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Chapter XIV


    James was rapturously received on his landing by the entire of the Roman Catholic people, and by some of the Protestants that remained in the locality-amongst whom was the Rev. John Tom, vicar of Kinsale. He was accompanied by ships of war, carrying two thousand two hundred and five men. 
    On the 14th, five thousand more debarked.  They were commanded by Count Lauzaun and the Marquis de Lacy.  In their place James sent back a similar number of Irish; and on the same day he set out for Cork, where, on the next Sunday, he heard mass in a chapel belonging to a monastery on the north side.
    During his stay in Cork he was the guest of Major-General McCarthy, the commander of his forces in the South.  The general's residence*  was in the South Main Street (at that time one of the most fashionable localities in the Munster metropolis); and here the last king of the royal line of Stuart-a dynasty which occupied the throne of England for upwards of a century, and which had long previously worn the imperial purple in a neighbouring kingdom-lived for more than a week.
    The day after his arrival in Dublin-then a city of about 30,000 inhabitants-he issued a proclamation, summoning a Parliament to meet him at the King's Inn on the 7th of May.
    The representatives chosen by the Bandon corporation to sit in this Parliament, ''according to his most gracious Majesty's writ in that behalf,''  were Charles McCarthy, Esq.,  of Ballea, and Daniel McCarthy-Reagh, Esq.

                *  The house remained standing until about the year 1828, when it was taken down to make room for the Arcade-a thoroughfare not now much frequented, and which runs from the South Main Street to Great George's Street.
                  Charles McCarthy-a kinsman of Lord Clancarthy-was a colonel of militia in James's army.  For his attachment to that prince, his estates, valued at six hundred and thirty-five pounds per annum, were forfeited.  He was also one of the burgesses mentioned in the charter conferred on Bandon  by James.  The corporation elected him provost for the year 1691; and he would, in all probability, have discharged the duties of that office were it not for the success of William the previous year.  He died on the 20th of May, 1704, and was buried in Kilcea Abbey.  The McCarthys of Ballea were a sept of the great house of McCarthy-More.  Amongst the Irish gentry who left this country for France after the capitulation of Limerick, was one of this family.  He was a very small man, but very active; and so expert was he with the sword and pistol, that had no superior.  A French officer, meeting him one day, made some uncomplimentary remarks on his stature.  This nettled the peppery little Irishman to such a degree, that after retorting as vindictively as his scarcely intelligible French would permit, he sent the censorius Gaul a challenge to fight.  The latter-who was both tall and powerful-had heard of McCarthy being a crack-shot, and also that he was able to handle his toledo.  Nevertheless, he cheerfully accepted the summons to single combat, and named the sword as the weapon of his choice.  He may have been influenced to this resolve by his being aware that he was twice the size of his diminutive opponent, and, therefore, that he afforded the latter twice the chance of sending a bullet through his body than he had of performing a similar favour of him; and that, on this very account, his size, which would tell against him with the pistols, would tell for him with the sword-as his height, and consequent length of arm, would give him a considerable advantage over his little antagonist.  Both men were on the ground at the appointed time, and set vigorously to work.  Every thrust the Frenchman made at McCarthy the latter being dexterously parried, and afterwards gave back one in return before the big Gaul could recover his guard; but though he drove the point of his weapon straight at his heart more than once, and at other times cut through his clothing in efforts to spit him under the ribs, 'twas of no use-he did not even draw a drop of blood; and his tall opponent stood as erect as ever.  At last the sharp eye of the wife of one of the Irish soldiers who was present and who was beginning to grow apprehensive for the fate of her gallant countryman, detected-or, as some say only surmised-that the doughty Gallican had armour on beneath his uniform.  Quick as thought she addressed McCarthy in the mellifluous vernacular of his native hills-''Arrah, sir,'' said she, ''can't you stick him where we stick the sheep in ould Ireland!''  Looking towards where the voice came from, he smiled his thanks, and began again.  After a feint or two, he made a desperate lunge at his adversary's neck.  The point of his sword severed the carotid artery, and tore open the flesh with such force as to produce a wound which gaped into the very bone.  A thick stream of blood gushed out, warm and strong, and soon the poor Frenchman was beyond the reach of all human aid.

    The election was held on the 23rd of April, in the Tholsel or court-house, situate on the south side of the town, and the return was endorsed by the signatures of those who were present, namely:-

Daniel McCarthy, Deputy-Provost Daniel Conner
Manus McCarthy-Reagh Andrew Callaghan
Charles McCarthy John Walshe
Dermod McCarthy Thomas Knight
Henry Riordan Denis Leary
Cornelius Conner William Hore
Edward Collyer Cornelius Perry

    During the sitting of this Parliament several bills were passed, two of which involved very important interests.  One of these was for repealing the Act of Settlement, and the other for transferring the greater portion of the tithes from the Protestant to the Roman Catholic clergy.
    Of the peers, only fourteen obeyed the summons, amongst whom were the four Protestant bishops of Meath, Ossery, Limerick, and Cork.  By the revision of old attainders, however, and new creations, seventeen more were added.
    James's great want was a want of money; and in order to supply this, he had resource to coming.  As he had none of the precious metals to convert into the circulating medium, he had to supply their place with any kinds of metal he could lay hands on.  A cracked pot, or a broken frying-pan, worthless pieces of cannon, knockers of doors, brass candlesticks, and old kettles, were carted to the mint; and in a short time lumps of metal, coined to represent close on a million and a-half sterling, but not worth a sixtieth of that sum, were in circulation.*
    A royal ordinance pronounced them legal tender.  Hardly any one dared to refuse them; and those who did summon up courage, and declined to part with their goods, valued in twenty guineas, for a bag of pot-metal half crowns-in reality not worth seven shillings-were seized and brought before the provost-marshal, who swore at them, confined them in dark cells, and by threatening them with the gallows, compelled them to submit.
    On a bright sunny morning in April (1690), occurred the darkest disaster that as yet befell the citizens of the ancient and loyal borough of Bandon.  Ever since the capitulation of the town-just thirteen months before-the townspeople lead a very peaceful life.  Knowing that they were helplessly at the mercy of their hereditary foes, they did nothing that could afford a pretext for violence, or an excuse for extortion; whilst so thoroughly were they stripped of all their weapons by General McCarthy, that not a single musket, or even a charge of gunpowder, was to be had in the whole town.

                *  The amount issued nominally was 1,396,799.  After the battle of the Boyne, Lord Coningsby found 22,489 in the mint, which he valued at 641 19s. 5d.  It is stated that fourpennyworth of brass metal was made pass current for five pounds sterling; and, as if this was not enough, the half-crowns were subsequently transformed into five-shilling pieces, and the shillings reduced to half their former size.  Any one refusing to take them at the value set upon them by James, ran every chance of being hanged.  After the accessions of William, this coinage was reduced to its proper value, by a proclamation announcing that thenceforth a five-shilling piece should pass for one penny, a half-crown for three-farthings, and a shilling and a sixpence for a farthing each.   

    On Sunday morning it was usual to throw open the gates, in order to admit the numerous Protestant colonists to attend divine worship.  The gate at the northern side-called North-gate-invited the stubborn Presbyterians, who had settled along the upper banks of ''the fair Bandon,'' to enter its friendly portals on their way to the plain, unpretending meeting-house, which at that time occupied the site of the present court-house.
    The other gates were equally accommodating to the outsiders.  West-gate led to Ballymodan Church, whilst East-gate, at the other end of the town, conducted the settlers on the Innoshannon side to the studiously unassuming place of worship belonging to the Society of Friends.
    It was a calm, clear day.  The last peal of the church-going bell of Kilbrogan had settled into a prolonged booming sound-and even that was slowly softening into silence.  The grave-looking sextoness of the Presbyterian chapel, with her clean tidy apron on, and her neat but unassuming cap, had put her head outside the chapel doors for the last time to see if, perchance, some undecided straggler, or some over-worked neighbour's wife, had thought it not yet too late to join in the sacred services of the Sabbath morn.  She could see no one.  The streets that lay before her were empty.  There was not a voice, or even a footfall, to ruffle the solemn stillness of the scene.  Above her was the blue sky-the first, perhaps, that she had seen since the summer of the preceding year-and around her danced the golden sunbeams, all joyous and fresh, from their long winter prison.  She softly closed the door, and thought, as she did so, that surely this was indeed God's holiday.
    The Rev. Mr. Hardinge occupied his own pulpit on that Sunday morning; and with the foresight almost of a seer, had selected as his text, ''Let not your hearts be troubled: ye believe in God; believe also in me."
    He had not been preaching for more that ten minutes, when the sextoness, who fancied more than once that she had heard a subdued noise resembling the shuffling of feet, quickly left her seat, to see if there was anything amiss.  Scarcely had she opened the door, when back she started with a shriek, followed by a horde of savage-looking men, whose wild gesticulations and ferocious yells contrasted strangely with the staid and reverential deportment of those amongst whom they had thus suddenly come.  Pouring in, with their pikes waving above their heads, their long knives unsheathed, and ready for any atrocity, resistance was out of question.
    What could the people thus surprised do?  If any of them dared to look even angry, in an instant a dozen skeans were at his throat; whist others, not so accessible, felt that their lives hung upon the caprice of those whose levelled muskets were pointed at their heads.
    Having secured all the outlets, and rendered escape impossible, McCarthy,*  who commanded them, ordered his men to keep silence; then taking his seat as one of the congregation, he crossed his legs, and apparently paid strict attention to Mr. Hardinge's discourse.
    Meanwhile, the old minister-faithful to the trusts committed to him, and nothing daunted by the presence of one who held a colonel's commission under King James, and who had under his orders, and in that very place, those who would not hesitate to enter his pulpit and imbue their hands in his blood-proclaimed the divine precepts as heretofore, and pounded and expounded the various heads under which he had classed his subject, with just the same earnestness for the spiritual welfare of his hearers as he had done for the forty years preceding.
    After remaining about a quarter of an hour, McCarthy stood up and directed his followers to turn out, save those who were necessary for keeping the congregation in safe custody.
    Colonel McCarthy's design of surprising the town was well planned, and successfully executed.  Being an inhabitant of Bandon for no small portion of the two previous years, he was aware of the gates being left open on Sunday mornings, and of the strong prejudices entertained by the inhabitants of doing anything, even in their own defence, on the Lord's-day.  He took advantage of this, and waiting till the church bells stopped ringing-by which time his soldiers, who had marched in with him before day-break, and concealed themselves in the bogs of Callatrim, were rested and refreshed-he stole up with them to North-gate; and parties having been previously told off for certain posts, all they had to do was to march in and take possession.

                *  Colonel Charles McCarthy, the senior representatives for Bandon in King James's Parliament.
  There was a little girl named Mary Morris present on this eventful morning; and such was the impression made upon her youthful mind by all she witnessed, that she was enabled to state the most minute particulars in seventy years afterwards.

    A strong force occupied both churches.  That in Kilbrogan was accompanied by three Irish pipers.*   One of these fellows impiously sat on the communion-table, where he struck up "the King shall enjoy his own again," in triumphant style, beating a tattoo by way of accompaniment upon the leaf of the table with his long hairy legs, and with just as much composure as if he were seated upon the edge of his native-bog-hole, and was playing a tune for the boys at the wake of some mutual friend.
    Another fellow squatted on the circular bench in front of the communion-rail, with his dilapidated hat jauntily set on the side of his head.  Here he sat, whilst-with eyes brimful of fun and humour-he played "Lille-Burlero," and the "Humours of Bandon."  The latter he seemed much to relish, dwelling upon some of the notes in a style peculiarly grotesque.
    But the third seems to have been the most amusing of the lot.  He took up his station in front of the pulpit, and signified by his popes what he thought of the discourse.  If he had heard anything that pleased him, he'd make the pipes utter three or four jocular squeals, musically intimation his satisfaction; if otherwise, he'd lower his tubes, and give out a deep melancholy drone of disapprobation.
    Meanwhile the congregation looked on; and thought at any other time or place the ultra-comic nature of the scene might have produced shouts of merriment, yet, considering the orchestra selected by the pipers, and the circumstances under which the musical matinee was performed , we must not be surprised at the solemn silences maintained.
    Upon McCarthy's arrival the pipers were ordered out of the church, and permission given to the women and children to return to their homes; but the men were all made prisoners.
   The people at Ballymodan Church were similarly treated, the men alone being detained.

                *  One of the pipers was subsequently arrested and brought before Shane Dearg; but before the non-commissioned officer, in whose custody he was, had time to even narrate half the details connected with his arrest, the unfortunate man was on his way to the gallows.

    After spending some hours in pillaging the town, they conveyed all their plunder and their prisoners into the castle that up to about fifty years ago occupied the piece of ground on the right of the court-house, and upon which at present stands the town-hall.
    The property seized on them was not much, as the townspeople had carefully concealed the most of their valuables on the approach of General McCarthy; and the times being very disturbed ever since, they prudently left them remain where they were.
    The prisoners, however, were both numerous and respectable; every man for whose ransom they expected anything being secured,  The rest, not being considered of any value, were permitted to go at large,
    In the meantime various other parties were scouring the country, pillaging and bringing in prisoners.  One strong party made a fierce onslaught on Castle-Mahon; but Mr. Bernard, who had often smelt powder during the great rebellion, was not to be easily disposed of.  He was an old soldier, who had passed through many a bloody struggle with the Bandon Militia-a regiment in which he had served many years.  It was not probable that he, who had been rewarded with a grant of land by Cromwell for his services against men who were led by experienced officers-whom long campaigning had converted into trained soldiers, and who had resisted the arms of England for a dozen years-would now lower the red flag which flaunted defiance from the battlements of King John's tower, and surrender to a parcel of vagabonds whose acquaintance with the art of war scarcely extend beyond loading and firing a musket, and brandishing a pike.
    Mr. Bernard, who had timely notice of the enemies approach, had his retainers and several of the neighbouring farmers, many of whom had borne arms with him more than forty years before-armed and ready; and when the trumpeter appeared on the esplanade in front of the castle, and demanded that the castle itself and all its stores should be given up to his gracious Majesty King James, and that the garrison should come forth and deliver themselves up as prisoners, he bid them begone for a set of knaves.
    Seeing that they could obtain nothing by peaceable means, they marched up bodily to the main entrance, hoping to overawe the warders, and again demanded a surrender; but a universal "No!" assailed their ears from every quarter.
    Not a whit disconcerted by the firm negative, they attempted to batter in the great gate; but a well-directed discharge of musketry from within stretched some lifeless forms on the pavement.  Hurriedly withdrawing themselves for a time outside the range of the hostile bullets, they again advanced.  Every window was pushed violently and shaken, in order to effect an entrance.  Every door was attempted to be forced for the same purpose, but there was no stirring them.
    Meanwhile, the sentries-a chain of whom were posted on the open ground in the front, with orders to pick off every one who should appear in any of the windows and attempt to fire on those who were striving to get in below-were nearly all shot.  In fact, all any one of besieged had to do was to rest the muzzle of his piece on the windowsill, take good aim, touch the trigger, and down would drop one of the enemy-either howling with pain from a wound which would probably prove fatal, or a corpse.
    The garrison, no longer deterred from putting their heads out of the windows, now opened a murderous fire on the foe beneath.  They could not withstand this.  Should they remain much longer, they must all be killed.  They knew this, and with one simultaneous rush they took to their heels.
    But although they were disheartened, they did not despair.  Possessing themselves of the out-houses in the rear, they kept up a continuous discharge of fire-arms at every opening through which a ball could enter.  At length, seeing that victory was as far off as ever, they ceased firing, and ran to the banks of the river at the town side.  finding the water too deep there, they made the best of their way*  to the ford which lies a little to the east of the rustic bridge which at present spans the river in the deer-park.  Before they left, however, they inflicted a severe loss in killed and wounded upon the stubborn defenders of the little garrison, amongst who was Mr. Bernard, the owner of the castle, who valiantly lost his life in its defence.

                    *  A few years ago. in cleaning out a pond which lay in the track of the fugitives, the remains of a few old swords, from twelve to fourteen inches long, and the blade of a pike, were discovered imbedded in the mud at the bottom.  It is not unlikely that these fragments, pronounced by competent authority to belong to weapons of that period, were the remains of some thrown away by them in their flight.

    The dead Irish were collected and removed shortly after to a stable, where they were covered with straw; and the next day they were buried in an old but long disused graveyard, some traces of which may still be seen in the adjoining lands of Killountain.
    Another party surprised the house of Mr. Francis Banfield, of Shinagh.  Finding the door unfastened, they easily obtained admission, and rushed in.  They found him standing near the kitchen fire talking to his wife, and ordered him "to come along!"  The poor man hesitated, not well knowing what to do; upon which one of the marauders presented his musket at his head, and would most assuredly have stained his hearth-stone with his brains, had not his wife bounded forward, and throwing her arms around him, received the discharge in the upper portion of the left arm, and no small portion of the chest.  They then dragged him outside the door; but leaning forward to take one last look at her who had probably lost her life in order to prolong his, he perceived her lying near a chair-her pale face, and the white-washed wall against where she lay, being smeared with blood.  He implored the leader to be allowed to whisper but one affectionate farewell-to breathe but one last word into her ear before they were separated probably for ever-but his reply was a stroke of a halberd, which laid open his face from cheek bone to the chin, and covered him with blood.
    His cattle were all driven away, his effects were destroyed, and he who rose up on that morning in affluence and in happiness, closed his wary eyelids that night a disconsolate husband and a beggar.
    After all the prisoners were brought together, McCarthy addressed them, as well as those friends who had come to see them off.  He told them "that all he and the others on the same side with him wanted was their own.  That he would not dispossess one of them; for-so help him God!- he knew no one he would prefer as a tenant to any of them; and that what he merely required was that they should pay him their rents for the future instead of Lord Cork."
    Early on the following morning, those prisoners whose friends were unable or unwilling to pay the required ransom were marched off, strongly escorted, to Kerry, where they were confined in a Protestant church.
    During the time of their incarceration-which was about four weeks-they were tolerably well treated and fairly provisioned, but in a primitive manner.  If their captors wanted to supply them with beef, they would drive in a cow, telling them there was the meat, and let them divide it between them.  Potatoes and wood were literally showered down on them through a hole in the roof; and water was supplied them by being passed through a small aperture in one of the closed-up windows.
    The women and children who were left behind did not fare near so will as those who were taken away.  They were imprisoned, and in dread of being murdered.  It was no uncommon thing fir their guards, in some of their fiendish freaks of humour, to drag out four females, and placing a pack of cards in their hand, order them to play for their lives, telling them that they intended to kill them all, but that they would begin with the unsuccessful.
    This state of things continued about a month, when McCarthy-who had been in daily apprehension of King William's arrival, and considering that, in such a case, the prisoners would be likely to embarrass his movements, and otherwise prove a serious incumbrance should James be worsted-resolved on restoring them their liberty.  This he did, contenting himself with exacting the promise of a ransom so small, that it did not exceed in amount a fiftieth part of what he had previously demanded.
    At the same time he sent peremptory orders to his garrison in Bandon to withdraw from the town, and join him without delay.  The men fearing from such haste that something dreadful was about to happen, or that they would be surprised on their way home, evacuated the place in a perfect panic, taking nothing with them but their arms and accoutrements; having buried in and around the castle in which they  had been quartered all the plunder they had collected in the town and country during their sojourn.
    Although we could not expect to find those half-civilized militiamen possessed of any species of forbearance-impressed, too, as they had been with the conviction that their country and their forefathers had suffered centuries of oppression at the hands of the English-yet, in one respect, they behaved towards their female captives in a manner which would favourably contrast with any garrison in our own day similarly circumstanced.
    When the Bandon men returned from their captivity, many of them, being joined by others, formed a volunteer corps.  They elected their own officers; and, after a little hasty training, they hastened northwards to meet Schomberg, intending to join the King when he landed.
    William did not keep them long waiting.  On the 14th June he arrived at Carrickfergus, and immediately proceeded to Belfast, which he entered amid loud shouts of "God save our Protestant King!"
    The night came says Macaulay, but the Protestant counties were awake and up.  A royal salute had been fired from the castle at Belfast.  It had been echoed and re-echoed by guns which had been placed at wide intervals for the purpose of conveying signals.  Wherever the peal was heard, it was known that King William had come.  Before midnight all the heights of Down and Antrim were blazing with bonfires.  The lights were seen, and gave notice to the outposts of the enemy that the decisive hour was at hand.
    After enduring many hardships. of which fatigue and hunger were not the least, our little band of heroes reached the rendezvous at Loughbrickland in safety.  Here they were joined by some of those neighbours and fellow-townsmen who had eluded Tyrconnell's vengeance by escaping to England; and they had now accompanied the King to Ireland.  Amongst these were:-Colonel Beecher,*  Colonel Moore, Colonel Tomson, Bryan Wade, &c.; and amongst those who travelled up all the way from the South to join the ranks of the Protestant King were:- Robert Stukely, William Atkins, Thomas Sloane, Gosnell, Swanton, &c.
    The Bandonians were attached to the auxiliaries from Londonderry; with whom they followed Soame's Blues into the water, and by whose side they remained fighting throughout the day.  At this distance of time we are unable to mention any special acts of valour performed by them, as tradition only briefly relates that they fought like men; but we may fairly assume that they were not behind their heroic brethren of the maiden city in all the qualifications essential to make a brave soldier.

                *  Colonel Thomas Beecher, lineally descended from Phane Beecher, the founder of our town, married Miss Turner, a Bandon lady.  He served during the battle as an extra aide-de-camp to King William, who was so pleased with his services, that he presented him with his own watch upon the field.  Colonel Beecher sat for Baltimore in 1692, and for which place he continued to sit until 1709, when he died.
  They do not appear to have been very roughly handled by the enemy, as the only casualty that we have heard of was that befell "Bill Atkins"," who had the little finger of his right hand carried off by an Irish bullet.

    After the battle was over-seeing that their military services were no longer requisite, and acting upon the principle that all was fair in war-our volunteers roamed over the battlefield in quest of riderless horses, and whatever else they might consider legitimate trophies of war.  In this they only followed the example of their superiors.  Lord Coningsby, for instance, is said to have taken three hundred head of cattle and several horses, which James's army left behind, without rendering any account of them to the King.  After securing a number of horses, sufficient almost to mount the entire band, they marched for Bandon, led by one of their valiant non-commissioned officers (Corporal Sloane), whose only qualification for the important post which he then held-at least, as far as we can now be ascertained-was that his charger was equal in value to the mounts of nearly the others, having belonged during the day to an Irish officer of rank, many of whose accoutrements were still affixed when captured by the gallant volunteer.  The horse was subsequently called "Billy Boyne"-"Billy" in compliment to the King, and "Boyne" in reference to the locality where he changed masters.
    No news had been received in Bandon for several days after the battle.  The townspeople were on the tiptoe of expectation; but they had been afraid to make any manifestation of their sympathies.  At last, upon the Monday succeeding the great events of the preceding week, various conflicting rumours reached them.  One report prevailed that William was killed by a cannon-shot early in the fight, and that all his army were slain or taken prisoners.  Another was that the Irish had been routed with great slaughter, and that several of their generals were in the hands of the victors.
    With minds full of gloomy apprehensions, they knew not what to do.  What if James should be the conqueror?  Then farewell to the labour of many a weary year; farewell to the fields made fruitful by their industry; farewell their altars, their liberties, their all.  But should William be victorious, then all would again be joyous and happy.
    Whilst in this uncertain state, and with hope and fear alternately predominating in their breasts, a young man arrived, exhausted and almost breathless; and announced, with a terrified look, that a large body of cavalry were coming down Kilpatrick-hill, and conversing with one another in a foreign tongue.
    In an instant consternation was in every face.  Their utter helplessness, now thrice apparent, convinced them that they could be none other than the French, who were coming to take possession of their town; whilst the remembrance of all they had suffered no yet three months since had such an effect upon the women who were present, that several sunk on their knees, and they prayed to a merciful God to remove them out of this world, rather that that they should again witness scenes similar to those with which they were unhappily too familiar.
    But this despondency was not of long continuance.  The gloom which overspread their saddened faces broke; then passing away, hope's effulgent beams shone forth, when into their midst hobbled an old soldier named Delaroy* -one who had long served his country in foreign lands, and who had often looked death in the face in many a hard fight.
    Having pushed his way into the crowd, and learned from the young man all the particulars he could collect as to the uniform and accoutrements of the approaching troops, he finally asked if they wore any ornaments on their head-dress.
    "Oh yes!" said he, "they have silver bungles in front of their caps."
    "Then huzza!" shouted the old veteran, throwing his crutch into the air, and bounding with very joy, "them be the Dutch horse, and many and many is the time I seed them fellows afore in the Low Countries."
    Meanwhile the cavalry approached; and having arrived where the cross-rod meets the north-eastern extremity of Kilbrogan glebe, they halted, and sent forward a trumpeter with a letter to the authorities, by which it, appeared that the force consisted of two troops of Ginkell's horse, who had been sent by William to garrison the town.
    One troop passed along Kilbrogan Street, and into the town through North-gate; the other passed down the old Cork road, and thence in by the West-gate.

                *  Delaroy was not only lamed in both legs from wounds, but also lost one of his eyes from the same cause.  Nevertheless, he is represented as being a first-class marksman, and upon one occasion is stated to have killed two men with one shot.

    We need scarcely say that they were both thankfully and triumphantly received.
    Whilst the troop that passed through Cork road was on its way down that steep suburbs, a gaily-dressed young man was seen riding up Foxe's Street on a white horse.  The quick eye of the Bandon volunteer who accompanied the troopers as a guide soon espied him.  On inquiring who he was, a bystander informed him it was Lord Clancarthy.  Instantly dismounting, he placed the muzzle of his piece on an adjoining fence, and fired.  The ball is said to have hit its mark, but owing to the great distance its strength was spent, a it did no harm.
    The garrison with which Clancarthy occupied the town after McCarthy's departure were almost in as great a state of trepidation as the Bandon matrons on the approach of the foreign horse.  Their arrival would decide their fate.  If they belonged to King James, the day was theirs.  If they belonged to King William, the day was lost; and they must either quietly settle down to peaceful pursuits, or quit the country.
    But however disposed they may be to bend to circumstance, their clergy were for fighting it out to the last.
    "If the Williamites do come itself," says Father Crowly to his congregation on the preceding Sunday, "every man of you that dies fighting will go straight to glory."
    When William's men did come, or were nearing the walls, the garrison ran.  Some of them followed Lord Clancarthy, and at first went towards the sea-side, but eventually turned their footsteps to Cork and Kinsale, where they arrived unmolested; but the greater portion of them left by West-gate.
    Amongst those who accompanied the latter was Father Crowly, who, in his efforts to place as much ground as possible between himself and the new comers, got helplessly imbogged in a piece of soft ground at that time known as Spratt's marsh.  Here the poor Father Mick floundered, and floundered in vain.  He could not get his feet out of his boots, and he couldn't get his boots out of the bog.
    "Teige," cried he to one of Clancarthy's men who was hastening by, "stay and pull off my boots, and God will bless you!"
    "Yerra, I thought yer reverence would stay behind and earn your share of the glory you tould us about on Sunday last!" says Tiege, without waiting to give a tug at his confessor's leathers, or even stretching out a helping hand to extricate him from the fix he was in.
    Throughout all Bandonia there was great rejoicing for the great victory at the Boyne.  High and low, Episcopalian and Non-conformists, old and young, felt relieved from a thousand apprehensions.  That government which had begun with the spoilation of their liberties, then attacked their properties, and before long would take their lives, was as end.
    Exultation was everywhere.  The name of the great deliverer was in every mouth.  The farmer drank his health in a pot of beer; the squire*  wished him long life in a bumper of claret; the clergyman prayed for him from the pulpit; the townspeople paid him the highest compliment they could-they likened his to Cromwell.  Everyone had something good to say of, or something great to wish to, glorious William.  But sincere as they were in their ardent loyalty, and loud as they were in their laudations of their new king, the parish-clerk of Kilbrogan excelled them all.
    When the first lesson was concluded on the Sunday after the news of William's victory had been received in Bandon, "Let us sing," says old Eldad Holland, "to praise and glory of William, a psalm of my own composing:-

                "William is come home, come home;
                 William home is come'
                 And now let us in his praise
                 Sing a Te Deum."

    He continued:-"We praise thee, O William!  We acknowledge thee to be our king!"  adding, with an impressive shake of the head, "and faith, a good right we have, for it is he who saved us from brass money, wooden shoes, and Popery!"  He then resumed the old version, and reverently continued to the end.
    Old Eldad was one of those quaint, old-fashioned people, whose notions of propriety differed widely from those entertained in our own day.  He did not see why the clergyman should have all the talk too himself, and yet he did not like to interrupt him.  When he withdrew, however, to the vestry, Eldad used generally informed the congregation of anything that he thought would interest them; but instead of addressing them in the orthodox style as "dearly beloved brethren," he used simply say, "Boys."
    "Boys," said he on one occasion. "I suppose you have heard that the first of July will fall this year on a Sunday, so the battle of the Boyne is put off to next day.  I'm sorry to tell you also that the Ballymodan side won the toss this time, as so we're to fight for King James.  Hump!  May the devil scald him!"

                    *  Up to the close of the last century there was scarcely a gentleman of position in this neighbourhood, or throughout; the west of this country, who ever thought of rising from his dinner-table without drinking to "the glorious memory."  He fist gave thanks to God for the good things which He had made his, an then he drained his glass to the memory of him by whose exertions he was enabled to enjoy them.  Even at the present day it is not of rare occurrence here at a festive gathering-especially should this event occur on the first or on the twelfth of July-for the host after inviting his quests to "fill up," and seeing that they did so, to rise to his feet, and pushing back his chair, so as to give him full room say:-"Gentlemen, as we are all loyal men here, I give you the glorious, pious, and immortal memory of the great and good King William.


 [Preface]    [Contents]    [Bernards]   [Index]    [Depositions]    [Maps]   [Definitions]    [Town/Parish Descriptions, 1835]  [Pictures]


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