Towards the close of the autumn of 1682, the discontent which the
domestic and foreign policy of the “Merry Monarch” had excited among
his subjects at last began to assume a tangible and aggressive form.
The aim of our second Charles was nothing less than to overthrow the
English constitution, to render himself free of parliamentary control,
to bias English justice, to make his lieges slaves, and to attain his
disloyal ends, if need be, by the aid of France, whose pensioner he
was. Nor had he been at this time unsuccessful in his object. In spite
of the hostility of the country party—as the opponents of the court
were styled—the Duke of York was not debarred from succession to the
throne; for, thanks to the eloquence of the brilliant Halifax, the
Exclusion Bill had been rejected. The law had also been turned into
a most potent engine of oppression by causing it to interpret, not
justice, but the wishes of the King; only such judges were appointed
as would prove obedient to the royal will, and only such juries were
summoned as might be trusted to carry out the royal behests. The
Anglican clergy rallied round the throne, and everywhere taught the
doctrine of passive obedience and the heinousness of resistance to
the divine right of kings. A secret treaty with Louis of France had
rendered Charles, by its pecuniary clauses, entirely independent of
his subjects. The disaffection of London had been crushed by its Lord
Mayor being converted to the policy of the court, and by the nomination
of the sheriffs, not at Guildhall, but at Whitehall—an interference
which made every corporation in the kingdom tremble for its stability.
For the last ten years the leaders of the country party had waged
war to the knife against this organised despotism on the part of the
monarch, yet all opposition had proved unavailing. The unscrupulous and
vindictive Shaftesbury,—
In friendship false, implacable in hate,
Resolved to ruin or to rule the State,
had led the attack, and endeavored in vain to stir up the nation
against its sovereign; then, mortified at the failure of his efforts,
had withdrawn to the Continent, and there perished a victim to
disappointed revenge and dissatisfied ambition. The amiable Lord
William Russell had, in his place in Parliament, openly opposed the
court, and warned the country of the dangers that would ensue should
the arbitrary government of Charles be longer tolerated. Algernon
Sydney, Essex, and Hampden had followed suit; but their teaching
and invective had been delivered to no purpose; the power and the
bribes of the throne, acting upon the natural servility of man, had
been too puissant and convincing not to be effectual in crushing all
resistance. Victory, therefore, at present rested with the King, not
with his opponents.
And now it was that this disaffection, which had so long been futile
in its efforts at revolt, began to trouble the minds of men of a far
different character from the recognised chiefs of the country party. At
that time there were certain desperadoes haunting the taverns of the
east of London, who, after much secret council and drinking together,
had come to the conclusion that the simplest solution of the national
difficulty was to murder the King and his brother, the Duke of York,
and then—but not till then—the throne being vacant, to consider
what form of constitution should be adopted. The leader of the band
was one whose name will live as long as the great satire of Dryden is
remembered. Anglican priest, Dissenting divine, political agitator,
spy informer, as mischievous as he was treacherous, Robert Ferguson
belonged to that class which every conspiracy seems to enroll; foremost
in advice, last in action, brave when there is no danger, but the first
to fly and purchase safety by a base and compromising confession. On
this occasion he was the treasurer of the conspirators,—
Judas that keeps the rebels’ pension-purse;
Judas that pays the treason-writer’s fee;
Judas that well deserves his namesake’s tree.
The rest of the crew call for no special mention. Among the more
prominent we find Josiah Keeling, a citizen and salter of London,
who was deep in the counsels of the plotters, and who repaid their
confidence by informing the Government, at the first sign of peril, of
what had been discussed and planned; Colonel Walcot, an old officer
of Cromwell; Colonel Romsey, a soldier of fortune who had fought with
distinction in Portugal; Sir Thomas Armstrong, “a debauched atheistical
bravo;” Robert West, a barrister in good practice; Thomas Shepherd, a
wine merchant; Richard Rumbald, an old officer in Cromwell’s army, but
at this time a maltster; Richard Goodenough, who had been under-sheriff
of London; John Ayloffe, a lawyer, the very man who, on one occasion,
to show how complete was the vassalage of England to France, had placed
a wooden shoe in the chair of the Speaker of the House of Commons; and
Ford, Lord Grey of Wark, who had brought himself conspicuously before
the public by debauching his wife’s sister. Added to this list were
barristers, soldiers of fortune, bankrupt traders, and the men who,
having nothing to lose and everything to gain, look upon agitation and
conspiracy as a form of industry likely to lead to solid advantages.
Such was the reckless band which met to “amend the constitution,”
and “restore our Protestantism,” during the quiet hours of many an
autumn evening, in the parlors of the Sun Tavern “behind the Royal
Exchange,” the Horseshoe Tavern “on Tower Hill,” the Mitre Tavern
“within Aldgate,” the Salutation “in Lombard Street,” the Dolphin
“behind Bartholomew Lane,” and in other well-known hostels. The only
two toasts permitted at the gatherings were “To the man who first draws
his sword in defence of the Protestant religion against Popery and
slavery,” and “To the confusion of the two brothers at Whitehall.” In
order to prevent their conversation being overheard by any inquisitive
stranger, the conspirators adopted a peculiar language which they
alone could understand. A blunderbuss was a “swan’s quill,” a musket
“a goose-quill,” pistols “crow-quills,” powder and bullets, “ink and
sand;” Charles was either “the churchwarden at Whitehall,” or “a
blackbird;” whilst James, Duke of York, was “a goldfinch.” The object
of these meetings was at last decided upon; it was resolved that the
King and his brother should be assassinated, or, in the slang employed
by the plotters, “a deed of bargain and sale should be executed to bar
both him in possession and him in remainder.”[61]
This resolution carried, the next question which came up for settlement
was how the design should be accomplished. Much discussion ensued, but
after frequent deliberations a scheme of action was drawn up. It was
known that the King, on his return from racing at Newmarket, would
have to pass the farm of Richard Rumbald, called the Rye House. This
farm was situated in a prettily timbered part of Hertfordshire, about
eighteen miles from London, and derived its name from the Rye, a large
meadow adjoining the holding. Close to this paddock ran the by-road
from Bishop’s Stortford to Hoddesdon, which was constantly used by
Charles and his brother when they drove to or from Newmarket. Thus the
royal couple, on such occasions, would fall within easy pistol-shot of
any assailant secreted within the farm. The Rye House, from the nature
of its situation, also seemed to favor conspiracy. It was an old strong
building, standing alone, and encompassed with a moat; towards the
garden it was surrounded by high walls “so that twenty men might easily
defend it for some time against five hundred.” From a lofty tower in
the house an extensive view was commanded; “hence all who go or come
may be seen both ways for more than a mile’s distance.” In approaching
the farm, when driving from Newmarket to London, it was necessary to
cross a narrow causeway, at the end of which was a toll-gate; “which
having entered, you go through a yard and a little field, and at the
end of that, through another gate, you pass into a narrow lane, where
two coaches could not go abreast.” On the left hand of this lane was
a thick hedge, whilst on the right stood a low, long building used
for corn chambers and stables, with several doors and windows looking
into the road. “When you are past the long building you go by the moat
and the garden wall: that is very strong, and has divers holes in it,
through which a great many men might shoot.” Along by the moat and
wall the road continued to the river Ware, which had to be crossed by
a bridge; a little lower down another bridge, spanning the New River,
had to be traversed; “in both which passes a few men may oppose great
numbers.” Behind the long building was an outer courtyard, into which a
considerable body of horse and foot could be drawn up unperceived from
the road, “whence they might easily issue out at the same time into
each end of the narrow lane.”[62]
The Rye House, affording such excellent opportunities, was accordingly
fixed upon as the rendezvous for “those who were to be actors in the
fact.” Arms and ammunition, covered with oysters, were to be taken
up the river Ware by watermen in the secret of the conspiracy, and
landed at the farm; men were to ride down from London at night in small
detachments, so as to escape observation, and then hide themselves in
the outbuildings around the holding; the servants of the farm, on the
day appointed for the “taking off” of the King and his brother, were to
be sent out of the way and despatched to market; whilst the anything
but hen-pecked maltster promised, when the critical moment came, “to
lock Mrs. Rumbald upstairs.”[63] So far all was satisfactorily arranged
as to the assembling of the conspirators. The next question that had
to be determined was as to the execution of the infamous design. This
was soon arranged. The plotters had ascertained the exact hour the
King and the Duke of York were to quit Newmarket; a brief calculation
was sufficient for them therefore to arrive at the hour when the royal
coach would be driven past the road running under the windows of the
Rye House; still, to make matters more sure, a couple of watchers
were to be stationed in the tower of the farm, and give the signal
when the quarry was in view. Upon the approach of the coach with its
attendant equerries, the men especially selected for the immediate work
of assassination were to steal out of their cover and hide themselves
behind the wall which ran along the road; the wall was to be provided
with convenient loopholes, and the conspirators were to stand with
their muskets ready. “When his Majesty’s coach should come over
against the wall, three or four of those behind it were to shoot at the
postilion and the horses; if the horses should not drop then, there
were to be two men with an empty cart in the lane near the place, who
in the habit of laborers should run the cart athwart the lane and so
stop the horses. Besides those that were to shoot the postilion and
the horses, there were several appointed to shoot into the coach where
his Majesty was to be, and others to shoot at the guards that should
be attending the coach.” The fell work accomplished, the farm with
its outbuildings was to be at once vacated, the conspirators were to
jump into their saddles, and make their way to London by the Hackney
Marshes as fast as their horses could lay to the ground. If this plan
was adopted, it was hoped “they might get to London as soon as the news
could.”[64]
Still the murder of Charles and his brother was only the beginning
of the end. The death of the King was to be the signal for a general
rising. The city and suburbs were to be divided into twenty districts,
with a captain and eight lieutenants at the head of each district;
the men to be armed and ready at an hour’s notice for any raid that
might be commanded. The sum of twenty thousand pounds, which had been
subscribed by the disaffected, was to be distributed among the captains
to expend as they thought best. The night before the return of the King
from Newmarket, a body composed of two thousand men, drawn from these
several districts, were to be secreted in empty houses, “as near the
several gates of the city and other convenient posts as could be; the
men were to be got into those houses and acquainted with the plot to
take off the King at Rye House; such as refused should be clapt into
the cellars, and the rest sally out at the most convenient hour, and
seize and shut up the gates.[65]
The moment the revolt had broken out the different captains were to
muster their men and march them to the several places of rendezvous
fixed upon; some were to be stationed in St. James’s Square, others
in Covent Garden, others again in Southwark, Lincoln’s Inn Fields,
and the Royal Exchange, whilst those named at Moorfields were to
take possession of the arms in the Artillery Ground. A large body
of cavalry was, at the same time, to be on the alert and scour the
streets, so as to prevent the King’s party from embodying or the Horse
Guards from doing their duty. The bridges over the Thames were to be
secured, and fagots taken into the narrow streets around Eastcheap for
purposes of conflagration, if necessary.[66] All these measures appeared
comparatively easy of execution to the conspirators; one detail in
the enterprise, however, seems greatly to have perplexed them. As
long as the Tower was in the hands of the King’s guards, any rise in
the city might prove a failure. To obtain possession of the Tower was
therefore one of the most prominent features in the discussions held at
the various hostels which the conspirators frequented. Some suggested
that fagots should be heaped about the gates of the building at dead
of night, and then set on fire; others that it should be bombarded
from the Thames; whilst a third proposed that men should be lodged
in Thames Street, and secretly fall upon the guard. “Several ways,”
witnesses Robert West,[67] “were proposed to surprise and take the Tower
of London. One was to send ten or twelve men armed with pistols, pocket
daggers and pocket blunderbusses into the Tower under the pretence of
seeing the armory; another number should go to see the lions, who, by
reason of their not going into the inner gate, were not to have their
swords taken from them, that the persons who went to see the armory
should return into the tavern just within the gate, and there eat and
drink till the time for the attempt was come, that some persons should
come in a mourning coach, or some gentleman’s coach to be borrowed for
this occasion under pretence of making a visit to some of the lords in
the Tower; and just within the gate some of the persons issuing out of
the tavern should kill one of the horses and overturn the coach, so
as the gate could not be shut; and the rest of the persons within and
those who went to see the lions should set upon the guards, that upon a
signal of the coach driving down a party of men (lodged in empty houses
near the Tower) should be ready to rush out, and upon the noise of the
first shot immediately run down to the gate and break in; this way, if
at all put in execution, was to be in the daytime about two o’clock,
because after dinner the officers are usually dispersed or engaged in
drinking, and the soldiers loitering from their arms.”
Another suggestion was “that several men should enter actions against
one another in St. Catherine’s Court, held for the Tower liberty within
the Tower, and that at the court day, at which time great liberty
is allowed to all persons to come in, a party of men should go as
plaintiffs and defendants, and witnesses who should come in under
pretence of curiosity, and being seconded by certain stout fellows
working as laborers in the Tower, should attempt the surprise.”[68]
It would, however, appear that all these proposals, after full
consideration, were deemed impracticable, for we learn that no definite
decision was arrived at, but the capture of the Tower was left to the
chapter of accidents. The first step, said the plotters, was to begin
the revolt; then events, at present unforeseen, would spring up and
favor the development of the insurrection. “Only let the football be
dropped,” said one, “and there would be plenty to give it a kick.”[69]
The King and his brother shot down, and the city in the hands of the
conspirators, punishment was then swiftly to overtake those who had
favored the past policy of Charles. The late Lord Mayor of London,
who had specially shown himself the creature of the court in willing
to yield the charter of the corporation, was to be killed. A similar
fate was to befall the existing Lord Mayor, also guilty of the same
subservience; with this addition, that after death “his skin should
be flayed off and stuffed and hung up in Guildhall, as one who had
betrayed the rights and privileges of the city.” The office of chief
magistrate of the city thus vacant, it was to be filled by one Alderman
Cornish; should he refuse to accept the dignity, he was to be “knocked
on the head.” Certain members of the corporation, who “had behaved
themselves like trimmers, and neglected to repeal several by-laws,”
were to be forced to appear publicly and admit the fact: in the event
of their declining to be thus humiliated, they also were to be “knocked
on the head.” The civic authorities chastened by this process of
correction applied to the cranium, the bench was next to fall under
the ire of the plotters. All such judges as had been guilty of passing
arbitrary judgments, and of identifying the law with the royal will,
were to be brought to trial, “and their skins stuffed and hung up in
Westminster Hall.” Then came the turn of the ecclesiastics; in the
vicious hour of mob rule the Church is always one of the first and
greatest sufferers. On this occasion “bishops, deans, and chapters were
to be wholly laid aside,” their lands confiscated, and such sums as it
was the custom to apply to educational purposes were to be appropriated
“to public uses in ease of the people from taxes.” Men who had made
themselves unpopular during the late Parliament as greedy pensioners
of the Crown were to be “brought to trial and death, and their skins
stuffed and then hung up in the Parliament House as betrayers of the
people and of the trust.” It was also thought “convenient” that certain
Ministers of State, such as my Lord Halifax, and my Lord Hyde, should
be “taken off.” To complete the programme, should funds be lacking, a
raid was to be made upon the city magnates, for, said these advocates
of communism, “there was money and plate enough among the bankers and
goldsmiths.” This scheme of revenge and spoliation was to be rigidly
carried out; and those to whom it was entrusted were to fulfil it as
they would “obey the commandments.”[70]
The insurrection once an accomplished fact, and the prerogative of the
Crown, with all its attendant evils, overthrown, the reforms which had
inspired the movement were immediately to be put in force. The House
of Commons was no longer to be the creature of the throne, but of the
nation. The people were to meet annually at a certain time to choose
members of Parliament “without any writ or particular direction to do
so.” The Parliament thus chosen was to assemble for a stated time;
nor was it to be dissolved, prorogued, or adjourned except by its own
consent. Parliament was to consist of an upper and lower House; but
“only such nobility should be hereditary as were assisting in this
design; the rest should only be for life, and upon their death the
House of Lords should be supplied from time to time with new ones
out of the House of Commons.” To Parliament should be entrusted “the
nomination, if not the election, of all judges, sheriffs, justices of
the peace, and other greater or lesser offices, civil or military.”
Acts passed by both Houses of Parliament should be a perpetual law,
without any necessity for the sanction of the Crown. A council
selected from the Lords and Commons were to act as the advisers of the
sovereign. The militia were to be in the hands of the people. Every
county was to choose its own sheriffs. Parliament was to be held once
a year, and to sit as long as it had anything to do. All peers who had
acted contrary to the interest of the people were to be degraded. In
matters of religion complete toleration was to be accorded to everyone.
England was to be a free port, and all foreigners who willed it should
be naturalized. Finally, the only imports to be levied were the excise
and land taxes.[71]
The example set by London in rising against the despotism of the Crown
was to be followed by the rest of the country. The Earl of Argyll
agreed first for thirty thousand, then for ten thousand pounds, “to
stir the Scots,” who were hotly in favor of revolt, “though they had
nothing but their claws to fight with rather than endure what they
did.” In the west of England, Bristol, Taunton, and Exeter were full
of agents of the disaffected; whilst in the north, Chester, York, and
Newcastle were ready at a moment’s notice to act in union with London.
In the south, Portsmouth was the only town as yet which had voted
in favor of the plot. The east of England was quiet. It was agreed
that upon the death of Charles his illegitimate son, the Duke of
Monmouth, should be crowned king, but owing to the jealousy of the
council appointed to curb the prerogative, and to the measures of the
reformers, it was said that the royal bastard would be more a “Duke of
Venice” than an English monarch.[72]
Whilst these schemes were being fashioned within the parlors of the
“Dolphin,” the “Rising Sun,” and the rest of the City taverns, a
very different order of men were at the same time deliberating how
to pull the nation out of the slough of despotism into which it had
been plunged. Upon the death of Shaftesbury, who had been during
the last years of his life the most prominent of the foes of the
court, especially of the Duke of York, and the most potent among the
disaffected in the city of London, the leaders of the Whig party,
aware of the danger which menaced them from “froward sheriffs, willing
juries, mercenary judges, and bold witnesses,” determined not to let
the cause which Shaftesbury had advocated fall to the ground. They
held frequent meetings at different places of rendezvous, and formed
themselves into a select committee, which was known by the name of
the “Council of Six.” The members of this council were the Duke of
Monmouth, who was intriguing for the crown, Lord Essex, Algernon
Sydney, Lord William Russell, Lord Howard, and young Hampden, the
grandson of the opponent of ship-money. What the deliberations of this
council were it is now difficult to ascertain, owing to the prejudiced
sources from which information had to be derived; the official accounts
of the plot, drawn up at the request of the King by Ford, Lord Grey,
and by Sprat, the servile Bishop of Rochester, are not to be implicitly
believed in; nor is the evidence of the witnesses produced by the Crown
at the trials of Sydney and Russell a whit more trustworthy. There can
be no doubt, however, that consultations were frequently held among
the Six as to the best course to pursue for resisting a Government
which aimed at nothing less than arbitrary power. If we are to credit
the men who sold their testimony to the Crown, and the men who
purchased life by turning King’s evidence, the aim of the Council was
to organise an insurrection all over the country, and with the help
of the discontented Presbyterians in Scotland to put an end to the
tyranny of Charles and his Popish brother. What was the exact extent
of their designs we know not, but in all probability the statement by
Lady William Russell is not far from the truth. “There was,” said her
ladyship, “much talk about a general rising, but it only amounted to
loose discourse, or at most embryos that never came to anything.”
Nor have we, though the testimony is partial, much reason to doubt the
assertion. Considering the condition of England at that time, and the
conflicting views of the Six who constituted the council, it would have
been difficult for any decided and unanimous scheme of action to have
been prepared. Though the conduct of Charles had caused much discontent
and distress, yet the nation at large felt itself powerless to oppose
the evil. The Whigs were in a minority, whilst the Royalists were a
most formidable party, in whose hands were all the military and naval
resources of the kingdom. To levy war upon the Merry Monarch, as had
forty years before been levied upon his father, was a scheme which bore
failure on its very face, and could not have been seriously entertained
by keen and cautious men like Russell or Sydney. The Six in all
probability contented themselves with merely forming estimates of the
strength of their followers, and with knitting together a confederacy
which absolute necessity might call into action. We must also remember
that the members of the Council were not in such harmony with each
other as to render it probable that they had fixed upon any distinct
plan of rebellion. Monmouth was in favor of a monarchy with himself
as monarch. Algernon Sydney had no other object before him but the
realisation of his cherished idea of a republic, and frankly declared
that it was indifferent to him whether James Duke of York or James Duke
of Monmouth was on the throne. Essex was very much the same way of
thinking as Sydney. Russell and Hampden wished for the exclusion of
the Duke of York, as a Papist, from the throne, the redress of certain
grievances, and the return of the Constitution within its ancient
lines; whilst Howard, the falsest and most mercenary of men, was
ready to vote for any change of government which could be harmlessly
effected, and by which his own interests would not be forgotten. Many
years after the execution of her husband, Lady William Russell said,
with reference to these men and the measures they proposed, that she
was convinced it was but talk, “and ’tis possible that talk going so
far as to consider if a remedy to suppress evils might be sought, how
it could be found.”
To return to the Rye House plotters. We are told by those given to
speculation and organisation that in all calculations a large allowance
should be made for that which upsets most plans—the unforeseen. On
this occasion the conspirators were so sanguine of their scheme as
never to imagine it might be put to nought by pure accident. The farm
had been engaged, the men instructed, the necessary hiding-places
prepared, and all things were ready for the murderous deed. Suddenly
the unforeseen occurred, and all the careful measures of the would-be
regicides were rendered abortive. Owing to his house having caught
fire, Charles was obliged to leave Newmarket eight days earlier than
he had intended, and thus, thanks to this happy conflagration, passed
unscathed by the Rye House, then completely deserted; his Majesty was
comfortably ensconced at Whitehall, toying with his mistresses and
sorting their bonbons, whilst his enemies, unconscious of his escape,
were congratulating themselves that in another week their work would be
done, and their victim fall an easy prey to their designs.
And now the result ensued which invariably attends upon treason which
has failed and which fears detection. It was an age when plots were
freely concocted against the Crown and those in supreme authority, yet,
often as conspiracies were entered into, there were always witnesses
ready to come forward and swear away the lives of their former
accomplices, to divulge what they had pledged themselves to keep
secret, and if need be to follow in every detail the example of the
biggest scoundrel of the seventeenth century, Doctor Titus Oates of
Salamanca. Among the minor persons engaged in the Rye House plot
was, as we have said, Josiah Keeling; he was now fearful of the fate
which might befall him should the authorities at Whitehall get wind
of the past deliberations, and accordingly with that prudence which
characterised him he was determined to be first in the field to make
a clean breast of all that had been planned and suggested. First he
went to Lord Dartmouth, of the Privy Council, and told his tale, and
then was referred by that statesman to his colleague, Mr. Secretary
Jenkins. Jenkins took down the deposition of the man, but said that
unless the evidence was supported by another witness, no investigation
of the matter could be proceeded with. Keeling was, however, equal to
the occasion, and induced his brother John, a turner in Blackfriars,
to corroborate his statements. The plot now authenticated by the two
requisite witnesses, the Secretary of State thought it his duty to
communicate the affair to the rest of the advisers of the Crown. It
appears, however, that a few days after his confession the conscience
of the younger brother, John Keeling, pricked him, and he secretly
availed himself of the first opportunity to inform Richard Goodenough
that the plot had been discovered by the Government, and advised all
who had been engaged in it to fly beyond sea.
This news coming to the ears of Colonel Romsey and Robert West, who
were bosom friends, the two, unconscious of the revelations of the
Keelings, thought it now prudent to save their own skins by informing
ministers of all that had occurred, and, indeed, to make their story
the more palatable to the Government, of a little more than had
occurred. Accordingly they wended their way to Whitehall, and there
told how the house at Rye had been offered them by Rumbald, the
maltster; how at this house forty men well armed and mounted, commanded
in two divisions by Romsey and Walcot, were to assemble; and how on the
return of the King from Newmarket, Romsey with his division was to stop
the coach, and murder Charles and his brother, whilst Walcot was to
busy himself in engaging with the guards. So far the narrative of the
informers tallied with the confessions of the Keelings. But Romsey
and West, aware how hateful Lord William Russell, Algernon Sydney,
and the rest of the cabal were to the Government, by their open
opposition to the home and foreign policy of the court, essayed to
give the impression that the Council of Six were also implicated in
the detestable designs of the Rye House plotters.[73] When unscrupulous
men in supreme power are anxious to gratify their animosity, any
evidence calculated to bring foes within reach is acceptable. The hints
of Romsey and West were sufficient for the purpose, and orders were
instantly issued by the Secretaries of State for the arrest of the
Six. The first victim was Lord William, who was at once taken before
the council for examination; but as he denied all the charges brought
against him, he was forthwith sent to the Tower. Algernon Sydney next
followed. He had been seized whilst at his lodgings, and all his papers
sealed and secured by a messenger. Once before the council, he answered
a few questions, “respectfully and without deceit,” but his examination
was brief, for on his refusal to reply to certain queries put to him,
he also was despatched to the Tower. Monmouth, having received timely
warning, had placed the North Sea between him and the court. Ford, Lord
Grey, had been brought before the council, had been examined and sent
to the Tower, but managing to bribe his guards, had escaped. Lord Essex
and Hampden were imprisoned: shortly after his confinement, Essex, who
was subject to constitutional melancholy, committed suicide by cutting
his throat. Lord Howard was still at large, protesting that there was
no plot, and that he had never heard of any. Orders were, however,
issued for his arrest, and when the officers came to his house, they
found him secreted up the chimney in one of his rooms. As Keeling had
informed against the Rye House plotters, so Lord Howard now informed
against the Six. Weeping at the fact that he was a prisoner, he
promised to reveal all; his revelations were considered so satisfactory
that within a few days after their being taken down by the council,
both Lord William Russell and Algernon Sydney were put upon their trial
for high treason.
Russell was the first to stand at the bar. It appears that one evening
he had been present at the house of Thomas Shepherd in Abchurch Lane,
where the Rye House conspirators were occasionally in the habit of
meeting and discussing their plans. He had gone thither to taste
some wine. “It was the greatest accident in the world I was there,”
said Russell at his trial, “and when I saw that company was there I
would have been gone again. I came there to speak with Mr. Shepherd,
for I was just come to town.” His excuse was raised in vain. Romsey,
Shepherd, and Howard were playing into the hands of the Crown, and
each did his best by hard swearing and false testimony to make the
prisoner’s conviction certain. The gallant colonel asserted that he had
seen his lordship at the house of Shepherd, where discourse was being
held by the cabal of conspirators as to surprising the King’s guards
and creating an insurrection throughout the country. Thomas Shepherd
next followed, and gave very much the same evidence as Romsey—that
his house in Abchurch Lane was let as a place of rendezvous for the
disaffected; that the substance of the discourse of those who met
there was how to surprise the guards and organise a rising; that two
meetings were held at his house, and that he believed the prisoner
attended both, but that he was certainly at the meeting when they
talked of seizing the guards. Then Lord Howard was called as a witness.
He said that he was one of the Six, and had attended the meetings at
the house of Shepherd; at such meetings it had been agreed to begin
the insurrection in the country before raising the city, and there had
also been some talk of dealing with the discontented Scotch; at these
deliberations no question was put or vote collected, and he of course
concluded by the presence of Lord William that the prisoner gave his
consent like the rest to the designs of the cabal.
In his defence Russell denied that he ever had any intention against
the life of the King; he was ignorant of the proceedings of the Rye
House plotters, and his mixing with the conspirators on the sole
occasion he had visited Shepherd at Abchurch Lane was purely due to
accident. He had gone thither about some wine. He did not admit that
he had listened to any talk as to the possibility of creating an
insurrection; but even had he made such an admission, talk of that
nature could not be construed into treason, for by a special statute
(the old statute of treasons) passed in the reign of Edward III.,
“a design to levy war is not treason;” besides, such talk had not
been acted upon; they had met to consult, but they acted nothing in
pursuance of that consulting. The attorney-general held a different
view, and asserted it had often been determined that to prepare forces
to fight against the King was a design within the statute of Edward
III. to kill the King. The presiding judge, as a creature of the court,
was, of course, of the same opinion; he summed up the evidence, deeming
it unfavorable to the prisoner; and the jury, basing their verdict upon
the tone of the bench, brought in a sentence of guilty of high treason.
In spite of every effort that affection could inspire and interest
advocate, Lord William Russell ended his days on the scaffold. “That
which is most certain in the affair is,” writes Charles James Fox in
his history of James II., “that Russell had committed no overt act
indicating the imagining the King’s death even according to the most
strained construction of the statute of Edward III.; much less was
any such act legally proved against him; and the conspiring to levy
war was not treason, except by a recent statute of Charles II., the
prosecutions upon which were expressly limited to a certain time which
in these cases had elapsed; so that it is impossible not to assent to
the opinion of those who have ever stigmatised the condemnation and
execution of Russell as a most flagrant violation of law and justice.”
The same measure was now meted out to Algernon Sydney as had been
dealt to Russell. In the eyes of the bench, conspiring to levy war and
conspiring against the King’s life were considered one and the same
thing. It was in vain that Sydney asserted that he had not conspired
to the death of the King, that he had not levied war, and that he had
not written anything to stir up the people against the King. It was
in vain that even the Rye House plotters had to confess they knew
nothing of him, and had never seen him at the different meetings.
Canting Nadab, however—as Dryden, in his immortal satire, calls Lord
Howard—was there, ready to swear away a colleague’s life or do any
other dirty trick provided his own skin and estate were not forfeited
for past misdeeds; his evidence was the chief trump card on which the
court relied to score the game. Accordingly his lordship began his
testimony by relating what had passed at the meetings of the Six, as
to the best means for defending the public interest from invasion,
and the advisability of the rising breaking out first in the country
instead of in the city. He also stated that it was the special province
of Algernon Sydney to deal with the malcontent Scots, and had carried
out this task through the agency of one Aaron Smith, who had gone north
and been provided with funds for the purpose. This assertion, though
Howard candidly said he only spoke from hearsay, was deemed sufficient
by the advisers of the Crown to place Sydney’s head in jeopardy. As
the law, however, demanded that in all trials for high treason there
should be _two_ witnesses against the prisoner before sentence could
be passed, and as no other witness had the baseness to act the part so
well played by Lord Howard, it was necessary for the court to resort
to some expedient which would sufficiently answer its purpose of
convicting Sydney. The Court was equal to the emergency. Search was
made among Sydney’s papers, and it was discovered that he had written
a treatise—his famous discourse on Government—which particularly
discussed the paramount authority of the people and the legality of
resisting an oppressive Government. A few isolated passages of the work
were read here and there, the extracts given were garbled, and, thanks
to the coloring of the prosecution, the case against the prisoner
looked black indeed. Entering upon his defence, Sydney, like Russell,
denied that he had ever conspired to the death of Charles; nor was he a
friend of Monmouth, with whom he had spoken but three times in his
life: he objected to the evidence of Howard, which was based upon
hearsay, but if such testimony were true, he was but one witness,
and the law required two. As for regarding a mangled portion of his
treatise as a second witness, it was iniquitous. “Should a man,” he
cried, “be indicted for treason for scraps of papers, innocent in
themselves, but when pieced and patched with Lord Howard’s story,
made a contrivance to kill the King? Let them not pick out extracts,
but read the work as a whole. If they took Scripture to pieces, they
could make all the penmen of the Scripture blasphemous. They might
accuse David of saying there is no God; the evangelists of saying that
Christ was a blasphemer and seducer, and of the apostles that they
were drunk.” Then he ended by denying that he had any connection with
the malcontents in Scotland. “I have not sent myself,” he said, “nor
written a letter into Scotland ever since 1659; nor do I know one man
in Scotland to whom I can write, or from whom I ever received one.”
He refuted the charges brought against him in vain. The notorious
Jeffries was now the presiding judge, and never was summing up from the
bench more culpably partial or more flagrantly at variance with the
clauses of the judicial oath. “I look upon the meetings of the Six,”
said Jeffries to the jury, “and the meetings of the Rye House plotters
as having one and the same end in view; I place implicit faith in the
evidence of Howard; I deny that it is necessary that there shall be
two witnesses to convict a prisoner of high treason; and as for the
treatise of Sydney, I declare it is sufficient to condemn the author as
being guilty of compassing and imagining the death of the King.” Upon
the jury retiring to consider their verdict, Jeffries sternly informed
them that he had explained the law, and that they were bound to accept
his interpretation of it. Thus left without any option in the matter,
the jury returned at the end of half an hour into court, and brought
in a verdict of guilty. After a brief confinement. Algernon Sydney was
beheaded on Tower Hill, Dec. 7, 1683.
Thus ended one of the most iniquitous and unjust trials that the annals
of justice ever had to record. “The proceedings in the case of Algernon
Sydney,” writes Fox, “were most detestable. The production of papers
containing speculative opinions upon government and liberty, written
long before, and perhaps never intended to be published, together
with the use made of those papers in considering them as a substitute
for the second witness to the overt act, exhibited such a compound of
wickedness and nonsense as is hardly to be paralleled in the history
of judicial tyranny. But the validity of pretences was little attended
to at that time in the case of a person whom the court had devoted
to destruction; and upon evidence such as has been stated was this
great and excellent man condemned to die.” Upon the accession of “the
Deliverer” to the throne, an Act was passed annulling and making void
the attainder of Algernon Sydney on account of its having been obtained
“without sufficient legal evidence of any treason committed by him,”
and “by a partial and unjust construction of the statute declaring
what was his treason.” The fate of the Rye House conspirators was very
various. Some fled never to return, and were outlawed like Ferguson
and Goodenough; others confessed, and were pardoned like Romsey;
whilst a third offered in vain to purchase life by turning informers,
as was the case with Walcot and Armstrong. Two years later those who
had been outlawed, and were living in exile, again tried their hand at
insurrection by aiding Monmouth in his revolt.—_Gentleman’s Magazine._