Fall of the Geraldines. 1485-1558

**

CHAPTER VI** *

The Fall of the Geraldines***

1485-1558**

“Ye Geraldines! ye Gerald ines! how royally ye reigned

O’er Desmond broad and rich Kildare, and English arts disdained;

Your sword made knight, your banner waved, free was your bugle call

By Glyn’s green slopes and Dingle’s tide, from Barrow’s banks to Youghal.”

- Davis.

Henry VII. found, on his accession, a strong Yorkist faction in Ireland. It had not been exhausted by a long war and crushed in a great battle, as had been the case in England. The country was ripe for an attempt to redress the misfortunes of the White Rose and to drive out the new king before he was well settled on the throne. The cold and cautious monarch saw the danger, but did not yet feel strong enough to cope with it. The Yorkist viceroy, the Earl of Kildare, was allowed to retain his position lest his disgrace might be a signal for the revolt of his powerful Geraldine followers.

Before a year had elapsed a boy appeared at Dublin, who declared that he was the Earl of Warwick, son of Edward IV.‘5 brother, and, therefore, rightful heir to the crown. He had, he said, escaped from the Tower of London, where he had been immured by the King. The Irish nobles - even the viceroy Kildare himself - professed themselves fully satisfied with the truth of his statement. In vain did King Henry deny the story, and parade the real earl through the streets in England.

Amid great enthusiasm the lad was installed in Dublin Castle and crowned king in Christ Church Cathedral with the approval of viceroy, hierarchy and citizens. Only the Ormond family, the city of Waterford, and one or two bishops and nobles held aloof from the popular movement. The Dubliners harassed the trade of the loyal city by a series of piratical raids.

In return the men of Waterford received commissions from the King of England to retaliate in kind. The Yorkists held sway in Ireland, and all the acts of government ran in the name of Edward VI., the title assumed by the boy, whom his enemies declared to be a clever impostor named Lambert Simnel.

In June 1487 an expedition, containing many leading Irishmen, set sail for England, but was utterly defeated at Stoke. The late Edward Vi., who fell into the hands of the victors, was degraded to the level of a scullion in the royal kitchen. His Irish partisans were treated with the same lenity, though with less contemptuousness. Kildare was continued in his office, and the city of Dublin obtained pardon on the chief inhabitants entering into a bond of 1000 marks for future obedience to. King Henry’s government.

The only exception to the general amnesty was Prior Keating of Kilmainham, the man who had denied to a viceroy the right of entry into Dublin Castle. His latest action had been to refuse to deliver up his priory to one Lomley, an Englishman, who had been appointed to supersede him. When Lomley appeared to claim his right, he was maltreated and robbed of his credentials. Keating was excommunicated for this outrage, and retorted by throwing his opponent into prison. At last the authorities succeeded in evicting this singularly tenacious Hospitaller. He died in miserable exile.

The citizens took care not to forfeit their recognizance during the attempt of Perkin Warbeck on the English throne. The pretender marched through Southern Ireland more than once without meeting with any support, and his ships were chased away by the ultra-loyal men of Waterford.

Kildare was suspected of complicity with Warbeck’s project, and was removed from the viceroyalty. His successor was the celebrated Sir Edward Poynings, whose Act for restraining the liberty of-Irish parliaments was, for the next three centuries, a great stumb1ing-block in the way of lovers of Irish autonomy. He had been instructed to take measures to prevent for the future any quasi-independent regime in Ireland, whether of self-aggrandizing viceroy or ambitious pretender.

With this end in view, he passed a law providing that no parliament was to be held in Ireland until the intended legislation had been laid before the King and received his approval. At the same time he practically abolished the Fraternity of S. George, which had now become an instrument of exaction, not defence. The dues payable for its support were in future to go to the King. Poynings enclosed the English counties around Dublin with a double ditch as a defence against the incursions of the Irish. Thus the rather vague area, which acknowledged English authority, and was usually known as the Pale, received a distinct and definite boundary. Within his narrow fence the viceroy might enforce absolute order and form a firm base for the reconquest of Ireland.

Poynings was a worthy forerunner of the great series of Tudor governors, an almost unbroken line of statesmen remarkable for courage and ability, yet stained too often by an almost cynical perfidy and cruelty towards the native inhabitants. The Geraldines received a sharp lesson when the new governor marched against them, besieged, and took their castle of Carlow.

The great Kildare was accused of treason, and sent to London for trial. He was only saved from the block by his ready wit and blunt self-confident bearing. His enemies accused him of burning down the cathedral at Cashel, the archbishop of which was in league with the Ormonds. The earl saved them the trouble of proofs by a sudden admission. “But,” said he, with a round oath, “I would never have done it had it not been told me that the archbishop was within.” The prelate in question was present, and was taken aback at the unexpected retort, while the King was much amused to hear such a plea put forward for the defence.

In further verbal encounters Kildare more than held his own, and gradually rose in the favour of his sovereign. “All Ireland cannot rule this man,” said the Ormond party. “Then he shall rule all Ireland,” said the King, and sent the eare back to Ireland as viceroy.

Kildare showed his gratitude by the skill and energy of his administration. He carried his arms into the West of Ireland, untrodden by English foot since the hibernicising of the De Burghs. The mayor and citizens of Dublin followed in his train, and fought with their usual gallantry. At Knockdoe in Galway a great victory was won, which broke the power of the western clans.

The new ruler even tried to conciliate the Ormonds, for generations enemies of his house. The head of the rival family was induced to attend a conference in

S. Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin. The citizens, who were for the most part of the Geraldine faction, mustered in arms outside the church to protect Kildare, seeing the strength of Ormond’s following. While the leaders were conversing within, a broil arose between the rank and file on either side. The Butlers were driven into the building, where the Dublin men pursued them, bending their bows in the sacred edifice itself. Their arrows were found after the fray sticking in the images of saints, which adorned the rood loft.

Ormond feared treachery, and retreated to the Chapter House, where he barricaded himself until Kildare pledged his honour for his safety. An axe was then brought, and a hole cut in the door so that the two principals might shake hands in token of good-faith. But Ormond was still suspicious, and would not put his hand out, fearing lest it might be chopped off by the axe, which he had heard at work. So the other, with his usual bluff readiness of manner, thrust his own hand into the midst of his enemies.

The doubter was convinced, the barrier removed, and a sort of reconciliation took place. The historic door is preserved in the south transept of the cathedral. The sacrilege of the citizens in the affair was considered so heinous as to merit the special attention of a papal legate. The mayor and leading men of the town were ordered to do penance in perpetuity for their offence by walking barefoot before the Sacrament in the yearly Corpus Christi procession. The Reformation soon released them from their annual humiliation.

The accession of Henry VIII. was celebrated in Dublin with much joy and ringing of bells. How little men know what they should rejoice at! The new monarch was destined to add another evil, religious persecution, to the long catalogue of Irish ills. The early years of the reign are marked by little more than the usual campaigns of the citizens on the borders. The ” sweating sickness,” or ” English sweat” as it was called, probably from its being carried to Ireland by strangers from across the Channel, carried off great numbers. Kildare died and was succeeded in both earldom and viceroyalty by his son Garret Oge (Garret the young), who had a hard struggle to retain his office in face of the intrigues of Ormond in Ireland and Cardinal Wolsey at King Henry’s court. He was more than once superseded, but usually regained his old position.

Once, while he was thus in eclipse, there was a great riot between his partisans in the city and the soldiery of the viceroy by whom he had been supplanted. It arose out of a trifling cause. A drunken servant engaged in piling hay pitched some on to the hat of a passing soldier, who promptly resented the insult by hurling his dagger at the offender. The servant dodged the missile, and thrust his fork through the soldier’s shoulder. The quarrel was taken up by comrades on both sides, and many were wounded. The mayor issued out with the King’s sword to quell the disturbance, and met the Lord Lieutenant coming from the Castle with the same intention. The erring servant was delivered up to the forces of the Crown, but pardoned on the grounds that no loss of life had ensued.

Earl Garret’s enemies at last succeeded in driving him from power. In 1534 he was summoned to London to answer various heinous charges and, on arrival, was committed to the Tower. Before his departure he had entrusted the government to his son Lord Thomas Fitzgerald, a high-spirited impetuous lad of 20, whose fondness for gay attire had earned him the name of “Silken Thomas.” The unfortunate young man was too hot and hasty for the task before him. False reports of his father’s death on the scaffold in England were circulated by the Butler party and drove him into a frenzy.

He rode into Dublin at the head of 140 horsemen, burst into the Council Chamber at S. Mary’s Abbey, resigned his office and with it all allegiance to Henry VIII. The chancellor earnestly begged him to abandon a course, which could only end in ruin to himself and his father. His entreaties were almost prevailing, when an Irish bard from among the retainers outside struck up a Geraldine war-song, calling for vengeance for the earl’s death. The young lord flung down the sword of state, emblem of his office, on the council table, and rushed wildly from the room, an avowed rebel. The news killed his father, already smitten with palsy.

Lord Thomas began the siege of Dublin. His allies, the O’Tooles of Wicklow, plundered the whole of the surrounding country and inflicted a severe defeat on the citizens, who tried to intercept them at the ford of Kilmainham on their return from a great foray north of the Liffey. While this disaster still lay heavy on the people, Thomas demanded a passage through the streets for his troops to assault the citadel.

The municipal authorities hesitated and consulted both the King and the constable of the Castle. The latter cheerily professed his willingness to stand a siege, if the town would supply him beforehand with a sufficient stock of provisions. So the Geraldine army was admitted and planted its guns right opposite the main gate near the site of the present Grattan Bridge. The constable’s self-confidence was fully justified.

Lord Thomas’s operations ended in complete failure. The Castle gunners from their superior elevation dominated their enemy’s lines. The townsmen suddenly rose and shut the city gates, making prisoners of many of the besiegers. Lord Thomas mounted guns on Howth Head to prevent reinforcements coming from England, but they eluded him by landing at Dalkey on the other side of the bay. His cause was stained with murder. John Allen, Archbishop of Dublin, the foremost of his late father’s accusers, was trying to escape to England from the beleaguered city, when his ship was stranded at Clontarf.

The Geraldine leader was but a mile away at Artane, and the unfortunate prelate fell into the hands of his bitter enemy. He fell on his knees and begged for mercy. “Away with the churl,” was the sole answer, and Lord Thomas’s retainers, interpreting the remark and the gesture, which accompanied it, as a death sentence, fell upon the unhappy captive and slew him on the spot, This deed brought down excommunication on the perpetrators.

The besiegers now tried to storm the city, one by way of Ship Street, only to be foiled by the accurate fire of the Castle and the destruction of all the houses outside the walls, which might serve for cover. An attack from the west on the New Gate was on the point of succeeding, when the citizens sallied out with shouts of “reinforcements from England” and threw the Irish into a panic.

It was all over now with the rash young lord. He was surrounded by treachery. The arrows shot by his men into Dublin were often headless and sometimes bore information of his plans. The siege had to be raised and the leader was soon obliged to surrender to the new viceroy. In 1537 Silken Thomas and his five uncles were executed at Tyburn.

The ancient line of Fitzgerald was brought to the verge of extinction. A lad of 12 and an infant in arms were the only male heirs left alive. The boy was the mark of a thousand plots and intrigues, from all of which he escaped safely, to be the ancestor, in after years, of another long series of Geraldines.

The Reformation reached Dublin in 1535*** ***Archbishop Browne, who succeeded the murdered Allen, was the first Protestant to occupy the see. The relics preserved in Christ Church, including the miraculous “Staff of Jesus”, were burned, the monks were expelled from the priory attached to the cathedral, and a parliament at Dublin in 1536 acknowledged the King as supreme head of the church. Another assembly in 1541 conferred on Henry the title of King of Ireland. His predecessors had only styled themselves “lords” of the country. The change indicated the new assertion of absolute authority instead of a vague and uncertain suzerainty.

The Dubliners accepted the changes very calmly. Quarrels with domineering archbishops and with the numerous monasteries in and around the city seemed to have weakened their ardour for the faith. They fought on the Protestant side at Bellahoe, in 1539***, ***the first armed encounter between the two creeds in Ireland. They even accepted the spoils of the Church.

As a reward for their actions against Silken Thomas they received the lately dissolved convent of All Hallows, the site of which was subsequently utilised for the building of Trinity College. In 1551 the viceroy, Sir Anthony Sentleger, promulgated the “Book of Common Prayer” in Christ Church Cathedral, to the intense disgust of Dowdall, Archbishop of Armagh, who declared that “every illiterate fellow would now be able to say mass.” After this outburst, Dowdall held no further communication with the reformers. The authorities marked their disapproval of his conduct by transferring the primacy from his see to that of Dublin.

However, there was as yet no persecution, and, apparently, very little excitement about the new doctrines. During the reign of Queen Mary the mass was restored in Dublin. But, paradoxically enough, this town, the capital of a country predominantly Roman Catholic, was the asylum of a number of Protestant refugees from Cheshire and other counties, who were fleeing from the persecutions in England.

A story is told of the incident to which Dublin owed its lucky immunity. An emissary of Queen Mary charged with the extirpation of heresy in Ireland, while journeying thither, boasted of his mission to his hostess at Chester and displayed the royal warrant

She, however, fearing for the safety of some Protestant friends in that country, stole the fatal document from his luggage and substituted for it a pack of cards, which lay there until the Dublin Council asked to see his credentials, and the would-be persecutor was dismayed to find the trick that had been played on him. Would that all such missions might have met with such a laughable ending! But, as the reign of Elizabeth shows, the evil intentions of government do not always miss their mark.

Last Struggles of the Clans. 1558-1603. To Chart Index. Home.