Tyrone had wit enough to see that the game was played out.  On the other hand, Mountjoy was eager to bring the war to an end before the queen’s death, now hourly expected.  Terms were accordingly come to.  The earl made his submission, and agreed to relinquish the title of O’Neill, and to abjure for ever all alliances with foreign powers or with any of the enemies of the Crown.  In return he was to receive a full pardon for himself and his followers, and all his titles and lands were to be confirmed to him.

Two days after this the queen’s death was announced.  We are told that Tyrone, upon hearing of it, burst into a flood of tears.  As he had been in arms against her up to a week before, it can scarcely have been a source of very poignant anguish.  Probably he felt that had he guessed the imminence of the event he might have made better terms.

[Illustration:  TARA BROOCH.]

XXXI.

THE FLIGHT OF THE EARLS.

This was the last serious attempt on the part of any individual Irish chieftain to rise against the power of England.  The next rebellion of which we shall hear arose from perfectly different causes, and was general rather than individual, grew indeed before its conclusion to the larger and more imposing dimensions of a civil war.

In one respect this six years’ struggle was less productive of results than either of the two previous ones.  At the end of it, Tyrone was still Tyrone; still the first of Irish subjects; his earldom and his ancestral possessions were still his.  Nay, on crossing a few months later to England, and presenting himself to the English Court, he was graciously received by the new king, and seemed at first to stand in all respects as if no rebellion had been planned by him, or so nearly carried to a successful issue.

This state of things was a source, as may readily be conceived, of boundless rage to every English officer and official who had taken part in the late campaign.  To see “that damnable rebel Tyrone” apparently in high honour caused them to rage and gnash their teeth.  “How did I labour,” cries one of them, “for that knave’s destruction!  I adventured perils by sea and land; went near to starving; eat horse-flesh in Munster, and all to quell that man, who now smileth in peace at those who did hazard their lives to destroy him!”

Sheriffs, judges, commissioners, all the new officials who now began to hurry to the north, shared in this sentiment, and all had their eyes set in wrathful animosity upon Tyrone, all were bent in finding him out in some new treason.  That after all that had happened he should end his days in peace and honour was not inconceivable merely, but revolting.  He himself complained about this time that he could not “drink a full carouse of sack but the State in a few hours was advertised thereof.”  It was, in fact, an impossible situation.  Tyrone