which, in the mouth of an officer so high in rank, might well
cause uneasiness. "The King," this man had said, "is nothing to
me. I obey Sarsfield. Let Sarsfield tell me to kill any man in
the whole army; and I will do it." Sarsfield was, indeed, too
honourable a gentleman to abuse his immense power over the minds
of his worshippers. But the Viceroy and the Commander in Chief
might not unnaturally be disturbed by the thought that
Sarsfield's honour was their only guarantee against mutiny and
assassination. The consequence was that, at the crisis of the
fate of Ireland, the services of the first of Irish soldiers were
not used, or were used with jealous caution, and that, if he
ventured to offer a suggestion, it was received with a sneer or a
frown.98

A great and unexpected disaster put an end to these disputes. On
the thirtieth of June Ginkell called a council of war. Forage
began to be scarce; and it was absolutely necessary that the
besiegers should either force their way across the river or
retreat. The difficulty of effecting a passage over the shattered
remains of the bridge seemed almost insuperable. It was proposed
to try the ford. The Duke of Wirtemberg, Talmash, and Ruvigny
gave their voices in favour of this plan; and Ginkell, with some
misgivings, consented.99

It was determined that the attempt should be made that very
afternoon. The Irish, fancying that the English were about to
retreat, kept guard carelessly. Part of the garrison was idling,
part dosing. D'Usson was at table. Saint Ruth was in his tent,
writing a letter to his master filled with charges against
Tyrconnel. Meanwhile, fifteen hundred grenadiers; each wearing in