1798

by Joe Murphy

  ‘Captain Snowe,’ he said, ‘and a good portion of my North Corks have abandoned the town. They’ve fled, sir, gone south out the Rosslare gate.’

  At this Perceval sent up a wail like that of a kicked dog and Ebenezer Jacob began to bless himself and mutter the Lord’s Prayer. Curiously, Maxwell seemed to receive this news with an air of placid acceptance and, to Foote’s surprise, an incongruous smile began to melt the waxen set of his mouth.

  Perceval was railing now, ‘This makes your obduracy even more ridiculous. You are a liberal and a well-known one at that. You should take Bagenal Harvey and go negotiate with those savages before they burn the town down around our ears. If the military cannot protect us then we must trust to diplomacy and our native wits.’

  ‘Then you talk to them,’ snapped Jacob. ‘Liberal I may be but I am Captain of the Wexford Yeoman Infantry and am well-known for that too. They’ll pike me where I stand.’

  ‘Harvey,’ intoned Maxwell, and for the first time since he arrived Foote saw his commanding officer’s hand move to smooth the corners of his now ragged moustaches. ‘We shall have Harvey sent to them, alone if needs be, but Harvey must go. He is high in the United ranks and will be listened to. If you wish to save your lives and property then he is the one who must go.’

  Perceval rose to his feet and roared then in guttural fervour, ‘Guards! Take us to Bagenal Harvey!’

  A small door in the wall across from Foote swung grindingly open and a ragged, unshaved soldier in the colours of the Wexford Infantry leaned through the aperture.

  ‘Sir?’ he asked.

  ‘We wish to see that blackguard Harvey,’ instructed Perceval.

  ‘This way, sirs,’ replied the yeoman.

  They followed the guard to Harvey’s cell door. The group of officers stood to one side breathing in the moss-dank air as the guard sorted through a bunch of heavy iron keys that jangled from a rusted ring at his belt.

  ‘Hurry up, man,’ snarled Perceval.

  At last the soldier selected the correct key, turned it easily in the door’s massive lock and swung the portal open. Harvey’s cell was quite large and a barred window set high into the wall allowed a cascade of summer sunlight to flood through and splash a tiger-striped lozenge of brightness upon the flagstone floor. Along with the sunshine, the sounds of the quays came clear and vital through the open gap of the window. Straw pallets were shoved against two of the walls and a stained wooden bucket sat in the shadows beneath the window. The place stank. A large fireplace, now cold and strewn with crumbling ashes and the wizened black scrawls of kindling, was set into the left-hand wall.

  Of Beauchamp Bagenal Harvey, there was no sign.

  The officers crowded into the cell with eyes wide as plates, their mouths gaping in disbelief. The guard stood behind them and scratched his head, a look of dumb, animal confusion clouding his features.

  ‘He was here earlier,’ began the man before Henry Perceval pirouetted and seized him by his grubby, yellow lapels.

  ‘If Harvey has escaped,’ the High Sherriff hissed, ‘your head will be on a spike before the day is out.’

  Maxwell’s voice then came, emollient and soothing, ‘Calm yourself Mr Perceval. Mr Harvey is still enjoying our hospitality. Isn’t that so Mr Harvey?’

  Silence greeted his words.

  ‘Come now,’ he said. ‘Childishness does not become a leader of men. I can see your foot, Mr Harvey.’

  Then, from the wall above the fireplace a disembodied voice, indistinct but discernible, grumbled hollowly, ‘I want nothing to do with you.’

  Incredulously, the guard and other officers moved toward the fireplace while Maxwell, tone still languid as a summer pool, instructed, ‘Come down from the chimney Mr Harvey or we shall be forced to pull you down.’

  ‘I shall not,’ came Harvey’s ghostly voice, accompanied by the sound of scrambling within the wall as of someone trying to gain better purchase on a slippery slope.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, get him down from there,’ ordered Maxwell at last.

  Four pairs of hands reached up into the flue and, in spite of Harvey’s kicks and curses, eventually grasped him by the ankles and yanked him roughly down from his soot-caked cubby-hole. Harvey sat in the filthy crucible of the lifeless hearth and blinked at his assailants in outrage. His face and hands and every fibre of his clothes were streaked with black, and pique made a quivering mass of his jowls.

  ‘How dare you gentlemen,’ he began before Maxwell, his temper boiling through his affected tranquillity, finally barked at him in frustration.

  ‘Shut up, Mr Harvey! I cannot hope to fathom what games you think are being played but I’ll have you know that people are dying beyond the walls of this town. Good Protestants like yourself are being butchered by your rebel compatriots. The town is on the verge of surrender, Mr Harvey. We wish for you to offer them terms.’

  Harvey blinked again, his eyes red-rimmed from the effects of the soot, and said wonderingly, ‘The United Irishmen have taken the town?’

  ‘Not yet,’ replied Maxwell. ‘But to avoid bloodshed and needless destruction we wish to offer terms.’

  ‘I will not go,’ stated Harvey. ‘Send Ebenezer, there.’

  Henry Perceval threw his eyes to heaven as Maxwell regarded the man sitting in the ash before him and sighed, ‘You are chief amongst the United Irishmen in all of Wexford and yet you will take no role in matters beyond crawling into a chimney?’

  Harvey contrived to look offended and explained as though speaking to a child, ‘You see, my dear Colonel, I am from the south of the county whereas most of these rebels, from what I can gather, are from the rural north. They would have no cause to trust me or even believe that I am who I claim to be.’

  He paused then and commented shrewdly, ‘I see Edward Fitzgerald hasn’t returned.’

  Foote perceived the first red blush of a murderous fury mount above Maxwell’s collar and the senior officer’s hand began to stray of its own accord toward the pistol tucked into his waistband. Evidently Harvey apprehended this fact as well for he immediately raised his hands and gushed, ‘But I do know of two people who would be inclined to go speak with these rebels. Loftus and Thomas Richards are very well known liberal Protestants and are beloved and held in high esteem by everyone. If I were to write them a letter and instruct them to take it to the rebels outside the town then I am sure that would suffice.’

  ‘Anything at this stage,’ breathed Perceval in despair. ‘If those vagabonds enter the town without bond of good conduct then every loyalist household must surely be ransacked and set aflame.’

  Maxwell was nodding now, ‘Very good. I shall leave you Mr Perceval and you Mr Jacob to provide Mr Harvey with the necessary writing materials. Colonel Foote and I shall busy ourselves preparing the defences should the insurgents decide to attack whilst negotiations are in progress. Such perfidious rascals are capable of any act, however outrageous.’

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Perceval. ‘Thank you for your efforts, Colonel.’

  The two officers then turned and left the cell, striding through the gaol and stepping out into the buzzing commotion of Barrack Street. Foote regarded his commander quizzically and asked, ‘Do you truly believe those rabid dogs out there on Forth Mountain will abide by any terms that we may offer? I have seen what they are capable of and yet you wish to negotiate a treaty with them, putting our lives, arms and ammunition all at risk?’

  Maxwell, his complexion still pale but gradually losing the waxy sheen that had so shocked Foote, smiled at his subordinate. ‘I do not mean to do anything of the sort, Mr Foote,’ he said acidly. ‘I mean to have every member of this town’s garrison evacuated before the rebels even know we have gone. Captain Snowe’s methods may lack finesse but his idea was the correct one under the present circumstances. The town is most abominably lost and I care not the toss of a pin for the terms offered by rebels. Do you think I would trust the word of a traitor to the Crown?’

  Foote frowned s
lightly, ‘But the Richards brothers and the townsfolk will be left at the mercy of those savages. One can only imagine their rancour should they find us gone and our terms worthless.’

  Maxwell snorted, ‘Can you imagine the disgusting vision of those thousands of bandits with all our arms and munitions? It is a thought most repulsive to me that our own guns may be turned on the King’s forces. It shall not stand. Better we save ourselves and leave these vacillating, lukewarm liberals to deal with that ungodly host than be the architects of our own downfall.’

  He slapped Foote companionably across the shoulder, ‘We shall live to fight another day, Mr Foote. Now ready your men to depart. Swiftly and with silent drum and colours furled. We must be as surreptitious as we can for to alert the townspeople is to alert our enemies.’

  Foote nodded slowly, the idea of abandoning the town under such conniving circumstances galled him and gnawed at his pride. Yet, at another level he felt a great surge of relief within himself. He would not be butchered and hacked like poor Major Lombard, would suffer no further humiliation at the hands of the brutal mob of peasantry. He would not end this day lying dead in the dust like old Jonas Watson.

  In spite of himself, a slow smile spread across his face like a slick of sewage. ‘Give the North Corks an hour, sir. As soon as the Richards boys ride into those barbarians’ hands we shall be gone out the Rosslare gate.’

  ‘Swiftly, Mr Foote,’ stated Maxwell leadenly, ‘and silently.’

  ‘As smoke, Colonel,’ replied Foote. ‘As smoke.’

  Dan, Elizabeth and Tom watched as the two riders drew closer. They wore the frock coats and tricorns of gentlemen but even at a distance of three hundred yards it was plain that both carried a brace of horse pistols. They advanced along the road from Wexford under the eyes and guns of every rebel on Forth Mountain and only the fact that one of them held aloft a white flag saved the riders from being blown apart. They were both young men, their faces pale petals in the distance, blued not at all by any trace of beard or stubble. As they came within musket range, their deportment conveyed their fear. They crouched in their saddles, the one holding the flag now fluttering it desperately.

  Standing beside the three friends, Edward Roche muttered softly, ‘Thomas and Loftus Richards? Now why would they send those two gentlemen as emissaries and not Bagenal Harvey or an officer of the garrison?’

  Tom leaned on his cavalry sabre, striking an incongruously jaunty pose standing as he was amidst fern, briar and gorse, and said simply, ‘They are afraid of us.’

  Roche looked at Tom, one heavy eyebrow cocked in question.

  Tom lifted his sword and pointed at the horsemen. ‘The commander of that garrison, Maxwell, is no fool. He does not trust us, since we have managed to hand every soldier in the county a hiding, burned one garrison town to the ground and allowed innocent civilians to be executed.’

  Roche looked uncomfortable at his words but Tom continued, ‘Would you offer yourself into the hands of such men as us, Mr Roche? For surely I would not.’

  The Richards brothers had reached the rebel lines and had been immediately swamped by a sea of grasping hands and shaken weapons. Both men were lifted from their horses and disarmed before being escorted up the slope encircled by a troop of braying pikemen who jeered and mocked their every step. The spectral pallor of their faces and the manner in which their eyes darted constantly from one sneering rebel to the next betrayed the naked terror that gibbered within each of their breasts.

  Eventually both men were brought before Roche where the eldest, barely into his twenties, spoke, ‘We should like to be conveyed to a senior officer in this—’ he paused for a moment, ‘this army.’

  Dan regarded the men with barely concealed contempt and, ignoring Elizabeth as she squeezed his arm, he answered, ‘Why, the gentleman whom you are addressing might be considered the leading light in our struggle for liberty. You might also seek out Fr John Murphy or Mr Edward Fitzgerald. We have no shortage of leaders and officers.’

  The snort of a horse heralded the arrival of Fr John on the scene. He had been riding through the camp and had jogged his mount over to investigate the furore. Now he stared down from the back of his great beast and fixed the two brothers with an intense, searching glare.

  ‘What you have to say may be addressed to the entirety of this camp,’ he declared. ‘For every man, woman and child deserves to hear what those redcoated cowards have to say for themselves.’

  Loftus Richards reached into his coat pocket and produced a piece of paper on which a spidery hand had scrawled a few short lines.

  ‘This comes from one of your own,’ said Loftus. ‘The garrison awaits your terms but Mr Harvey has seen fit to write to you.’ He cleared his throat and read in a voice loud but wavering somewhat with fear.

  ‘“I have been treated in prison with all possible humanity and am now at liberty. I have procured the liberty of all the prisoners. If you pretend to Christian charity do not commit massacre or burn the property of the inhabitants and spare your prisoners’ lives. B. B. Harvey, Wednesday, 30th May 1798”.’

  The entire throng that had gathered about fell into a stunned silence as Fr John regarded the two messengers with such a savage aspect that both men stepped back in terror.

  ‘Christian charity?’ he railed. ‘I do not know this Harvey fellow and I am under no compunction to do as he asks. I do not know what terms they can expect from me, not after the treatment that I have received.’

  His voice grew in volume so that the whole hillside resounded to his words, ‘They have burned my house and burned my property. I was obliged to take shelter in the ditches.’

  He cast his eyes over the thousands of faces all turned to him, aglow with the vehemence of his words, ‘They have put me under the necessity of rising the whole country!’

  At this the assembled insurgents issued a cheer like a gale through a forest canopy and moved as one clawing entity to tear the Richards brothers apart. Elizabeth screamed and clung to him as Dan roared, ‘They are under a flag of truce, for God’s sake!’

  Conversely Tom was attempting to haul his older brother from out of any proximity to the doomed men, growling, ‘Shut up, Dan, you damned fool!’

  To Dan and Elizabeth’s consternation, the vulpine face of Thomas Dixon could be seen, hot with zealousness, in the middle of the surging multitude. He was snarling and his voice was raised in a frenzied animal howl.

  It was then, just as fury seemed set to pitch the crowd headlong into a mayhem of slaughterhouse brutality, that Edward Fitzgerald cried out in dismay. His voice was deep and sonorous, carrying with it harmonics that cut through the snarls of the mob.

  ‘Stop, I say!’ he cried. ‘What have these two men done to any of you? They come before us carrying the surrender of the town and the words of our most respected and affectionate friend, now set at liberty. And we thank them with murder and violence. That is the way of the tyrant and despot. That is why we are in the field this day. We fight against the barbarity that you seek now to inflict upon these two innocents.

  ‘Liberty. Equality. Fraternity. If you wish to harm these men, why then you should strike down the very man beside you, aye, and me after; for we are all born one and the same with rights and passions that no man should dare thwart without due cause and reason.

  ‘If you wish to put emissaries bearing a white flag to death, then go find a red coat and join the garrison cowering down below, for there is no place for you within the ranks of the United Irishmen.’

  The gathered throng of pikemen were suddenly still and men panted in the afternoon sunlight like exhausted lurchers. Thomas Dixon began to say something, but Fr Murphy interrupted him, stating, ‘You speak well, Edward. Very well. You are of course correct in that no man should lay a hand on these two when the real foe is down below us in the town. What would you have us do?’

  Just then, John Hay suddenly barged through the rebel ranks and saluted automatically. Breathlessly, he gasped, ‘General Ro
che, Fr Murphy, Mr Fitzgerald. I believe we have been made the victims of a ruse de guerre.’

  Fitzgerald and Fr Murphy looked at the man curiously and Roche motioned for him to continue.

  Hay swallowed, getting his breath back, before ploughing on, ‘I have seen garrisons throughout Europe commit to this very course of action when necessity drives them and opportunity grants it.

  ‘We must split our forces and a strong detachment must be led around to the south of the town to cut off the garrison’s retreat to Duncannon. Otherwise we may win nothing today but bricks and mortar. No guns. No powder. Nothing.’

  Fr Murphy gaped openly at Hay’s words and shifted uneasily in his saddle before saying, ‘You mean to say that, while these men are sent here to negotiate with us, the garrison will fly towards Rosslare and thence across country to the fort?

  ‘Surely that is a death sentence for these two. Why would any man knowingly undertake such actions?’

  Before Thomas and Loftus Richards could begin a terror-stricken defence, John Hay replied, ‘Oh, these men are unwitting dupes. Pawns in a stratagem. They are of no importance whatsoever. Are you listening to me? We must drive with some portion of our forces toward Rosslare or this victory will be pyrrhic.’

  Roche and Fr Murphy exchanged sceptical glances.

  ‘I do not think that splitting our forces is the thing to do, Mr Hay,’ replied Roche. ‘The detachment you propose to intercept the garrison would be far removed from the main body of the men and we have no cavalry to lend quick support should it find itself in difficulty. No, we shall stand together as we have always done. It has served us well thus far.

  ‘Besides, I feel that the troops who so precipitately flew back to the safety of the town would not be eager to venture out into the countryside again so soon. The idea of them abandoning the loyalist civilians of Wexford, some of whom are the most grotesque monsters ever to tread the earth, and allowing them to face the wrath of the people without terms is absurd. No, we shall not act rashly in this. The garrison is at our mercy, our enemies are suing for terms.’