Even before the loss of Athlone the Celtic camp had been distracted by factions.  It may easily be supposed, therefore, that, after so great a disaster, nothing was to be heard but crimination and recrimination.  The enemies of the Lord Lieutenant were more clamorous than ever.  He and his creatures had brought the kingdom to the verge of perdition.  He would meddle with what he did not understand.  He would overrule the plans of men who were real soldiers.  He would entrust the most important of all posts to his tool, his spy, the wretched Maxwell, not a born Irishman, not a sincere Catholic, at best a blunderer, and too probably a traitor.  Maxwell, it was affirmed, had left his men unprovided with ammunition.  When they had applied to him for powder and ball, he had asked whether they wanted to shoot larks.  Just before the attack he had told them to go to their supper and to take their rest, for that nothing more would be done that day.  When he had delivered himself up a prisoner, he had uttered some words which seemed to indicate a previous understanding with the conquerors.  The Lord Lieutenant’s few friends told a very different story.  According to them, Tyrconnel and Maxwell had suggested precautions which would have made a surprise impossible.  The French General, impatient of all interference, had omitted to take those precautions.  Maxwell had been rudely told that, if he was afraid, he had better resign his command.  He had done his duty bravely.  He had stood while his men fled.  He had consequently fallen into the hands of the enemy; and he was now, in his absence, slandered by those to whom his captivity was justly imputable.102 On which side the truth lay it is not easy, at this distance of time, to pronounce.  The cry against Tyrconnel was, at the moment, so loud, that he gave way and sullenly retired to Limerick.  D’Usson, who had not yet recovered from the hurts inflicted by his own runaway troops, repaired to Galway.103

Saint Ruth, now left in undisputed possession of the supreme command, was bent on trying the chances of a battle.  Most of the Irish officers, with Sarsfield at their head, were of a very different mind.  It was, they said, not to be dissembled that, in discipline, the army of Ginkell was far superior to theirs.  The wise course, therefore, evidently was to carry on the war in such a manner that the difference between the disciplined and the undisciplined soldier might be as small as possible.  It was well known that raw recruits often played their part well in a foray, in a street fight or in the defence of a rampart; but that, on a pitched field, they had little chance against veterans.  “Let most of our foot be collected behind the walls of Limerick and Galway.  Let the rest, together with our horse, get in the rear of the enemy, and cut off his supplies.  If he advances into Connaught, let us overrun Leinster.  If he sits down before Galway, which may well be defended, let us make a push for Dublin, which is altogether