CHAPTER V.

TOWARDS the close of the reign of Charles the Second, some Whigs who had

been deeply implicated in the plot so fatal to their party, and who knew

themselves to be marked out for destruction, had sought an asylum in the

Low Countries.

These refugees were in general men of fiery temper and weak judgment.

They were also under the influence of that peculiar illusion which seems

to belong to their situation. A politician driven into banishment by a

hostile faction generally sees the society which he has quitted through

a false medium. Every object is distorted and discoloured by his

regrets, his longings, and his resentments. Every little discontent

appears to him to portend a revolution. Every riot is a rebellion. He

cannot be convinced that his country does not pine for him as much as

he pines for his country. He imagines that all his old associates, who

still dwell at their homes and enjoy their estates, are tormented by

the same feelings which make life a burden to himself. The longer his

expatriation, the greater does this hallucination become. The lapse of

time, which cools the ardour of the friends whom he has left behind,

inflames his. Every month his impatience to revisit his native land

increases; and every month his native land remembers and misses him

less. This delusion becomes almost a madness when many exiles who

suffer in the same cause herd together in a foreign country. Their chief

employment is to talk of what they once were, and of what they may yet

be, to goad each other into animosity against the common enemy, to feed

each other with extravagant hopes of victory and revenge. Thus they

become ripe for enterprises which would at once be pronounced hopeless

by any man whose passions had not deprived him of the power of

calculating chances.

In this mood were many of the outlaws who had assembled on the

Continent. The correspondence which they kept up with England was, for

the most part, such as tended to excite their feelings and to mislead

their judgment. Their information concerning the temper of the public

mind was chiefly derived from the worst members of the Whig party, from

men who were plotters and libellers by profession, who were pursued by

the officers of justice, who were forced to skulk in disguise through

back streets, and who sometimes lay hid for weeks together in cocklofts

and cellars. The statesmen who had formerly been the ornaments of the

Country Party, the statesmen who afterwards guided the councils of the

Convention, would have given advice very different from that which was

given by such men as John Wildman and Henry Danvers.

Wildman had served forty years before in the parliamentary army, but had

been more distinguished there as an agitator than as a soldier, and had

early quitted the profession of arms for pursuits better suited to

his temper. His hatred of monarchy had induced him to engage in a long

series of conspiracies, first against the Protector, and then against

the Stuarts. But with Wildman's fanaticism was joined a tender care for

his own safety. He had a wonderful skill in grazing the edge of

treason. No man understood better how to instigate others to desperate

enterprises by words which, when repeated to a jury, might seem

innocent, or, at worst, ambiguous. Such was his cunning that, though

always plotting, though always known to be plotting, and though long

malignantly watched by a vindictive government, he eluded every

danger, and died in his bed, after having seen two generations of his

accomplices die on the gallows. [319] Danvers was a man of the same

class, hotheaded, but fainthearted, constantly urged to the brink of

danger by enthusiasm, and constantly stopped on that brink by cowardice.

He had considerable influence among a portion of the Baptists, had

written largely in defence of their peculiar opinions, and had drawn

down on himself the severe censure of the most respectable Puritans by

attempting to palliate the crimes of Matthias and John of Leyden. It is

probable that, had he possessed a little courage, he would have trodden

in the footsteps of the wretches whom he defended. He was, at this time,

concealing himself from the officers of justice; for warrants were

out against him on account of a grossly calumnious paper of which the

government had discovered him to be the author. [320]

It is easy to imagine what kind of intelligence and counsel men, such

as have been described, were likely to send to the outlaws in the

Netherlands. Of the general character of those outlaws an estimate may

be formed from a few samples.

One of the most conspicuous among them was John Ayloffe, a lawyer

connected by affinity with the Hydes, and through the Hydes, with James.

Ayloffe had early made himself remarkable by offering a whimsical

insult to the government. At a time when the ascendancy of the court

of Versailles had excited general uneasiness, he had contrived to put a

wooden shoe, the established type, among the English, of French tyranny,

into the chair of the House of Commons. He had subsequently been

concerned in the Whig plot; but there is no reason to believe that he

was a party to the design of assassinating the royal brothers. He was

a man of parts and courage; but his moral character did not stand high.

The Puritan divines whispered that he was a careless Gallio or something

worse, and that, whatever zeal he might profess for civil liberty, the

Saints would do well to avoid all connection with him. [321]

Nathaniel Wade was, like Ayloffe, a lawyer. He had long resided at

Bristol, and had been celebrated in his own neighbourhood as a vehement

republican. At one time he had formed a project of emigrating to New

Jersey, where he expected to find institutions better suited to

his taste than those of England. His activity in electioneering had

introduced him to the notice of some Whig nobles. They had employed him

professionally, and had, at length, admitted him to their most secret

counsels. He had been deeply concerned in the scheme of insurrection,

and had undertaken to head a rising in his own city. He had also been

privy to the more odious plot against the lives of Charles and James.

But he always declared that, though privy to it, he had abhorred it, and

had attempted to dissuade his associates from carrying their design into

effect. For a man bred to civil pursuits, Wade seems to have had, in an

unusual degree, that sort of ability and that sort of nerve which make a

good soldier. Unhappily his principles and his courage proved to be not

of sufficient force to support him when the fight was over, and when in

a prison, he had to choose between death and infamy. [322]

Another fugitive was Richard Goodenough, who had formerly been Under

Sheriff of London. On this man his party had long relied for services

of no honourable kind, and especially for the selection of jurymen not

likely to be troubled with scruples in political cases. He had been

deeply concerned in those dark and atrocious parts of the Whig plot

which had been carefully concealed from the most respectable Whigs. Nor

is it possible to plead, in extenuation of his guilt, that he was misled

by inordinate zeal for the public good. For it will be seen that after

having disgraced a noble cause by his crimes, he betrayed it in order to

escape from his well merited punishment. [323]

Very different was the character of Richard Rumbold. He had held a

commission in Cromwell's own regiment, had guarded the scaffold before

the Banqueting House on the day of the great execution, had fought at

Dunbar and Worcester, and had always shown in the highest degree the

qualities which distinguished the invincible army in which he served,

courage of the truest temper, fiery enthusiasm, both political and

religious, and with that enthusiasm, all the power of selfgovernment

which is characteristic of men trained in well disciplined camps to

command and to obey. When the Republican troops were disbanded, Rumbold

became a maltster, and carried on his trade near Hoddesdon, in that

building from which the Rye House plot derives its name. It had been

suggested, though not absolutely determined, in the conferences of the

most violent and unscrupulous of the malecontents, that armed men should

be stationed in the Rye House to attack the Guards who were to escort

Charles and James from Newmarket to London. In these conferences Rumbold

had borne a part from which he would have shrunk with horror, if his

clear understanding had not been overclouded, and his manly heart

corrupted, by party spirit. [324]

A more important exile was Ford Grey, Lord Grey of Wark. He had been a

zealous Exclusionist, had concurred in the design of insurrection, and

had been committed to the Tower, but had succeeded in making his keepers

drunk, and in effecting his escape to the Continent. His parliamentary

abilities were great, and his manners pleasing: but his life had been

sullied by a great domestic crime. His wife was a daughter of the noble

house of Berkeley. Her sister, the Lady Henrietta Berkeley, was allowed

to associate and correspond with him as with a brother by blood. A

fatal attachment sprang up. The high spirit and strong passions of

Lady Henrietta broke through all restraints of virtue and decorum. A

scandalous elopement disclosed to the whole kingdom the shame of two

illustrious families. Grey and some of the agents who had served him

in his amour were brought to trial on a charge of conspiracy. A scene

unparalleled in our legal history was exhibited in the Court of King's

Bench. The seducer appeared with dauntless front, accompanied by his

paramour. Nor did the great Whig lords flinch from their friend's side

even in that extremity. Those whom he had wronged stood over against

him, and were moved to transports of rage by the sight of him. The old

Earl of Berkeley poured forth reproaches and curses on the wretched

Henrietta. The Countess gave evidence broken by many sobs, and at length

fell down in a swoon. The jury found a verdict of Guilty. When the court

rose Lord Berkeley called on all his friends to help him to seize his

daughter. The partisans of Grey rallied round her. Swords were drawn on

both sides; a skirmish took place in Westminster Hall; and it was with

difficulty that the Judges and tipstaves parted the combatants. In our

time such a trial would be fatal to the character of a public man; but

in that age the standard of morality among the great was so low,

and party spirit was so violent, that Grey still continued to have

considerable influence, though the Puritans, who formed a strong section

of the Whig party, looked somewhat coldly on him. [325]

One part of the character, or rather, it may be, of the fortune, of Grey

deserves notice. It was admitted that everywhere, except on the field

of battle, he showed a high degree of courage. More than once, in

embarrassing circumstances, when his life and liberty were at stake, the

dignity of his deportment and his perfect command of all his faculties

extorted praise from those who neither loved nor esteemed him. But as

a soldier he incurred, less perhaps by his fault than by mischance, the

degrading imputation of personal cowardice.

In this respect he differed widely from his friend the Duke of Monmouth.

Ardent and intrepid on the field of battle, Monmouth was everywhere

else effeminate and irresolute. The accident of his birth, his personal

courage, and his superficial graces, had placed him in a post for which

he was altogether unfitted. After witnessing the ruin of the party

of which he had been the nominal head, he had retired to Holland. The

Prince and Princess of Orange had now ceased to regard him as a rival.

They received him most hospitably; for they hoped that, by treating,

him with kindness, they should establish a claim to the gratitude of his

father. They knew that paternal affection was not yet wearied out, that

letters and supplies of money still came secretly from Whitehall to

Monmouth's retreat, and that Charles frowned on those who sought to pay

their court to him by speaking ill of his banished son. The Duke had

been encouraged to expect that, in a very short time, if he gave no

new cause of displeasure, he would be recalled to his native land,

and restored to all his high honours and commands. Animated by such

expectations he had been the life of the Hague during the late winter.

He had been the most conspicuous figure at a succession of balls in

that splendid Orange Hall, which blazes on every side with the most

ostentatious colouring of Jordæns and Hondthorst. [326] He had taught

the English country dance to the Dutch ladies, and had in his turn

learned from them to skate on the canals. The Princess had accompanied

him in his expeditions on the ice; and the figure which she made there,

poised on one leg, and clad in petticoats shorter than are generally

worn by ladies so strictly decorous, had caused some wonder and mirth to

the foreign ministers. The sullen gravity which had been characteristic

of the Stadtholder's court seemed to have vanished before the influence

of the fascinating Englishman. Even the stern and pensive William

relaxed into good humour when his brilliant guest appeared. [327]

Monmouth meanwhile carefully avoided all that could give offence in the

quarter to which he looked for protection. He saw little of any Whigs,

and nothing of those violent men who had been concerned in the worst

part of the Whig plot. He was therefore loudly accused, by his old

associates, of fickleness and ingratitude. [328]

By none of the exiles was this accusation urged with more vehemence and

bitterness than by Robert Ferguson, the Judas of Dryden's great satire.

Ferguson was by birth a Scot; but England had long been his residence.

At the time of the Restoration, indeed, he had held a living in Kent.

He had been bred a Presbyterian; but the Presbyterians had cast him out,

and he had become an Independent. He had been master of an academy which

the Dissenters had set up at Islington as a rival to Westminster School

and the Charter House; and he had preached to large congregations at

a meeting house in Moorfields. He had also published some theological

treatises which may still be found in the dusty recesses of a few old

libraries; but, though texts of Scripture were always on his lips, those

who had pecuniary transactions with him soon found him to be a mere

swindler.

At length he turned his attention almost entirely from theology to the

worst part of politics. He belonged to the class whose office it is

to render in troubled times to exasperated parties those services from

which honest men shrink in disgust and prudent men in fear, the class of

fanatical knaves. Violent, malignant, regardless of truth, insensible

to shame, insatiable of notoriety, delighting in intrigue, in tumult,

in mischief for its own sake, he toiled during many years in the darkest

mines of faction. He lived among libellers and false witnesses. He

was the keeper of a secret purse from which agents too vile to be

acknowledged received hire, and the director of a secret press whence

pamphlets, bearing no name, were daily issued. He boasted that he had

contrived to scatter lampoons about the terrace of Windsor, and even to

lay them under the royal pillow. In this way of life he was put to

many shifts, was forced to assume many names, and at one time had four

different lodgings in different corners of London. He was deeply engaged

in the Rye House plot. There is, indeed, reason to believe that he was

the original author of those sanguinary schemes which brought so much

discredit on the whole Whig party. When the conspiracy was detected and

his associates were in dismay, he bade them farewell with a laugh,

and told them that they were novices, that he had been used to flight,

concealment and disguise, and that he should never leave off plotting

while he lived. He escaped to the Continent. But it seemed that even on

the Continent he was not secure. The English envoys at foreign courts

were directed to be on the watch for him. The French government offered

a reward of five hundred pistoles to any who would seize him. Nor was it

easy for him to escape notice; for his broad Scotch accent, his tall and

lean figure, his lantern jaws, the gleam of his sharp eyes which were

always overhung by his wig, his cheeks inflamed by an eruption, his

shoulders deformed by a stoop, and his gait distinguished from that

of other men by a peculiar shuffle, made him remarkable wherever he

appeared. But, though he was, as it seemed, pursued with peculiar

animosity, it was whispered that this animosity was feigned, and that

the officers of justice had secret orders not to see him. That he was

really a bitter malecontent can scarcely be doubted. But there is strong

reason to believe that he provided for his own safety by pretending at

Whitehall to be a spy on the Whigs, and by furnishing the government

with just so much information as sufficed to keep up his credit.

This hypothesis furnishes a simple explanation of what seemed to his

associates to be his unnatural recklessness and audacity. Being himself

out of danger, he always gave his vote for the most violent and perilous

course, and sneered very complacently at the pusillanimity of men who,

not having taken the infamous precautions on which he relied, were

disposed to think twice before they placed life, and objects dearer than

life, on a single hazard. [329]

As soon as he was in the Low Countries he began to form new projects

against the English government, and found among his fellow emigrants

men ready to listen to his evil counsels. Monmouth, however, stood

obstinately aloof; and, without the help of Monmouth's immense

popularity, it was impossible to effect anything. Yet such was the

impatience and rashness of the exiles that they tried to find another

leader. They sent an embassy to that solitary retreat on the shores of

Lake Leman where Edmund Ludlow, once conspicuous among the chiefs of the

parliamentary army and among the members of the High Court of Justice,

had, during many years, hidden himself from the vengeance of the

restored Stuarts. The stern old regicide, however, refused to quit

his hermitage. His work, he said, was done. If England was still to be

saved, she must be saved by younger men. [330]

The unexpected demise of the crown changed the whole aspect of affairs.

Any hope which the proscribed Whigs might have cherished of returning

peaceably to their native land was extinguished by the death of a

careless and goodnatured prince, and by the accession of a prince

obstinate in all things, and especially obstinate in revenge. Ferguson

was in his element. Destitute of the talents both of a writer and of a

statesman, he had in a high degree the unenviable qualifications of a

tempter; and now, with the malevolent activity and dexterity of an

evil spirit, he ran from outlaw to outlaw, chattered in every ear, and

stirred up in every bosom savage animosities and wild desires.

He no longer despaired of being able to seduce Monmouth. The situation

of that unhappy young man was completely changed. While he was dancing

and skating at the Hague, and expecting every day a summons to London,

he was overwhelmed with misery by the tidings of his father's death and

of his uncle's accession. During the night which followed the arrival of

the news, those who lodged near him could distinctly hear his sobs and

his piercing cries. He quitted the Hague the next day, having solemnly

pledged his word both to the Prince and to the Princess of Orange not

to attempt anything against the government of England, and having been

supplied by them with money to meet immediate demands. [331]

The prospect which lay before Monmouth was not a bright one. There was

now no probability that he would be recalled from banishment. On the

Continent his life could no longer be passed amidst the splendour and

festivity of a court. His cousins at the Hague seem to have really

regarded him with kindness; but they could no longer countenance him

openly without serious risk of producing a rupture between England and

Holland. William offered a kind and judicious suggestion. The war which

was then raging in Hungary, between the Emperor and the Turks, was

watched by all Europe with interest almost as great as that which the

Crusades had excited five hundred years earlier. Many gallant gentlemen,

both Protestant and Catholic, were fighting as volunteers in the common

cause of Christendom. The Prince advised Monmouth to repair to the

Imperial camp, and assured him that, if he would do so, he should not

want the means of making an appearance befitting an English nobleman.

[332] This counsel was excellent: but the Duke could not make up

his mind. He retired to Brussels accompanied by Henrietta Wentworth,

Baroness Wentworth of Nettlestede, a damsel of high rank and ample

fortune, who loved him passionately, who had sacrificed for his sake her

maiden honour and the hope of a splendid alliance, who had followed him

into exile, and whom he believed to be his wife in the sight of heaven.

Under the soothing influence of female friendship, his lacerated mind

healed fast. He seemed to have found happiness in obscurity and repose,

and to have forgotten that he had been the ornament of a splendid court

and the head of a great party, that he had commanded armies, and that he

had aspired to a throne.

But he was not suffered to remain quiet. Ferguson employed all his

powers of temptation. Grey, who knew not where to turn for a pistole,

and was ready for any undertaking, however desperate, lent his aid.

No art was spared which could draw Monmouth from retreat. To the first

invitations which he received from his old associates he returned

unfavourable answers. He pronounced the difficulties of a descent on

England insuperable, protested that he was sick of public life, and

begged to be left in the enjoyment of his newly found happiness. But he

was little in the habit of resisting skilful and urgent importunity.

It is said, too, that he was induced to quit his retirement by the

same powerful influence which had made that retirement delightful. Lady

Wentworth wished to see him a King. Her rents, her diamonds, her credit

were put at his disposal. Monmouth's judgment was not convinced; but he

had not the firmness to resist such solicitations. [333]

By the English exiles he was joyfully welcomed, and unanimously

acknowledged as their head. But there was another class of emigrants who

were not disposed to recognise his supremacy. Misgovernment, such as

had never been known in the southern part of our island, had driven

from Scotland to the Continent many fugitives, the intemperance of whose

political and religious zeal was proportioned to the oppression which

they had undergone. These men were not willing to follow an English

leader. Even in destitution and exile they retained their punctilious

national pride, and would not consent that their country should be, in

their persons, degraded into a province. They had a captain of their

own, Archibald, ninth Earl of Argyle, who, as chief of the great tribe

of Campbell, was known among the population of the Highlands by the

proud name of Mac Callum More. His father, the Marquess of Argyle, had

been the head of the Scotch Covenanters, had greatly contributed to the

ruin of Charles the First, and was not thought by the Royalists to have

atoned for this offence by consenting to bestow the empty title of King,

and a state prison in a palace, on Charles the Second. After the return

of the royal family the Marquess was put to death. His marquisate became

extinct; but his son was permitted to inherit the ancient earldom,

and was still among the greatest if not the greatest, of the nobles of

Scotland. The Earl's conduct during the twenty years which followed the

Restoration had been, as he afterwards thought, criminally moderate. He

had, on some occasions, opposed the administration which afflicted

his country: but his opposition had been languid and cautious. His

compliances in ecclesiastical matters had given scandal to rigid

Presbyterians: and so far had he been from showing any inclination

to resistance that, when the Covenanters had been persecuted into

insurrection, he had brought into the field a large body of his

dependents to support the government.

Such had been his political course until the Duke of York came down to

Edinburgh armed with the whole regal authority The despotic viceroy soon

found that he could not expect entire support from Argyle. Since the

most powerful chief in the kingdom could not be gained, it was thought

necessary that he should be destroyed. On grounds so frivolous that even

the spirit of party and the spirit of chicane were ashamed of them, he

was brought to trial for treason, convicted, and sentenced to death. The

partisans of the Stuarts afterwards asserted that it was never meant

to carry this sentence into effect, and that the only object of the

prosecution was to frighten him into ceding his extensive jurisdiction

in the Highlands. Whether James designed, as his enemies suspected, to

commit murder, or only, as his friends affirmed, to commit extortion by

threatening to commit murder, cannot now be ascertained. "I know nothing

of the Scotch law," said Halifax to King Charles; "but this I know, that

we should not hang a dog here on the grounds on which my Lord Argyle has

been sentenced." [334]

Argyle escaped in disguise to England, and thence passed over to

Friesland. In that secluded province his father had bought a small

estate, as a place of refuge for the family in civil troubles. It was

said, among the Scots that this purchase had been made in consequence of

the predictions of a Celtic seer, to whom it had been revealed that Mac

Callum More would one day be driven forth from the ancient mansion of

his race at Inverary. [335] But it is probable that the politic Marquess

had been warned rather by the signs of the times than by the visions

of any prophet. In Friesland Earl Archibald resided during some time so

quietly that it was not generally known whither he had fled. From

his retreat he carried on a correspondence with his friends in Great

Britain, was a party to the Whig conspiracy, and concerted with the

chiefs of that conspiracy a plan for invading Scotland. [336] This plan

had been dropped upon the detection of the Rye House plot, but became

again the Subject of his thoughts after the demise of the crown.

He had, during his residence on the Continent, reflected much more

deeply on religious questions than in the preceding years of his life.

In one respect the effect of these reflections on his mind had been

pernicious. His partiality for the synodical form of church government

now amounted to bigotry. When he remembered how long he had conformed to

the established worship, he was overwhelmed with shame and remorse, and

showed too many signs of a disposition to atone for his defection

by violence and intolerance. He had however, in no long time, an

opportunity of proving that the fear and love of a higher Power had

nerved him for the most formidable conflicts by which human nature can

be tried.

To his companions in adversity his assistance was of the highest moment.

Though proscribed and a fugitive, he was still, in some sense, the most

powerful subject in the British dominions. In wealth, even before his

attainder, he was probably inferior, not only to the great English

nobles, but to some of the opulent esquires of Kent and Norfolk. But his

patriarchal authority, an authority which no wealth could give and which

no attainder could take away, made him, as a leader of an insurrection,

truly formidable. No southern lord could feel any confidence that, if he

ventured to resist the government, even his own gamekeepers and huntsmen

would stand by him. An Earl of Bedford, an Earl of Devonshire, could not

engage to bring ten men into the field. Mac Callum More, penniless and

deprived of his earldom, might at any moment, raise a serious civil war.

He bad only to show himself on the coast of Lorn; and an army would,

in a few days, gather round him. The force which, in favourable

circumstances, he could bring into the field, amounted to five thousand

fighting, men, devoted to his service accustomed to the use of target

and broadsword, not afraid to encounter regular troops even in the open

plain, and perhaps superior to regular troops in the qualifications

requisite for the defence of wild mountain passes, hidden in mist,

and torn by headlong torrents. What such a force, well directed, could

effect, even against veteran regiments and skilful commanders, was

proved, a few years later, at Killiecrankie.

But, strong as was the claim of Argyle to the confidence of the exiled

Scots, there was a faction among them which regarded him with no

friendly feeling, and which wished to make use of his name and

influence, without entrusting to him any real power. The chief of this

faction was a lowland gentleman, who had been implicated in the Whig

plot, and had with difficulty eluded the vengeance of the court, Sir

Patrick Hume, of Polwarth, in Berwickshire. Great doubt has been thrown

on his integrity, but without sufficient reason. It must, however, be

admitted that he injured his cause by perverseness as much as he could

have done by treachery. He was a man incapable alike of leading and of

following, conceited, captious, and wrongheaded, an endless talker, a

sluggard in action against the enemy and active only against his own

allies. With Hume was closely connected another Scottish exile of great

note, who had many, of the same faults, Sir John Cochrane, second son of

the Earl of Dundonald.

A far higher character belonged to Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun, a man

distinguished by learning and eloquence, distinguished also by

courage, disinterestedness, and public spirit but of an irritable and

impracticable temper. Like many of his most illustrious contemporaries,

Milton for example, Harrington, Marvel, and Sidney, Fletcher had, from

the misgovernment of several successive princes, conceived a strong

aversion to hereditary monarchy. Yet he was no democrat. He was the head

of an ancient Norman house, and was proud of his descent. He was a

fine speaker and a fine writer, and was proud of his intellectual

superiority. Both in his character of gentleman, and in his character

of scholar, he looked down with disdain on the common people, and was

so little disposed to entrust them with political power that he thought

them unfit even to enjoy personal freedom. It is a curious circumstance

that this man, the most honest, fearless, and uncompromising republican

of his time, should have been the author of a plan for reducing a large

part of the working classes of Scotland to slavery. He bore, in truth,

a lively resemblance to those Roman Senators who, while they hated the

name of King, guarded the privileges of their order with inflexible

pride against the encroachments of the multitude, and governed their

bondmen and bondwomen by means of the stocks and the scourge.

Amsterdam was the place where the leading emigrants, Scotch and English,

assembled. Argyle repaired thither from Friesland, Monmouth from

Brabant. It soon appeared that the fugitives had scarcely anything in

common except hatred of James and impatience to return from banishment.

The Scots were jealous of the English, the English of the Scots.

Monmouth's high pretensions were offensive to Argyle, who, proud of

ancient nobility and of a legitimate descent from kings, was by no means

inclined to do homage to the offspring of a vagrant and ignoble love.

But of all the dissensions by which the little band of outlaws was

distracted the most serious was that which arose between Argyle and a

portion of his own followers. Some of the Scottish exiles had, in a long

course of opposition to tyranny, been excited into a morbid state

of understanding and temper, which made the most just and necessary

restraint insupportable to them. They knew that without Argyle they

could do nothing. They ought to have known that, unless they wished to

run headlong to ruin, they must either repose full confidence in their

leader, or relinquish all thoughts of military enterprise. Experience

has fully proved that in war every operation, from the greatest to the

smallest, ought to be under the absolute direction of one mind, and

that every subordinate agent, in his degree, ought to obey implicitly,

strenuously, and with the show of cheerfulness, orders which he

disapproves, or of which the reasons are kept secret from him.

Representative assemblies, public discussions, and all the other checks

by which, in civil affairs, rulers are restrained from abusing power,

are out of place in a camp. Machiavel justly imputed many of the

disasters of Venice and Florence to the jealousy which led those

republics to interfere with every one of their generals. [337] The Dutch

practice of sending to an army deputies, without whose consent no great

blow could be struck, was almost equally pernicious. It is undoubtedly

by no means certain that a captain, who has been entrusted with

dictatorial power in the hour of peril, will quietly surrender that

power in the hour of triumph; and this is one of the many considerations

which ought to make men hesitate long before they resolve to vindicate

public liberty by the sword. But, if they determine to try the chance

of war, they will, if they are wise, entrust to their chief that plenary

authority without which war cannot be well conducted. It is possible

that, if they give him that authority, he may turn out a Cromwell or a

Napoleon. But it is almost certain that, if they withhold from him that

authority, their enterprises will end like the enterprise of Argyle.

Some of the Scottish emigrants, heated with republican enthusiasm,

and utterly destitute of the skill necessary to the conduct of great

affairs, employed all their industry and ingenuity, not in collecting

means for the attack which they were about to make on a formidable

enemy, but in devising restraints on their leader's power and securities

against his ambition. The selfcomplacent stupidity with which they

insisted on Organising an army as if they had been organising a

commonwealth would be incredible if it had not been frankly and even

boastfully recorded by one of themselves. [338]

At length all differences were compromised. It was determined that an

attempt should be forthwith made on the western coast of Scotland, and

that it should be promptly followed by a descent on England.

Argyle was to hold the nominal command in Scotland: but he was placed

under the control of a Committee which reserved to itself all the most

important parts of the military administration. This committee was

empowered to determine where the expedition should land, to appoint

officers, to superintend the levying of troops, to dole out provisions

and ammunition. All that was left to the general was to direct the

evolutions of the army in the field, and he was forced to promise that

even in the field, except in the case of a surprise, he would do nothing

without the assent of a council of war.

Monmouth was to command in England. His soft mind had as usual, taken

an impress from the society which surrounded him. Ambitious hopes, which

had seemed to be extinguished, revived in his bosom. He remembered the

affection with which he had been constantly greeted by the common people

in town and country, and expected that they would now rise by hundreds

of thousands to welcome him. He remembered the good will which the

soldiers had always borne him, and flattered himself that they would

come over to him by regiments. Encouraging messages reached him in quick

succession from London. He was assured that the violence and injustice

with which the elections had been carried on had driven the nation mad,

that the prudence of the leading Whigs had with difficulty prevented a

sanguinary outbreak on the day of the coronation, and that all the great

Lords who had supported the Exclusion Bill were impatient to rally round

him. Wildman, who loved to talk treason in parables, sent to say that

the Earl of Richmond, just two hundred years before, had landed in

England with a handful of men, and had a few days later been crowned, on

the field of Bosworth, with the diadem taken from the head of Richard.

Danvers undertook to raise the City. The Duke was deceived into

the belief that, as soon as he set up his standard, Bedfordshire,

Buckinghamshire, Hampshire, Cheshire would rise in arms. [339] He

consequently became eager for the enterprise from which a few weeks

before he had shrunk. His countrymen did not impose on him restrictions

so elaborately absurd as those which the Scotch emigrants had devised.

All that was required of him was to promise that he would not assume the

regal title till his pretensions has been submitted to the judgment of a

free Parliament.

It was determined that two Englishmen, Ayloffe and Rumbold, should

accompany Argyle to Scotland, and that Fletcher should go with Monmouth

to England. Fletcher, from the beginning, had augured ill of the

enterprise: but his chivalrous spirit would not suffer him to decline

a risk which his friends seemed eager to encounter. When Grey repeated

with approbation what Wildman had said about Richmond and Richard, the

well read and thoughtful Scot justly remarked that there was a great

difference between the fifteenth century and the seventeenth. Richmond

was assured of the support of barons, each of whom could bring an army

of feudal retainers into the field; and Richard had not one regiment of

regular soldiers. [340]

The exiles were able to raise, partly from their own resources and

partly from the contributions of well wishers in Holland, a sum

sufficient for the two expeditions. Very little was obtained from

London. Six thousand pounds had been expected thence. But instead of the

money came excuses from Wildman, which ought to have opened the eyes

of all who were not wilfully blind. The Duke made up the deficiency by

pawning his own jewels and those of Lady Wentworth. Arms, ammunition,

and provisions were bought, and several ships which lay at Amsterdam

were freighted. [341]

It is remarkable that the most illustrious and the most grossly injured

man among the British exiles stood far aloof from these rash counsels.

John Locke hated tyranny and persecution as a philosopher; but his

intellect and his temper preserved him from the violence of a partisan.

He had lived on confidential terms with Shaftesbury, and had thus

incurred the displeasure of the court. Locke's prudence had, however,

been such that it would have been to little purpose to bring him even

before the corrupt and partial tribunals of that age. In one point,

however, he was vulnerable. He was a student of Christ Church in the

University of Oxford. It was determined to drive from that celebrated

college the greatest man of whom it could ever boast. But this was not

easy. Locke had, at Oxford, abstained from expressing any opinion on the

politics of the day. Spies had been set about him. Doctors of Divinity

and Masters of Arts had not been ashamed to perform the vilest of all

offices, that of watching the lips of a companion in order to report

his words to his ruin. The conversation in the hall had been purposely

turned to irritating topics, to the Exclusion Bill, and to the character

of the Earl of Shaftesbury, but in vain. Locke neither broke out nor

dissembled, but maintained such steady silence and composure as forced

the tools of power to own with vexation that never man was so complete

a master of his tongue and of his passions. When it was found that

treachery could do nothing, arbitrary power was used. After vainly

trying to inveigle Locke into a fault, the government resolved to punish

him without one. Orders came from Whitehall that he should be ejected;

and those orders the Dean and Canons made haste to obey.

Locke was travelling on the Continent for his health when he learned

that he had been deprived of his home and of his bread without a trial

or even a notice. The injustice with which he had been treated would

have excused him if he had resorted to violent methods of redress. But

he was not to be blinded by personal resentment he augured no good from

the schemes of those who had assembled at Amsterdam; and he quietly

repaired to Utrecht, where, while his partners in misfortune were

planning their own destruction, he employed himself in writing his

celebrated letter on Toleration. [342]

The English government was early apprised that something was in

agitation among the outlaws. An invasion of England seems not to have

been at first expected; but it was apprehended that Argyle would shortly

appear in arms among his clansmen. A proclamation was accordingly issued

directing that Scotland should be put into a state of defence. The

militia was ordered to be in readiness. All the clans hostile to the

name of Campbell were set in motion. John Murray, Marquess of Athol, was

appointed Lord Lieutenant of Argyleshire, and, at the head of a great

body of his followers, occupied the castle of Inverary. Some suspected

persons were arrested. Others were compelled to give hostages. Ships of

war were sent to cruise near the isle of Bute; and part of the army of

Ireland was moved to the coast of Ulster. [343]

While these preparations were making in Scotland, James called into his

closet Arnold Van Citters, who had long resided in England as Ambassador

from the United Provinces, and Everard Van Dykvelt, who, after the death

of Charles, had been sent by the State General on a special mission of

condolence and congratulation. The King said that he had received

from unquestionable sources intelligence of designs which were forming

against the throne by his banished subjects in Holland. Some of the

exiles were cutthroats, whom nothing but the special providence of God

had prevented from committing a foul murder; and among them was the

owner of the spot which had been fixed for the butchery. "Of all men

living," said the King, "Argyle has the greatest means of annoying

me; and of all places Holland is that whence a blow may be best aimed

against me." The Dutch envoys assured his Majesty that what he had

said should instantly be communicated to the government which they

represented, and expressed their full confidence that every exertion

would be made to satisfy him. [344]

They were justified in expressing this confidence. Both the Prince of

Orange and the States General, were, at this time, most desirous that

the hospitality of their country should not be abused for purposes of

which the English government could justly complain. James had lately

held language which encouraged the hope that he would not patiently

submit to the ascendancy of France. It seemed probable that he would

consent to form a close alliance with the United Provinces and the House

of Austria. There was, therefore, at the Hague, an extreme anxiety to

avoid all that could give him offence. The personal interest of William

was also on this occasion identical with the interest of his father in

law.

But the case was one which required rapid and vigorous action; and the

nature of the Batavian institutions made such action almost impossible.

The Union of Utrecht, rudely formed, amidst the agonies of a revolution,

for the purpose of meeting immediate exigencies, had never been

deliberately revised and perfected in a time of tranquillity. Every one

of the seven commonwealths which that Union had bound together retained

almost all the rights of sovereignty, and asserted those rights

punctiliously against the central government. As the federal authorities

had not the means of exacting prompt obedience from the provincial

authorities, so the provincial authorities had not the means of exacting

prompt obedience from the municipal authorities. Holland alone contained

eighteen cities, each of which was, for many purposes, an independent

state, jealous of all interference from without. If the rulers of such a

city received from the Hague an order which was unpleasing to them, they

either neglected it altogether, or executed it languidly and tardily.

In some town councils, indeed, the influence of the Prince of Orange was

all powerful. But unfortunately the place where the British exiles had

congregated, and where their ships had been fitted out, was the rich and

populous Amsterdam; and the magistrates of Amsterdam were the heads

of the faction hostile to the federal government and to the House of

Nassau. The naval administration of the United Provinces was conducted

by five distinct boards of Admiralty. One of those boards sate at

Amsterdam, was partly nominated by the authorities of that city, and

seems to have been entirely animated by their spirit.

All the endeavours of the federal government to effect what James

desired were frustrated by the evasions of the functionaries of

Amsterdam, and by the blunders of Colonel Bevil Skelton, who had just

arrived at the Hague as envoy from England. Skelton had been born in

Holland during the English troubles, and was therefore supposed to be

peculiarly qualified for his post; [345] but he was, in truth, unfit for

that and for every other diplomatic situation. Excellent judges of

character pronounced him to be the most shallow, fickle, passionate,

presumptuous, and garrulous of men. [346] He took no serious notice

of the proceedings of the refugees till three vessels which had been

equipped for the expedition to Scotland were safe out of the Zuyder Zee,

till the arms, ammunition, and provisions were on board, and till the

passengers had embarked. Then, instead of applying, as he should have

done, to the States General, who sate close to his own door, he sent

a messenger to the magistrates of Amsterdam, with a request that the

suspected ships might be detained. The magistrates of Amsterdam answered

that the entrance of the Zuyder Zee was out of their jurisdiction, and

referred him to the federal government. It was notorious that this was a

mere excuse, and that, if there had been any real wish at the Stadthouse

of Amsterdam to prevent Argyle from sailing, no difficulties would have

been made. Skelton now addressed himself to the States General. They

showed every disposition to comply with his demand, and, as the case was

urgent, departed from the course which they ordinarily observed in

the transaction of business. On the same day on which he made his

application to them, an order, drawn in exact conformity with his

request, was despatched to the Admiralty of Amsterdam. But this order,

in consequence of some misinformation, did not correctly describe the

situation of the ships. They were said to be in the Texel. They were in

the Vlie. The Admiralty of Amsterdam made this error a plea for doing

nothing; and, before the error could be rectified, the three ships had

sailed. [347]

The last hours which Argyle passed on the coast of Holland were hours of

great anxiety. Near him lay a Dutch man of war whose broadside would

in a moment have put an end to his expedition. Round his little fleet

a boat was rowing, in which were some persons with telescopes whom he

suspected to be spies. But no effectual step was taken for the purpose

of detaining him; and on the afternoon of the second of May he stood out

to sea before a favourable breeze.

The voyage was prosperous. On the sixth the Orkneys were in sight.

Argyle very unwisely anchored off Kirkwall, and allowed two of his

followers to go on shore there. The Bishop ordered them to be arrested.

The refugees proceeded to hold a long and animated debate on this

misadventure: for, from the beginning to the end of their expedition,

however languid and irresolute their conduct might be, they never

in debate wanted spirit or perseverance. Some were for an attack on

Kirkwall. Some were for proceeding without delay to Argyleshire. At last

the Earl seized some gentlemen who lived near the coast of the island,

and proposed to the Bishop an exchange of prisoners. The Bishop returned

no answer; and the fleet, after losing three days, sailed away.

This delay was full of danger. It was speedily known at Edinburgh that

the rebel squadron had touched at the Orkneys. Troops were instantly

put in motion. When the Earl reached his own province, he found that

preparations had been made to repel him. At Dunstaffnage he sent his

second son Charles on Shore to call the Campbells to arms. But Charles

returned with gloomy tidings. The herdsmen and fishermen were indeed

ready to rally round Mac Callum More; but, of the heads of the clan,

some were in confinement, and others had fled. Those gentlemen who

remained at their homes were either well affected to the government or

afraid of moving, and refused even to see the son of their chief. From

Dunstaffnage the small armament proceeded to Campbelltown, near the

southern extremity of the peninsula of Kintyre. Here the Earl published

a manifesto, drawn up in Holland, under the direction of the Committee,

by James Stewart, a Scotch advocate, whose pen was, a few months later,

employed in a very different way. In this paper were set forth, with a

strength of language sometimes approaching to scurrility, many real and

some imaginary grievances. It was hinted that the late King had died by

poison. A chief object of the expedition was declared to be the entire

suppression, not only of Popery, but of Prelacy, which was termed the

most bitter root and offspring of Popery; and all good Scotchmen were

exhorted to do valiantly for the cause of their country and of their

God.

Zealous as Argyle was for what he considered as pure religion, he

did not scruple to practice one rite half Popish and half Pagan. The

mysterious cross of yew, first set on fire, and then quenched in the

blood of a goat, was sent forth to summon all the Campbells, from

sixteen to sixty. The isthmus of Tarbet was appointed for the place of

gathering. The muster, though small indeed when compared with what

it would have been if the spirit and strength of the clan had been

unbroken, was still formidable. The whole force assembled amounted to

about eighteen hundred men. Argyle divided his mountaineers into three

regiments, and proceeded to appoint officers.

The bickerings which had begun in Holland had never been intermitted

during the whole course of the expedition; but at Tarbet they became

more violent than ever. The Committee wished to interfere even with the

patriarchal dominion of the Earl over the Campbells, and would not allow

him to settle the military rank of his kinsmen by his own authority.

While these disputatious meddlers tried to wrest from him his power

over the Highlands, they carried on their own correspondence with the

Lowlands, and received and sent letters which were never communicated

to the nominal General. Hume and his confederates had reserved to

themselves the superintendence of the Stores, and conducted this

important part of the administration of war with a laxity hardly to be

distinguished from dishonesty, suffered the arms to be spoiled, wasted

the provisions, and lived riotously at a time when they ought to have

set to all beneath them an example of abstemiousness.

The great question was whether the Highlands or the Lowlands should be

the seat of war. The Earl's first object was to establish his authority

over his own domains, to drive out the invading clans which had been

poured from Perthshire into Argyleshire, and to take possession of the

ancient seat of his family at Inverary. He might then hope to have four

or five thousand claymores at his command. With such a force he would be

able to defend that wild country against the whole power of the kingdom

of Scotland, and would also have secured an excellent base for offensive

operations. This seems to have been the wisest course open to him.

Rumbold, who had been trained in an excellent military school, and who,

as an Englishman, might be supposed to be an impartial umpire between

the Scottish factions, did all in his power to strengthen the Earl's

hands. But Hume and Cochrane were utterly impracticable. Their jealousy

of Argyle was, in truth, stronger than their wish for the success of the

expedition. They saw that, among his own mountains and lakes, and at the

head of an army chiefly composed of his own tribe, he would be able

to bear down their opposition, and to exercise the full authority of a

General. They muttered that the only men who had the good cause at heart

were the Lowlanders, and that the Campbells took up arms neither for

liberty nor for the Church of God, but for Mac Callum More alone.

Cochrane declared that he would go to Ayrshire if he went by himself,

and with nothing but a pitchfork in his hand. Argyle, after long

resistance, consented, against his better judgment, to divide his little

army. He remained with Rumbold in the Highlands. Cochrane and Hume were

at the head of the force which sailed to invade the Lowlands.

Ayrshire was Cochrane's object: but the coast of Ayrshire was guarded

by English frigates; and the adventurers were under the necessity of

running up the estuary of the Clyde to Greenock, then a small fishing

village consisting of a single row of thatched hovels, now a great and

flourishing port, of which the customs amount to more than five

times the whole revenue which the Stuarts derived from the kingdom of

Scotland. A party of militia lay at Greenock: but Cochrane, who

wanted provisions, was determined to land. Hume objected. Cochrane was

peremptory, and ordered an officer, named Elphinstone, to take twenty

men in a boat to the shore. But the wrangling spirit of the leaders had

infected all ranks. Elphinstone answered that he was bound to obey only

reasonable commands, that he considered this command as unreasonable,

and, in short, that he would not go. Major Fullarton, a brave man,

esteemed by all parties, but peculiarly attached to Argyle, undertook to

land with only twelve men, and did so in spite of a fire from the coast.

A slight skirmish followed. The militia fell back. Cochrane entered

Greenock and procured a supply of meal, but found no disposition to

insurrection among the people.

In fact, the state of public feeling in Scotland was not such as the

exiles, misled by the infatuation common in all ages to exiles, had

supposed it to be. The government was, indeed, hateful and hated. But

the malecontents were divided into parties which were almost as hostile

to one another as to their rulers; nor was any of those parties eager to

join the invaders. Many thought that the insurrection had no chance

of success. The spirit of many had been effectually broken by long and

cruel oppression. There was, indeed, a class of enthusiasts who were

little in the habit of calculating chances, and whom oppression had not

tamed but maddened. But these men saw little difference between Argyle

and James. Their wrath had been heated to such a temperature that what

everybody else would have called boiling zeal seemed to them Laodicean

lukewarmness. The Earl's past life had been stained by what they

regarded as the vilest apostasy. The very Highlanders whom he now

summoned to extirpate Prelacy he had a few years before summoned to

defend it. And were slaves who knew nothing and cared nothing about

religion, who were ready to fight for synodical government, for

Episcopacy, for Popery, just as Mac Callum More might be pleased to

command, fit allies for the people of God? The manifesto, indecent

and intolerant as was its tone, was, in the view of these fanatics, a

cowardly and worldly performance. A settlement such as Argyle would have

made, such as was afterwards made by a mightier and happier deliverer,

seemed to them not worth a struggle. They wanted not only freedom of

conscience for themselves, but absolute dominion over the consciences of

others; not only the Presbyterian doctrine, polity, and worship, but the

Covenant in its utmost rigour. Nothing would content them but that

every end for which civil society exists should be sacrificed to the

ascendency of a theological system. One who believed no form of

church government to be worth a breach of Christian charity, and who

recommended comprehension and toleration, was in their phrase, halting

between Jehovah and Baal. One who condemned such acts as the murder of

Cardinal Beatoun and Archbishop Sharpe fell into the same sin for which

Saul had been rejected from being King over Israel. All the rules,

by which, among civilised and Christian men, the horrors of war are

mitigated, were abominations in the sight of the Lord. Quarter was to be

neither taken nor given. A Malay running a muck, a mad dog pursued by

a crowd, were the models to be imitated by warriors fighting in just

self-defence. To reasons such as guide the conduct of statesmen and

generals the minds of these zealots were absolutely impervious. That a

man should venture to urge such reasons was sufficient evidence that

he was not one of the faithful. If the divine blessing were withheld,

little would be effected by crafty politicians, by veteran captains, by

cases of arms from Holland, or by regiments of unregenerate Celts from

the mountains of Lorn. If, on the other hand, the Lord's time were

indeed come, he could still, as of old, cause the foolish things of the

world to confound the wise, and could save alike by many and by few.

The broadswords of Athol and the bayonets of Claverhouse would be put to

rout by weapons as insignificant as the sling of David or the pitcher of

Gideon. [348]

Cochrane, having found it impossible to raise the population on the

south of the Clyde, rejoined Argyle, who was in the island of Bute.

The Earl now again proposed to make an attempt upon Inverary. Again he

encountered a pertinacious opposition. The seamen sided with Hume

and Cochrane. The Highlanders were absolutely at the command of their

chieftain. There was reason to fear that the two parties would come to

blows; and the dread of such a disaster induced the Committee to make

some concession. The castle of Ealan Ghierig, situated at the mouth of

Loch Riddan, was selected to be the chief place of arms. The military

stores were disembarked there. The squadron was moored close to the

walls in a place where it was protected by rocks and shallows such

as, it was thought, no frigate could pass. Outworks were thrown up.

A battery was planted with some small guns taken from the ships. The

command of the fort was most unwisely given to Elphinstone, who had

already proved himself much more disposed to argue with his commanders

than to fight the enemy.

And now, during a few hours, there was some show of vigour. Rumbold took

the castle of Ardkinglass. The Earl skirmished successfully with Athol's

troops, and was about to advance on Inverary, when alarming news from

the ships and factions in the Committee forced him to turn back. The

King's frigates had come nearer to Ealan Ghierig than had been thought

possible. The Lowland gentlemen positively refused to advance further

into the Highlands. Argyle hastened back to Ealan Ghierig. There he

proposed to make an attack on the frigates. His ships, indeed, were ill

fitted for such an encounter. But they would have been supported by

a flotilla of thirty large fishing boats, each well manned with armed

Highlanders. The Committee, however, refused to listen to this plan, and

effectually counteracted it by raising a mutiny among the sailors.

All was now confusion and despondency. The provisions had been so ill

managed by the Committee that there was no longer food for the troops.

The Highlanders consequently deserted by hundreds; and the Earl,

brokenhearted by his misfortunes, yielded to the urgency of those who

still pertinaciously insisted that he should march into the Lowlands.

The little army therefore hastened to the shore of Loch Long, passed

that inlet by night in boats, and landed in Dumbartonshire. Hither, on

the following morning, came news that the frigates had forced a passage,

that all the Earl's ships had been taken, and that Elphinstone had fled

from Ealan Ghierig without a blow, leaving the castle and stores to the

enemy.

All that remained was to invade the Lowlands under every disadvantage.

Argyle resolved to make a bold push for Glasgow. But, as soon as this

resolution was announced, the very men, who had, up to that moment,

been urging him to hasten into the low country, took fright, argued,

remonstrated, and when argument and remonstrance proved vain, laid a

scheme for seizing the boats, making their own escape, and leaving

their General and his clansmen to conquer or perish unaided. This scheme

failed; and the poltroons who had formed it were compelled to share with

braver men the risks of the last venture.

During the march through the country which lies between Loch Long and

Loch Lomond, the insurgents were constantly infested by parties

of militia. Some skirmishes took place, in which the Earl had the

advantage; but the bands which he repelled, falling back before him,

spread the tidings of his approach, and, soon after he had crossed the

river Leven, he found a strong body of regular and irregular troops

prepared to encounter him.

He was for giving battle. Ayloffe was of the same opinion. Hume, on the

other hand, declared that to fight would be madness. He saw one regiment

in scarlet. More might be behind. To attack such a force was to rush on

certain death The best course was to remain quiet till night, and then

to give the enemy the slip.

A sharp altercation followed, which was with difficulty quieted by the

mediation of Rumbold. It was now evening. The hostile armies encamped at

no great distance from each other. The Earl ventured to propose a night

attack, and was again overruled.

Since it was determined not to fight, nothing was left but to take the

step which Hume had recommended. There was a chance that, by decamping

secretly, and hastening all night across heaths and morasses, the Earl

might gain many miles on the enemy, and might reach Glasgow without

further obstruction. The watch fires were left burning; and the march

began. And now disaster followed disaster fast. The guides mistook the

track across the moors, and led the army into boggy ground. Military

order could not be preserved by undisciplined and disheartened soldiers

under a dark sky, and on a treacherous and uneven soil. Panic after

panic spread through the broken ranks. Every sight and sound was thought

to indicate the approach of pursuers. Some of the officers contributed

to spread the terror which it was their duty to calm. The army had

become a mob; and the mob melted fast away. Great numbers fled under

cover of the night. Rumbold and a few other brave men whom no danger

could have scared lost their way, and were unable to rejoin the main

body. When the day broke, only five hundred fugitives, wearied and

dispirited, assembled at Kilpatrick.

All thought of prosecuting the war was at an end: and it was plain

that the chiefs of the expedition would have sufficient difficulty

in escaping with their lives. They fled in different directions. Hume

reached the Continent in safety. Cochrane was taken and sent up to

London. Argyle hoped to find a secure asylum under the roof of one

of his old servants who lived near Kilpatrick. But this hope was

disappointed; and he was forced to cross the Clyde. He assumed the dress

of a peasant and pretended to be the guide of Major Fullarton, whose

courageous fidelity was proof to all danger. The friends journeyed

together through Renfrewshire as far as Inchinnan. At that place the

Black Cart and the White Cart, two streams which now flow through

prosperous towns, and turn the wheels of many factories, but which then

held their quiet course through moors and sheepwalks, mingle before they

join the Clyde. The only ford by which the travellers could cross was

guarded by a party of militia. Some questions were asked. Fullarton

tried to draw suspicion on himself, in order that his companion might

escape unnoticed. But the minds of the questioners misgave them that the

guide was not the rude clown that he seemed. They laid hands on him.

He broke loose and sprang into the water, but was instantly chased. He

stood at bay for a short time against five assailants. But he had no

arms except his pocket pistols, and they were so wet, in consequence of

his plunge, that they would not go off. He was struck to the ground with

a broadsword, and secured.

He owned himself to be the Earl of Argyle, probably in the hope that his

great name would excite the awe and pity of those who had seized him.

And indeed they were much moved. For they were plain Scotchmen of humble

rank, and, though in arms for the crown, probably cherished a preference

for the Calvinistic church government and worship, and had been

accustomed to reverence their captive as the head of an illustrious

house and as a champion of the Protestant religion But, though they

were evidently touched, and though some of them even wept, they were not

disposed to relinquish a large reward and to incur the vengeance of

an implacable government. They therefore conveyed their prisoner

to Renfrew. The man who bore the chief part in the arrest was named

Riddell. On this account the whole race of Riddells was, during more

than a century, held in abhorrence by the great tribe of Campbell.

Within living memory, when a Riddell visited a fair in Argyleshire, he

found it necessary to assume a false name.

And now commenced the brightest part of Argyle's career. His enterprise

had hitherto brought on him nothing but reproach and derision. His great

error was that he did not resolutely refuse to accept the name without

the power of a general. Had he remained quietly at his retreat in

Friesland, he would in a few years have been recalled with honour to

his country, and would have been conspicuous among the ornaments and

the props of constitutional monarchy. Had he conducted his expedition

according to his own views, and carried with him no followers but such

as were prepared implicitly to obey all his orders, he might possibly

have effected something great. For what he wanted as a captain seems to

have been, not courage, nor activity, nor skill, but simply authority.

He should have known that of all wants this is the most fatal.

Armies have triumphed under leaders who possessed no very eminent

qualifications. But what army commanded by a debating club ever escaped

discomfiture and disgrace?

The great calamity which had fallen on Argyle had this advantage, that

it enabled him to show, by proofs not to be mistaken, what manner of

man he was. From the day when he quitted. Friesland to the day when his

followers separated at Kilpatrick, he had never been a free agent. He

had borne the responsibility of a long series of measures which his

judgment disapproved. Now at length he stood alone. Captivity had

restored to him the noblest kind of liberty, the liberty of governing

himself in all his words and actions according to his own sense of the

right and of the becoming. From that moment he became as one inspired

with new wisdom and virtue. His intellect seemed to be strengthened and

concentrated, his moral character to be at once elevated and softened.

The insolence of the conquerors spared nothing that could try the temper

of a man proud of ancient nobility and of patriarchal dominion. The

prisoner was dragged through Edinburgh in triumph. He walked on

foot, bareheaded, up the whole length of that stately street which,

overshadowed by dark and gigantic piles of stone, leads from Holyrood

House to the Castle. Before him marched the hangman, bearing the ghastly

instrument which was to be used at the quartering block. The victorious

party had not forgotten that, thirty-five years before this time, the

father of Argyle had been at the head of the faction which put Montrose

to death. Before that event the houses of Graham and Campbell had borne

no love to each other; and they had ever since been at deadly feud. Care

was taken that the prisoner should pass through the same gate and the

same streets through which Montrose had been led to the same doom. [349]

When the Earl reached the Castle his legs were put in irons, and he was

informed that he had but a few days to live. It had been determined not

to bring him to trial for his recent offence, but to put him to death

under the sentence pronounced against him several years before, a

sentence so flagitiously unjust that the most servile and obdurate

lawyers of that bad age could not speak of it without shame.

But neither the ignominious procession up the High Street, nor the near

view of death, had power to disturb the gentle and majestic patience of

Argyle. His fortitude was tried by a still more severe test. A paper of

interrogatories was laid before him by order of the Privy Council. He

replied to those questions to which he could reply without danger to

any of his friends, and refused to say more. He was told that unless he

returned fuller answers he should be put to the torture. James, who was

doubtless sorry that he could not feast his own eyes with the sight of

Argyle in the boots, sent down to Edinburgh positive orders that nothing

should be omitted which could wring out of the traitor information

against all who had been concerned in the treason. But menaces were

vain. With torments and death in immediate prospect Mac Callum More

thought far less of himself than of his poor clansmen. "I was busy this

day," he wrote from his cell, "treating for them, and in some hopes. But

this evening orders came that I must die upon Monday or Tuesday; and I

am to be put to the torture if I answer not all questions upon oath. Yet

I hope God shall support me."

The torture was not inflicted. Perhaps the magnanimity of the victim had

moved the conquerors to unwonted compassion. He himself remarked that at

first they had been very harsh to him, but that they soon began to treat

him with respect and kindness. God, he said, had melted their hearts. It

is certain that he did not, to save himself from the utmost cruelty of

his enemies, betray any of his friends. On the last morning of his life

he wrote these words: "I have named none to their disadvantage. I thank

God he hath supported me wonderfully!"

He composed his own epitaph, a short poem, full of meaning and spirit,

simple and forcible in style, and not contemptible in versification. In

this little piece he complained that, though his enemies had repeatedly

decreed his death, his friends had been still more cruel. A comment on

these expressions is to be found in a letter which he addressed to a

lady residing in Holland. She had furnished him with a large sum

of money for his expedition, and he thought her entitled to a full

explanation of the causes which had led to his failure. He acquitted his

coadjutors of treachery, but described their folly, their ignorance,

and their factious perverseness, in terms which their own testimony has

since proved to have been richly deserved. He afterwards doubted whether

he had not used language too severe to become a dying Christian, and,

in a separate paper, begged his friend to suppress what he had said of

these men "Only this I must acknowledge," he mildly added; "they were

not governable."

Most of his few remaining hours were passed in devotion, and in

affectionate intercourse with some members of his family. He professed

no repentance on account of his last enterprise, but bewailed, with

great emotion, his former compliance in spiritual things with the

pleasure of the government He had, he said, been justly punished. One

who had so long been guilty of cowardice and dissimulation was not

worthy to be the instrument of salvation to the State and Church. Yet

the cause, he frequently repeated, was the cause of God, and would

assuredly triumph. "I do not," he said, "take on myself to be a prophet.

But I have a strong impression on my spirit, that deliverance will come

very suddenly." It is not strange that some zealous Presbyterians should

have laid up his saying in their hearts, and should, at a later period,

have attributed it to divine inspiration.

So effectually had religious faith and hope, co-operating with natural

courage and equanimity, composed his spirits, that, on the very day on

which he was to die, he dined with appetite, conversed with gaiety at

table, and, after his last meal, lay down, as he was wont, to take a

short slumber, in order that his body and mind might be in full vigour

when he should mount the scaffold. At this time one of the Lords of the

Council, who had probably been bred a Presbyterian, and had been seduced

by interest to join in oppressing the Church of which he had once been

a member, came to the Castle with a message from his brethren, and

demanded admittance to the Earl. It was answered that the Earl was

asleep. The Privy Councillor thought that this was a subterfuge, and

insisted on entering. The door of the cell was softly opened; and there

lay Argyle, on the bed, sleeping, in his irons, the placid sleep of

infancy. The conscience of the renegade smote him. He turned away sick

at heart, ran out of the Castle, and took refuge in the dwelling of a

lady of his family who lived hard by. There he flung himself on a couch,

and gave himself up to an agony of remorse and shame. His kinswoman,

alarmed by his looks and groans, thought that he had been taken with

sudden illness, and begged him to drink a cup of sack. "No, no," he

said; "that will do me no good." She prayed him to tell her what had

disturbed him. "I have been," he said, "in Argyle's prison. I have seen

him within an hour of eternity, sleeping as sweetly as ever man did. But

as for me -------"

And now the Earl had risen from his bed, and had prepared himself for

what was yet to be endured. He was first brought down the High Street

to the Council House, where he was to remain during the short interval

which was still to elapse before the execution. During that interval

he asked for pen and ink, and wrote to his wife: "Dear heart, God is

unchangeable: He hath always been good and gracious to me: and no place

alters it. Forgive me all my faults; and now comfort thyself in Him, in

whom only true comfort is to be found. The Lord be with thee, bless and

comfort thee, my dearest. Adieu."

It was now time to leave the Council House. The divines who attended the

prisoner were not of his own persuasion; but he listened to them with

civility, and exhorted them to caution their flocks against those

doctrines which all Protestant churches unite in condemning. He mounted

the scaffold, where the rude old guillotine of Scotland, called the

Maiden, awaited him, and addressed the people in a speech, tinctured

with the peculiar phraseology of his sect, but breathing the spirit

of serene piety. His enemies, he said, he forgave, as he hoped to be

forgiven. Only a single acrimonious expression escaped him. One of the

episcopal clergymen who attended him went to the edge of the scaffold,

and called out in a loud voice, "My Lord dies a Protestant." "Yes," said

the Earl, stepping forward, "and not only a Protestant, but with a heart

hatred of Popery, of Prelacy, and of all superstition." He then embraced

his friends, put into their hands some tokens of remembrance for his

wife and children, kneeled down, laid his head on the block, prayed

during a few minutes, and gave the signal to the executioner. His head

was fixed on the top of the Tolbooth, where the head of Montrose had

formerly decayed. [350]

The head of the brave and sincere, though not blameless Rumbold, was

already on the West Port of Edinburgh. Surrounded by factious and

cowardly associates, he had, through the whole campaign, behaved himself

like a soldier trained in the school of the great Protector, had in

council strenuously supported the authority of Argyle, and had in the

field been distinguished by tranquil intrepidity. After the dispersion

of the army he was set upon by a party of militia. He defended himself

desperately, and would have cut his way through them, had they not

hamstringed his horse. He was brought to Edinburgh mortally wounded. The

wish of the government was that he should be executed in England. But he

was so near death, that, if he was not hanged in Scotland, he could

not be hanged at all; and the pleasure of hanging him was one which the

conquerors could not bear to forego. It was indeed not to be expected

that they would show much lenity to one who was regarded as the chief

of the Rye House plot, and who was the owner of the building from which

that plot took its name: but the insolence with which they treated the

dying man seems to our more humane age almost incredible. One of the

Scotch Privy Councillors told him that he was a confounded villain.

"I am at peace with God," answered Rumbold, calmly; "how then can I be

confounded?"

He was hastily tried, convicted, and sentenced to be hanged and

quartered within a few hours, near the City Cross in the High Street.

Though unable to stand without the support of two men, he maintained

his fortitude to the last, and under the gibbet raised his feeble voice

against Popery and tyranny with such vehemence that the officers ordered

the drums to strike up, lest the people should hear him. He was a

friend, he said, to limited monarchy. But he never would believe that

Providence had sent a few men into the world ready booted and spurred to

ride, and millions ready saddled and bridled to be ridden. "I desire,"

he cried, "to bless and magnify God's holy name for this, that I stand

here, not for any wrong that I have done, but for adhering to his cause

in an evil day. If every hair of my head were a man, in this quarrel I

would venture them all."

Both at his trial and at his execution he spoke of assassination with

the abhorrence which became a good Christian and a brave soldier. He had

never, he protested, on the faith of a dying man, harboured the thought

of committing such villany. But he frankly owned that, in conversation

with his fellow conspirators, he had mentioned his own house as a place

where Charles and James might with advantage be attacked, and that much

had been said on the subject, though nothing had been determined. It may

at first sight seem that this acknowledgment is inconsistent with his

declaration that he had always regarded assassination with horror. But

the truth appears to be that he was imposed upon by a distinction which

deluded many of his contemporaries. Nothing would have induced him to

put poison into the food of the two princes, or to poinard them in their

sleep. But to make an unexpected onset on the troop of Life Guards which

surrounded the royal coach, to exchange sword cuts and pistol shots,

and to take the chance of slaying or of being slain, was, in his view,

a lawful military operation. Ambuscades and surprises were among the

ordinary incidents of war. Every old soldier, Cavalier or Roundhead,

had been engaged in such enterprises. If in the skirmish the King should

fall, he would fall by fair fighting and not by murder. Precisely the

same reasoning was employed, after the Revolution, by James himself and

by some of his most devoted followers, to justify a wicked attempt on

the life of William the Third. A band of Jacobites was commissioned to

attack the Prince of Orange in his winter quarters. The meaning latent

under this specious phrase was that the Prince's throat was to be cut

as he went in his coach from Richmond to Kensington. It may seem strange

that such fallacies, the dregs of the Jesuitical casuistry, should have

had power to seduce men of heroic spirit, both Whigs and Tories, into a

crime on which divine and human laws have justly set a peculiar note of

infamy. But no sophism is too gross to delude minds distempered by party

spirit. [351]

Argyle, who survived Rumbold a few hours, left a dying testimony to the

virtues of the gallant Englishman. "Poor Rumbold was a great support to

me, and a brave man, and died Christianly." [352]

Ayloffe showed as much contempt of death as either Argyle or Rumbold:

but his end did not, like theirs, edify pious minds. Though political

sympathy had drawn him towards the Puritans, he had no religious

sympathy with them, and was indeed regarded by them as little better

than an atheist. He belonged to that section of the Whigs which sought

for models rather among the patriots of Greece and Rome than among the

prophets and judges of Israel. He was taken prisoner, and carried to

Glasgow. There he attempted to destroy himself with a small penknife:

but though he gave himself several wounds, none of them proved mortal,

and he had strength enough left to bear a journey to London. He was

brought before the Privy Council, and interrogated by the King, but had

too much elevation of mind to save himself by informing against others.

A story was current among the Whigs that the King said, "You had better

be frank with me, Mr. Ayloffe. You know that it is in my power to pardon

you." Then, it was rumoured, the captive broke his sullen silence, and

answered, "It may be in your power; but it is not in your nature." He

was executed under his old outlawry before the gate of the Temple, and

died with stoical composure. [353]

In the meantime the vengeance of the conquerors was mercilessly wreaked

on the people of Argyleshire. Many of the Campbells were hanged by Athol

without a trial; and he was with difficulty restrained by the Privy

Council from taking more lives. The country to the extent of thirty

miles round Inverary was wasted. Houses were burned: the stones of mills

were broken to pieces: fruit trees were cut down, and the very roots

seared with fire. The nets and fishing boats, the sole means by which

many inhabitants of the coast subsisted, were destroyed. More than three

hundred rebels and malecontents were transported to the colonies. Many

of them were also Sentenced to mutilation. On a single day the hangman

of Edinburgh cut off the ears of thirty-five prisoners. Several women

were sent across the Atlantic after being first branded in the cheek

with a hot iron. It was even in contemplation to obtain an act of

Parliament proscribing the name of Campbell, as the name of Macgregor

had been proscribed eighty years before. [354]

Argyle's expedition appears to have produced little sensation in the

south of the island. The tidings of his landing reached London just

before the English Parliament met. The King mentioned the news from the

throne; and the Houses assured him that they would stand by him against

every enemy. Nothing more was required of them. Over Scotland they had

no authority; and a war of which the theatre was so distant, and of

which the event might, almost from the first, be easily foreseen,

excited only a languid interest in London.

But, a week before the final dispersion of Argyle's army England was

agitated by the news that a more formidable invader had landed on her

own shores. It had been agreed among the refugees that Monmouth should

sail from Holland six days after the departure of the Scots. He had

deferred his expedition a short time, probably in the hope that most

of the troops in the south of the island would be moved to the north as

soon as war broke out in the Highlands, and that he should find no force

ready to oppose him. When at length he was desirous to proceed, the wind

had become adverse and violent.

While his small fleet lay tossing in the Texel, a contest was going on

among the Dutch authorities. The States General and the Prince of Orange

were on one side, the Town Council and Admiralty of Amsterdam on the

other.

Skelton had delivered to the States General a list of the refugees whose

residence in the United Provinces caused uneasiness to his master. The

States General, anxious to grant every reasonable request which James

could make, sent copies of the list to the provincial authorities. The

provincial authorities sent copies to the municipal authorities. The

magistrates of all the towns were directed to take such measures

as might prevent the proscribed Whigs from molesting the English

government. In general those directions were obeyed. At Rotterdam

in particular, where the influence of William was all powerful, such

activity was shown as called forth warm acknowledgments from James. But

Amsterdam was the chief seat of the emigrants; and the governing body

of Amsterdam would see nothing, hear nothing, know of nothing. The

High Bailiff of the city, who was himself in daily communication with

Ferguson, reported to the Hague that he did not know where to find a

single one of the refugees; and with this excuse the federal government

was forced to be content. The truth was that the English exiles were

as well known at Amsterdam, and as much stared at in the streets, as if

they had been Chinese. [355]

A few days later, Skelton received orders from his Court to request

that, in consequence of the dangers which threatened his master's

throne, the three Scotch regiments in the service of the United

Provinces might be sent to Great Britain without delay. He applied to

the Prince of Orange; and the prince undertook to manage the matter,

but predicted that Amsterdam would raise some difficulty. The prediction

proved correct. The deputies of Amsterdam refused to consent, and

succeeded in causing some delay. But the question was not one of those

on which, by the constitution of the republic, a single city could

prevent the wish of the majority from being carried into effect. The

influence of William prevailed; and the troops were embarked with great

expedition. [356]

Skelton was at the same time exerting himself, not indeed very

judiciously or temperately, to stop the ships which the English refugees

had fitted out. He expostulated in warm terms with the Admiralty of

Amsterdam. The negligence of that board, he said, had already enabled

one band of rebels to invade Britain. For a second error of the same

kind there could be no excuse. He peremptorily demanded that a large

vessel, named the Helderenbergh, might be detained. It was pretended

that this vessel was bound for the Canaries. But in truth, she had been

freighted by Monmouth, carried twenty-six guns, and was loaded with arms

and ammunition. The Admiralty of Amsterdam replied that the liberty of

trade and navigation was not to be restrained for light reasons, and

that the Helderenbergh could not be stopped without an order from the

States General. Skelton, whose uniform practice seems to have been to

begin at the wrong end, now had recourse to the States General.

The States General gave the necessary orders. Then the Admiralty of

Amsterdam pretended that there was not a sufficient naval force in

the Texel to seize so large a ship as the Helderenbergh, and suffered

Monmouth to sail unmolested. [357]

The weather was bad: the voyage was long; and several English men-of-war

were cruising in the channel. But Monmouth escaped both the sea and

the enemy. As he passed by the cliffs of Dorsetshire, it was thought

desirable to send a boat to the beach with one of the refugees named

Thomas Dare. This man, though of low mind and manners, had great

influence at Taunton. He was directed to hasten thither across the

country, and to apprise his friends that Monmouth would soon be on

English ground. [358]

On the morning of the eleventh of June the Helderenbergh, accompanied by

two smaller vessels, appeared off the port of Lyme. That town is a

small knot of steep and narrow alleys, lying on a coast wild, rocky, and

beaten by a stormy sea. The place was then chiefly remarkable for a pier

which, in the days of the Plantagenets, had been constructed of stones,

unhewn and uncemented. This ancient work, known by the name of the Cob,

enclosed the only haven where, in a space of many miles, the fishermen

could take refuge from the tempests of the Channel.

The appearance of the three ships, foreign built and without colours,

perplexed the inhabitants of Lyme; and the uneasiness increased when it

was found that the Customhouse officers, who had gone on board according

to usage, did not return. The town's people repaired to the cliffs, and

gazed long and anxiously, but could find no solution of the mystery. At

length seven boats put off from the largest of the strange vessels, and

rowed to the shore. From these boats landed about eighty men, well armed

and appointed. Among them were Monmouth, Grey, Fletcher, Ferguson, Wade,

and Anthony Buyse, an officer who had been in the service of the Elector

of Brandenburg. [359]

Monmouth commanded silence, kneeled down on the shore, thanked God

for having preserved the friends of liberty and pure religion from the

perils of the sea, and implored the divine blessing on what was yet to

be done by land. He then drew his sword, and led his men over the cliffs

into the town.

As soon as it was known under what leader and for what purpose the

expedition came, the enthusiasm of the populace burst through all

restraints. The little town was in an uproar with men running to and

fro, and shouting "A Monmouth! a Monmouth! the Protestant religion!"

Meanwhile the ensign of the adventurers, a blue flag, was set up in the

marketplace. The military stores were deposited in the town hall; and

a Declaration setting forth the objects of the expedition was read from

the Cross. [360]

This Declaration, the masterpiece of Ferguson's genius, was not a grave

manifesto such as ought to be put forth by a leader drawing the sword

for a great public cause, but a libel of the lowest class, both in

sentiment and language. [361] It contained undoubtedly many just charges

against the government. But these charges were set forth in the prolix

and inflated style of a bad pamphlet; and the paper contained other

charges of which the whole disgrace falls on those who made them. The

Duke of York, it was positively affirmed, had burned down London, had

strangled Godfrey, had cut the throat of Essex, and had poisoned the

late King. On account of those villanous and unnatural crimes, but

chiefly of that execrable fact, the late horrible and barbarous

parricide,--such was the copiousness and such the felicity of Ferguson's

diction,--James was declared a mortal and bloody enemy, a tyrant, a

murderer, and an usurper. No treaty should be made with him. The sword

should not be sheathed till he had been brought to condign punishment as

a traitor. The government should be settled on principles favourable

to liberty. All Protestant sects should be tolerated. The forfeited

charters should be restored. Parliament should be held annually, and

should no longer be prorogued or dissolved by royal caprice. The only

standing force should be the militia: the militia should be commanded

by the Sheriffs; and the Sheriffs should be chosen by the freeholders.

Finally Monmouth declared that he could prove himself to have been born

in lawful wedlock, and to be, by right of blood, King of England, but

that, for the present, he waived his claims, that he would leave them to

the judgment of a free Parliament, and that, in the meantime, he desired

to be considered only as the Captain General of the English Protestants,

who were in arms against tyranny and Popery.

Disgraceful as this manifesto was to those who put it forth, it was not

unskilfully framed for the purpose of stimulating the passions of the

vulgar. In the West the effect was great. The gentry and clergy of

that part of England were indeed, with few exceptions, Tories. But the

yeomen, the traders of the towns, the peasants, and the artisans were

generally animated by the old Roundhead spirit. Many of them were

Dissenters, and had been goaded by petty persecution into a temper fit

for desperate enterprise. The great mass of the population abhorred

Popery and adored Monmouth. He was no stranger to them. His progress

through Somersetshire and Devonshire in the summer of 1680 was still

fresh in the memory of all men.

He was on that occasion sumptuously entertained by Thomas Thynne at

Longleat Hall, then, and perhaps still, the most magnificent country

house in England. From Longleat to Exeter the hedges were lined with

shouting spectators. The roads were strewn with boughs and flowers. The

multitude, in their eagerness to see and touch their favourite, broke

down the palings of parks, and besieged the mansions where he was

feasted. When he reached Chard his escort consisted of five thousand

horsemen. At Exeter all Devonshire had been gathered together to welcome

him. One striking part of the show was a company of nine hundred young

men who, clad in a white uniform, marched before him into the city.

[362] The turn of fortune which had alienated the gentry from his cause

had produced no effect on the common people. To them he was still the

good Duke, the Protestant Duke, the rightful heir whom a vile conspiracy

kept out of his own. They came to his standard in crowds. All the

clerks whom he could employ were too few to take down the names of the

recruits. Before he had been twenty-four hours on English ground he was

at the head of fifteen hundred men. Dare arrived from Taunton with

forty horsemen of no very martial appearance, and brought encouraging

intelligence as to the state of public feeling in Somersetshire. As Yet

all seemed to promise well. [363]

But a force was collecting at Bridport to oppose the insurgents. On the

thirteenth of June the red regiment of Dorsetshire militia came pouring

into that town. The Somersetshire, or yellow regiment, of which Sir

William Portman, a Tory gentleman of great note, was Colonel, was

expected to arrive on the following day. [364] The Duke determined to

strike an immediate blow. A detachment of his troops was preparing to

march to Bridport when a disastrous event threw the whole camp into

confusion.

Fletcher of Saltoun had been appointed to command the cavalry under

Grey. Fletcher was ill mounted; and indeed there were few chargers in

the camp which had not been taken from the plough. When he was ordered

to Bridport, he thought that the exigency of the case warranted him in

borrowing, without asking permission, a fine horse belonging to Dare.

Dare resented this liberty, and assailed Fletcher with gross abuse.

Fletcher kept his temper better than any one who knew him expected. At

last Dare, presuming on the patience with which his insolence had been

endured, ventured to shake a switch at the high born and high spirited

Scot Fletcher's blood boiled. He drew a pistol and shot Dare dead.

Such sudden and violent revenge would not have been thought strange in

Scotland, where the law had always been weak, where he who did not right

himself by the strong hand was not likely to be righted at all, and

where, consequently, human life was held almost as cheap as in the worst

governed provinces of Italy. But the people of the southern part of the

island were not accustomed to see deadly weapons used and blood spilled

on account of a rude word or gesture, except in duel between gentlemen

with equal arms. There was a general cry for vengeance on the foreigner

who had murdered an Englishman. Monmouth could not resist the clamour.

Fletcher, who, when his first burst of rage had spent itself, was

overwhelmed with remorse and sorrow, took refuge on board of the

Helderenbergh, escaped to the Continent, and repaired to Hungary, where

he fought bravely against the common enemy of Christendom. [365]

Situated as the insurgents were, the loss of a man of parts and energy

was not easily to be repaired. Early on the morning of the following

day, the fourteenth of June, Grey, accompanied by Wade, marched with

about five hundred men to attack Bridport. A confused and indecisive

action took place, such as was to be expected when two bands of

ploughmen, officered by country gentlemen and barristers, were opposed

to each other. For a time Monmouth's men drove the militia before them.

Then the militia made a stand, and Monmouth's men retreated in some

confusion. Grey and his cavalry never stopped till they were safe at

Lyme again: but Wade rallied the infantry and brought them off in good

order. [366]

There was a violent outcry against Grey; and some of the adventurers

pressed Monmouth to take a severe course. Monmouth, however, would not

listen to this advice. His lenity has been attributed by some writers

to his good nature, which undoubtedly often amounted to weakness. Others

have supposed that he was unwilling to deal harshly with the only peer

who served in his army. It is probable, however, that the Duke, who,

though not a general of the highest order, understood war very much

better than the preachers and lawyers who were always obtruding their

advice on him, made allowances which people altogether inexpert in

military affairs never thought of making. In justice to a man who has

had few defenders, it must be observed that the task, which, throughout

this campaign, was assigned to Grey, was one which, if he had been the

boldest and most skilful of soldiers, he would scarcely have performed

in such a manner as to gain credit. He was at the head of the cavalry.

It is notorious that a horse soldier requires a longer training than a

foot soldier, and that the war horse requires a longer training than his

rider. Something may be done with a raw infantry which has enthusiasm

and animal courage: but nothing can be more helpless than a raw cavalry,

consisting of yeomen and tradesmen mounted on cart horses and post

horses; and such was the cavalry which Grey commanded. The wonder is,

not that his men did not stand fire with resolution, not that they did

not use their weapons with vigour, but that they were able to keep their

seats.

Still recruits came in by hundreds. Arming and drilling went on all day.

Meantime the news of the insurrection had spread fast and wide. On

the evening on which the Duke landed, Gregory Alford, Mayor of Lyme, a

zealous Tory, and a bitter persecutor of Nonconformists, sent off

his servants to give the alarm to the gentry of Somersetshire and

Dorsetshire, and himself took horse for the West. Late at night he

stopped at Honiton, and thence despatched a few hurried lines to London

with the ill tidings. [367] He then pushed on to Exeter, where he found

Christopher Monk, Duke of Albemarle. This nobleman, the son and heir

of George Monk, the restorer of the Stuarts, was Lord Lieutenant of

Devonshire, and was then holding a muster of militia. Four thousand men

of the trainbands were actually assembled under his command. He seems to

have thought that, with this force, he should be able at once to crush

the rebellion. He therefore marched towards Lyme.

But when, on the afternoon of Monday the fifteenth of June, he reached

Axminster, he found the insurgents drawn up there to encounter him. They

presented a resolute front. Four field pieces were pointed against the

royal troops. The thick hedges, which on each side overhung the narrow

lanes, were lined with musketeers. Albemarle, however, was less alarmed

by the preparations of the enemy than by the spirit which appeared in

his own ranks. Such was Monmouth's popularity among the common people

of Devonshire that, if once the trainbands had caught sight of his well

known face and figure, they would have probably gone over to him in a

body.

Albemarle, therefore, though he had a great superiority of force,

thought it advisable to retreat. The retreat soon became a rout. The

whole country was strewn with the arms and uniforms which the fugitives

had thrown away; and, had Monmouth urged the pursuit with vigour, he

would probably have taken Exeter without a blow. But he was satisfied

with the advantage which he had gained, and thought it desirable that

his recruits should be better trained before they were employed in

any hazardous service. He therefore marched towards Taunton, where he

arrived on the eighteenth of June, exactly a week after his landing.

[368]

The Court and the Parliament had been greatly moved by the news from

the West. At five in the morning of Saturday the thirteenth of June, the

King had received the letter which the Mayor of Lyme had despatched from

Honiton. The Privy Council was instantly called together. Orders were

given that the strength of every company of infantry and of every troop

of cavalry should be increased. Commissions were issued for the levying

of new regiments. Alford's communication was laid before the Lords; and

its substance was communicated to the Commons by a message. The Commons

examined the couriers who had arrived from the West, and instantly

ordered a bill to be brought in for attainting Monmouth of high treason.

Addresses were voted assuring the King that both his peers and his

people were determined to stand by him with life and fortune against

all his enemies. At the next meeting of the Houses they ordered the

Declaration of the rebels to be burned by the hangman, and passed the

bill of attainder through all its stages. That bill received the

royal assent on the same day; and a reward of five thousand pounds was

promised for the apprehension of Monmouth. [369]