THREE NIGHTS AT ANCONA.

THE 30th September, 1860, was an eventful day for the little garrison of Ancona. The attack from the besiegers opened in the early morning, and was maintained throughout the day with greater vigour than on any day since the siege began. Down in the harbour the fight was hottest. The entire fleet advanced close to that solitary battery which commanded the entrance, and poured upon it, for hours without intermission, a fire that must soon not only silence, but annihilate it. And that gallant little battery, how spiritedly it replied! How promptly it spoke back those notes of defiance as long as a gun lived in it! I never knew what stubborn valour" meant before. The brave fellows who manned that battery held it while the murderous fire from the ships shot away its defences bit by bit, and when their last gun had fallen from its place, they blew up the pile with a crash that shook the earth for miles around.

About 4 P.M., the white flag was hoisted from the battlements of the fortress, and the signal was immediately repeated all round the outworks. The firing ceased on both sides; the fleet steamed out. The men still remained at their posts, though all work had been suspended. As was natural, those near each other had formed into knots to talk over the capitulation. The feeling most general amongst the Irish soldiers was one of regret at giving in without more fighting. All expressed the greatest confidence in the prudence of the General; but they "should like to have had a chance at the Piedmontese in close quarters." I made one of a party of five who had come together in Captain C―'s tent. The truce and proposed capitulation formed the subject of a conversation, in course of which we are startled by a cannonade, which we suddenly hear from the direction of the enemy's lines. Every one asks, "What does this mean?" We run out to see. Our men are not firing, but there is a stir among them. Orders are sent round to keep them quiet. The truth soon becomes visible-the enemy has opened upon us a murderous fire, our flags of truce still flying! They fire on us; yes, and they fire on us with a dreadful earnestness. Is this the army that has risen to revive the ancient glories of Italy? Are these the people who have been represented by British statesmen as the very soul of honour? Bah! Piedmontese honour indeed!

A LOOK-OUT AT MIDNIGHT.

Night falls; but the fire ceases not-slackens not. "Well," I thought, "let what will come, I shall go and have an hour's sleep." I had my usual sleeping quarters in one of the apartments of the fortress, and I betake myself to my corner. I lay me down; but I cannot sleep. I close my eyes and try again and again; but sleep is impossible. Every shot disturbs me. The magazine is hard by, being separated from the fortress only by a narrow court. The vestibule has been the sleeping quarters and rendezvous for many of our men

during the siege. I enter it, and am glad to find some men talking there, while many others are stretched here and there asleep, after the fatigues of the day. I join the group that stood talking near the door. The night passes on, the Piedmontese guns still playing upon our positions, and the moon shining brightly overhead. Stay! Who is this that approaches us from the interior? A white kerchief is tied round his head, and another round his neck, and a short cloak drawn closely round his body. He walks slowly by, and addresses a few words to me in passing, touching this strange proceeding of the besiegers in keeping up the fire. It is Lamoriciere himself. He is a middle-sized man, with very keen eyes, and a complexion deeply bronzed by the African sun. His gait generally is more lively than dignified. He wears a heavy mustache, which, as well as his hair, is strongly tinged with grey. His voice is strikingly firm, and in conversation he speaks with much animation and earnestness. It was about the

hour of midnight when he passed out. He had just risen from his mattress, and, without waiting to change his costume, he went out thus quietly and alone to ascertain how things went on. To see him thus, in the dead hour of night, go straight to the walls, and take a long look at the blazing batteries of the enemy,-to see him go round from point to point, shell and ball flying in plenty the while, is a sight which a soldier would love to see. It is not every general that has such stuff in him. What has made him look so troubled to-night?

A BRILLIANT ESCALADE!

Morning dawned, and the firing thundered still. What is to be the end of this? We had hoped little from the Piedmontese robbers, but we were not prepared for such strange work. Do they refuse to treat with the General? Do they mean to butcher us? Let them come, the dogs; if we get within bayonet's length of them we should be satisfied. Hot words like these -uttered not clamorously, but quietly, and with unmistakable carnestness-were spoken by many men that morning. At first the firing only perplexed them; then there was indignation, and indignation fast ripening into vengeance.

But lo! what next? There is a rush to a certain point on the battlements. I hasten thither also. Below, on the road leading from the Porta Calamo to the Rocca, or fortress, is a Piedmontese officer, preceded by two Piedmontese soldiers-one a bugler, and the other bearing a pole from which hung a white flag. The eyes of the officer are bandaged with a white kerchief, and at his side walks an officer of the garrison-an Irishman, by the way-who acted as his conductor to the General's quarters. On they come to the drawbridge of the fortress, where they are met by one of Lamoriciere's staff, who at once led the Sardinian envoy (for such he was) into the presence of the General, leaving the two soldiers standing outside. After about half-an-hour, he re-appeared, and was conducted out as he had come in, his eyes bandaged as before. Of course, the firing had ceased by this time.

Not very long after, another messenger of peace, accompanied by a huge sharpshooter, comes towards us in a carriage from Porta Pia. He is dressed in major's uniform-gray trousers, blue coat profusely embroidered, blue sash, heavy-looking silver epaulets, and shako ornamented with silver lace. Arrived at the gate of the fortress, he got out of his carriage, and having a white bandage drawn over his eyes, was conducted by two of the staff to the General's quarters. In about three quarters of an hour he re-appeared, got into his carriage, and, with his giant attendant, returned to the camp. After his departure we all understood that the terms of the capitulation had been finally arranged.

The way being now clear, we expected the enemy in immediately. Nor were we disappointed; we soon could perceive a large body of troops move towards us. Anxious to observe all their movements, I went to the parapet looking down over the Lazzaretto and the Porta Pia, as it was towards this point they held their course. They halted and formed into column under the steep approaches to the wall. The officer in command gave the word, and on they rushed helter skelter up the steeps, and over the wall. Inside there was a clear space, and here again they fell into close column. Quickly they put themselves in the attitude for a charge, and, with bayonets fixed, dashed down several Streets. I must record my testimony, as an eye-witness, to the fearless heroism displayed by the Piedmontese soldiers in that grand charge. "Forward, mes braves!" How proudly the Italian sun, on this bright harvest morning, pours down his glory on those brave fellows, as they charge, not indeed small bodies of armed men, but large masses of atmosphere!

GOING INTO CAPTIVITY.

On the evening of that day-rather should I say, in the night, for it was 8 P.M.-our battalion got into a line, and marched from our position under the fortress towards the Porta Pia. This name (of one of the gates of Ancona) is also given to a magnificent promenade which runs from the gate towards the inside, occupying the space between a range of beautiful houses and the water's edge. Here we halted; and here we had the honour of meeting a large crowd of people who had come out to see us. There were some of the town's-people, a sprinkling of Piedmontese officers, and a large number of Piedmontese soldiers. These last walked leisurely up and down our lines-we were scarcely 500 strong -eyeing us apparently with the greatest interest. This being the first time they came into close proximity with most of our men, the curiosity on our side was very strong also, so that the glances of the captors were returned; and we were anything but favourably impressed by the specimen before us. They were in general very "raw" looking for trained soldiers, and very much tanned. Besides, their costume-a grey coat, and an undress cap, resembling a nightcap with a short tassel-appeared to us the reverse of handsome. In this position we remained for a couple of hours.

There was no clamour, but it was by no means a dumb show. The Italians spoke glibly amongst themselves, and the Irish talked freely with each other. Some kind words passed between the two parties; but on the whole I considered our position mortifying. I do not mean mortifying in the sense that our position implied shame or dishonour to us. On the contrary, there was much that was gratifying in the position; for there was not a man standing among the prisoners who had not the consciousness of having done his duty; not one who could not hold up his head and say, "Overpowered by numbers, I lay down iny sword which I have never dishonoured by fear, nor disgraced by wielding it in an unjust canse." For myself, I have to record among the consolations of the hour, the soothing whispers of that twin sister of Charity, Hope. My curiosity for a nearer survey of those redoubtable sub-alpine heroes was satisfied in a few minutes, and then my eyes turned seaward. The waters were placid; the moon had come out and made a bright roadway over their surface. There was now and again the slightest ripple, which, however, did not break the beautiful line, but only added to it a fringe of rich rays along its entire length. It was not until the bands struck up a stirring air, and our battalion got into motion, that I was recalled to the reality of my position. The Porta Pia was thrown open, and we marched through, bearing our arms the while, in presence of a strong force of Piedmontese which escorted us on the Sinigaglia road; and thus we went out into captivity.

MINE HOST.

It was well nigh midnight when we reached the camp, or rather the head-quarters of the camp; for there were tents on both sides of the road all the way from Ancona, for a distance of about eight miles. We turned in off the road, piled our arms, and were shown to our quarters-that is to say, into a small field inclosed by lines of troops. Every thing on the surface had been reduced to dust by the trampling of men and horses, and on this carpet we were permitted to stretch our weary limbs. Such was the lodging prepared for our accommodation. We were weary, very weary, but the uninviting nature of the arrangements, and many strange incidents, banished for awhile ideas of repose. I will mention one circumstance. On the evening previous to our capitulation, the troops received the last instalment of their pay. As silver could not be had, they were paid in coppers, which they put into little bags, and finding it inconvenient to carry those on the way from Ancona, they placed them on a baggage cart. This being once known, the cart became an object of special attraction to the Piedmontese; but our fellows kept a strict watch on it. On one occasion, a band of the Piedmontese soldiers made a bold attempt to carry off some of the money, but were effectually resisted by those of the Irish who were near at the time. They applied in some quarter for aid, and forthwith a party of soldiers, commanded by an officer, marched down upon the cart, and carried off some of the money bags!

A respectable feat, was it not, for the great champions of a nation "struggling to be free?"

Imagine a man out in the open air at the dead hour of night, tired, cold, and hungry; suppose for a moment that he had on a large overcoat; what, I ask, should his nature impel him to do in regard to this overcoat? Clearly his impulse would be to wrap it more closely round him to protect himself as much as possible against the midnight chill. If he acted otherwise, we should set him down as a fool. Now, there was a fool of that stamp among the Irish prisoners that night. I got to a corner of the field to take a nap, if possible, for an hour or two; but scarcely had I stretched myself on the dusty earth, when a young fellow pulled off his heavy overcoat, and insisted that I should cover myself with it. I felt that the poor fellow needed his coat perhaps much more than I; but any one who knows what it is to refuse a kindness at the hands of a simple-hearted Irishman, can well understand how it was I agreed at last to keep the coat. I witnessed in my time many instances of the like "folly " on the part of Irishmen.

ONE OR TWO ILLUSTRATIONS.

It is a common saying, that novelty is charming. Never was there a popular maxim which needs more of limitation. A day in the Piedmontese camp was to me a very great novelty; it was the reverse of charming. Oh! if those admirers of "free and united Italy " came into immediate contact with their heroes, they should find the scales fall from their eyes, and those same "champions" would show themselves to be made of stuff quite different from what their romantic imagination had figured them. You might expect to find in them a very generous enemy. Here is what we actually did find: We were turned into a field, left to sleep under the open air, denied even a little straw, and allowed only a small loaf of bad bread with a moiety of wine once a day. Then there were many other tokens of generosity on the part of our chivalrous captors. For instance one of our officers found that his shako, which he had put by carefully among his luggage, had disappeared. He instituted at once a rigorous search after it. More successful than many others, he soon traced it to the possession of a Piedmontese officer. There were but very few links in the chain; the officer had purchased it, honourably of course, from one of his men, and this latter had stolen it from the owner's luggage. The owner claimed it; the present possessor refused to give

it up. But as the owner had resolved to push the matter to the utmost, while the possessor did not wish to have a noise made about the affair at head-quarters, the article was soon after restored. Many other little incidents occurred during the night illustrative of the high-minded honour of this chivalrous race.

The genius of the sub-alpine emancipators was irresistible. Many of our men, the more firmly to hold their little earnings under their own dominion, put the bags in which they carried the coppers under their heads, while they lay down to sleep; but vain effort! they a woke to find their hoardings emancipated. I myself

had taken every precaution to secure my luggage; to a box, strongly made, I added all the appliances of iron, ropes, leather; but all in vain, there was not a bit of it that did not yield to the spirit of Piedmontese emancipation. The second night brought a considerable improvement in my circumstances, thanks to an active orderly, who, after a world of fighting and management, secured a broken box, which he turnel bottom upwards, and propped against a wall. On this bench I enjoyed a sound and very refreshing sleep.

There were in the Sardinian camp some of that class called "soupers" in Ireland, ready to prove, by no end of scripture quotation, that the Sardinians had right on their side as well as might. I came in for a share of the enlightening attentions of these people. A busy little officer whom I had known as one of this apostolic corps, initiated a conversation with me. After many

of those preliminary compliments which are tolerated only in an Italian, and the burden of which was that he was so glad I spoke Italian, and that he was sure we should be friends, he launched into his subject.

May I ask you," enquired this voluble little gentleman, "why have you come to fight for the Pope?"

"In our country we often answer a question by asking another. May I ask why have you come to fight against the Pope?"

"Simply because the Pope has no right to temporal dominions."

"And therefore Sardinia has a right to make war against him?"

"Certainly; Sardinia has a most perfect right to release the people of the Papal States from his power." "Has Austria the same right? or France? or England ?"

"No; why should they? They are strangers ; Piedmont is Italian."

"Has Naples? Naples, you know, is not a stranger?" "No; Naples is ruled by a tyrant, who himself must soon fall."

"Naples is ruled by Francis II.; Piedmont by Victor Emmanuel. Honestly, now, which is the better type of a tyrant?"

"This is not the question. The question is-Has the Pope a right to a temporal principality? Now, I will prove to you from Holy Scripture that he ought not to be a temporal prince. St. Peter, you know, was a poor fisherman, and was ordered to carry neither purse nor scrip.”

"Then you ought to infer that the Pope must not wear shoes; for the text is, neither purse, nor scrip, nor shoes, and salute no man by the way.'

"Well, putting aside the purely literal sense, seriously, do not the texts show that the Pope ought not to have any temporal power?"

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"No: so far as it bears on the question at all, it shows the contrary."

"How? My very dear friend will have the goodness to explain."

"The Scripture shows that the Pope ought to be entirely free and unimpeded in the discharge of the duties

1861.]

of his apostolic office. Now, as things stand in the world at present, his independence can be secured only by his being left in the undisturbed possession of his temporal sovereignty."

"Might he not be sufficiently free under a liberal and enlightened government, such, for example, as that of Piedmont ?"

"Sufficiently free! yes, that freedom which Piedmont has guaranteed by seizing the property of convents, and banishing bishops from their sees."

"Our government has done only what it had a perfect right to do. I will not listen to those attacks on Piedmont."

"Then the alternative still rests with you. I did not volunteer my remarks."

After a few more words, not very complimentary to me, he walked away.

JAMES M'DEVITT.

NOCTES LOVANIENSES.

Monasteries of Kilerea and Timoleague. Church and Monastery of KILCREA-Its Beautiful Site and Architecture-The Tomb of Mac Carthy of Muskerry-The Church and Monastery plundered in 1584-Again in 1599–— Fathers Mac Carthy and O'Sullivan.-Church and Monastery of TIMOLEAGUE-Plundered and damaged by English Soldiers, who are cut to pieces by O'Sullivan Prince of Bear— Lyons, Protestant Bishop of Cork-Dilapidates Timoleague — Persecutes the Catholics.

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"NONE of our Munster monasteries," resumed the Provincial, were more famous than those of Kilcrea and Timoleague; and having made a pilgrimage to both some years ago,* I took good care to collect every particular relating to their foundation and fall. Centuries hence, the notices I now detail to you may help to throw light on a dark and tempestuous period of our history; and I would fain persuade myself, should it please God to restore those sanctuaries to their rightful owners, that you and I shall not be forgotten when their altars have been re-erected, and matin and vesper song resounds as of old, in choir, chancel, and cloister, now, alas, desecrated by the impious."

"The memorabilia you are giving me," observed Father Purcell, "make a goodly volume, and who knows but it may yet fall into the hands of some one who will turn it to account, and make future generations familiar with the vicissitudes of our venerable houses."

"Doubtless," replied the Provincial; " and you may be assured that a time will come-be the fate of our houses what it may-when the historian and antiquarian will thank us for having saved even fragments of our monastic records from oblivion. I would fain persuade myself that the Irish Franciscan monasteries will yet revert to the uses for which they were founded; but even though that wish never may be gratified, and those venerable piles should totter into shapeless ruin, rank weeds growing out of their altars, mournful ivy clothing their

VOL. II.

Probably in 1604-5.

mullions, gables, corbels, and bell-towers; no tenaut in their chancels, cloisters, or choirs, save the skulking wolf,† and the screeching owl-even so you and I shall not have laboured in vain; for the volume we leave behind us will tell generations yet to come what those monasteries were in the days of their splendour; what pious munificence founded them, what saints, sages and warriors lie sepulchred in their crypts, and, alas that I should have lived to witness it, what unparalleled sacrilege desecrated their shrines, and drove their pious inmates houseless and homeless on the world. You and I have reason to be thankful for the hospitality we have received in a foreign clime, and indeed we would be ingrates, if we pretermitted chronicling that the joint sovereigns of the Netherlands, Albert and Isabella, provided shelter for Irish friars, when king James, the degenerate son of a truly Catholic mother-true even to the death-banned and persecuted them as though they were the opprobrium of mankind.

"I will now relate to you all that I have learnt concerning the monasteries of Kilcrea and Timoleague, and let me commence with the former. Of all the Irish princes, none ruled with kinglier sway than did the Mac Carthys, lords of Muskerry. Their martial prowess was famed in the songs ot bards, their lineage was traced to progenitors who sailed with Milesius from Spain to Ireland, and their strong castles studded the banks of the Bandou from Knocknanavon to Kinsale. Nor were they less famed for their piety and devotedness to our holy founder, St. Francis, as Kilcrea, even in its ruins, will testify to future ages. The founder of that venerable house was Cormac Mac Carthy, lord of Muskerry, who erected it, under the invocation of St. Brigid, for Franciscans, A.D. 1465. The site selected for the monastery was very beautiful, away from the tumult of the world, and close to the sweet river Bride. The church was admirably constructed of the finest materials, and nothing could excel the exquisite workmanship of the nave and choir, from which springs a graceful bell-tower of considerable height. Rich marbles, finely turned windows, and a beautiful arcade forming one side of a chapel, still shew that Cormac, lord of Muskerry, was a man gifted with a high appreciation of art, and as I have already said, with true devoteduess to our order. In the chancel and close to the grand altar, he caused a tomb to be constructed for himself, and he was interred there in 1495, having been slain by his own brother and nephews. The same tomb contains the mortal remains of many of his race, all of whom were distinguished for their martial prowess, but none more so than his son Cormac, who defeated the Geraldines in the celebrated battle fought near the abbey of Mourne. The inscription on the founder's tomb is worth preserving, and runs thus-Hic jacet Cormac, Filius Thadei. F. Cormac F. Dermitii magni

Mac Carthy Dominus de Musgraige, ac istius conventus primus fundator. A.D. 1495. The Barrets and many other noble families selected Kilcrea as their burial place, and their tombs are still there, for they spared no effort to preserve the sacred edifice from the ravages of the English Protestant troops during the wars with the Geraldines and the Ulster princes. The entire of the buildings, including the monastery, which is of no considerable magnitude, is to this day* in very good condition, and lacks nothing but friars, who are not allowed to inhabit their ancient abode, since Dermot Mac Carthy, who basely abjured the religion of his glorious progenitors, took a grant of the place from Sir Arthur Chichester, lord deputy, on condition that he would not suffer the Franciscans to return, or let his lands to any but Protestants. Nevertheless, some of our friars live among the people in the neighbourhood, and are supported by the bounty of the Barrets and others, who, as I have already said, are very anxious to preserve the monastery and its church from dilapidation. Whilst I was at Kilcrea, the particulars I am now about to give you were related to me by trustworthy persons, and I am sure that you will think them worth recording.

In 1584-the year after O'Moriarty had compassed the cruel murder of the great earl of Desmond, a company of English soldiers marauding through the district, entered the monastery and church of Kilcrea, intent on plunder. Those miscreants, unawed by the sanctity of the place, demolished the statues and paintings, and laid their sacrilegious hands on the sacred utensils. At that time, the church possessed a beautiful representation of the crucifixion, a rare work of art, indeed, for at each extremity of the cross there was a beautiful medalion of the Evangelists, exquisitely wrought in gold and silver. Stimulated by a desire to seize the precious metal, the soldiers began to quarrel among themselves, and in this brawl they turned their swords against each other's breasts, till two of them fell mortally wounded, one of them dying that very night, and the other on the next morning. The gold and silver, however, glutted the impious greed of the survivors, and that noble work of art was lost to the convent for ever.

In 1599, when the lord deputy Essex marched against the remnant of the Geraldines, Kilcrea was again invaded by English soldiers, who scared away the friars, and killed Father Mathew O'Leyn, at the very moment he was endeavouring to effect his escape by fording the Bride. He was a man remarkable for the holiness of his life, and had then entered on his sixty-seventh year.

Nor should I omit mentioning a very remarkable member of this convent, whose history deserves special notice. The person to whom I allude was Felix Mac Carthy, who, during the Geraldine war, distinguished himself by his charity and hospitality to all, friends as

* 1604.

†This apostate died in 1616, and was buried in the ancestral tomb.

well as foes. One day, having an altercation with his brother, Felix allowed himself to be carried away by passion, and, in his fury, stabbed the unfortunate youth to death. Overwhelmed with remorse, he resolved to renounce the world, and having obtained a dispensation from the irregularity, he earnestly begged, and finally received the habit of our order, thenceforth devoting himself entirely to the service of God. He subsequently was ordained priest, and living to a great old age, all the nerves of his fingers, those of the index and thumb of either hand excepted, became so paralysed that he could make no use of them. His brethren of Kilcrea, however, and indeed every one else, regarded this as a singular manifestation of God's mercy, since He allowed this devout penitent the use of the four fingers which are employed at the holy sacrifice of the Mass.

Another highly-gifted member of the brotherhood of Kilcrea, was Father Thaddeus O'Sullivan, whose powers as a preacher won him fame in every region of Ireland. During the terrible commotions attending the wars of the great earl of Desmond, this venerable priest was wont to follow the Irish troops into the woods, where great licentiousness prevailed, and, indeed, his eloquent exhortations not only kept alive the faith in the souls of those who heard him, but prevented many a bloody deed in those disastrous times. During one of his charitable missions, he fell sick and died, and the people, who loved him so well, would fain convey his corse to the monastery of Kilcrea. This, however, was a dangerous undertaking, for at that time all Munster was garrisoned by the English troops, and the people ran risk of death if they appeared abroad in daylight. At length some who were thoroughly acquainted with the bye-roads, resolved to place the remains on a horse and set out, after nightfall, for the monastery; but losing their way in the darkness, they were about to retrace their steps, when one of the party said, "Let us leave the horse to himself, and he will certainly carry his burden to its destination." Adopting his suggestion, they followed the horse all that night, and next morning they found themselves within the precincts of the monastery, where the remains of Father O'Sullivan were interred in the cloister at the door of the chapter-room, December, 1597. This venerable father of our monastery of Kilcrea had very many escapes from the English during the Munster wars; and if his memory required any further commendation, 'twould suffice to state, that he was the bosom friend of the most Rev. Dr. Gray, bishop of Cork, who consulted him on all matters of importance, and was always guided by his counsels. I have nothing further to add to this brief account of that venerable monastery, so let us now talk of Timoleague.

That village is situated in the barony of Barryroe, in the county of Cork, and close to a little harbour formerly much frequented by Spaniards, who carried on a considerable trade with the Irish, taking, in exchange for their rich wines, hides, fish, wool, linen cloth, skins of squirrels, and other native products. I have not ascertained exactly by whom