The invitation to the Prince of Orange had been signed by the Bishop
of London on the 30th of June. On the 2nd of November, a Declaration,
bearing date the 10th of October, began to be circulated in England,
the space between June and October having been spent by His Highness in
making preparations for his enterprise. The document, drawn up by the
Grand Pensionary of Holland, had been revised and translated by Burnet,
who sat by the Prince’s elbow, and came to be described as “Champion in
ordinary of the Revolution, and ready to enter the lists against all
comers.”
[Sidenote: 1688.]
The Declaration gave the utmost prominence to the religious question.
An ecclesiastical and unconstitutional Court had been revived,
which had misapplied the Church’s property, invaded her dignity,
and persecuted her members. A plan had been carried out for the
re-establishment of Popery in Protestant England. Monasteries,
convents, Popish churches, and Jesuit colleges had sprung up in all
directions, and at the Council Board one of the hated order had taken
his seat. Political liberties had been violated, charters withdrawn,
Parliamentary government suspended, Judges displaced for their
conscientiousness, and the right of petition denied even to spiritual
Lords; Ireland had been given over to Papists, Scotland had been
shorn of her freedom, and to crown all, the public had been deceived
by the announcement of the birth of a pretended Prince. Hence the
rights of the Princess of Orange had been invaded, and His Highness
had undertaken an expedition “with no other view than to get a free
Parliament assembled which might remedy those grievances, inquire into
that birth, and secure national religion and liberty under a just and
legal government for the future.” He further stated that he had been
earnestly solicited by many Lords, both spiritual and temporal, by many
gentlemen, and by other subjects of all ranks, to interpose.[33]
After James had made his concessions, a postscript to the Declaration
was received from William. The concessions, he urged, went to prove the
truth of the charges made; they arose from a consciousness of guilt;
no dependence could be placed upon them; and only a Parliament could
re-establish the rights of the English people.
Other documents of the same kind followed. The Prince boldly appealed
to the military, reminding them how Protestant soldiers had been
cashiered in Ireland, and Popish soldiers forced upon England. It would
be the crime of the army, if the nation lost its liberty; the glory of
the army, if the liberty of the nation was saved. Herbert wrote to the
seamen, telling them their fate would be infamy, if the Prince failed
of success; dismission from the service, if he succeeded.[34]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
William’s Declaration alarmed James; at last he became undeceived. The
webs woven by Dutch diplomacy were blown away. His confusion increased
at finding he had reason to suspect Bishops as being amongst the
Prince’s allies. He sent in haste to Sancroft on the 16th of October,
and told him of the intention to invade England. He added, it would
be a fitting thing for the Bishops to draw up a paper expressing
their abhorrence of the attempt. The Primate plausibly pleaded that
the Bishops had left London, and strangely declared, that he could
not believe the Prince of Orange had any such design as was supposed.
Matters were allowed to rest until the 31st of October, and then the
King sent for Compton, Bishop of London.[35] He came the next day. The
King referred to William’s Declaration, and read the paragraph stating
that spiritual Lords had invited the Prince to come over. Compton,
with a cunning which in a Papist he would have pronounced Jesuitical,
replied, “I am confident the rest of the Bishops would as readily
answer in the negative as myself.”[36] This skilfully-contrived evasion
was a lie to all intents and purposes; but it took effect, for James
admitted that he believed the Bishops were innocent. When he proceeded
to urge a request that they should publicly disown any implication
in this matter, his Lordship answered that the request should be
considered. The King rejoined, that every one must answer for himself,
and that he would send for the Archbishop to bring his brethren
together.
[Sidenote: 1688.]
A third important meeting followed next day, the 2nd of November,
when the Bishop of London, with Crew, of Durham, and Cartwright, of
Chester--both considered half Papists--and Watson, of St. David’s,
a thorough courtier,[37] were brought together at Whitehall, and the
Archbishop following them there, conducted them into the Royal closet.
The Archbishop explicitly denied having signed the invitation. The
Bishop of London artfully said he had given his answer the day before.
The Bishop of Durham declared, “I am sure I am none of them.” “Nor I.”
“Nor I,” cried the other two. James proceeded to insist that they and
their brethren on the Bench should publicly vindicate themselves, and
express abhorrence of William’s design.
The next day, November the 3rd, the Bishops of London and Rochester
went to Lambeth to dine with His Grace, but finding their brethren of
Chester and St. David’s present, though uninvited, they proceeded to
a friend’s house in the neighbourhood, and returned, between two and
three o’clock, to the Palace, after the other two had left. Then they
conferred with Sancroft as to what should be done.[38]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
[Sidenote: 1688.]
The fourth important meeting of this kind took place on November the
6th, when the Archbishop, and the Bishops of London, Rochester, and
Peterborough, made their appearance in the Sovereign’s presence; the
Bishop of St. David’s--throughout an object of suspicion--“waiting for
them in the Guard-chamber, ready to thrust in with them to the King.”
The Primate, taking Lord Preston aside, requested him to procure for
them a private audience; upon which the King, through his Lordship,
ordered the obnoxious and forward Prelate to withdraw. The rest told
James they had done all they could, and that if he were satisfied,
they did not care for other people’s opinions; but when he talked to
them of such a paper as he had required, they fell back on the ground
they had occupied before, that scarcely one in five hundred believed
in the genuineness of the document published in the Prince’s name. The
Archbishop did not touch the question of the paper so much wished for
by James, although one had been drawn up, and signed by himself; most
probably the reason of this omission was, that he could not carry his
brethren with him in the matter, and he felt it would not do for him
to make a solitary disavowal on the subject. Presently the dispute
wandered into a confused maze, and the Archbishop could not help
adverting to the treatment which he and his six brethren had received
at the Royal hands. The King was annoyed, but the Primate persevered;
the rest supported him, and His Majesty stood like a stag at bay. James
retorted that if they complained, he had a right to complain too, and
the quarrel became unseemly in the extreme. Indeed, His Majesty was
now beginning to find that whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also
reap, and as he had by his lawyers bearded the Bishops in his own
Court at Westminster, the Bishops in return were bearding him in his
own Palace of Whitehall. The conversation came round to the old point.
James wanted them to sign a paper. They would not. “I am your King,” he
said; “I am judge what is best for me. I will go my own way; I desire
your assistance in it.” Go his own way he might, but they would not
go with him. Whatever their high notions of Royal prerogatives, and
the obligations of subjects, might have been once, the recent trial
had wonderfully opened the eyes of their understanding. They would not
take on themselves the responsibility of publishing any disclaimer. His
Majesty might publish to the world what they had said, if he liked.[39]
“No,” said he; “if I should publish it, the people would not believe
me.” Not believe him? The confession was most humiliating. “Sir,” said
the right reverend father, “the word of a King is sacred--it ought to
be believed.” “They that could believe me guilty of a false son, what
will they not believe of me?” was the bitter rejoinder. James’ credit
had sunk as low as it could. Further talking was useless. “I will urge
you no further,” said he, in conclusion. “If you will not assist me as
I desire, I must stand upon my own legs, and trust to myself and my own
arms.” So they were dismissed.[40]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
One of the Bishops, writing on the 14th of October, had remarked,
“All people’s mouths are now full of praises for our order, to whom
they say they shall ever owe the preservation of our religion,”--a
statement which should be considered in connection with what I have
said as to letters of a different purport addressed to Sancroft. The
fact seems to have been, that whilst some Churchmen were dissatisfied
with irregularities in the Establishment which they blamed the
Bishops for not correcting, others--a far larger number--looking
chiefly at that moment to the religious and political liberties of
the country, regarded certain of the Bishops as making a noble stand
against the designs of James. The Bishops’ popularity increased the
following month, and although Compton’s Jesuitical answer to the
King must be condemned by everybody, and the doubts expressed by the
Bishops present at the interview on the 6th, as to the genuineness
of William’s Declaration, will appear to most people as reflecting
either upon their judgment or their straightforwardness, still their
determination not to submit to James’ dictation was in harmony with
the spirit which had made the seven so popular. Their firmness in this
respect--in connection with the resistance offered to James by other
Prelates not present on this last occasion, and responsible neither for
Compton’s equivocation or their brethren’s remarks about the Orange
documents--certainly operated in favour of the approaching Revolution,
the full nature of which, however, they did not foresee.
[Sidenote: 1688.]
The day before this 6th of November a momentous event had occurred, of
which at the time they knew nothing.
William had set sail from Holland on the 16th of October, with a flag
floating over the quaint, high-built frigate, bearing an inscription,
of which the first three words formed the motto of the House of Orange,
“_I will maintain_--the liberties of England and the Protestant
religion.” As it fluttered on the staff, the wind changed, the fleet
had to put back; but the Declaration of the 10th, sent before him,
announced his coming, and people, as they awaited the visitation,
looked out to sea, and prayed for a “Protestant east wind” to waft
over the desired Deliverer. Whilst James was talking to the Bishops on
the 2nd of November, the ship had left Helvoetsluys, and after sailing
northward, had tacked about a second time, and with a fair wind was
making for the British Channel.
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
In the fleet with the Prince was Frederic, Count of Schomberg,
who, though he had been in the service of Louis XIV., remained a
staunch member of the Reformed Church, and entered heartily into the
design of the Protestant Champion, whom he attended in the capacity
of Lieutenant. Another distinguished officer was Isaac Dumont de
Bostaquet--a Huguenot soldier who had suffered for his religion,
and had been driven from his paternal chateau of La Fontelaye, in
France, by the intolerant policy of his infatuated Sovereign. Narrowly
escaping with his life, after a number of romantic adventures, he
found refuge in Holland, and now placed his sword at the command of
the Prince, with all the zeal which could be kindled in the cause of
liberty by memories of tyranny and oppression. In William’s dragoon
regiments of red and blue were fifty French officers, all more or less
inspired by similar feelings. Two companies of French infantry were
commanded by Captains de Chauvernay and Rapin-Thoyras, afterwards the
historian of England. Perhaps the equipment of these soldiers--dusty,
worn, and tattered--appeared to disadvantage when compared with the
brilliant uniforms of the Dutch, the German, the Swedes, the Swiss,
and the English, who crowded within the wooden walls; but they deserve
more notice than they have received, and more gratitude than was ever
paid them.[41] Whilst England afforded a sanctuary to the Huguenots
oppressed by Popery, in their own country,--Huguenots helped England to
keep off the yoke of a like oppression. There were other noteworthy men
amongst William’s followers.
Gilbert Burnet was there, full of Dutch memories, full of English
hopes, picking up knowledge from the sailors, and musing upon the
issue of his patron’s enterprise, not without side glances at his own
fortunes. Not far off stood Carstairs, a catholic-spirited Scotch
Presbyterian, who had manifested the utmost fortitude under torture,
and who, when his own cause rose to the ascendant, did what is rare,
for he signally manifested the virtue of moderation. Beside him was a
different character, Robert Ferguson, implicated in the Rye-house Plot,
and a ringleader in Monmouth’s rebellion.
The fleet presented a magnificent spectacle. “Nothing could be more
beautiful,” says Dumont de Bostaquet, “than the evolution of the
immense flotilla which now took place under a glorious sky;”[42] and
Rapin, recording his own impressions of the moment, observes, “What a
glorious show the fleet made! Five or six hundred ships in so narrow a
channel, and both the English and French shores covered with numberless
spectators is no common sight. For my part, who was then on board the
fleet, it struck me extremely.”
[Sidenote: 1688.]
Such a fleet, known to be conveying an army to the coast, watched on
its way with imperfect information and with mingled fear and hope,
must have been to Englishmen a spectacle full of excitement, to which
history records scarcely a parallel.
The 4th of November being Sunday, and also the Prince’s birthday,
he spent in devotion. Intending to land at Torbay, he found himself
carried beyond his destination by the violence of the wind, or the
unskilfulness of the pilot; and some measure of agitation,--such as
thrilled the multitudes straining their eyes on the Dover Cliffs,
whilst the quaintly-built vessels passed by,--must have moved the
inhabitants of the towns and villages on both sides the sweep of water
at the mouth of the Ex: as we imagine, on the red sand hills, groups
gathered here and there, peering through windy weather in search of
the ships about to rest under the headland of Devonshire Tor. The next
day, the Dutch reached the desired spot, and “the forces were landed
with such diligence and tranquillity, that the whole army was on shore
before night.”[43]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
The associations of the year and the day were propitious. Just a
century before, God had scattered the Spanish Armada; and on the 5th
of November, 1605, the three Estates of England had been delivered from
the Gunpowder Plot. The Calvinist William took the Arminian Burnet
by the hand, asking, “Will you not believe in predestination?” “I
will never forget,” the chaplain cautiously replied, “that providence
of God which has appeared so signally on this occasion.” Public
worship followed the landing. Carstairs was the first, “Scotsman and
Presbyterian as he was,” to call down the blessings of Heaven on the
expedition; and after his prayer, “the troops all along the beach, at
his instance, joined in the 118th Psalm,” and this act of devotion
produced a sensible effect on the troops.[44] The Prince for awhile
seemed elated, yet soon relapsed into his habitual gravity; but Burnet
only interpreted the general feeling of the moment when he says, “We
saw new and unthought-of characters of a favourable providence of God
watching over us.”[45]
Tidings of what had happened rapidly spread, and excited all sorts
of people, especially such as had religious sympathies with the new
visitors. Devonshire traditions afford an idea of what was felt and
done by Dissenters. A lady, worshipping in a meeting-house at Totnes,
in commemoration of the discovery of Gunpowder Plot, when she learnt
that the Prince had reached the neighbouring bay, immediately hastened,
in company with another like-spirited matron, to meet His Highness at
Brixham, who “shook hands with them, and gave them a parcel of his
Proclamations to distribute, which they did so industriously that not
one was left in the family as a memorial of their adventure.”[46]
[Sidenote: 1688.]
A story is also told that Roman Catholics were at the time eagerly
expecting assistance from the French, and a priest with his friends,
stationed on a watch-tower, having descried white flags on the men
of war as they hove in sight, prepared an entertainment for the
earnestly-desired guests, and proceeded to chant a _Te Deum_, in
gratitude for their arrival. They were soon undeceived, and the fare
provided for the French was enjoyed by the Dutch.[47]
The army next day marched on to Exeter, the officers, like the
soldiers, wet to the skin, having neither change of raiment, nor food,
nor horses, nor servants, nor beds--the baggage still remaining in
the ships. But expressions of sympathy, perhaps timorously conveyed,
cheered them somewhat on this dreary day; and stories are still
circulated amongst the Nonconformist families of the neighbourhood, of
ancestors who watched the landing, and spoke of “seeing the country
people rolling apples down the hill-side to the soldiers.”[48]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
The progress was slow, and the stay at the Western capital long. Thomas
Lamplugh, the Bishop who had approved of the Declaration and of the
conduct of His Majesty’s servile Judges, showed his fidelity to James
by rushing up to London, where he was rewarded with the Archiepiscopal
throne of York. York had been left vacant for more than two years and
a half, with the design, it was said, of being ultimately occupied by
a Roman Catholic. A Popish Bishop had been settled there, with a title
_in partibus infidelium_, whose crosier and utensils were seized
after the landing of the Prince of Orange.[49]
The Dean of Exeter also fled in alarm, and His Highness took up his
abode in the deserted Deanery. The Prebendaries refused to meet him,
or to occupy their stalls, when he marched in military state through
the western portal, well studded with statues of saints and kings;
and proceeding up the nave, with its exquisite minstrels’ gallery,
ascended the steps of the choir, passed under the beautiful screen,
and took his seat on the Episcopal throne,--the ornamentation of which
in ebonlike oak, without a single nail in the curious structure, so
admirably contrasts with the pale arches and the vaulted roof. As soon
as the chanting of the _Te Deum_ had ceased, Burnet read His
Highness’s Declaration, which proved a signal for such of the clergy
and choristers as had ventured on being present, to quit the edifice.
At the end of the reading the Doctor cried, “God save the Prince of
Orange!” to which some of the congregation responded with a hearty Amen.
[Sidenote: 1688.]
De Bostaquet, the French Huguenot, accustomed to the extreme and rigid
simplicity of Protestant worship in his own country, was scandalized
at what he witnessed at Exeter. He regarded the English service as
retaining nearly all the externals of Popery--for such he counted the
altar, and the great candles on each side, and the basin of silver-gilt
between, and the Canons, in surplices and stoles, ranged in stalls on
each side the nave, and the choir of little boys singing with charming
voices. He was touched somewhat with the beauty of the music, but the
sturdy and ultra-Reformer declared it was all opposed to the simplicity
of the French reformed religion, and he confessed he was by no means
edified with it.[50]
Burnet delivered a sermon on the following Sunday; and on the same day,
Robert Ferguson, being refused by the Presbyterians the keys of the
meeting-house in St. James Street, exclaimed, “I will take the kingdom
of heaven by violence!” and calling for a hammer, broke open the door.
Sword in hand he mounted the pulpit, and preached against the Papists
from the 16th verse of the 94th Psalm: “Who will rise up for me
against the evil doers?”[51]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
At first the Prince’s affairs wore an unfavourable appearance--people
of influence did not join him; but before long the tide turned,
“and every man mistaking his neighbour’s courage for his own, all
rushed to the camp or to the stations which had been assigned them,
with a violence proportioned to their late fears.”[52] A hearty
welcome awaited His Highness in many places through which he marched,
the Dissenters in particular hailing his approach. One of them, a
country gentleman, living at Coaxden Hall, rich in rookeries, between
Axminster and Chard, had tables spread with provisions under an avenue
of trees leading up to the house. The gentleman was Richard Cogan,
whose wife Elizabeth, before her marriage, concealed him under a
feather-bed, after the Monmouth rebellion, and so saved his life and
won his affections. His mother had been a Royalist; and amongst many
stories told of Charles’s adventures after his defeat at Worcester,
it is related that this lady covered him with the skirts of her
enormously-hooped petticoats.[53] The clergy of Dorset found themselves
in an awkward position after William had triumphantly passed through
the country. They had received an order of Council, sent by the
Bishop, prescribing prayers for the Prince of Wales and the Royal
family. But now, although some persevered in using the prayers, others
laid them aside. There still exists a letter to the Archbishop of
Canterbury from the incumbent of Wimborne, asking what he should do
under the circumstances.[54]
[Sidenote: 1688.]
When Ken heard that the Dutch were coming to Wells, he immediately left
the city, and in obedience to His Majesty’s general commands, took
all his coach horses with him, and as many of his saddle horses as he
could; seeking shelter in a village near Devizes, intending to wait
on James, should he come into that neighbourhood. Ken was awkwardly
situated, having been chaplain to the Princess of Orange, and knowing
many of the Dutch officers; therefore, to prevent suspicion, he left
his diocese, determined to preserve his allegiance to a Monarch
who still occupied the throne.[55] William found himself in the
neighbourhood where the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth had a few years
earlier unfurled his flag, to which certain Nonconformists had been
drawn, who paid a terrible penalty for their rashness. Many retained
keen recollections of Sedgmoor fight and Taunton Assizes, and could
scarcely calculate upon the success of this new attempt; yet they
sympathized intensely in William’s designs, as is manifest from some
of their Church records containing narratives of the Deliverer’s march
through the west of England. The Declaration said little in favour
of Nonconformists, and only by implication gave hopes to them of
legal security. But the documents received an interpretation from the
knowledge that William believed conscience to be God’s province, and
that toleration is as politic as it is righteous.
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
Three days before the landing of the Prince, James admonished
his subjects, upon peril of being prosecuted, not to publish the
treasonable Proclamations; and on the day after the landing, he
denounced the act as aiming at the immediate possession of the Crown.
Between those two dates, the Scottish Bishops, whose feudal-like
loyalty mastered their patriotism, and placed them in opposition to
their Episcopal brethren of the South, sent an address to the falling
Monarch, in which they denounced the invasion, and professed unshaken
allegiance to be part of their religion; not doubting that God, who
had often delivered His Majesty, would now give him the hearts of his
subjects and the necks of his enemies.[56] Another Scotch address,
breathing the utmost devotion, followed, in significant opposition to
the ominous silence maintained by Englishmen. This flash of enthusiasm,
however, on the other side the Tweed, did nothing for the salvation
of the House of Stuart,--the current of opinion throughout the realm,
amongst high and low, having set in the opposite direction.
At this critical moment, amidst the confusion which reigned at
Whitehall, and as selfish courtiers were waiting to see how they could
promote their own interests, the misguided Sovereign commanded his army
to march towards Salisbury. The night before he himself started for
that city, a few noblemen and Bishops waited upon him with a proposal
to assemble Parliament, and treat with the Prince of Orange; when,
according to his own account, he told the Prelates that it would much
better become men of their calling to instruct the people in their
duty to God and the King, rather than foment a rebellions temper, by
presenting such petitions at the very moment the enemy stood at the
door. He says he regarded them as making religion a cloak of rebellion,
and was at last convinced that the Church’s doctrine of passive
obedience formed too sandy a foundation for a Prince’s hope.[57] His
answer to the request for a Parliament, according to the report of the
Bishop of Rochester, ran in these words: “What you ask of me, I most
passionately desire, and I promise you upon the faith of a king, that I
will have a Parliament, and such an one as you ask for, as soon as ever
the Prince of Orange has quitted this realm. For how is it possible a
Parliament should be free in all its circumstances, as you petition
for, whilst an enemy is in the kingdom, and can make return of near a
hundred voices?”[58]
[Sidenote: 1688.]
James reached Salisbury on the 19th of November, and took up his
abode in the Episcopal Palace,--under the shadow of the noble spire
which rises so gracefully out of the midst of a pleasant landscape of
quaint-looking houses, near the confluence of two rivers, bordered by
gardens and orchards, by green meadows and brown fields. There he had
reason enough to be alarmed by the progress of events, and to reflect
on the instability of worldly greatness; yet he did not despair.
He was wonderfully slow in giving up all hope of help from Bishops. To
the last he seemed to cling to that order with the tenacity of a sailor
who has seized on a plank from a foundered vessel. From Salisbury he
sent for the Bishop of Winchester, who had cautiously remained at his
princely castle during these troublous times. The Bishop wrote to
the Archbishop of Canterbury the following account of this fruitless
visit:--
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
“May it please your Grace,
“His Majesty’s intimation to me, that he thought my presence
would, if occasion required, very much influence his army, I
could not take it for less than a command, and accordingly
posted to Sarum, where I pressed him, with all imaginable
arguments, to call a Parliament, as the most visible way to put
a stop to those confusions which threatened the Government;
and I left him in a far more inclinable disposition to it than
I found him, and engaged several persons near him to second
what I had attempted. The next day, which was Friday, I found
that several of the troops were commanded towards London, and,
waiting upon His Majesty, he told me he would be with me as
to-morrow; so that, in order to his reception, I came yesterday
from Sarum, which is a long journey of above forty miles, and I
now understand that His Majesty comes not this way. This account
of myself I thought proper to give your Grace, that I may
receive the commands, which shall, with all duty, be obeyed by
your son and servant.”[59]
[Sidenote: 1688.]
A spirit of disaffection soon showed itself in the upper ranks. Lord
Lovelace had been deeply involved in intrigues preparatory to the
Revolution; and in a crypt under his Elizabethan mansion, called
Lady-place, at Hurley, so well known to all pilgrims to picturesque
spots, on the banks of the Thames, he had held midnight conferences
whilst all the Whigs were longing for a Protestant wind. He now quitted
his home, at the head of seventy followers, and galloped westward to
join the Prince. Colchester, Wharton, Russel, and Abingdon proceeded
in the same direction; but, what foreboded more mischief, defection
broke out in the ranks of Royalism. Cornbury, eldest son of Lord
Clarendon, and nephew of James’ first wife, at the head of three
regiments, deserted the camp at Salisbury, and joined the Prince--most
of his soldiers, more faithful than himself, deserting him, when they
discovered his treachery. Still worse defections followed. Prince
George of Denmark--the husband of the Princess Anne, James’ daughter,
a person who, with all her weakness of mind, had acquired a reputation
for Protestant zeal--went next. In company with the Duke of Ormond,
he rode off from Andover, having the previous night supped at his
father-in-law’s table. The Churchills--great favourites with James,
great supporters of his cause--soon fell into the stream. The destined
hero of Blenheim, accompanied by Grafton, pushed on his way to worship
the rising sun. A story is told, I do not know on what authority, that
William, on seeing these unexpected visitors, exclaimed, “If ye be come
peaceably to me to help me, mine heart shall be knit unto you, but if
ye be come to betray me to mine enemies (seeing that there is no wrong
in my hands), the God of your fathers rebuke it.” One of them replied,
“Thine are we, David, and on thy side, thou son of Jesse. Peace, peace
be unto thee, and peace be to thy helpers, for thy God helpeth thee.”
The Princess Anne, imitating her husband’s example, disappeared from
Whitehall, and in a carriage--preceded by Compton, Bishop of London,
who wore a purple velvet coat and jack boots, with pistols in his
holsters and a sword in his hand[60]--was driving off at the top of
her horses’ speed to the town of Nottingham.
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
The desertions at Salisbury drove James back to London; there the last
drop was added to the cup of his domestic sorrow, when he learned
that his daughter Anne had abandoned his cause. Further calamities
befell him. Rochester, Godolphin, even Jeffreys, meeting their master
in Council, recommended the calling of a Parliament; and at the same
time Clarendon blamed James for leaving Salisbury without fighting a
battle. Eventually, after having bewailed his son Cornbury’s apostacy,
the great courtier thought it the safest course to imitate that son’s
example.
James was now reduced to extremities, and on the 22nd of November he
issued a Proclamation, in which he recalled his revolted subjects to
allegiance with the promise of a free and gracious pardon, and tempted
the soldiers of the Dutch army to come over to the Royal standard with
the promise of liberal entertainment, or of safe dismissal to their own
country. On the 30th, appeared another Proclamation, for the speedy
calling of a Parliament.[61]
[Sidenote: 1688.]
Matters were proceeding favourably on the other side. Crossing
Salisbury Plain, marching past Stonehenge, William and his army, with
great military display, took possession of Salisbury, after which
the Prince occupied a house in the neighbouring village of Berwick.
Clarendon, on reaching the Episcopal city, which had become the head
quarters of the Revolution, alighted at the George Inn, where he found
the Dutch Ambassador; and the next morning waited on the Prince, who
took him into his bedchamber, and talked with him for half an hour,
telling him how glad he felt to see him, and how seasonable the
accession of his son had proved. The Earl, hearing Burnet was in the
house, went to see that important person. “What,” asked the latter,
“can be the meaning of the King’s sending these Commissioners?” “To
adjust matters for the safe and easy meeting of the Parliament,”
replied Clarendon. “How,” rejoined the other, “can a Parliament meet,
now the kingdom is in this confusion--all the West being possessed
by the Prince’s forces, and all the North being in arms for him?”
Clarendon urged that if the design was to settle things, they might
hope “for a composure.” The Doctor, with his usual warmth, answered,
“It is impossible: there can be no Parliament: there must be no
Parliament. It is impossible!”[62]
Clarendon made his way to Berwick--the house used by the Prince at
the time was in the possession of one of Clarendon’s relatives--there
he had a private conference with His Highness, and was received “very
obligingly.” The Earl wished that the opposing parties might come to
terms, and talked with Burnet, who, walking up and down the room, in
wonderful warmth exclaimed, “What treaty? How can there be a treaty?
The sword is drawn. There is a supposititious child, which must be
inquired into.” Clarendon was puzzled at Burnet’s conduct, and asked
him why the day before, at prayers in the Cathedral, he had behaved
so as to make the congregation stare; for when the usual collect
for the Sovereign was being repeated, he sat down in his stall and
made an “ugly noise.” Burnet replied, he could not join in the usual
supplications for James as King of England.[63]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
As William rode on horseback from Berwick to Salisbury, the people
flocked to see and bless him. He acknowledged their affectionate
salutations by taking off his hat, saying, “Thank you, good people. I
am come to secure the Protestant religion, and to free you from Popery.”
William’s popularity advanced with hasty strides from the south to
the north and east of England, obtaining marked manifestation in
certain towns and cities, connected with other and somewhat similar
struggles. The nobility and gentry of the northern midland counties
met at Derby--where, a little more than half a century later, the
Pretender Charles Edward lodged for a few days, flushed with the hope
of recovering his grandfather’s crown--and there they declared it to be
their duty to endeavour the healing of present distractions, as they
apprehended the consequences which might arise from the landing of an
army. They wished there should be the calling of a free Parliament,
to which the Prince of Orange was willing to submit his pretensions.
At Nottingham, the refuge of the Princess Anne--where Charles I. had
raised his standard, and Colonel Hutchinson had held the Castle--many
of the upper and middle classes assembled, to enumerate grievances
under which the nation groaned. The laws, as they said, had become a
nose of wax, and being sensible of the influence of Jesuitical councils
in the Government, they avowed their determination not to deliver
posterity over to Rome and slavery, but to join with the Prince in
recovering their almost ruined laws, liberties, and religion.
[Sidenote: 1688.]
At York--so closely connected with the Civil Wars--Sir Henry Gooderick,
in the Common Hall, addressed a hundred gentlemen to this effect,
“that there having been great endeavours made by the Government of
late years to bring Popery into the kingdom, and by many devices
to set at nought the laws of the land,” there could be no proper
redress of grievances “but by a free Parliament; that now was the
only time to prefer a petition of the sort; and that they could not
imitate a better pattern than had been set before them by several
Lords, spiritual and temporal.” Alarmed by flying reports of what
the Papists were about to do, the Earl of Danby, Lord Horton, Lord
Willoughby, and others, scoured the streets of the city at the head of
a troop, shouting, “A free Parliament, the Protestant religion, and no
Popery!”[64] At Newcastle and at Hull--ground covered by Commonwealth
memories--demonstrations occurred in favour of a free Parliament.
In the fine old Market-place of Norwich, abounding in Puritan
associations, the Duke of Norfolk addressed the Mayor and citizens,
and talked of securing law, liberty, and the Protestant religion. Just
afterwards, the townsmen of King’s Lynn--where one meets with the
shades of Oliver Cromwell and the Earl of Manchester--responded to the
Duke in a strain like his own. Berwick-on-Tweed followed in the wake
of other towns. Even the heads of Houses at Oxford sent to the Prince
an assurance of support, and an invitation to visit them, telling him
that their plate, if needful, should be at his service.[65] In short,
a flame of enthusiasm in favour of the Dutch deliverer spread from one
end of the land to the other.[66]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
[Sidenote: 1688.]
I have shown that treachery weakened the cause of James; I am sorry to
say, that falsehood was employed in support of William. Two genuine
Declarations were published in his cause; a third appeared, of the
most violent description. It stated as his resolution, that all
Papists found with arms on their persons or in their houses, should
be treated as freebooters and banditti, be incapable of quarter,
and be delivered up to the discretion of his soldiers; all persons
assisting them were to be looked upon as partakers of their crimes.
It stated, also, that numerous Papists had of late resorted to London
and Westminster; that there was reason to suspect they did so, not for
their own security, but in order to make a desperate attempt upon those
places; and that French troops, procured by the interest and power of
the Jesuits, would, if possible, land in England, in “pursuance of
the engagements which, at the instigation of that pestilent Society,
His most Christian Majesty, with one of his neighbouring Princes of
the same communion, had entered into, for the utter extirpation of
the Protestant religion out of Europe.”[67] Burnet, who was in the
secrets of the Prince’s Court, observes, “No doubt was made that it
was truly the Prince’s Declaration; but he knew nothing of it; and
it was never known who was the author of so bold a thing. No person
ever claimed the merit of it, for though it had an amazing effect,
yet, it seems he that contrived it apprehended that the Prince would
not be well pleased with the author of such an imposture in his name.
The King was under such a consternation, that he neither knew what
to resolve on, nor whom to trust.”[68] It has been said[69] that
the Declaration was not made public until after the Prince had left
Sherborne. William did not issue any counter Declaration nor publish
any repudiation of the document, but left it to produce its effect.
Such a want of straightforwardness contradicts his general character,
but most likely those about him, seeing how effective the Declaration
proved, prevented its being cancelled; still, if the main blame rests
with them, their master remains responsible for having at least winked
at the maxim of doing evil that good might come. Years afterwards
one Speke--who had been in the Prince’s army, and who was goaded by
revenge for his brother’s death under Judge Jeffreys--avowed himself
the fabricator of the infamous device, and said that he gave it to
the Prince with his own hand at Sherborne Castle; that His Highness
seemed somewhat surprised at first, but that when he had considered
it, he and those about him were not displeased. No credit can be given
to a man who played the part which Speke confessed he had done. Part
of his statement is improbable, and is contradicted by the relation
of circumstances given by Bishop Burnet. At all events, the effect of
the forgery was terrible, and soon afterwards this same man contrived
another and still more diabolical scheme. In the meanwhile, attempts at
negotiation went on. James had appointed Commissioners to meet William,
but things now reached a point rendering conferences utterly idle. The
Palace was thrown into confusion by the escape of the Royal family, and
the consternation of the Court is reflected in a much damaged letter,
brought under the notice of historical students by the Historical
MSS. Commission. “Your lordship,” says Turner, Bishop of Ely, under
date December 11, 1688, to Trelawny, Bishop of Bristol, both numbered
amongst the seven, “has heard by [this time that on] Sunday night,
the Queen and Prince of Wales [left] about 2 in the morning. They
went [in a boat with] oars to Lambeth, and so, without guards, in [a
coach] towards Gravesend, where a yacht lay for [them]. Many of quality
slink away daily. ’Tis believed [the Ki]ng will follow very suddenly.
_How are the mighty fallen._ [My] Lord, these are sad and strange
revolutions for our general [and grie]vous national sins, which God
Almighty forgive and relieve us. This minute I receive an advice from
the Earl of Rochester that the King is secretly withdrawn this morning.
God preserve him and direct us.”
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
James fled to Sheerness, having burnt the unissued Parliamentary writs,
and thrown into the Thames the Great Seal of the realm. Arrived at
Sheerness, he fell into the hands of the rabble, upon which, as De Foe
relates, “he applied himself to a clergyman in words to this effect:
‘Sir, ’tis men of your cloth have reduced me to this condition: I
desire you will use your endeavour to still and quiet the people, and
disperse them, that I may be freed from this tumult.’ The gentleman’s
answer was cold and insignificant, and going down to the people, he
returned no more to the King.”[70]
[Sidenote: 1688.]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
What was to be done? Amidst consternation indescribable, some of the
Peers resolved to hold a meeting in Guildhall, the walls of which
had often echoed with popular cries of all sorts. At this meeting,
held December the 10th, amidst the temporal Lords there appeared the
Archbishops of Canterbury and York, and the Bishops of Winchester,
Asaph, Ely, Rochester, and Peterborough. The Archbishop of Canterbury
presided, and a sub-committee of three or four drew up a Declaration,
in which they promised to assist the Prince of Orange in obtaining a
Parliament for the welfare of England, the security of the Church, and
the freedom of Dissenters. This was signed by the two Archbishops, the
Bishops of Winchester, St. Asaph, Ely, Rochester, and Peterborough,
and by several Peers. A deputation of four, including the Bishop of
Ely, was appointed to wait upon His Highness. Riots followed. “No
Popery” became the general cry. Roman Catholic chapels were stripped
of furniture, in some instances the buildings were demolished.
Oranges--symbolic of the Deliverer--were stuck on the ends of spikes
and staves, and waved in triumph. The Embassies of Roman Catholic
countries were no longer safe, and the mansion of the Spanish Minister
was sacked. One act of vengeance will surprise no one who has read the
story of the previous reign: Jeffreys, disguised as a sailor, fell
into the hands of the mob, and narrowly escaped with life. Speke, not
satisfied with the fictitious Declaration, invented terrific stories
about massacres, which he said were already begun by the Irish. All
kinds of atrocities were to be perpetrated by the disbanded army. De
Foe repeated that, “the Irish dragoons which had fled from Reading,
rallied at Twyford, and having lost not many of their number--for
there were not above twelve men killed--marched on for Maidenhead,
swearing and cursing, after a most soldierly manner, that they would
burn all the towns wherever they came, and cut the throats of the
people.” He adds, that as he himself rode to Maidenhead, he learnt at
Slough that Maidenhead had been burnt, also Uxbridge and Reading. When
he came to Reading, he was assured Maidenhead and Oakingham were in
flames.[71] Imagination invented all kinds of horrors. In consequence
of Speke’s letters came the _Irish night_, as it is called,
when the citizens of London, in the utmost terror at the thought of
insurgents entering their gates and murdering them in their beds, sat
up till morning,--drums beating to arms, women screaming in agony,
lights blazing at windows, streets lined with soldiers, and the doors
of houses barricaded against the fancied foe. The panic could not be
confined to the Metropolis. It spread to the North; it reached Leeds.
Stories were told of Papists at Nottingham burning and slaying all
before them; whereupon, the people of Leeds mended their fire-arms and
fixed scythes on poles, kept watch and ward, and sent for the military,
who came in such strong force that they amounted to seven thousand
horse and foot. This pacified the inhabitants, until in the middle
of the night there rose a cry, “Horse and arms! horse and arms!--the
enemy are upon us! Beeston is actually burnt, and only some escaped
to bring the doleful tidings!” The bells were rung backwards, women
shrieked, candles were placed in the windows, armed horsemen rode
in the direction where the destroyers were expected; and men with
their wives and children, leaving all behind, even money and plate
upon the tables, ran for shelter to barns and haystacks. The terror
was so great that nothing like it had occurred since the Civil Wars;
but the immediate cause of it all turned out to be the shouting of
a few drunken people. Again came the cry of “Fire! fire! Horse and
arms! for God’s sake!”--simply because beacons were burning over the
town of Halifax. Whether deluded, or wishing to keep up an excitement
for political purposes, military expresses brought pretended advice
“that the Irish were broken into parties and dispersed.” The whole
was managed so artfully, that one who inquired into the matter could
not learn who contrived it.[72] Hatred against the Roman Catholics,
kindled by atrocious falsehoods, contributed to strengthen a desire
for the expatriation of all priests; but other causes, according to
the confession of Jesuits themselves, helped to bring on the downfall
of Popery. Father Con, an active Jesuit in London, wrote a letter to
the provincial of his order at Rome, telling a story, in which he
ascribes a considerable share in the catastrophe, to his own party, and
especially to D’Adda, the Papal Nuncio. The mischief, he said, came
from their own avarice and ambition. The King had “made use of fools,
knaves, and blockheads,” and the favoured agent, instead of being a
“moderate, discreet, and sagacious minister,” was a “mere boy, a fine,
showy fop, to make love to the ladies.”[73]
[Sidenote: 1688.]
James, after a short detention at Sheerness, returned to London. Lord
Middleton heard of his coming, and hurriedly scrawled a note in these
words: “The King will be at Rochester this night, and intends to be
at Whitehall to-morrow; has ordered his coaches to meet him at his
lodgings.” Immediately from Westminster, under date “Dec. 15, 1688, 7
at night,” the Bishop of Winchester wrote to Sancroft, “May it please
your Grace--and I am sure it will--His Majesty will be here to-morrow,
and his coaches and guard are to meet him at Dartford. This account and
orders came from my Lord Middleton.”[74]
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
The discarded Monarch came, as Middleton said, and a gleam of loyalty
burst out once more, amidst bells and bonfires. The poor man almost
thought he should gain a new lease of power, and the frightened Papists
came out of holes and corners to welcome their regal friend. He even
ventured to assume a rather haughty tone, but in vain. The die was
cast. The Dutch Ambassador informed him that the Prince would allow no
Royal guards, but such as were under his own command. This amounted to
a demand of surrender. William was in a position to insist upon it.
Three Dutch battalions reached Whitehall at 10 o’clock on the night
of December the 17th. Before the morning a message arrived from the
Prince, requiring James to proceed to Ham, near Richmond. James said he
should prefer Rochester. It mattered little where he went. The party
in the ascendant only wished to get rid of him. He went to Rochester.
There we need not follow him. It is enough to notice that several
Bishops concurred in entreating him not to leave the country.[75] From
Rochester he stole away to France. Next we find him at St. Germains.
As the rejected King slipped down the Thames on the morning of December
the 18th, his destined successor was preparing to take up his quarters
at St. James’s Palace. He disappointed the people, who waited in
the rain to welcome him, by driving through the park. Attended by a
brilliant train of courtiers and officers, he reached the gateway
of the Royal residence late in the afternoon. The Princess Anne,
accompanied by Lady Churchill, both covered with orange ribbons, went
that night to the theatre in her father’s coach.
[Sidenote: 1688.]
William had ordered Burnet to secure the Papists from violence,
thinking perhaps of the probable consequences of the third Declaration.
He renewed the order after he had entered London; in consequence of it,
passports were granted to priests wishing to leave the country; and two
being imprisoned in Newgate, the busy ecclesiastical Minister of His
Highness paid them a visit, and took upon himself to provide for their
comfort. A little incident, recorded by Dr. Patrick, brings before
us vividly the excitement amongst Churchmen at that critical period.
“It was a very rainy night when Dr. Tenison and I being together, and
discoursing in my parlour, in the little cloisters in Westminster,
one knocked hard at the door. It being opened, in came the Bishop of
St. Asaph; to whom I said, ‘What makes your Lordship come abroad in
such weather, when the rain pours down as if heaven and earth would
come together?’ To which he answered, ‘He had been at Lambeth, and was
sent by the Bishops to wait upon the Prince, and know when they might
all come and pay their duty to him.’ I asked if my Lord of Canterbury
had agreed to it, together with the rest. He said, ‘Yea, he made some
difficulty at the first, but consented at the last, and ordered him to
go with that message.’”[76]
Whitehall, which, up to the flight of James, had been crowded by
friends or time-servers, now became a desert; and St. James’s, which
had been a desert, now became a rendezvous for courtiers of every kind.
Those who held staves, keys, or other badges of office, laid them down;
and the whole herd of seekers, expectants, and claimants jostled one
another on the threshold of the house where the new master of England
had taken up his abode. Clarendon went to Court instantly, but could
not get near His Highness for the crowd of people.
[Sidenote: THE CRISIS.]
A clerical address appears to have been amongst the first, if not the
very first, presented to him on his arrival. At noon, after the rainy
night when the Bishop of St. Asaph knocked at a door in the little
cloisters at Westminster, Dr. Paman, a domestic of the Archbishop of
Canterbury, called on Dr. Patrick to inform him that the Prince had
appointed three o’clock in the afternoon to receive the Bishops. “Will
my Lord of Canterbury be with them?” asked Patrick. “Yes, yes,” was
the reply. Whether an interview between the Prince and any Bishops did
take place that day, or the messenger had mistaken the time, or the
appointment had been altered, certain it is that the Archbishop did not
go, and we have no particular account of the presentation of an address
before the 21st.
On that occasion, Compton, Bishop of London, took the lead. Two days
before, he and some of his clergy met to agree upon an address. There
were present persons who desired the insertion of a passage to the
effect that the Prince should “have respect to the King, and preserve
the Church established by law;” and “one of considerable note refused
to go, because these clauses were not inserted.” Certain Nonconformists
heard what was going on, and requested they might unite with their
Episcopal brethren. Compton complied, and on Friday morning, the
21st, when the address was to be presented, sixteen early risers left
their homes and threaded their way through the dusky streets. “No
more could be got together in due time that morning, for the Bishop
was to make the address about 9 or 10 o’clock that day.” They deputed
Howe, Fairclough, Stancliffe, and Mayo “to go with the conformable
clergy (who numbered about 99) and the Bishop of London to attend the
Prince.” Admitted to His Highness’s presence, the Bishop--a perfect
courtier--conducted the interview with becoming grace, addressing
him _viva voce_, and gratifying the Nonconformists by a special
reference to them as brethren who differed on some minor matters,
but in nothing substantial, and who fully concurred in the address
presented, “at which words, the Prince took particular notice of the
four Nonconformist ministers”--an incident which no doubt would give
rise to some talk that memorable Christmas-time.
[Sidenote: 1688.]
A large meeting of Presbyterian and Independent brethren was held
just afterwards, to depute four of their number to wait on Compton,
to thank him for his courtesy, and whilst they were considering this
matter, “there were divers bundles of the King’s letters, containing
the reasons of his withdrawing, delivered or thrown in amongst them
by a stranger. Some bundles had particular directions on them.” The
circumstance indicates the activity of James’ agents, and their idea
that he had special claims on the Dissenters, who had taken advantage
of his Indulgences. But, says the person who records the incident,
“they are the more fortified hereby in their purpose, that they may
cast off the imputation cast upon them by their enemies, as betrayers
of the religion and laws of the kingdom, by complying with the
Court.”[77] Other Nonconformists, who did not hear of the Bishops’
audience in sufficient time, presented a distinct address a few days
afterwards, promising “the utmost endeavour, which in their stations
they were capable of affording, for the promoting the excellent and
most desirable ends for which His Highness had declared.”[78]