Riotous Assemblies
Page 6
The rise to prominence of men like Richard Bolton, Richard Barry and Sir James Carroll shows the threat that the Catholic elite faced following the Nine Years’ War, as their loyalty continued to be questioned by the Dublin government. The privileges that the city had enjoyed were rapidly being taken away, with the city council in 1613 being led by a rising Protestant elite, previously exempt freemen paying customs duties to English courtiers and their liberty of conscience being challenged, where before the authorities had tacitly tolerated Catholicism. Chichester’s government created a division along confessional lines, with the Catholic elite in Dublin increasingly finding common cause with the Catholic lords of the Pale and other port towns. In a short period of time the Catholic elite in Dublin had been transformed from ‘patrons of loyalty’ and ‘paragons of obedience’ to members of a ‘contrary faction’, with the tumult in the tholsel epitomising their increased radicalisation.
3
‘WE ARE NOT YET SAFE, FOR THEY THREATEN US WITH MORE VIOLENCE’
A study of the Cook Street riot, 16291
MARK EMPEY
On St Stephen’s Day 1629, the Protestant archbishop of Dublin, Lancelot Bulkeley, with the support of some of the city’s officials, stormed a Franciscan chapel in Cook Street. The raid was quickly marred by violent scenes. As the authorities tried to arrest the celebrant of the mass, they were overwhelmed by members of the congregation who retaliated by hurling stones and clubs, eventually forcing the archbishop and his entourage to take refuge in a nearby house on Skinners’ Row.
The riot at Cook Street provides a rare insight into sectarian tensions in Dublin in the 1620s. The source of the pent-up frustration of the Protestant government officials was the royal policy enforcing relaxation of measures against Catholics. But, though detailed accounts of the skirmish from both sides reveal this underlying communal hostility, the attack itself was as much politically motivated as it was religiously inspired. In this chapter I identify the various forces at work in the disturbance and explore the ways that religious division fuelled the descent into disorder. To what extent was the freedom granted to Catholics, as evidenced by the large attendance at the mass in Cook Street, a contributory factor? How far did successive administrations, specifically the joint governors, Lords Justices Cork and Loftus and then Lord Deputy Wentworth, try to derive political capital from the conflict? And what were the implications of the riot for the Irish mission during the Counter-Reformation? These are important questions not just for our understanding of the impact of the Cook Street riot, but also to gain a valuable insight into life in early seventeenth-century Ireland.
The deputyship of Henry Cary, 1st Viscount Falkland, from 1622 to 1629, was fraught with difficulties. For the most part, external forces dictated the course of his governmental agenda, not least his treatment of Irish Catholics. King James’ marriage negotiations with Spain, and then with France, ultimately triggered a war against the two Catholic super-powers of Europe. As foreign relations deteriorated, the position of Ireland and Irish Catholics inevitably became a source of intense debate in Whitehall.2 That the kingdom was predominantly Catholic and seemingly closely allied with England’s enemies naturally caused considerable alarm, as did Ireland’s strategic importance – Spain’s attempted invasion at Kinsale in 1601 was a constant reminder of the crown’s vulnerability.3 The focus of Falkland’s administration, therefore, was to secure the country’s defence while refraining from any outward persecution of Catholics.
As one might expect, the Catholic church sought to capitalise on this opportunity. The hierarchy was restored in 1618, and nineteen bishops were appointed over the following eleven years.4 The numbers of priests and regular clergy were no less striking. As early as 1623 the Catholic archbishop of Dublin, Eugene Matthews, confidently asserted that there were 800 secular priests, 200 Franciscans, forty Jesuits, over twenty Dominicans, four or five Capuchins and ‘a few’ Cistercians and Augustinians.5 That there were reportedly so many regular and secular clergy in Ireland is interesting, given that the hierarchy was restored at such a late stage in Counter-Reformation Europe. It indicates how far the Irish rejected the Church of Ireland, but conversely it also shows how receptive they were to Catholicism and the Irish mission. In 1623, for example, some of the leading citizens in Drogheda wrote to Rome requesting more ‘excellent religious of the same familia reformata, like the two whom it has already sent, Fathers Michael Miles and Joseph Everard’.6
The early success rapidly gathered momentum: in 1628 the superior of the Carmelites in Dublin declared that residents ‘attend at the chapels and frequent the sacraments ... each week they flock in such crowds to the sacraments of penance and the holy eucharist, that scarcely is it possible for the priests to meet their demands’.7 The Bishop of Ferns, John Roche, claimed that he found ‘our holy religion flourishing’ in Meath. In his own diocese, he added, there were over thirty priests attending about seventy parishes.8 Catholic resurgence was no less visible to Protestants. In Cavan, the Bishop of Kilmore, William Bedell, lamented that the vast majority in his diocese were recusants. Attempts to convert them were hampered not only by the resident Catholic bishop, but also by the greater number of priests, which he estimated to be double the Protestant equivalent.9 An official at Dublin Castle bemoaned the fact that there were fourteen mass houses in the capital catered for by the religious orders, while there were eighty Jesuits ‘who have their altars adorned with images and other idolatrous popish trash as fully as in Rome if not more’.10
The fortunes of the Irish mission took a different direction in April 1629, when King Charles agreed a peace treaty with France while negotiations with Spain were in train. This prompted a dramatic shift in government policy in Ireland, and Falkland issued a royal declaration banishing Jesuits and friars. The lord deputy had broadcast the same decree five years earlier, only for it to be undermined by England’s marriage alliance with France.11 In 1629, though, circumstances had notably changed in favour of the Irish administration. Charles had ended his search for a bride and, crucially, had withstood pressure to grant full toleration to Catholics. Besides, the European powers were weary of war and welcomed an end to hostilities. The Irish privy council immediately responded to this turn of events by sending a strongly worded petition to Whitehall, seeking to curtail the influence of friars and clergy, and requesting permission ‘to restrain their arrogance, coerce their jurisdiction, diminish their numbers, deaden their attempts, and make known their practices’.12 Consequently, on 1 April the lord deputy outlawed the exercise of ecclesiastical authority derived from Rome and commanded the dissolution of religious houses.13
Within days of his announcement, Falkland reported back to London that ‘there is hardly a Papist left in Dublin, and all their houses are locked up with the locks hanging on the doors’.14 It was transparently an attempt to deflect attention away from the criticism he was getting from his enemies at court. The reality was that Catholics paid little attention to the decree. In Drogheda, Falkland later revealed, the proclamation was first read out in public by a ‘drunken soldier’ and then by his inebriated sergeant who allegedly re-enacted the instructions ‘to seem like a May-game’.15 There were no indications that the religious were unduly alarmed by the government’s actions either. In correspondence to their superiors they barely acknowledged the new measures. Essentially, the Irish mission resorted to its tried and tested policy of going underground until the storm abated. The front doors of the mass houses may have been closed but, as Archbishop Ussher was informed, the congregation simply entered from side passages to attend ‘their superstitious service there, as if there were no command to the contrary’.16
Falkland’s recall in the summer of 1629 was inevitable.17 His failure to reassert the government’s authority, and in particular to curb the activities of the Catholic clergy, lost him the confidence of the king and the Protestant ruling elite in Ireland. To remedy this, and indeed restore the credibility of Dublin Castle, Charles looked to
more hardened Protestant figures in Adam Loftus, Viscount Loftus of Ely, and Sir Richard Boyle, Earl of Cork. Free from the constraints that had hampered Falkland’s administration, the two lords justices were given every encouragement by the crown to implement an aggressive religious programme.18
Loftus and Cork were quick to exploit these advantages. On 13 December 1629 the Capuchin friar, Francis Nugent, informed Propaganda Fide that Loftus had warned Catholics in Dublin not to open schools or provide housing for mass if they wanted to avoid the government’s wrath. Senior Catholic ecclesiastics were certainly perturbed by the changing climate. Archbishop Thomas Fleming summoned the secular and regular clergy in the hope of negotiating a temporary cessation to their public ceremonies.19 His efforts were in vain. Writing to the king’s secretary on 22 December, Cork asserted: ‘the Jesuits and friars tested our strength by trying to return to the houses from which they were dispersed by the proclamation; but they find us quite firm’.20 Sure enough, the general of the Irish army was ordered to lodge a company of soldiers in every walled town.21 This was not just to protect the Protestant New English; it was also a warning shot to the friars and priests. Yet this strategy was neither successful nor essentially different from the measures that brought about Falkland’s downfall. If anything, it demonstrated the limits of the new government’s power and their lack of imagination in tackling Catholicism.
It was perhaps ironic that the conduct of Thomas Babe, superior of the Franciscan order, triggered events that paved the way for the administration to check the progress of the Irish mission. On Christmas night, Babe reportedly ‘made som[e] little speech unto the people’. This was brought to the attention of the authorities whereupon ‘they holding it for an affront & contempt caus[e]d the first irruption’.22 A council meeting was called the next morning to consider an appropriate response. What ensued was a frank discussion about the significant inroads made by friars, Jesuits and priests in the capital. The Irish council was informed that Dublin had up to ten mass houses with a resident head or governor protected by powerful members of the Catholic laity, notably the Dowager Countess of Kildare and also the Earls of Westmeath and Fingal, and Viscounts Gormanstown and Dillon.23 The councillors could hardly have been ignorant of this, but they all agreed that something must be done about the Franciscans. After all, the authority of the lords justices and council was at stake. Under the directions of Loftus and Cork, therefore, Archbishop Bulkeley and the Mayor of Dublin, Christopher Forster, supported by Captain Carey and his soldiers, were ordered to ransack the Franciscan chapel in Cook Street.24 They had further assistance from Nathaniel Catelyn, recorder of the city, Aldermen Johns and Kelly, and Sheriff Foster. The intention was to apprehend the friars and cause extensive damage.
There are numerous accounts of the riot from both sides of the religious divide and they make fascinating reading, if only to highlight the underlying sectarian tensions which had been largely suppressed in the delicate political circumstances. ‘On ther comming in the pepell were in aubproare’, an eyewitness declared, ‘the Maior had the pickterr pulled down and the Lord Archbishop pulled down the pulpett; the sowlders and the peopell weare by the heres one with another, and the pickteres were all brocken and defaased, and they toke within five sutts of vestments and one chales’.25 But as the officials attempted to arrest the two presiding friars, the irate congregation, mainly women and children, retaliated. Leading the charge was an unnamed ‘widow Nugent’ who was singled out for specific praise in the Catholic reports. She was credited with raising the cry to help the friars and apparently flung herself on the soldiers. Soon her fellow parishioners joined in and the skirmish quickly spiralled out of control: ‘they strick [strike], they shoulder, they catch, they scratch, thump & tread underfoot whom soever they lay hands on’.26 Outnumbered and seeking respite, Bulkeley and his colleagues fled the chapel only to be confronted by a large group of pilgrims who had come to visit St Stephen’s Well and celebrate the saint’s feast day. In their efforts to escape, the angry mob pursued them ‘casting stones and the durt of the kenel’ until they found refuge in a house on Skinner’s Row.27 It was not only the authorities’ pride that suffered; it was reported that ‘One of ye souldiers was so tumbled, tossed, concalcated in the mire, that he hardly escaped death’.28
The violent scenes induced senior Protestants to send a stream of letters to Whitehall. Sir Thomas Dutton argued that ‘had not the Justices and others come from church for the rescue it would have been a bloody business’.29 The general of the Irish army, Charles Wilmot, petitioned for more soldiers and gunpowder for fear of more unrest.30 In this highly charged situation the lords justices and council deliberated on the proper course of action. They immediately ordered a curfew. Two days later, all the Catholic aldermen were ordered to come before the council table and explain their reasons for not coming to the aid of the authorities. In effect, it was a show trial. One embittered alderman revealed: ‘my brother James, Mr Torner, Mr Edward, and Robert Arthur, and Mr Russell of Lecale were committed to the Castell’. Only he and Walter Usher escaped punishment. It was a similar story the next day: Aldermen Gooding, Mapas and Stephens were examined and then imprisoned. On the third day, the widow Nugent from Wine Tavern Street was incarcerated for her role in the disturbance along ‘with many others’, including all the constables of Cook Street, Corn Market and High Street, after which the proceedings concluded.31 They were soon released after successfully petitioning for liberty by promising loyalty to the crown. But the hefty bail, set at £1,000, served as a reminder that the government was determined to keep up pressure on the Catholic community.
It would be easy to conclude that the sentences handed down on the Catholic aldermen and citizens were part of the lords justices’ religious agenda. To some extent that was true. Writing to Viscount Dorchester, Cork stressed the need for greater commitment to reforming the kingdom ‘infected as this is with like convents and the dregs of popish frenzy’.32 Yet it is obvious from the reports on the riot that cess (a form of local tax) played a key part. Only days before, the mayor and citizens of Dublin refused to provide ‘lodging, fire and candle light’ for the fifty soldiers protecting Loftus and Cork.33 The disagreement originated in an order the city council had passed at Easter declaring they would no longer foot the bill for soldiers: future payments were to be regarded as loans. Tensions were further exacerbated during the lead up to Christmas, when the aldermen arranged to send an agent to England to protest against the taxation. But before the agent left, Loftus and Cork met Forster in a desperate attempt to find a last-minute solution. After careful consideration, they concluded that only the orchestration of some form of civil unrest would convince the crown of the need for the soldiers. This in turn would compel the mayor and aldermen to discontinue their opposition.34 As a Catholic bystander noted, the disorder was concocted at the council table, where ‘it was done of purpose to draw the sowlders on the City; for we stod out that we wolde not give the sowlder lodging or fire and candel-light, and now we have 2 companies both forssessed on us’.35
For all the lords justices’ shady dealings, there is no indication that either the king or his ministers were aware of the part Cork and Loftus played in the uprising. Cork’s close friendship with the king’s secretary, Viscount Dorchester, meant that he controlled what information was relayed to Charles. The riot was therefore portrayed as a papist rebellion and a serious threat to national security. Cork’s direct line to Whitehall was highly significant. First, it provided him with a platform to justify the measures that were implemented immediately after the conflict.36 These measures could also be presented as the basis of an effective religious strategy in the medium term. Second, and crucially, it gave him the opportunity to make a bid for the deputyship, a position he had long coveted.37 In Cork’s eyes, successfully managing the aftermath of the Cook Street riot could usefully demonstrate his ability to govern Ireland as viceroy.38
The government’s response was swift and decisive. Having
convicted the Catholic aldermen, the lords justices shifted their attention to mass houses in the city. On 5 January 1630 they commanded the aldermen on bail to attend the mayor and sheriffs at the Franciscan chapel and seize it for the king’s use. From there, the group proceeded to the houses belonging to the Dominicans, Carmelites and Capuchins (ten houses altogether) with similar intent.39 This process continued over the next few days. Forster, who was ‘well guarded w[i]th souldiers’, sequestered the large Jesuit mass house at Back Lane on 7 January, and on the following day the authorities confiscated the nunnery at Newgate.40 But the ejection of the priests and friars from their houses was merely the beginning. After the English privy council endorsed the lords justices’ actions, the latter sought to exploit the episode for all its political worth.41 Thus, at the end of February city officials were instructed ‘to pull downe to the ground the Franciscan howses in the Cookstreete because there formerly the s[ai]d mayor & archb[isho]p of Dublin had received an affront & disgrace by the baser sort of papists’.42 Furthermore, the mass houses in Bridge Street and Back Lane were transformed into places of correction or business. Trinity College was the prime beneficiary. Fifty students took up residence in Back Lane where Archbishop Ussher delivered lectures and held public catechisings that were attended by the Dublin gentry every Tuesday.43 Similarly around eighteen scholars attended the chapel in Bridge Street for prayers twice a day. As a passing shot at the friars, priests and wider Catholic community, the room was aptly named St Stephen’s Hall.44