, even when all the earth-works had been silenced. Against this tower all Ginckle's heavy guns were now directed. Towards midnight its abutments gave way, and shortly after it fell forward in one solid mass, and lay stretched athwart the ruins. While this was going on, the utmost activity prevailed in the English camp. Pontoons were put in order, a close gallery was constructed of sufficient length to span the arch and protect the workmen inside it, while a company of Danish soldiers had examined the river, and established another ford practicable for twenty soldiers abreast, about thirty yards to the south of the other. Three hundred yards to the south of this had been selected for the bridge of pontoons, and the banks at both places levelled for a proper distance. The assault was to be made in three places:—at the bridge: across the newly-discovered ford: and over the pontoons, outside the town. It was furthermore resolved that every regiment should have the honor of participating in the movement, and the selection of the men for this purpose was confided to Major-General Mackey, who made the following disposition:—From every regiment he selected forty-three grenadiers, eighty-three private soldiers, three captains, five lieutenants, two ensigns, and seven sergeants—a force not less than 8,000 men in all. These he arranged in three divisions, and stationed them outside the eastern wall, "in great secrecy," until the proper time to show themselves. The way from the gate to the river was cleared of all obstructions, and ladders were placed against the walls, near the river, which were pierced for musketry, in order to annoy the enemy while the assailants were crossing it. The bridge was to be the first point of assault, and on its success those at the ford and over the pontoons were dependent. Three thousand men were to cross at the bridge, 3,000 more over the pontoons, and 2,000, composed of horse and foot, were to attempt the ford. The assault was to take place at sunrise, until which time all should be conducted with the utmost "secrecy and circumspection." The soldiers were to carry fifteen rounds to a man, to have each a green bough in his hat, as at the Boyne; they were rewarded in advance by the distribution of large sums of money, and the word of the night was—"Kilkenny."

But, notwithstanding all the precautions of secrecy observed in the English camp, St. Ruth received timely information of the design, and had taken active measures to counteract it. When morning broke over the Irish town, Ginckle was both surprised and mortified to see that all his movements were anticipated. The drawbridge had been secured by a heavy breastwork, a new battery had been constructed opposite the ford, and another in a meadow outside of the town, commanding the point selected for laying his pontoons, and reinforcements from the Irish camp had been stationed at convenient positions to dispute the town, in case he succeeded in forcing the passage of the river. He was further disconcerted at finding that General Mackey's arrangements were not all up to time. The men stood to their arms at the appointed hour: the musketeers lined the walls along the river; the gallery was ready to be pushed over the bridge; but the pontoons, which should have been laid overnight, were found insufficient to span the river, and it became necessary to repair some old ones to supply the deficiency. As this had now to be done in the face of the enemy's fire, it became necessary to construct a battery to dislodge them, while the work of repairing and laying the boats was carried forward, and it was doubtful whether he should have any timely co-operation from that quarter. Still, as all the other movements were dependent on the result at the bridge, Ginckle determined to persevere, and at the appointed time the grenadiers and soldiers moved forward under the protection of their covered gallery. After great danger and difficulty it was forced over the English breastwork, where the grenadiers stood face to face to dispute the possession of the bridge, and the strife of the 28th was repeated over again, with greater desperation on both sides. While this was going on at the bridge, the fire of the English batteries swept the whole Irish line, and under the diversion Mackey made desperate efforts to complete the line of pontoons; but, despite of all, he was driven from the work, and forced to abide the result at the bridge. All now depended upon this: and the soldiers on both sides looked on with feelings wrought to the highest pitch of excitement. The Irish grenadiers suffered dreadfully, for the enemy's breastwork completely overlooked that on the other side, and their grenades wrought terrible destruction in their trenches. Four hours passed on, and still this encounter raged without cessation. The gallery was forced forward, as it were, inch by inch; the arch was spanned, and the work, as before, had nearly reached completion, when the fascines on the English side caught fire. The soldiers made great efforts to extinguish it, but in vain; the whole was soon a sheet of flame; and being no longer tenable, they abandoned their position and retreated across the bridge: the Irish grenadiers advanced and completed the destruction of the gallery and defences; and the bridge was again impassable. The failure of this assault at the bridge caused the abandonment of those at the other two points, and the English soldiers were withdrawn to their camp, none remaining but the usual guards, and the cannoneers behind their intrenchments. The firing of the cannon ceased for the first time since the siege had opened, and silence brooded over the scene of desolation.

St. Ruth was now elated with success, and enthusiastic in praise of the soldiers, who had displayed such stubborn valor in the defence of their old town. It was now, throughout its whole extent, a mass of smouldering ruins, over which the soldiers made their way with difficulty and danger, and the intrenchments along the river had been levelled and reconstructed so often that the earth around them had been rendered as dry as powder. He therefore issued orders to have a road opened from end to end behind the batteries next the river, in order to facilitate the deploying of troops from one point to another; to have the western wall completely razed, the houses within them levelled, so that the enemy should have no shelter if they should succeed in passing the river; and the area behind the castle cleared, so that his raw levies should be drilled there and trained to perform garrison duty. He next withdrew most of the trained soldiers from the works, and supplied their place with three regiments of recruits; and, expressing his belief that the enemy would retire without risking another engagement, marched his army back to camp, and gave a banquet, 'tis said, to which he invited all the ladies and gentlemen of the surrounding district.

Ginckle was greatly mortified at the failure of this last grand movement. It was made in force; each of the divisions had fulfilled its part of the programme. All the resources at his command had been brought to support it, and yet a signal failure at all points, and a serious loss of men, had been the consequence; and, as he had determined beforehand that on its result his advance or retreat should depend, he immediately called a council of war, to signify his intention to retire, and try some other point of the river, or open a defensive campaign on the ground already traversed. All the propositions submitted at the previous council were taken up and discussed: the continual failure of his plans; the spirit and endurance of the enemy; the impossibility of remaining any longer in a district stripped of forage and provender for several miles around. The expenditure of ammunition, too, had already outrun his most extravagant calculations. Bomb and ball had accomplished all that could be effected, for both town and citadel were now reduced, and still the enemy, so far from abandoning the place, had recently renewed their defences, and should the river be crossed, were ready to offer battle amid the ruins. Should he again attempt the passage, and succeed in crossing, success was to be purchased, but at a great sacrifice. Should he cross and not succeed, the total destruction of his army was more than probable. Should he attempt to cross above or below this place, he uncovered the capital, and the enemy would not fail to profit by the advantage. The disadvantages of taking the defensive at the beginning of the campaign, and the disgrace of retiring in the face of the foe whom the soldiers had hitherto been taught to despise, would have a ruinous effect on the spirit of his troops, raise that of the enemy, and exert a powerful influence on the action of the French monarch. Having canvassed the subject in all its bearings, he was himself in favor of trying another ford above or below their present position, where less difficulties were to be encountered, and submitted the whole subject to the deliberation of the council. The debate was long and earnest, and the majority supported the decision of the General-in-Chief. The minority were against retiring, and they were the ablest and most prominent of the generals:—Mackey and Wurtemberg, Ruvigney and Tettau, urged another assault, and offered themselves to head the soldiers in person, and be the first to cross the river. The deliberation was long, and the matter remained undecided, when the opinion of the majority was changed by one of those fortuitous events which seem throughout this war to arise continually in favor of the invader. Two officers who had deserted from the Irish army were at this juncture brought before the council, and proffered most important information. They represented the feeling of security that prevailed in the Irish camp; the prevalent belief that the enemy would retire and abandon the siege; the substitution of untrained soldiers in the trenches; and the withdrawal of the veterans. They told of the bad feeling existing between St. Ruth, the deputy, and general officers; the scarcity of ammunition; and of all things that could give weight to the views of the minority. The opposing opinions were at once reconciled, and a plan of action was forthwith adopted.

It was now determined to take the town by surprise; and the better to conceal the design, it was concerted to make a feint of retiring and raising the siege. Guns were to be dismounted; tents struck; the baggage placed on wagons in sight of the enemy; and the general appearance to be that of an army about to retire from its encampment. The soldiers selected for the last assault were to be withdrawn from view, and held in readiness outside the wall until the appointed hour. At the usual time of changing guard, which was six o'clock in the morning, the men who were to cross at the ford were to move down as if to relieve their comrades, when at an appointed signal, which was the ringing of the church bell, they were to cross and storm the opposite intrenchments. These being carried, they were to move to the right and left, to assist the other divisions which were to follow in quick succession, and pass over the bridge and pontoons simultaneously. Every thing seemed opportune for the attempt; every part of the plan was observed to the letter; and to create the proper ardor among the soldiers, still larger rewards were distributed than on the former occasion.

All through the evening the cannonade along the English lines seemed to relax its wonted spirit; farther on it ceased altogether, and it was observed that some of the guns were being limbered and removed from the river towards the camp. The ruse immediately had the desired effect. The Irish soldiers, believing that the enemy had actually commenced to retire, came gradually out of their trenches, and ventured down towards the river. The English soldiers, too, seemed to relax in discipline, and came down to meet them. Jest and repartee were bandied across the stream; the soldiers of Ginckle twitting those of St. Ruth on their miserable "penny a day," and the latter reminding the former that they had given "bad penny-worths" for the money which their general had lately distributed among them. So they beguiled the time; with the closest secrecy and circumspection on the one side, and a feeling of security and a total unconsciousness of approaching danger on the other. As the night wore on both parties retired from the river, and sought repose in the trenches, and a deep silence settled over the scene, only broken at intervals by the occasional challenge of the sentries as they met each other in their measured round. Nor was it in the unconsciousness of the Irish soldiers alone that fortune seemed to favor the besiegers. The orders which St. Ruth had lately given, on withdrawing his army from the town, had not been carried out. The houses were still the same shapeless ruins he had left them; the western wall was still entire; but a roadway had been cleared behind the intrenchments on the river, and all the defensive works to the rear of it had been defaced and levelled. This neglect was the consequence of a disagreement between St. Ruth and General d'Usson—the former wishing to have all obstructions removed, so as to give battle on the ruins of the town if the batteries on the river were carried; and the latter wishing to preserve the walls as a line of defence, in the event of such a conjuncture. It therefore happened that the work "went by default," or that the bad parts of it were executed and the more necessary totally neglected. However this be, a want of concord was manifest among the leaders; and when to these untoward events it is added, that d'Usson was absent from the camp, that three untrained regiments manned the defences, and that a scarcity of ammunition prevailed along the lines, the whole train of circumstances pointed to a manifest destiny, and—the reader may anticipate an evil one.

It was yet the gray dawn of morning; the same supineness prevailed along the Irish lines, and the same cautious preparations went on in the camp of the enemy, when Colonel Cormac O'Neil entered the quarters of General Maxwell. He came to demand a supply of bullets for his men; for, being on duty overnight, he observed certain signs on the opposite side that led him to believe that another assault might be soon expected, and wished to take the necessary precautions. Maxwell was at first incredulous, and answering the demand by one of those Scotch apothegms, so prevalent at the time,—"If he wanted to shoot lavrocks," O'Neil retired moody and discontented. As the morning advanced, however, that general himself saw reasons to convince him that the colonel's suspicions were well founded;—he observed that the bridge of pontoons had not been removed, that the batteries there and at the ford showed signs of having been recently repaired and strengthened, and that the guards along the whole line had been doubled through the night. He immediately communicated this intelligence to St. Ruth, and requested that a division of veteran troops should be immediately sent into the town; but the herald soon returned with the insulting reply that "if he was afraid, another general officer would be sent to take his place." So the morning passed on; the plans of the enemy were matured, and they awaited but the appointed hour to put them in execution.

At six o'clock the tattoo in the English camp announced the hour of changing guard, and the soldiers marched down leisurely, as if to their accustomed duty. In six minutes after the church-bell rang out its signal, the artillery opened along the whole line, and under its shelter the assailants dashed forward and entered the river. A body of sixty grenadiers, cased in armor, and moving twenty abreast, led the advance. They were headed by Captain Sandys, a soldier of great daring and intrepidity, and were closely followed by a strong supporting column of cavalry commanded by General Talmash and Colonel Gustavus Hamilton, and by 2,000 chosen infantry troops under the direction of Mackey, Tettau, La Mellioneire, and the Prince of Hesse. Simultaneous with this assault, which took place at the ford, other movements were directed towards the pontoons and the town-bridge, and the whole scene was again alive with military ardor and intrepidity. There never was a more complete surprise. The movement was so sudden and unexpected that the assailants had nearly gained the opposite bank before the alarm was sounded in the Irish quarters, or the soldiers who were lying asleep in the trenches could be aroused to a consciousness of their danger. As the grenadiers began to ascend they were met by a few hasty and ill-directed volleys from those on guard, which checked their progress for a moment, but they were pressed on by the thousands in their rear, and literally borne over the intrenchments, where they soon silenced all opposition. Some of the Irish soldiers fled to the shelter of the ruined houses, where they rallied and kept up an irregular fire on the enemy thronging into the town; but most of them were taken, and, being unarmed, were slaughtered where they stood. Having thus carried the works on their front, the assailants immediately filed to the right and left; some to aid in laying the pontoons, some in securing the drawbridge, and still others to mask the castle and cut off the retreat of its garrison. The road which had been opened by St. Ruth's orders, was now of the greatest advantage to his enemy, who moved quickly behind the intrenchments, cutting off the Irish soldiers; who, having no batteries in the rear to check the pursuit, were surrounded, overwhelmed, and cut down with little resistance. The bridge and pontoons being soon made passable, thousands rushed into the town, swearing as they stumbled over the ruins, and dealing death to their disarmed prisoners. One battalion of veterans, led by Maxwell and some Irish officers, made a stubborn resistance, and for a while checked the pursuit; but, being surrounded and assailed on all sides, they were slain, with the exception of the general and a few of the superior officers, who were secured as prisoners.

On the first alarm, information was sent to St. Ruth that the enemy was crossing the river; but he scouted the idea, and boasted that Ginckle would not dare it after his late repulse, while he lay so near with an army to succor it. Sarsfield, who was present at the time, replied that the undertaking was not too great for English valor to attempt, but still St. Ruth, either through real or affected disbelief, scorned all remonstrance, and remained immovable. In a short time, however, the fugitives from the town began to reach the camp; he was at last convinced, and, with a seeming indifference, ordered Major-General John Hamilton to take two brigades and drive the enemy again beyond the river. The attempt was made, and the fight was renewed with such determination that General Maxwell expressed his belief, to his captors, that the town would be retaken. But after a desperate conflict of an hour and a half amid the ruins, the enemy gained the western wall; to dislodge them became impossible to an over-matched force; the Irish soldiers retreated to their camp; and Athlone was lost.

The loss of life by which Ginckle gained possession of this town is variously estimated. Twelve hundred would perhaps cover all the casualties of the siege, but in addition to this he expended fifty tons of gunpowder, 12,000 cannonball, 600 bombs, and innumerable tons of stone, hurled from the mortars whenever the shell became exhausted. The Irish army, during the same period, accepting the highest estimate, suffered a diminution of 2,300 men, of whom 500 were slain, and 566 captured in the last surprise and assault. Its loss in officers was very great—too great for specification. Among them were the French adjutant-general, the two Colonels McGuinness, Colonels McMahon and O'Gara, and the veteran Colonel Richard Grace, whose body was found amid the slain under the western end of the bridge, where it had lain since the assault of the previous morning,—and there could be no place more appropriate for the fall of that patriot warrior. The booty taken within the town is thus summed up by the English chaplain, Story: "A good store of plunder among the ruins, and a great many dead men in the castle, with about twenty barrels of powder, twelve hogsheads of meal, some wheat, and a great many other things."

But Athlone was lost to the Irish army, and its last line of defence was penetrated, not through lack of valor or capacity to maintain it, but through a want of vigilance, totally inexcusable among the superior officers, and a singular combination of pride and folly on the part of the general, strangely comporting with the importance of the cause. Up to this day, no city had ever been defended with more determined valor, and never was eventual success more apparent than on the very hour that it was captured "by the most complete surprise that ever was." The last sun looked down on the Jacobite army exultant in spirit and confident of success; the next saw it overreached by the enemy, outraged by its general, robbed of victory, and humiliated by defeat. The world had seldom witnessed such heroic sacrifice, such patient endurance, and enthusiastic devotion as those displayed by the Irish soldiers of that period; but the loss of this old town, through manifest neglect—a tampering with fate, as it were, so culpable in a general—roused a spirit of indignation in every breast, and denunciations loud and bitter were uttered against St. Ruth, now as deeply penitent and as lowly obsequious as he had lately been haughty and intolerant. But little time was left for vain regrets or useless recrimination. The presence of an enemy flushed with success, within two miles of their camp, banished every other consideration for the moment, and, yielding to the appeals of their generals, they prepared for the final contest. All that day, and far into the night, they remained drawn up on the site of their encampment, in momentary expectation of the enemy, and determined to risk a battle. But as the night wore on and Ginckle made no forward movement, they decamped and marched in good order to Milton Pass, a small village about six miles to the north-west, on a river which empties into the southern section of Lough Ree. There they remained until ten o'clock next day, when the infantry took up their march towards the south-west, and the cavalry, after remaining some hours longer to protect their rear, took the same direction, and disappeared from the sight of the enemy.