CHAPTER LXVII.

Charles II.

{1678.} THE English nation, ever since the fatal league with France,

had entertained violent jealousies against the court; and the subsequent

measures adopted by the king had tended more to increase than cure the

general prejudices. Some mysterious design was still suspected in every

enterprise and profession: arbitrary power and Popery were apprehended

as the scope of all projects: each breath or rumor made the people start

with anxiety: their enemies, they thought, were in their very bosom,

and had gotten possession of their sovereign’s confidence. While in this

timorous, jealous disposition, the cry of a plot all on a sudden

struck their ears: they were wakened from their slumber: and like men

affrightened and in the dark, took every figure for a spectre. The

terror of each man became the source of terror to another. And a

universal panic being diffused, reason and argument, and common sense

and common humanity, lost all influence over them. From this disposition

of men’s minds we are to account for the progress of the Popish plot,

and the credit given to it; an event which would otherwise appear

prodigious and altogether inexplicable.

On the twelfth of August, one Kirby, a chemist, accosted the king as he

was walking in the park. “Sir,” said he, “keep within the company: your

enemies have a design upon your life; and you may be shot in this very

walk.” Being asked the reason of these strange speeches, he said, that

two men, called Grove and Pickering, had engaged to shoot the king,

and Sir George Wakeman, the queen’s physician, to poison him. This

intelligence, he added, had been communicated to him by Dr. Tongue,

whom, if permitted, he would introduce to his majesty. Tongue was

a divine of the church of England; a man active, restless, full of

projects, void of understanding. He brought papers to the king, which

contained information of a plot, and were digested into forty-three

articles. The king, not having leisure to peruse them, sent them to

the treasurer, Danby, and ordered the two informers to lay the business

before that minister. Tongue confessed to Danby, that he himself had not

drawn the papers; that they had been secretly thrust under his door; and

that, though he suspected, he did not certainly know who was the

author. After a few days, he returned, and told the treasurer, that

his suspicions, he found, were just; and that the author of the

intelligence, whom he had met twice or thrice in the street, had

acknowledged the whole matter, and had given him a more particular

account of the conspiracy, but desired that his name might be concealed,

being apprehensive lest the Papists should murder him.

The information was renewed with regard to Grove’s and Pickering’s

intentions of shooting the king; and Tongue even pretended, that, at a

particular time, they were to set out for Windsor with that intention.

Orders were given for arresting them, as soon as they should appear

in that place: but though this alarm was more than once renewed, some

frivolous reasons were still found by Tongue for their having delayed

the journey. And the king concluded, both from these evasions, and from

the mysterious, artificial manner of communicating the intelligence,

that the whole was an imposture.

Tongue came next to the treasurer, and told him, that a packet of

letters, written by Jesuits concerned in the plot, was that night to be

put into the post-house for Windsor, directed to Bennifield, a Jesuit,

confessor to the duke. When this intelligence was conveyed to the

king, he replied, that the packet mentioned had a few hours before been

brought to the duke by Bennifield, who said, that he suspected some

bad design upon him; that the letters seemed to contain matters of a

dangerous import, and that he knew them not to be the handwriting of the

persons whose names were subscribed to them. This incident still further

confirmed the king in his incredulity.

The matter had probably slept forever, had it not been for the anxiety

of the duke; who, hearing that priests and Jesuits, and even his own

confessor, had been accused, was desirous that a thorough inquiry should

be made by the council into the pretended conspiracy. Kirby and Tongue

were inquired after, and were now found to be living in close connection

with Titus Oates, the person who was said to have conveyed the first

intelligence to Tongue. Oates affirmed, that he had fallen under

suspicion with the Jesuits; that he had received three blows with

a stick and a box on the ear from the provincial of that order, for

revealing their conspiracy; and that, overhearing them speak of their

intentions to punish him more severely, he had withdrawn, and concealed

himself. This man, in whose breast was lodged a secret involving the

fate of kings and kingdoms, was allowed to remain in such necessity,

that Kirby was obliged to supply him with daily bread; and it was a

joyful surprise to him, when he heard that the council was at last

disposed to take some notice of his intelligence. But as he expected

more encouragement from the public than from the king or his ministers,

he thought proper, before he was presented to the council, to go with

his two companions to Sir Edmundsbury Godfrey, a noted and active

justice of peace, and to give evidence before him of all the articles of

the conspiracy.

The wonderful intelligence which Oates conveyed both to Godfrey and the

council, and afterwards to the parliament, was to this purpose.[*]

* Oates’s Narrative.

The pope, he said, on examining the matter in the congregation de

propaganda, had found himself entitled to the possession of England

and Ireland on account of the heresy of prince and people, and had

accordingly assumed the sovereignty of these kingdoms. This supreme

power he had thought proper to delegate to the society of Jesuits; and

De Oliva, general of that order, in consequence of the papal grant, had

exerted every act of regal authority, and particularly had supplied, by

commissions under the seal of the society, all the chief offices, both

civil and military. Lord Arundel was created chancellor, Lord Powis

treasurer, Sir William Godolphin privy seal, Coleman secretary of state,

Langhorne attorney-general, Lord Bellasis general of the papal army,

Lord Peters lieutenant-general, Lord Stafford paymaster; and inferior

commissions, signed by the provincial of the Jesuits, were distributed

all over England. All the dignities too of the church were filled, and

many of them with Spaniards and other foreigners. The provincial had

held a consult of the Jesuits under his authority; where the king, whom

they opprobriously called the Black Bastard, was solemnly tried and

condemned as a heretic, and a resolution taken to put him to death.

Father Le Shee (for so this great plotter and informer called Father La

Chaise, the noted confessor of the French king) had consigned in London

ten thousand pounds, to be paid to any man who should merit it by this

assassination. A Spanish provincial had expressed like liberality: the

prior of the Benedictines was willing to go the length of six thousand.

The Dominicans approved of the action, but pleaded poverty. Ten thousand

pounds had been offered to Sir George Wakeman, the queen’s physician,

who demanded fifteen thousand, as a reward for so great a service: his

demand was complied with; and five thousand had been paid him by

advance. Lest his means should fail, four Irish ruffians had been hired

by the Jesuits, at the rate of twenty guineas apiece, to stab the king

at Windsor; and Coleman, secretary to the late duchess of York, had

given the messenger, who carried them orders, a guinea to quicken his

diligence. Grove and Pickering were also employed to shoot the king with

silver bullets: the former was to receive the sum of fifteen hundred

pounds; the latter, being a pious man, was to be rewarded with thirty

thousand masses, which, estimating masses at a shilling apiece, amounted

to a like value. Pickering would have executed his purpose, had not the

flint at one time dropped out of his pistol, at another time the

priming. Coniers, the Jesuit, had bought a knife at the price of ten

shillings, which he thought was not dear, considering the purpose for

which he intended it, to wit, stabbing the king. Letters of subscription

were circulated among the Catholics all over England, to raise a sum for

the same purpose. No less than fifty Jesuits had met, in May last, at

the White Horse Tavern, where it was unanimously agreed to put the king

to death. This synod did afterwards, for more convenience, divide

themselves into many lesser cabals or companies; and Oates was employed

to carry notes and letters from one to another, all tending to the same

end, of murdering the king. He even carried, from one company to

another, a paper, in which they formally expressed their resolution of

executing that deed; and it was regularly subscribed by all of them. A

wager of a hundred pounds was laid, and stakes made, that the king

should eat no more Christmas pies. In short, it was determined, to use

the expression of a Jesuit, that if he would not become R. C., (Roman

Catholic,) he should no longer be C. R., (Charles Rex.) The great fire

of London had been the work of the Jesuits, who had employed eighty or

eighty-six persons for that purpose, and had expended seven hundred

fire-balls; but they had a good return for their money, for they had

been able to pilfer goods from the fire to the amount of fourteen

thousand pounds: the Jesuits had also raised another fire on St.

Margaret’s Hill, whence they had stolen goods to the value of two

thousand pounds; another at Southwark: and it was determined in like

manner to burn all the chief cities in England. A paper model was

already framed for the firing London; the stations were regularly marked

out, where the several fires were to commence; and the whole plan of

operations were so concerted, that precautions were taken by the Jesuits

to vary their measures, according to the variation of the wind.

Fire-balls were familiarly called among them Teuxbury mustard pills; and

were said to contain a notable biting sauce. In the great fire, it had

been determined to murder the king; but he had displayed such diligence

and humanity in extinguishing the flames, that even the Jesuits

relented, and spared his life. Besides these assassinations and fires,

insurrections, rebellions, and massacres were projected by that

religious order in all the three kingdoms. There were twenty thousand

Catholics in London, who would rise in four and twenty hours, or less;

and Jennison, a Jesuit, said, that they might easily cut the throats of

a hundred thousand Protestants. Eight thousand Catholics had agreed to

take arms in Scotland. Ormond was to be murdered by four Jesuits; a

general massacre of the Irish Protestants was concerted; and forty

thousand black bills were already provided for that purpose. Coleman had

remitted two hundred thousand pounds to promote the rebellion in

Ireland; and the French king was to land a great army in that island.

Poole, who wrote the Synopsis, was particularly marked out for

assassination; as was also Dr. Stillingfleet, a controversial writer

against the Papists. Burnet tells us, that Oates paid him the same

compliment. After all this havoc, the crown was to be offered to the

duke, but on the following conditions: that he receive it as a gift from

the pope; that he confirm all the papal commissions for offices and

employments; that he ratify all past transactions, by pardoning the

incendiaries, and the murderers of his brother and of the people; and

that he consent to the utter extirpation of the Protestant religion. If

he refuse these conditions, he himself was immediately to be poisoned or

assassinated. “To pot James must go,” according to the expression

ascribed by Oates to the Jesuits.

Oates, the informer of this dreadful plot, was himself the most infamous

of mankind. He was the son of an Anabaptist preacher, chaplain to

Colonel Pride; but having taken orders in the church, he had been

settled in a small living by the duke of Norfolk. He had been indicted

for perjury, and by some means had escaped. He was afterwards a chaplain

on board the fleet; whence he had been dismissed on complaint of some

unnatural practices not fit to be named. He then became a convert to

the Catholics; but he afterwards boasted, that his conversion was a mere

pretence, in order to get into their secrets and to betray them.[*] He

was sent over to the Jesuits’ college at St. Omers, and though above

thirty years of age, he there lived some time among the students. He

was despatched on an errand to Spain; and thence returned to St. Omers;

where the Jesuits, heartily tired of their convert, at last dismissed

him from their seminary. It is likely that, from resentment of

this usage, as well as from want and indigence, he was induced, in

combination with Tongue, to contrive that plot of which he accused the

Catholics.

This abandoned man, when examined before the council, betrayed his

impostures in such a manner, as would have utterly discredited the most

consistent story, and the most reputable evidence. While in Spain, he

had been carried, he said, to Don John, who promised great assistance to

the execution of the Catholic designs. The king asked him what sort of

a man Don John was: he answered, a tall, lean man; directly contrary to

truth, as the king well knew.[**] He totally mistook the situation of

the Jesuits’ college at Paris.[***] Though he pretended great intimacies

with Coleman, he knew him not, when placed very near him; and had no

other excuse than that his sight was bad in candle light.[****] He fell

into like mistakes with regard to Wakeman.

* Burnet Echard, North, L’Estrange, etc.

** Burnet North.

*** North.

**** Burnet, North, Trials.

Notwithstanding these objections, great attention was paid to Oates’s

evidence, and the plot became very soon the subject of conversation, and

even the object of terror to the people. The violent animosity which had

been excited against the Catholics in general, made the public swallow

the grossest absurdities, when they accompanied an accusation of those

religionists: and the more diabolical any contrivance appeared, the

better it suited the tremendous idea entertained of a Jesuit. Danby,

likewise, who stood in opposition to the French and Catholic interest

at court, was willing to encourage every story which might serve to

discredit that party. By his suggestion, when a warrant was signed for

arresting Coleman, there was inserted a clause for seizing his papers; a

circumstance attended with the most important consequences.

Coleman, partly on his own account, partly by orders from the duke, had

been engaged in a correspondence with Father La Chaise, with the pope’s

nuncio at Brussels, and with other Catholics abroad; and being himself

a fiery zealot, busy and sanguine, the expressions in his letters often

betrayed great violence and indiscretion. His correspondence, during

the years 1674, 1675, and part of 1676, was seized, and contained many

extraordinary passages. In particular, he said to La Chaise, “We have

here a mighty work upon our hands, no less than the conversion of three

kingdoms, and by that perhaps the utter subduing of a pestilent heresy,

which has a long time domineered over a great part of this northern

world. There were never such hopes of success since the days of Queen

Mary, as now in our days. God has given us a prince,” meaning the duke,

“who is become (may I say a miracle) zealous of being the author and

instrument of so glorious a work; but the opposition we are sure to meet

with is also like to be great: so that it imports us to get all the aid

and assistance we can.” In another letter he said, “I can scarce believe

myself awake, or the thing real, when I think of a prince in such an age

as we live in, converted to such a degree of zeal and piety, as not to

regard any thing in the world in comparison of God Almighty’s glory, the

salvation of his own soul, and the conversion of our poor kingdom.”

In other passages, the interests of the crown of England, those of

the French king, and those of the Catholic religion, are spoken of

as inseparable. The duke is also said to have connected his interests

unalterably with those of Lewis. The king himself, he affirms, is always

inclined to favor the Catholics, when he may do it without hazard.

“Money,” Coleman adds, “cannot fail of persuading the king to any thing.

There is nothing it cannot make him do, were it ever so much to his

prejudice. It has such an absolute power over him that he cannot resist

it. Logic, built upon money, has in our court more powerful charms than

any other sort of argument.” For these reasons, he proposed to Father

La Chaise, that the French king should remit the sum of three hundred

thousand pounds, on condition that the parliament be dissolved; a

measure to which, he affirmed, the king was of himself sufficiently

inclined, were it not for his hopes of obtaining money from that

assembly. The parliament, he said, had already constrained the king

to make peace with Holland, contrary to the interests of the Catholic

religion, and of his most Christian majesty: and if they should meet

again, they would surely engage him further, even to the making of

war against France. It appears also from the same letters, that the

assembling of the parliament so late as April in the year 1675, had been

procured by the intrigues of the Catholic and French party, who thereby

intended to show the Dutch and their confederates that they could expect

no assistance from England.

When the contents of these letters were publicly known, they diffused

the panic with which the nation began already to be seized on account of

the Popish plot. Men reasoned more from their fears and their passions,

than from the evidence before them. It is certain, that the restless and

enterprising spirit of the Catholic church, particularly of the Jesuits,

merits attention, and is in some degree dangerous to every other

communion. Such zeal of proselytism actuates that sect, that its

missionaries have penetrated into every nation of the globe; and, in

one sense, there is a Popish plot perpetually carrying on against all

states, Protestant, Pagan, and Mahometan. It is likewise very probable,

that the conversion of the duke, and the favor of the king, had inspired

the Catholic priests with new hopes of recovering in these islands their

lost dominion, and gave fresh vigor to that intemperate zeal by which

they are commonly actuated. Their first aim was to obtain a toleration;

and such was the evidence, they believed, of their theological tenets,

that, could they but procure entire liberty, they must infallibly in

time open the eyes of the people. After they had converted considerable

numbers, they might be enabled, they hoped, to reinstate themselves

in full authority, and entirely to suppress that heresy with which

the kingdom had so long been infected. Though these dangers to the

Protestant religion were distant, it was justly the object of great

concern to find, that the heir of the crown was so blinded with bigotry,

and so deeply engaged in foreign interests; and that the king himself

had been prevailed on, from low Interests, to hearken to his dangerous

insinuations. Very bad consequences might ensue from such perverse

habits and attachments; nor could the nation and parliament guard

against them with too anxious a precaution. But that the Roman pontiff

could hope to assume the sovereignty of these kingdoms; a project which,

even during the darkness of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, would

have appeared chimerical: that he should delegate this authority to the

Jesuits, that order in the Romish church which was the most hated: that

a massacre could be attempted of the Protestants, who surpassed the

Catholics a hundred fold, and were invested with the whole authority of

the state: that the king himself was to be assassinated, and even the

duke, the only support of their party: these were such absurdities as no

human testimony was sufficient to prove; much less the evidence of one

man, who was noted for infamy, and who could not keep himself, every

moment, from falling into the grossest inconsistencies. Did such

intelligence deserve even so much attention as to be refuted, it would

appear, that Coleman’s letters were sufficient alone to destroy all its

credit. For how could so long a train of correspondence be carried on by

a man so much trusted by the party, and yet no traces of insurrections,

if really intended, of fires, massacres, assassinations, invasions, be

ever discovered in any single passage of these letters? But all such

reflections, and many more equally obvious, were vainly employed against

that general prepossession with which the nation was seized. Oates’s

plot and Coleman’s were universally confounded together: and the

evidence of the latter being unquestionable, the belief of the former,

aided by the passions of hatred and of terror, took possession of the

whole people.

There was danger, however, lest time might open the eyes of the public;

when the murder of Godfrey completed the general delusion, and rendered

the prejudices of the nation absolutely incurable. This magistrate had

been missing some days; and after much search, and many surmises,

his body was found lying in a ditch at Primrose Hill: the marks of

strangling were thought to appear about his neck, and some contusions

on his breast: his own sword was sticking in the body; but as no

considerable quantity of blood ensued on drawing it out, it was

concluded, that it had been thrust in after his death, and that he had

not killed himself: he had rings on his fingers and money in his pocket;

it was therefore inferred that he had not fallen into the hands of

robbers. Without further reasoning, the cry rose, that he had been

assassinated by the Papists, on account of his taking Oates’s evidence.

This clamor was quickly propagated, and met with universal belief. The

panic spread itself on every side with infinite rapidity; and all men,

astonished with fear, and animated with rage, saw in Godfrey’s fate all

the horrible designs ascribed to the Catholics: and no further doubt

remained of Oates’s veracity. The voice of the nation united against

that hated sect; and notwithstanding that the bloody conspiracy was

supposed to be now detected, men could scarcely be persuaded that their

lives were yet in safety. Each hour teemed with new rumors and surmises.

Invasions from abroad, insurrections at home, even private murders and

poisonings, were apprehended. To deny the reality of the plot was to be

an accomplice: to hesitate was criminal: royalist, republican;

churchman, sectary; courtier, patriot; all parties concurred in the

illusion. The city prepared for its defence as if the enemy were at its

gates: the chains and posts were put up: and it was a noted saying at

that time of Sir Thomas Player, the chamberlain, that, were it not for

these precautions, all the citizens might rise next morning with their

throats cut.[*]

In order to propagate the popular frenzy, several artifices were

employed. The dead body of Godfrey was carried into the city, attended

by vast multitudes. It was publicly exposed in the streets, and viewed

by all ranks of men; and every one who saw it went away inflamed, as

well by the mutual contagion of sentiments, as by the dismal spectacle

itself. The funeral pomp was celebrated with great parade. The corpse

was conducted through the chief streets of the city: seventy-two

clergymen marched before: above a thousand persons of distinction

followed after: and at the funeral sermon, two able-bodied divines

mounted the pulpit, and stood on each side of the preacher, lest in

paying the last duties to this unhappy magistrate, he should, before the

whole people, be murdered by the Papists,[**]

* North, p. 206.

**North p. 205.

In this disposition of the nation, reason could no more be heard than

a whisper in the midst of the most violent hurricane. Even at present,

Godfrey’s murder can scarcely, upon any system, be rationally

accounted for. That he was assassinated by the Catholics, seems utterly

improbable. These religionists could not be engaged to commit that crime

from policy, in order to deter other magistrates from acting against

them. Godfrey’s fate was nowise capable of producing that effect,

unless it were publicly known that the Catholics were his murderers;

an opinion which, it was easy to foresee, must prove the ruin of their

party. Besides, how many magistrates, during more than a century, had

acted in the most violent manner against the Catholics, without its

being ever suspected that any one had been cut off by assassination?

Such jealous times as the present were surely ill fitted for beginning

these dangerous experiments. Shall we therefore say, that the Catholics

were pushed on, not by policy, but by blind revenge, against Godfrey?

But Godfrey had given them little or no occasion of offence in taking

Oates’s evidence. His part was merely an act of form belonging to his

office; nor could he, or any man in his station, possibly refuse it. In

the rest of his conduct, he lived on good terms with the Catholics, and

was far from distinguishing himself by his severity against that sect.

It is even certain, that he had contracted an intimacy with Coleman,

and took care to inform his friend of the danger to which, by reason of

Oates’s evidence, he was at present exposed.

There are some writers who, finding it impossible to account for

Godfrey’s murder by the machinations of the Catholics, have recourse

to the opposite supposition. They lay hold of that obvious presumption,

that those commit the crime who reap advantage by it; and they

affirm, that it was Shaftesbury and the heads of the popular party who

perpetrated that deed, in order to throw the odium of it on the Papists.

If this supposition be received, it must also be admitted, that the

whole plot was the contrivance of these politicians; and that Oates

acted altogether under their direction. But it appears that Oates,

dreading probably the opposition of powerful enemies, had very anxiously

acquitted the duke, Danby, Ormond, and all the ministry; persons who

were certainly the most obnoxious to the popular leaders. Besides,

the whole texture of the plot contains such low absurdity, that it is

impossible to have been the invention of any man of sense or education.

It is true the more monstrous and horrible the conspiracy, the better

was it fitted to terrify, and thence to convince, the populace: but this

effect, we may safely say, no one could beforehand have expected; and

a fool was in this case more likely to succeed than a wise man. Had

Shaftesbury laid the plan of a Popish conspiracy, he had probably

rendered it moderate consistent, credible; and on that very account

had never met with the prodigious success with which Oates’s tremendous

fictions were attended.

We must, therefore, be contented to remain forever ignorant of the

actors in Godfrey’s murder; and only pronounce in general, that that

event in all likelihood, had no connection, one way or other, with the

Popish plot. Any man, especially so active a magistrate as Godfrey,

might, in such a city as London, have many enemies, of whom his friends

and family had no suspicion. He was a melancholy man; and there is some

reason, notwithstanding the pretended appearances to the contrary, to

suspect that he fell by his own hands. The affair was never examined

with tranquillity, or even with common sense, during the time; and it is

impossible for us, at this distance, certainly to account for it.

No one doubted but the Papists had assassinated Godfrey; but still the

particular actors were unknown. A proclamation was issued by the king,

offering a pardon and a reward of five hundred pounds to any one who

should discover them. As it was afterwards surmised, that the terror

of a like assassination would prevent discovery, a new proclamation was

issued, promising absolute protection to any one who should reveal the

secret. Thus were indemnity, money, and security offered to the fairest

bidder: and no one needed to fear, during the present fury of the

people, that his evidence would undergo too severe a scrutiny.

While the nation was in this ferment, the parliament was assembled. In

his speech, the king told them, that, though they had given money for

disbanding the army,[*] he had found Flanders so exposed, that he had

thought it necessary still to keep them on foot, and doubted not but

this measure would meet with their approbation. He informed them, that

his revenue lay under great anticipations, and at best was never equal

to the constant and necessary expense of government; as would appear

from the state of it, which he intended to lay before them. He also

mentioned the plot formed against his life by Jesuits; but said that he

would forbear delivering any opinion of the matter, lest he should seem

to say too much or too little; and that he would leave the scrutiny of

it entirely to the law.

* They had granted him six hundred thousand pounds for

disbanding the army, for reimbursing the charges of his

naval armament and for paying the princess of Orange’s

portion.

The king was anxious to keep the question of the Popish plot from the

parliament; where, he suspected, many designing people would very much

abuse the present credulity of the nation, but Danby, who hated the

Catholics, and courted popularity, and perhaps hoped that the king,

if his life were believed in danger from the Jesuits, would be more

cordially loved by the nation, had entertained opposite designs; and

the very first day of the session, he opened the matter in the house of

peers. The king was extremely displeased with this temerity, and told

his minister, “Though you do not believe it, you will find, that you

have given the parliament a handle to ruin yourself, as well as to

disturb all my affairs; and you will surely live to repent it.” Danby

had afterwards sufficient reason to applaud the sagacity of his master.

The cry of the plot was immediately echoed from one house to the other.

The authority of parliament gave sanction to that fury with which the

people were already agitated. An address was voted for a solemn fast: a

form of prayer was contrived for that solemnity; and because the Popish

plot had been omitted in the first draught, it was carefully ordered to

be inserted; lest omniscience should want intelligence, to use the words

of an historian.[*]

* North, p. 207.

In order to continue and propagate the alarm, addresses were voted

for laying before the house such papers as might discover the horrible

conspiracy; for the removal of Popish recusants from London; for

administering every where the oaths of allegiance and supremacy; for

denying access at court to all unknown or suspicious persons; and for

appointing the train bands of London and Westminster to be in readiness.

The lords Powis, Stafford, Arundel, Peters, and Bellasis were committed

to the Tower, and were soon after impeached for high treason. And both

houses, after hearing Oates’s evidence, voted, “That the lords and

commons are of opinion, that there hath been, and still is, a damnable

and hellish plot, contrived and carried on by the Popish recusants, for

assassinating the king, for subverting the government, and for rooting

out and destroying the Protestant religion.”

So vehement were the houses, that they sat every day, forenoon and

afternoon, on the subject of the plot: for no other business could be

attended to. A committee of lords was appointed to examine prisoners and

witnesses: blank warrants were put into their hands, for the commitment

of such as should be accused or suspected. Oates, who, though his

evidence were true, must, by his own account, be regarded as an infamous

villain, was by every one applauded, caressed and called the savior of

the nation. He was recommended by the parliament to the king. He was

lodged in Whitehall, protected by guards, and encouraged by a pension of

one thousand two hundred pounds a year.

It was not long before such bountiful encouragement brought forth new

witnesses. William Bedloe, a man, if possible, more infamous than Gates,

appeared next upon the stage. He was of very low birth, had been noted

for several cheats, and even thefts; had travelled over many parts of

Europe under borrowed names, and frequently passed himself for a man of

quality; and had endeavored, by a variety of lies and contrivances, to

prey upon the ignorant and unwary. When he appeared before the council,

he gave intelligence of Godfrey’s murder only, which, he said, had been

perpetrated in Somerset House, where the queen lived, by Papists, some

of them servants in her family. He was questioned about the plot; but

utterly denied all knowledge of it, and also asserted, that he had no

acquaintance with Oates. Next day, when examined before the committee

of lords, he bethought himself better, and was ready to give an ample

account of the plot, which he found so anxiously inquired into. This

narrative he made to tally, as well as he could, with that of Oates,

which had been published: but that he might make himself acceptable

by new matter, he added some other circumstances, and these still more

tremendous and extraordinary. He said, that ten thousand men were to be

landed from Flanders in Burlington Bay, and immediately to seize Hull:

that Jersey and Guernsey were to be surprised by forces from Brest; and

that a French fleet was all last summer hovering in the Channel for

that purpose: that the lords Powis and Peters were to form an army

in Radnorshire, to be joined by another army, consisting of twenty or

thirty thousand religious men and pilgrims, who were to land at Milford

Haven from St. Iago in Spain: that there were forty thousand men ready

in London; besides those who would, on the alarm, be posted at every

alehouse door, in order to kill the soldiers as they came out of their

quarters: that Lord Stafford, Coleman, and Father Ireland had money

sufficient to defray the expenses of all these armaments: that he

himself was to receive four thousand pounds, as one that could murder a

man; as also a commission from Lord Bellasis, and a benediction from the

pope that the king was to be assassinated; all the Protestants massacred

who would not seriously be converted; the government offered to ONE, if

he would consent to hold it of the church; but if he should refuse that

condition, as was suspected, the supreme authority would be given

to certain lords under the nomination of the pope. In a subsequent

examination before the commons, Bedloe added, (for these men always

brought out their intelligence successively and by piecemeal,) that Lord

Carrington was also in the conspiracy for raising men and money against

the government; as was likewise Loro Brudenel. These noblemen, with all

the other persons mentioned by Bedloe, were immediately committed to

custody by the parliament.

It is remarkable, that the only resource of Spain, in her present

decayed condition, lay in the assistance of England: and, so far from

being in a situation to transport ten thousand men for the invasion of

that kingdom, she had solicited and obtained English forces to be sent

into the garrisons of Flanders, which were not otherwise able to defend

themselves against the French. The French too, we may observe, were

at that very time in open war with Spain, and yet are supposed to be

engaged in the same design against England; as if religious motives were

become the sole actuating principle among sovereigns. But none of these

circumstances, however obvious, were able, when set in opposition to

multiplied horrors, antipathies, and prejudices, to engage the least

attention of the populace: for such the whole nation were at this time

become. The Popish plot passed for incontestable: and had not men soon

expected with certainty the legal punishment of these criminals, the

Catholics had been exposed to the hazard of a universal massacre.

The torrent, indeed, of national prejudices ran so high, that no one,

without the most imminent danger, durst venture openly to oppose it;

nay, scarcely any one, without great force of judgment, could even

secretly entertain an opinion contrary to the prevailing sentiments.

The loud and unanimous voice of a great nation has mighty authority over

weak minds; and even later historians are so swayed by the concurring

judgment of such multitudes, that some of them have esteemed themselves

sufficiently moderate, when they affirmed, that many circumstances of

the plot were true, though some were added, and others much magnified.

But it is an obvious principle, that a witness who perjures himself in

one circumstance is credible in none and the authority of the plot, even

to the end of the prosecutions, stood entirely upon witnesses. Though

the Catholics had seen suddenly and unexpectedly detected, at the very

moment when their conspiracy, it is said, was ripe for execution, no

arms, no ammunition, no money, no commissions, no papers, no letters,

after the most rigorous search, ever were discovered, to confirm

the evidence of Oates and Bedloe. Yet still the nation, though often

frustrated, went on in the eager pursuit and confident belief of the

conspiracy: and even the manifold inconsistencies and absurdities

contained in the narratives, instead of discouraging them, served only

as further incentives to discover the bottom of the plot, and were

considered as slight objections, which a more complete information would

fully remove. In all history, it will be difficult to find such another

instance of popular frenzy and bigoted delusion.

In order to support the panic among the people, especially among

the citizens of London, a pamphlet was published with this title: “A

narrative and impartial discovery of the horrid Popish plot, carried on

for burning and destroying the cities of London and Westminster,

with their suburbs: setting forth the several consults, orders, and

resolutions of the Jesuits concerning the same: by Captain William

Bedloe, lately engaged in that horrid design, and one of the Popish

committee for carrying on such fires.” Every fire which had happened

for several years past, is there ascribed to the machinations of the

Jesuits, who purposed, as Bedloe said, by such attempts, to find an

opportunity for the general massacre of the Protestants; and, in the

mean time, were well pleased to enrich themselves by pilfering goods

from the fire.

The king, though he scrupled not, wherever he could speak freely, to

throw the highest ridicule on the plot, and on all who believed it, yet

found it necessary to adopt the popular opinion before the parliament.

The torrent, he saw, ran too strong to be controlled; and he could only

hope, by a seeming compliance, to be able, after some time, to guide and

direct and elude its fury. He made, therefore, a speech to both houses;

in which he told them, that he would take the utmost care of his person

during these times of danger; that he was as ready as their hearts could

wish, to join with them in all means for establishing the Protestant

religion, not only during his own time, but for all future ages; and

that, provided the right of succession were preserved, he would consent

to any laws for restraining a Popish successor: and, in conclusion, he

exhorted them to think of effectual means for the conviction of Popish

recusants; and he highly praised the duty and loyalty of all his

subjects, who had discovered such anxious concern for his safety.

These gracious expressions abated nothing of the vehemence of

parliamentary proceedings. A bill was introduced for a new test, in

which Popery was denominated idolatry; and all members, who refused

this test, were excluded from both houses. The bill passed the commons

without much opposition; but in the upper house the duke moved, that an

exception might be admitted in his favor. With great earnestness,

and even with tears in his eyes, he told them that he was now to cast

himself on their kindness, in the greatest concern which he could have

in the world; and he protested, that, whatever his religion might be, it

should only be a private thing between God and his own soul, and never

should appear in his public conduct. Notwithstanding this strong effort,

in so important a point, he prevailed only by two voices: a sufficient

indication of the general disposition of the people. “I would not have,”

said a noble peer, in the debate on this bill, “so much as a Popish

man or a Popish woman to remain here; not so much as a Popish dog or a

Popish bitch; not so much as a Popish cat to pur or mew about the king.”

What is more extraordinary, this speech met with praise and approbation.

Encouraged by this general fury, the witnesses went still a step

farther in their accusations; and though both Oates and Bedloe had often

declared, that there was no other person of distinction whom they knew

to be concerned in the plot, they were now so audacious as to accuse

the queen herself of entering into the design against the life of her

husband. The commons, in an address to the king, gave countenance to

this scandalous accusation; but the lords would not be prevailed with to

join in the address. It is here, if any where, that we may suspect the

suggestions of the popular leaders to have had place. The king, it was

well known, bore no great affection to his consort; and now, more than

ever, when his brother and heir was so much hated, had reason to be

desirous of issue which might quiet the jealous fears of his people.

This very hatred, which prevailed against the duke, would much

facilitate, he knew, any expedient that could be devised for the

exclusion of that prince; and nothing further seemed requisite for the

king, than to give way in this particular to the rage and fury of the

nation. But Charles, notwithstanding all allurements of pleasure, or

interest, or safety, had the generosity to protect his injured consort.

“They think,” said he, “I have a mind to a new wife; but for all that, I

will not see an innocent woman abused.”[*] He immediately ordered Oates

to be strictly confined, seized his papers, and dismissed his servants;

and this daring informer was obliged to make applications to parliament,

in order to recover his liberty.

During this agitation of men’s minds, the parliament gave new attention

to the militia; a circumstance which, even during times of greatest

tranquillity, can never prudently be neglected. They passed a bill,

by which it was enacted, that a regular militia should be kept in arms

during six weeks of the year, and a third part of them do duty every

fortnight of that time. The popular leaders probably intended to make

use of the general prejudices, and even to turn the arms of the people

against the prince.[**] But Charles refused his assent to the bill, and

told the parliament, that he would not, were it for half an hour, part

so far with the power of the sword: but if they would contrive any

other bill for ordering the militia, and still leave it in his power to

assemble or dismiss them as he thought proper, he would willingly give

it the royal assent. The commons, dissatisfied with this negative,

though the king had never before employed that prerogative, immediately

voted that all the new-levied forces should be disbanded. They passed

a bill, granting money for that purpose; but to show their extreme

jealousy of the crown, besides appropriating the money by the strictest

clauses, they ordered it to be paid, not into the exchequer, but

into the chamber of London. The lords demurred with regard to so

extraordinary a clause, which threw a violent reflection on the king’s

ministers, and even on himself; and by that means the act remained in

suspense.

* North’s Examen, p. 186.

** Burnet, vol. i. p. 437·

It was no wonder, that the present ferment and credulity of the nation

engaged men of infamous character and indigent circumstances to become

informers, when persons of rank and condition could be tempted to give

into that scandalous practice. Montague, the king’s ambassador at Paris,

had procured a seat in the lower house; and without obtaining or asking

the king’s leave, he suddenly came over to England. Charles, suspecting

his intention, ordered his papers to be seized; but Montague, who

foresaw this measure, had taken care to secrete one paper, which he

immediately laid before the house of commons. It was a letter from

the treasurer Danby, written in the beginning of the year, during the

negotiations at Nimeguen for the general peace. Montague was there

directed to make a demand of money from France; or, in other words, the

king was willing secretly to sell his good offices to Lewis, contrary to

the general interests of the confederates, and even to those of his own

kingdoms. The letter, among other particulars, contains these words: “In

case the conditions of peace shall be accepted, the king expects to have

six millions of livres a year for three years, from the time that this

agreement shall be signed between his majesty and the king of France;

because it will probably be two or three years before the parliament

will be in humor to give him any supplies after the making of any peace

with France; and the ambassador here has always agreed to that sum;

but not for so long a time.” Danby was so unwilling to engage in this

negotiation, that the king, to satisfy him, subjoined with his own hand

these words: “This letter is writ by my order. C. R.” Montague, who

revealed this secret correspondence, had even the baseness to sell his

base treachery at a high price to the French monarch.[*]

* Appendix to Sir John Dalrymple’s Memoirs.

The commons were inflamed with this intelligence against Danby; and

carrying their suspicions further than the truth, they concluded, that

the king had all along acted in concert with the French court; and that

every step which he had taken in conjunction with the allies, had

been illusory and deceitful. Desirous of getting to the bottom of so

important a secret, and being pushed by Danby’s numerous enemies, they

immediately voted an impeachment of high treason against that minister,

and sent up six articles to the house of peers. These articles were,

That he had traitorously engrossed to himself regal power, by giving

instructions to his majesty’s ambassadors, without the participation of

the secretaries of state, or the privy council: that he had traitorously

endeavored to subvert the government, and introduce arbitrary power;

and to that end, had levied and continued an army, contrary to act

of parliament: that he had traitorously endeavored to alienate the

affections of his majesty’s subjects, by negotiating a disadvantageous

peace with France, and procuring money for that purpose: that he was

popishly affected, and had traitorously concealed, after he had notice,

the late horrid and bloody plot, contrived by the Papists against his

majesty’s person and government: that he had wasted the king’s treasure:

and that he had, by indirect means, obtained several exorbitant grants

from the crown.

It is certain that the treasurer, in giving instructions to an

ambassador, had exceeded the bounds of his office; and as the genius of

a monarchy, strictly limited, requires, that the proper minister should

be answerable for every abuse of power, the commons, though they here

advanced a new pretension, might justify themselves by the utility, and

even necessity of it. But in other respects their charge against Danby

was very ill grounded. That minister made it appear to the house of

lords, not only that Montague, the informer against him, had all along

promoted the money negotiations with France, but that he himself was

ever extremely averse to the interests of that crown, which he esteemed

pernicious to his master and to his country. The French nation, he

said, had always entertained, as he was certainly informed, the highest

contempt both of the king’s person and government. His diligence, he

added, in tracing and discovering the Popish plot, was generally known;

and if he had common sense, not to say common honesty, he would surely

be anxious to preserve the life of a master by whom he was so much

favored. He had wasted no treasure, because there was no treasure to

waste. And though he had reason to be grateful for the king’s bounty,

he had made more moderate acquisitions than were generally imagined,

and than others in his office had often done, even during a shorter

administration.

The house of peers plainly saw, that, allowing all the charges of the

commons to be true, Danby’s crimes fell not under the statute of Edward

III; and though the words treason and traitorously had been carefully

inserted in several articles, this appellation could not change the

nature of things, or subject him to the penalties annexed to that crime.

They refused, therefore, to commit Danby upon this irregular charge:

the commons insisted on their demand; and a great contest was likely to

arise, when the king, who had already seen sufficient instances of

the ill humor of the parliament, thought proper to prorogue them. This

prorogation was soon after followed by a dissolution; a desperate remedy

in the present disposition of the nation. But the disease, it must be

owned, the king had reason to esteem desperate. The utmost rage had been

discovered by the commons, on account of the Popish plot; and their

fury began already to point against the royal family, if not against

the throne itself. The duke had been struck at in several motions: the

treasurer had been impeached: all supply had been refused, except on the

most disagreeable conditions: fears, jealousies, and antipathies were

every day multiplying in parliament; and though the people were strongly

infected with the same prejudices, the king hoped, that, by dissolving

the present cabals, a set of men might be chosen, more moderate in their

pursuits, and less tainted with the virulence of faction.

Thus came to a period a parliament which had sitten during the whole

course of this reign, one year excepted. Its conclusion was very

different from its commencement. Being elected during the joy and

festivity of the restoration, it consisted almost entirely of royalists;

who were disposed to support the crown by all the liberality which the

habits of that age would permit. Alarmed by the alliance with France,

they gradually withdrew their confidence from the king; and finding him

still to persevere in a foreign interest, they proceeded to discover

symptoms of the most refractory and most jealous disposition. The Popish

plot pushed them beyond all bounds of moderation; and before their

dissolution, they seemed to be treading fast in the footsteps of the

last long parliament, on whose conduct they threw at first such violent

blame. In all their variations, they had still followed the opinions and

prejudices of the nation; and ever seemed to be more governed by humor

and party views than by public interest, and more by public interest

than by any corrupt or private influence.

During the sitting of the parliament, and after its prorogation and

dissolution, the trials of the pretended criminals were carried on; and

the courts of judicature, places which, if possible, ought to be kept

more pure from injustice than even national assemblies themselves,

were strongly infected with the same party rage and bigoted prejudices.

Coleman, the most obnoxious of the conspirators, was first brought to

his trial. His letters were produced against him. They contained, as he

himself confessed, much indiscretion: but unless so far as it is illegal

to be a zealous Catholic, they seemed to prove nothing criminal, much

less treasonable against him. Gates and Bedloe deposed, that he had

received a commission, signed by the superior of the Jesuits, to be

Papal secretary of state, and had consented to the poisoning, shooting,

and stabbing of the king: he had even, according to Oates’s deposition,

advanced a guinea to promote those bloody purposes. These wild stories

were confounded with the projects contained in his letters; and Coleman

received sentence of death. The sentence was soon after executed

upon him.[*] He suffered with calmness and constancy, and to the last

persisted in the strongest protestations of his innocence.

Coleman’s execution was succeeded by the trial of Father Ireland, who,

it is pretended, had signed, together with fifty Jesuits, the great

resolution of murdering the king. Grove and Pickering, who had

undertaken to shoot him, were tried at the same time. The only witnesses

against the prisoners were still Gates and Bedloe. Ireland affirmed,

that he was in Staffordshire all the month of August last, a time when

Oates’s evidence made him in London. He proved his assertion by good

evidence; and would have proved it by undoubted, had he not most

iniquitously been debarred, while in prison, from all use of pen, ink,

and paper, and denied the liberty of sending for witnesses. All these

men, before their arraignment, were condemned in the opinion of the

judges, jury, and spectators; and to be a Jesuit, or even a Catholic,

was of itself a sufficient proof of guilt. The chief justice,[**] in

particular, gave sanction to all the narrow prejudices and bigoted fury

of the populace. Instead of being counsel for the prisoners, as his

office required, he pleaded the cause against them, browbeat their

witnesses, and on every occasion represented their guilt as certain

and uncontroverted. He even went so far as publicly to affirm, that

the Papists had not the same principles which Protestants have,

and therefore were not entitled to that common credence, which the

principles and practices of the latter call for. And when the jury

brought in their verdict against the prisoners, he said, “You have done,

gentlemen, like very good subjects, and very good Christians, that is

to say, like very good Protestants, and now much good may their thirty

thousand masses do them;” alluding to the masses by which Pickering was

to be rewarded for murdering the king. All these unhappy men went to

execution, protesting their innocence; a circumstance which made no

impression on the spectators.

* December 3.

* Sir William Scroggs.

{1679.} The opinion, that the Jesuits allowed of lies and mental

reservations for promoting a good cause, was at this time so universally

received, that no credit was given to testimony delivered either by

that order, or by any of their disciples. It was forgotten, that all the

conspirators engaged in the gunpowder treason, and Garnet, the Jesuit

among the rest, had freely on the scaffold made confession of their

guilt.

Though Bedloe had given information of Godfrey’s murder, he still

remained a single evidence against the persons accused; and all the

allurements of profit and honor had not hitherto tempted any one to

confirm the testimony of that informer. At last, means were found to

complete the legal evidence. One Prance, a silversmith and a Catholic,

had been accused by Bedloe of being an accomplice in the murder; and

upon his denial, had been thrown into prison, loaded with heavy irons

and confined to the condemned hole, a place cold, dark, and full of

nastiness. Such rigors were supposed to be exercised by orders from the

secret committee of lords, particularly Shaftesbury and Buckingham; who,

in examining the prisoners, usually employed (as it is said, and indeed

sufficiently proved) threatenings and promises, rigor and indulgence,

and every art, under pretence of extorting the truth from them. Prance

had not courage to resist, but confessed himself an accomplice in

Godfrey’s murder. Being asked concerning the plot, he also thought

proper to be acquainted with it, and conveyed some intelligence to the

council. Among other absurd circumstances, he said that one Le Fevre

bought a second-hand sword of him; because he knew not, as he said,

what times were at hand; and Prance expressing some concern for poor

tradesmen, if such times came, Le Fevre replied, that it would be better

for tradesmen if the Catholic religion were restored; and particularly,

that there would be more church work for silversmiths. All this

information, with regard to the plot as well as the murder of Godfrey,

Prance solemnly retracted, both before the king and the secret

committee: but being again thrown into prison, he was induced, by new

terrors and new sufferings, to confirm his first information, and was

now produced as a sufficient evidence.

Hill, Green, and Berry were tried for Godfrey’s murder, all of them men

of low stations. Hill was servant to a physician: the other two belonged

to the Popish chapel at Somerset House. It is needless to run over all

the particulars of a long trial: it will be sufficient to say, that

Bedloe’s evidence and Prance’s were in many circumstances totally

irreconcilable, that both of them labored under unsurmountable

difficulties, not to say gross absurdities; and that they were

invalidated by contrary evidence, which is altogether convincing. But

all was in vain: the prisoners were condemned and executed. They all

denied their guilt at their execution; and as Berry died a Protestant,

this circumstance was regarded as very considerable: but, instead of its

giving some check to the general credulity of the people, men were only

surprised, that a Protestant could be induced at his death to persist in

so manifest a falsehood.

As the army could neither be kept up nor disbanded without money, the

king, how little hopes soever he could entertain of more compliance,

found himself obliged to summon a new parliament. The blood already shed

on account of the Popish plot, instead of satiating the people, served

only as an incentive to their fury; and each conviction of a criminal

was hitherto regarded as a new proof of those horrible designs imputed

to the Papists. This election is perhaps the first in England, which,

since the commencement of the monarchy, had been carried on by a violent

contest between the parties, and where the court interested itself to a

high degree in the choice of the national representatives. But all its

efforts were fruitless, in opposition to the torrent of prejudices which

prevailed. Religion, liberty, property, even the lives of men, were now

supposed to be at stake; and no security, it was thought, except in

a vigilant parliament, could be found against the impious and bloody

conspirators. Were there any part of the nation to which the ferment,

occasioned by the Popish plot, had not as yet propagated itself, the new

elections, by interesting the whole people in public concerns, tended to

diffuse it into the remotest corner; and the consternation universally

excited proved an excellent engine for influencing the electors. All the

zealots of the former parliament were rechosen: new ones were added: the

Presbyterians, in particular, being transported with the most inveterate

antipathy against Popery, were very active and very successful in the

elections. That party, it is said, first began at this time the abuse of

splitting their freeholds, in order to multiply votes and electors. By

accounts which came from every part of England, it was concluded, that

the new representatives would, if possible, exceed the old in their

refractory opposition to the court, and furious persecution of the

Catholics.

The king was alarmed when he saw so dreadful a tempest arise from such

small and unaccountable beginnings. His life, if Gates and Bedloe’s

information were true, had been aimed at by the Catholics: even the

duke’s was in danger; the higher, therefore, the rage mounted against

Popery, the more should the nation have been reconciled to these princes

in whom, it appeared, the church of Rome reposed no confidence. But

there is a sophistry which attends all the passions, especially those

into which the populace enter. Men gave credit to the informers, so far

as concerned the guilt of the Catholics: but they still retained their

old suspicions, that these religionists were secretly favored by the

king, and had obtained the most entire ascendant over his brother.

Charles had too much penetration not to see the danger to which the

succession, and even his own crown and dignity, now stood exposed.

A numerous party, he found, was formed against him: on the one hand,

composed of a populace, so credulous from prejudice, so blinded

with religious antipathy, as implicitly to believe the most palpable

absurdities; and conducted, on the other hand, by leaders so little

scrupulous, as to endeavor, by encouraging perjury, subornation, lies,

impostures, and even by shedding innocent blood, to gratify their own

furious ambition, and subvert all legal authority. Roused from his

lethargy by so imminent a peril, he began to exert that vigor of mind,

of which, on great occasions, he was not destitute; and without quitting

in appearance his usual facility of temper, he collected an industry,

firmness, and vigilance, of which he was believed altogether incapable.

These qualities, joined to dexterity and prudence, conducted him happily

through the many shoals which surrounded him; and he was at last able

to make the storm fall on the heads of those who had blindly raised or

artfully conducted it.

One chief step which the king took towards gratifying and appeasing his

people and parliament, was, desiring the duke to withdraw beyond sea,

that no further suspicion might remain of the influence of Popish

counsels. The duke readily complied; but first required an order for

that purpose, signed by the king; lest his absenting himself should be

interpreted as a proof of fear or of guilt. He also desired, that his

brother should satisfy him, as well as the public, by a declaration of

the illegitimacy of the duke of Monmouth.

James, duke of Monmouth, was the king’s natural son by Lucy Walters,

and born about ten years before the restoration. He possessed all

the qualities which could engage the affections of the populace; a

distinguished valor, an affable address, a thoughtless generosity, a

graceful person. He rose still higher in the public favor, by reason of

the universal hatred to which the duke, on account of his religion,

was exposed. Monmouth’s capacity was mean; his temper pliant: so that,

notwithstanding his great popularity, he had never been dangerous, had

he not implicitly resigned himself to the guidance of Shaftesbury, a

man of such a restless temper, such subtle wit, and such abandoned

principles. That daring politician had flattered Monmouth with the hopes

of succeeding to the crown. The story of a contract of marriage, passed

between the king and Monmouth’s mother, and secretly kept in a certain

_black box_, had been industriously spread abroad, and was greedily

received by the multitude. As the horrors of Popery still pressed harder

on them, they might be induced either to adopt that fiction, as they had

already done many others more incredible, or to commit open violation on

the right of succession. And it would not be difficult, it was hoped,

to persuade the king, who was extremely fond of his son, to give him the

preference above a brother, who, by his imprudent bigotry, had involved

him in such inextricable difficulties. But Charles, in order to cut off

all such expectations, as well as to remove the duke’s apprehensions,

took care, in full council, to make a declaration of Monmouth’s

illegitimacy, and to deny all promise of marriage with his mother. The

duke, being gratified in so reasonable a request, willingly complied

with the king’s desire, and retired to Brussels.

But the king soon found that, notwithstanding this precaution,

notwithstanding his concurrence in the prosecution of the Popish plot,

notwithstanding the zeal which he expressed, and even at this time

exercised against the Catholics, he had nowise obtained the confidence

of his parliament. The refractory humor of the lower house appeared in

the first step which they took upon their assembling. It had ever been

usual for the commons, in the election of their speaker, to consult the

inclinations of the sovereign; and even the long parliament, in 1641,

had not thought proper to depart from so established a custom. The

king now desired, that the choice should fall on Sir Thomas Meres: but

Seymour, speaker to the last parliament, was instantly called to the

chair, by a vote which seemed unanimous. The king, when Seymour was

presented to him for his approbation, rejected him, and ordered the

commons to proceed to a new choice. A great flame was excited. The

commons maintained, that the king s approbation was merely a matter of

form, and that he could not without giving a reason, reject the speaker

chosen; the king, that, since he had the power of rejecting, he might,

if he pleased, keep the reason in his own breast. As the question had

never before been started, it might seem difficult to find principles

upon which it could be decided.[*] By way of compromise, it was agreed

to set aside both candidates. Gregory, a lawyer, was chosen; and the

election was ratified by the king. It has ever since been understood,

that the choice of the speaker lies in the house; but that the king

retains the power of rejecting any person disagreeable to him.

[*] In 1566, the speaker said to Queen Elizabeth, that

without her allowance the election of the house was of no

significance. D’Ewes’s Journal, p. 97. In the parliament

1592, 1593, the speaker, who was Sir Edward Coke, advances a

like position. D’Ewes, p. 459; Townshend, p. 35. So that

this pretension of the commons seems to have been somewhat

new; like many of their other powers and privileges.

Seymour was deemed a great enemy to Danby; and it was the influence of

that nobleman, as commonly supposed, which had engaged the king to

enter into this ill-timed controversy with the commons. The impeachment,

therefore, of Danby was on that account the sooner revived; and it

was maintained by the commons, that notwithstanding the intervening

dissolution, every part of that proceeding stood in the same condition

in which it had been left by the last parliament; a pretension which,

though unusual, seems tacitly to have been yielded them. The king had

beforehand had the precaution to grant a pardon to Danby; and, in order

to screen the chancellor from all attacks by the commons, he had taken

the great seal into his own hands, and had himself affixed it to the

parchment. He told the parliament, that, as Danby had acted in every

thing by his orders, he was in no respect criminal; that his pardon,

however, he would insist upon; and if it should be found anywise

defective in form, he would renew it again and again, till it should be

rendered entirely complete; but that he was resolved to deprive him of

all employments, and to remove him from court.

The commons were nowise satisfied with this concession They pretended,

that no pardon of the crown could be pleaded in bar of an impeachment,

by the commons. The prerogative of mercy had hitherto been understood to

be altogether unlimited in the king; and this pretension of the commons,

it must be confessed, was entirely new. It was, however, not unsuitable

to the genius of a monarchy strictly limited, where the king’s ministers

are supposed to be forever accountable to national assemblies, even for

such abuses of power as they may commit by orders from their master.

The present emergence, while the nation was so highly inflamed, was the

proper time for pushing such popular claims; and the commons failed

not to avail themselves of this advantage. They still insisted On the

impeachment of Danby. The peers, in compliance with them, departed from

their former scruples, and ordered Danby to be taken into custody.

Danby absconded. The commons passed a bill, appointing him to surrender

himself before a certain day, or, in default of it, attainting him. A

bill had passed the upper house, mitigating the penalty to banishment;

but after some conferences, the peers thought proper to yield to the

violence of the commons, and the bill of attainder was carried. Rather

than undergo such severe penalties, Danby appeared, and was immediately

committed to the Tower.

While a Protestant nobleman met with such violent prosecution, it

was not likely that the Catholics would be overlooked by the zealous

commons. The credit of the Popish plot still stood upon the oaths of a

few infamous witnesses. Though such immense preparations were supposed

to have been made in the very bowels of the kingdom, no traces of them,

after the most rigorous inquiry, had as yet appeared. Though so many

thousands, both abroad and at home, had been engaged in the dreadful

secret, neither hope, nor fear, nor remorse, nor levity, nor suspicions,

nor private resentment, had engaged any one to confirm the evidence.

Though the Catholics, particularly the Jesuits, were represented as

guilty of the utmost indiscretion, insomuch that they talked of the

king’s murder as common news, and wrote of it in plain terms by the

common post, yet, among the great number of letters seized, no one

contained any part of so complicated a conspiracy. Though the informers

pretended that, even after they had resolved to betray the secret, many

treasonable commissions and papers had passed through their hands, they

had not had the precaution to keep any one of them, in order to fortify

their evidence. But all these difficulties, and a thousand more,

were not found too hard of digestion by me nation and parliament. The

prosecution and further discovery of the plot were still the object of

general concern. The commons voted, that, if the king should come to

an untimely end, they would revenge his death upon the Papists; not

reflecting that this sect were not his only enemies. They promised

rewards to new discoverers; not considering the danger which they

incurred of granting bribes to perjury. They made Bedloe a present of

five hundred pounds; and particularly recommended the care of his safety

to the duke of Monmouth. Colonel Sackville, a member, having, in a

private company, spoken opprobriously of those who affirmed that there

was any plot, was expelled the house. The peers gave power to their

committees to send for and examine such as would maintain the innocence

of those who had been condemned for the plot. A pamphlet having been

published to discredit the informers, and to vindicate the Catholic

lords in the Tower, these lords were required to discover the author,

and thereby to expose their own advocate to prosecution. And both houses

concurred in renewing the former vote, that the Papists had undoubtedly

entered into a _horrid_ and _treasonable_ conspiracy against

the king, the state, and the Protestant religion.

It must be owned, that this extreme violence, in prosecution of so

absurd an imposture, disgraces the noble cause of liberty, in which the

parliament was engaged. We may even conclude from such impatience

of contradiction, that the prosecutors themselves retained a secret

suspicion, that the general belief was but ill grounded. The politicians

among them were afraid to let in light, lest it might put an end to so

useful a delusion: the weaker and less dishonest party took care, by

turning their eyes aside, not to see a truth, so opposite to those

furious passions by which they were actuated, and in which they were

determined obstinately to persevere.

Sir William Temple had lately been recalled from his foreign

employments; and the king, who, after the removal of Danby, had no one

with whom he could so much as discourse with freedom of public affairs,

was resolved, upon Coventry’s dismission, to make him one of his

secretaries of state. But that philosophical patriot, too little

interested for the intrigues of a court, too full of spleen and delicacy

for the noisy turbulence of popular assemblies, was alarmed at the

universal discontents and jealousies which prevailed, and was determined

to make his retreat, as soon as possible, from a scene which threatened

such confusion. Meanwhile, he could not refuse the confidence with

which his master honored him; and he resolved to employ it to the public

service. He represented to the king, that, as the jealousies of the

nation were extreme, it was necessary to cure them by some new remedy,

and to restore that mutual confidence, so requisite for the safety both

of king and people: that to refuse every thing to the parliament

in their present disposition, or to yield every thing, was equally

dangerous to the constitution as well as to public tranquillity: that

if the king would introduce into his councils such men as enjoyed the

confidence of his people, fewer concessions would probably be required;

or, if unreasonable demands were made, the king, under the sanction of

such counsellors, might be enabled, with the greater safety, to refuse

them: and that the heads of the popular party, being gratified with

the king’s favor, would probably abate of that violence by which they

endeavored at present to pay court to the multitude.

The king assented to these reasons; and, in concert with Temple, he

laid the plan of a new privy council, without whose advice he declared

himself determined for the future to take no measure of importance. This

council was to consist of thirty persons, and was never to exceed that

number. Fifteen of the chief officers of the crown were to be continued,

who, it was supposed, would adhere to the king, and, in case of any

extremity, oppose the exorbitancies of faction. The other half of the

council was to be composed, either of men of character, detached from

the court, or of those who possessed chief credit in both houses. And

the king, in filling up the names of his new council, was well pleased

to find, that the members, in land and offices, possessed to the amount

of three hundred thousand pounds a year; a sum nearly equal to the whole

property of the house of commons, against whose violence the new council

was intended as a barrier to the throne.[*]

* Their names were: Prince Rupert, the archbishop of

Canterbury Lord Finch, chancellor, earl of Shaftesbury,

president, earl of Anglesea, privy seal, duke of Albemarle,

duke of Monmouth, duke of Newcastle, duke of Lauderdale,

duke of Ormond, marquis of Winchester, marquis of Worcester,

earl of Arlington, earl of Salisbury, earl of Bridgewater,

earl of Sunderland, earl of Essex, earl of Bath, Viscount

Fauconberg, Viscount Halifax, bishop of London, Lord

Robarts, Lord Hollis, Lord Russel, Lord Cavendish, Secretary

Coventry, Sir Francis North, chief justice, Sir Henry Capel,

Sir John Ernley, Sir Thomas Chicheley, Sir William Temple,

Edward Seymour, Henry Powle.

This experiment was tried, and seemed at first to give some satisfaction

to the public. The earl of Essex, a nobleman of the popular party, son

of that Lord Capel who had been beheaded a little after the late king,

was created treasurer in the room of Danby: the earl of Sunderland,

a man of intrigue and capacity, was made secretary of state: Viscount

Halifax a fine genius, possessed of learning, eloquence, industry, but

subject to inquietude, and fond of refinements, was admitted into the

council. These three, together with Temple, who often joined them,

though he kept himself more detached from public business, formed a

kind of cabinet council, from which all affairs received their first

digestion. Shaftesbury was made president of the council; contrary to

the advice of Temple, who foretold the consequences of admitting a man

of so dangerous a character into any part of the public administration.

As Temple foresaw, it happened. Shaftesbury, finding that he possessed

no more than the appearance of court favor, was resolved still to adhere

to the popular party, by whose attachment he enjoyed an undisputed

superiority in the lower house, and possessed great influence in the

other. The very appearance of court favor, empty as it was, tended to

render him more dangerous. His partisans, observing the progress

which he had already made, hoped that he would soon acquire the entire

ascendant; and he constantly flattered them, that if they persisted in

their purpose; the king, from indolence, and necessity, and fondness for

Monmouth, would at last be induced, even at the expense of his brother’s

right, to make them every concession.

Besides, the antipathy to Popery, as well as jealousy of the king and

duke, had taken too fast possession of men’s minds, to be removed by so

feeble a remedy as this new council projected by Temple. The commons,

soon after the establishment of that council, proceeded so far as to

vote unanimously, “That the duke of York’s being a Papist, and the hopes

of his coming to the crown, had given the highest countenance to the

present conspiracies and designs of the Papists against the king and the

Protestant religion.” It was expected, that a bill for excluding him the

throne would soon be brought in. To prevent this bold measure, the king

concerted some limitations, which he proposed to the parliament. He

introduced his plan by the following gracious expressions: “And to show

you that, while you are doing your parts, my thoughts have not been

misemployed, but that it is my constant care to do every thing that may

preserve your religion, and secure if for the future in all events; I

have commanded my lord chancellor to mention several particulars, which,

I hope, will be an evidence that, in all things which concern the public

rights, I shall not follow your zeal, but lead it.”

The limitations projected were of the utmost importance and deprived the

successor of the chief branches of royalty. A method was there chalked

out, by which the nation, on every new reign, could be insured of having

a parliament which the king should not, for a certain time, have it in

his power to dissolve. In case of a Popish successor, the prince was

to forfeit the right of conferring any ecclesiastical preferments: no

member of the privy council, no judge of the common law or in chancery,

was to be put in or displaced but by consent of parliament: and the same

precaution was extended to the military part of the government; to the

lord lieutenants and deputy lieutenants of the counties, and to all

officers of the navy. The chancellor of himself added, “It is hard to

invent another restraint; considering how much the revenue will depend

upon the consent of parliament, and how impossible it is to raise money

without such consent. But yet, if any thing else can occur to the wisdom

of parliament, which may further secure religion and liberty against a

Popish successor, without defeating the right of succession itself, his

majesty will readily consent to it.”

It is remarkable, that, when, these limitations were first laid before

the council, Shaftesbury and Temple were the only members who argued

against them. The reasons which they employed were diametrically

opposite. Shaftesbury’s opinion was, that the restraints were

insufficient; and that nothing but the total exclusion of the duke

could give a proper security to the kingdom. Temple, on the other hand,

thought, that the restraints were so rigorous as even to subvert the

constitution; and that shackles put upon a Popish successor would not

afterwards be easily cast off by a Protestant. It is certain, that the

duke was extremely alarmed when he heard of this step taken by the king,

and that he was better pleased even with the bill of exclusion itself,

which, he thought, by reason of its violence and injustice, could never

possibly be carried into execution. There is also reason to believe,

that the king would not have gone so far, had he not expected, from the

extreme fury of the commons, that his concessions would be rejected, and

that the blame of not forming a reasonable accommodation would by that

means lie entirely at their door.

It soon appeared that Charles had entertained a just opinion of the

dispositions of the house. So much were the commons actuated by the

cabals of Shaftesbury and other malecontents, such violent antipathy

prevailed against Popery that the king’s concessions, though much more

important than could reasonably have been expected, were not embraced. A

bill was brought in for the total exclusion of the duke from the crown

of England and Ireland. It was there declared, that the sovereignty of

these kingdoms, upon the king’s death or resignation, should devolve to

the person next in succession after the duke; that all acts of royalty

which that prince should afterwards perform, should not only be void,

but be deemed treason; that if he so much as entered any of these

dominions, he should be deemed guilty of the same offence; and that all

who supported his title should be punished as rebels and traitors. This

important bill, which implied banishment as well as exclusion, passed

the lower house by a majority of seventy-nine.

The commons were not so wholly employed about the exclusion bill as to

overlook all other securities to liberty. The country party, during

all the last parliament, had much exclaimed against the bribery and

corruption of the members; and the same reproach had been renewed

against the present parliament. An inquiry was made into a complaint

which was so dangerous to the honor of that assembly; but very little

foundation was found for it. Sir Stephen Fox, who was the paymaster,

confessed to the house, that nine members received pensions to the

amount of three thousand four hundred pounds; and after a rigorous

inquiry by a secret committee, eight more pensioners were discovered. A

sum also, about twelve thousand pounds, had been occasionally given or

lent to others. The writers of that age pretend, that Clifford and Danby

had adopted opposite maxims with regard to pecuniary influence. The

former endeavored to gain the leaders and orators of the house, and

deemed the others of no consequence. The latter thought it sufficient

to gain the majority, however composed. It is likely, that the means,

rather than the intention, were wanting to both these ministers.

Pensions and bribes, though it be difficult entirely to exclude them,

are dangerous expedients for government; and cannot be too carefully

guarded against, nor too vehemently decried, by every one who has a

regard to the virtue and liberty of a nation. The influence, however,

which the crown acquires from the disposal of places, honors, and

preferments, is to be esteemed of a different nature. This engine of

power may become too forcible, but it cannot altogether be abolished,

without the total destruction of monarchy, and even of all regular

authority. But the commons at this time were so jealous of the crown,

that they brought in a bill, which was twice read, excluding from the

lower house all who possessed any lucrative office.

The standing army and the king’s guards were by the commons voted to be

illegal; a new pretension, it must be confessed, but necessary for the

full security of liberty and a limited constitution.

Arbitrary imprisonment is a grievance which, in some degree, has place

almost in every government, except in that of Great Britain; and our

absolute security from it we owe chiefly to the present parliament;

a merit, which makes some atonement for the faction and violence into

which their prejudices had, in other particulars, betrayed them. The

Great Charter had laid the foundation of this valuable part of liberty;

the petition of right had renewed and extended it; but some provisions

were still wanting to render it complete, and prevent all evasion or

delay from ministers and judges. The act of habeas corpus, which passed

this session, served these purposes. By this act, it was prohibited to

send any one to a prison beyond sea. No judge, under severe penalties,

must refuse to any prisoner a writ of habeas corpus, by which the jailer

was directed to produce in court the body of the prisoner, (whence

the writ has its name,) and to certify the cause of his detainer and

imprisonment. If the jail lie within twenty miles of the judge, the

writ must be obeyed in three days; and so proportionably for greater

distances. Every prisoner must be indicted the first term after his

commitment, and brought to trial in the subsequent term. And no man,

after being enlarged by order of court, can be recommitted for the same

offence. This law seems necessary for the protection of liberty in a

mixed monarchy; and as it has not place in any other form of

government, this consideration alone may induce us to prefer our present

constitution to all others. It must, however, be confessed, that there

is some difficulty to reconcile with such extreme liberty the full

security and the regular police of a state, especially the police of

great cities. It may also be doubted, whether the low state of the

public revenue in this period, and of the military power, did not

still render some discretionary authority in the crown necessary to the

support of government.

During these zealous efforts for the protection of liberty no

complaisance for the crown was discovered by this parliament. The king’s

revenue lay under great debts and anticipations: those branches granted

in the years 1669 and 1670 were ready to expire. And the fleet was

represented by the king as in great decay and disorder. But the commons,

instead of being affected by these distresses of the crown, trusted

chiefly to them for passing the exclusion bill, and for punishing and

displacing all the ministers who were obnoxious to them. They were

therefore in no haste to relieve the king; and grew only the more

assuming on account of his complaints and uneasiness. Jealous, however,

of the army, they granted the sum of two hundred and six thousand

pounds, which had been voted for disbanding it by the last parliament;

though the vote, by reason of the subsequent prorogation and

dissolution, joined to some scruples of the lords, had not been carried

into an act. This money was appropriated by very strict clauses but the

commons insisted not, as formerly, upon its being paid into the chamber

of London.

The impeachment of the five Popish lords in the Tower, with that of the

earl of Danby, was carried on with vigor. The power of this minister,

and his credit with the king, rendered him extremely obnoxious to

the popular leaders; and the commons hoped that, if he were pushed to

extremity, he would be obliged, in order to justify his own conduct, to

lay open the whole intrigue of the French alliance, which they suspected

to contain a secret of the most dangerous nature. The king, on his

part, apprehensive of the same consequences, and desirous to protect his

minister, who was become criminal merely by obeying orders, employed

his whole interest to support the validity of that pardon which had

been granted him. The lords appointed a day for the examination of the

question, and agreed to hear counsel on both sides: but the commons

would not submit their pretensions to the discussion of argument and

inquiry. They voted, that whoever should presume, without their leave,

to maintain before the house of peers the validity of Danby’s pardon,

should be accounted a betrayer of the liberties of the English commons.

And they made a demand, that the bishops, whom they knew to be devoted

to the court, should be removed, not only when the trial of the earl

should commence, but also when the validity of his pardon should be

discussed.

The bishops before the reformation had always enjoyed a seat in

parliament; but so far were they anciently from regarding that dignity

as a privilege, that they affected rather to form a separate order in

the state, independent of the civil magistrate, and accountable only

to the pope and to their own order. By the constitutions, however, of

Clarendon, enacted during the reign of Henry II., they were obliged to

give their presence in parliament; but as the canon law prohibited them

from assisting in capital trials, they were allowed in such cases

the privilege of absenting themselves. A practice which was at first

voluntary, became afterwards a rule; and on the earl of Strafford’s

trial, the bishops, who would gladly have attended, and who were no

longer bound by the canon law, were, yet obliged to withdraw. It had

been usual for them to enter a protest, asserting their right to sit;

and this protest, being considered as a mere form, was always admitted

and disregarded. But here was started a new question of no small

importance. The commons, who were now enabled, by the violence of the

people, and the necessities of the crown, to make new acquisitions of

powers and privileges, insisted, that the bishops had no more title

to vote in the question of the earl’s pardon than in the impeachment

itself. The bishops asserted, that the pardon was merely a preliminary;

and that, neither by the canon law nor the practice of parliament,

were they ever obliged, in capital cases, to withdraw till the very

commencement of the trial itself. If their absence were considered as

a privilege, which was its real origin, it depended on their own choice

how far they would insist upon it. If regarded as a diminution of their

right of peerage, such unfavorable customs ought never to be extended

beyond the very circumstance established by them; and all arguments,

from a pretended parity of reason, were in that case of little or no

authority.

The house of lords was so much influenced by these reasons, that they

admitted the bishops’ right to vote, when the validity of the pardon

should be examined. The commons insisted still on their withdrawing;

and thus a quarrel being commenced between the two houses, the king, who

expected nothing but fresh instances of violence from this parliament,

began to entertain thoughts of laying hold of so favorable a

pretence, and of finishing the session by a prorogation. While in this

disposition, he was alarmed with sudden intelligence, that the house

of commons was preparing a remonstrance, in order to inflame the nation

still further upon the favorite topics of the plot and of Popery. He

hastened, therefore, to execute his intention, even without consulting

his new council, by whose advice he had promised to regulate his

whole conduct. And thus were disappointed all the projects of the

malecontents, who were extremely enraged at this vigorous measure of the

king’s. Shaftesbury publicly threatened, that he would have the head of

whoever had advised it. The parliament was soon after dissolved without

advice of council; and writs were issued for a new parliament. The king

was willing to try every means which gave a prospect of more compliance

in his subjects; and, in case of failure, the blame, he hoped, would lie

on those whose obstinacy forced him to extremities.

But even during the recess of parliament, there was no interruption to

the prosecution of the Catholics accused of the plot: the king found

himself obliged to give way to this popular fury. Whitebread, provincial

of the Jesuits, Fenwick, Gavan, Turner, and Harcourt, all of them of the

same order, were first brought to their trial. Besides Oates and Bedloe,

Dugdale, a new witness, appeared against the prisoners. This man had

been steward to Lord Aston, and, though poor, possessed a character

somewhat more reputable than the other two: but his account of the

intended massacres and assassinations was equally monstrous and

incredible. He even asserted, that two hundred thousand Papists in

England were ready to take arms. The prisoners proved by sixteen

witnesses from St. Omers, students, and most of them young men of

family, that Oates was in that seminary at the time when he swore

that he was in London: but as they were Catholics and disciples of the

Jesuits, their Testimony, both with the judges and jury, was totally

disregarded. Even the reception which they met with in the court was

full of outrage and mockery. One of them saying, that Oates always

continued at St. Omers, if he could believe his senses, “You Papists,”

said the chief justice, “are taught not to believe your senses.” It must

be confessed that Oates, in opposition to the students of St. Omers,

found means to bring evidence of his having been at that time in London:

but this evidence, though it had at that time the appearance of some

solidity, was afterwards discovered, when Oates himself was tried for

perjury, to be altogether deceitful. In order further to discredit

that witness, the Jesuits proved, by undoubted testimony, that he had

perjured himself in Father Ireland’s trial, whom they showed to have

been in Staffordshire at the very, time when Oates swore that he was

committing treason in London. But all these pleas availed them nothing

against the general prejudices. They received sentence of death, and

were executed, persisting to their last breath in the most solemn,

earnest, and deliberate, though disregarded protestations of their

innocence.

The next trial was that of Langhorne, an eminent lawyer, by whom all the

concerns of the Jesuits were managed. Oates and Bedloe swore, that all

the Papal commissions by which the chief offices in England were filled

with Catholics, passed through his hands. When verdict was given

against the prisoner, the spectators expressed their savage joy by loud

acclamations. So high indeed had the popular rage mounted, that the

witnesses for this unhappy man, on approaching the court, were almost

torn in pieces by the rabble: one in particular was bruised to such a

degree, as to put his life in danger. And another, a woman, declared

that, unless the court could afford her protection, she durst not give

evidence: but as the judges could go no further than promise to punish

such as should do her any injury, the prisoner himself had the humanity

to waive her testimony.

So far the informers had proceeded with success: their accusation was

hitherto equivalent to a sentence of death. The first check which they

received was on the trial of Sir George Wakeman, the queen’s physician,

whom they accused of an intention to poison the king. It was a strong

circumstance in favor of Wakeman, that Oates, in his first information

before the council, had accused him only upon hearsay; and when asked by

the chancellor, whether he had any thing further to charge him with, he

added, “God forbid I should say any thing against Sir George; for I know

nothing more against him.” On the trial he gave positive evidence of

the prisoner’s guilt. There were many other circumstances which

favored Wakeman: but what chiefly contributed to his acquittal, was the

connection of his cause with that of the queen, whom no one, even during

the highest prejudices of the times, could sincerely believe guilty. The

great importance of the trial made men recollect themselves, and recall

that good sense and humanity which seemed, during some time, to have

abandoned the nation. The chief justice himself, who had hitherto

favored the witnesses, exaggerated the plot, and railed against the

prisoners, was observed to be considerably mollified, and to give a

favorable charge to the jury. Oates and Bedloe had the assurance to

attack him to his face, and even to accuse him of partiality before the

council. The whole party, who had formerly much extolled his conduct,

now made him the object of their resentment. Wakeman’s acquittal was

indeed a sensible mortification to the furious prosecutors of the plot,

and fixed an indelible stain upon the witnesses. But Wakeman, after

he recovered his liberty, finding himself exposed to such inveterate

enmity, and being threatened with further prosecutions, thought it

prudent to retire beyond sea; and his flight was interpreted as a proof

of guilt, by those who were still resolved to persist in the belief of

the conspiracy.

The great discontents in England, and the refractory disposition of the

parliament, drew the attention of the Scottish Covenanters, and gave

them a prospect of some time putting an end to those oppressions under

which they had so long labored. It was suspected to have been the

policy of Lauderdale and his associates to push these unhappy men to

extremities, and force them into rebellion, with a view of reaping

profit from the forfeitures and attainders which would ensue upon it.

But the Covenanters, aware of this policy, had hitherto forborne all

acts of hostility; and that tyrannical minister had failed of his

purpose. An incident at last happened, which brought on an insurrection

in that country.

The Covenanters were much enraged against Sharpe, the primate, whom

they considered as an apostate from their principles, and whom they

experienced to be an unrelenting persecutor of all those who dissented

from the established worship. He had an officer under him, one

Carmichael, no less zealous than himself against conventicles, and who,

by his violent prosecutions, had rendered himself extremely obnoxious

to the fanatics. A company of these had waylaid him on the road near

St. Andrews, with an intention, if not of killing him, at least of

chastising him so severely as would afterwards render him more cautious

in persecuting the nonconformists. [*]

* Wodrow’s History of the Sufferings of the Church of

Scotland vol. ii. p. 28.

While looking out for their prey, they were surprised at seeing the

archbishop’s coach pass by; and they immediately interpreted this

incident as a declaration of the secret purpose of Providence against

him. But when they observed that almost all his servants, by some

accident, were absent, they no longer doubted, but Heaven had here

delivered their capital enemy into their hands. Without further

deliberation, they fell upon him; dragged him from his coach; tore him

from the arms of his daughter, who interposed with cries and tears;

and piercing him with redoubled wounds, left him dead on the spot, and

immediately dispersed themselves.

[Illustration: 1-822-sharpe.jpg ARCHBISHOP SHARPE]

This atrocious action served the ministry as a pretence for a more

violent persecution against the fanatics, on whom, without distinction,

they threw the guilt of those furious assassins. It is indeed certain,

that the murder of Sharpe had excited a universal joy among the

Covenanters; and that their blind zeal had often led them, in their

books and sermons, to praise and recommend the assassination of their

enemies, whom they considered as the enemies of all true piety and

godliness. The stories of Jael and Sisera, of Ehud and Eglon, resounded

from every pulpit. The officers quartered in the west received more

strict orders to find out and disperse all conventicles; and for that

reason the Covenanters, instead of meeting in small bodies, were obliged

to celebrate their worship in numerous assemblies, and to bring arms for

their security. At Rutherglen, a small borough near Glasgow, they openly

set forth a declaration against prelacy; and in the market place burned

several acts of parliament and acts of council, which had established

that mode of ecclesiastical government, and had prohibited conventicles.

For this insult on the supreme authority, they purposely chose the

twenty-ninth of May, the anniversary of the restoration; and previously

extinguished the bonfires which had been kindled for that solemnity.

Captain Graham, afterwards Viscount Dundee, an active and enterprising

officer, attacked a great conventicle upon Loudon Hill, and was repulsed

with the loss of thirty men. The Covenanters, finding that they were

unwarily involved in such deep guilt, were engaged to persevere, and to

seek, from their valor and fortune alone, for that indemnity which

the severity of the government left them no hopes of ever being able

otherwise to obtain. They pushed on to Glasgow; and though at first

repulsed, they afterwards made themselves masters of that city;

dispossessed the established clergy; and issued proclamations, in which

they declared, that they fought against the king’s supremacy, against

Popery and prelacy and against a Popish successor.

How accidental soever this insurrection might appear, there is reason to

suspect that some great men, in combination with the popular leaders

in England, had secretly instigated the Covenanters to proceed to such

extremities,[*] and hoped for the same effects that had forty years

before ensued from the disorders in Scotland.

* Algernon Sidney’s Letters, p. 90.

The king also, apprehensive of like consequences, immediately despatched

thither Monmouth with a small body of English cavalry. That nobleman

joined to these troops the Scottish guards, and some regiments of

militia, levied from the well-affected counties; and with great celerity

marched in quest of the rebels. They had taken post near Bothwell

Castle, between Hamilton and Glasgow, where there was no access to them

but over a bridge, which a small body was able to defend against the

king’s forces. They showed judgment in the choice of their post,

but discovered neither judgment nor valor in any other step of their

conduct. No nobility and few gentry had joined them: the clergy were in

reality the generals; and the whole army never exceeded eight thousand

men. Monmouth attacked the bridge and the body of rebels who defended it

maintained their post as long as their ammunition lasted. When they

sent for more, they received orders to quit their ground, and to retire

backwards. This imprudent measure occasioned an immediate defeat to the

Covenanters. Monmouth passed the bridge without opposition, and drew

up his forces opposite to the enemy. His cannon alone put them to rout.

About seven hundred fell in the pursuit; for, properly speaking, there

was no action. Twelve hundred were taken prisoners; and were treated by

Monmouth with a humanity which they had never experienced in their

own countrymen. Such of them as would promise to live peaceably were

dismissed. About three hundred, who were so obstinate as to refuse this

easy condition, were shipped for Barbadoes; but unfortunately perished

in the voyage. Two of their clergy were hanged. Monmouth was of a

generous disposition; and, besides, aimed at popularity in Scotland. The

king intended to intrust the government of that kingdom in his hands. He

had married a Scottish lady, heir of a great family, and allied to

all the chief nobility. And Lauderdale, as he was now declining in his

parts, and was much decayed in his memory, began to lose with the

king that influence which he had maintained during so many years,

notwithstanding the efforts of his numerous enemies both in Scotland and

England, and notwithstanding the many violent and tyrannical actions of

which he had been guilty. Even at present, he retained so much influence

as to poison all the good intentions which the king, either of himself

or by Monmouth’s suggestion, had formed with regard to Scotland. An act

of indemnity was granted; but Lauderdale took care that it should be so

worded, as rather to afford protection to himself and his associates,

than to the unhappy Covenanters. And though orders were given to connive

thenceforwards at all conventicles, he found means, under a variety of

pretences, to elude the execution of them. It must be owned, however, to

his praise, that he was the chief person who, by his counsel, occasioned

the expeditious march of the forces and the prompt orders given to

Monmouth; and thereby disappointed all the expectations of the English

malecontents, who, reflecting on the disposition of men’s minds in both

kingdoms, had entertained great hopes from the progress of the Scottish

insurrection.