did the Stuart line come to an end, but the Protestant religion was finally
established in the kingdom. By the Declaration of Right, upon which their
title rested, it was decreed that after the death of William and Mary no
person holding the Roman Catholic faith should ever be king or queen of
England. Assumption of the throne by a Roman Catholic should release the
people from their allegiance.
William III (William of Orange) was a nephew of James II. He had greatly
distinguished himself as leader of the Dutch against the invasions of Louis
XIV, when the English people, tired of the tyranny of James II, and also
fearing that he might be succeeded by a Catholic, decided to choose a
Protestant for their sovereign. William was married (1677) to Mary, eldest
child of James II. Could they have been sure that she would succeed her
father, the English people would gladly have had Mary for their sole ruler,
though European interests demanded the elevation to larger power of
the Prince of Orange as the great antagonist of Louis XIV. William was
accordingly invited to take possession of the English throne conjointly
with Mary. The Prince of Orange landed at Torbay, November 5, 1688.
This revolution, one of the least violent in all history, is best described
by Bishop Burnet, who accompanied William of Orange from Holland to
England, and in 1689 was made Bishop of Salisbury. He is not less eminent
as the historian of his time than as a theologian and prelate of the
English Church.
Having made his preparations for sailing, William was annoyed by many
delays occasioned by the hesitation of his subordinates. Traill's account
of the convention which William summoned for settlement of the crown, gives
in a wholly modern way the particulars of the formal accession of William
and Mary.
GILBERT BURNET
All this while the men-of-war were still riding at sea, it being a
continued storm for some weeks. The Prince[1] sent out several advice-boats
with orders to them to come in. But they could not come up to them. On
October 27th there was for six hours together a most dreadful storm; so
that there were few among us that did not conclude that the best part of
the fleet, and by consequence that the whole design, were lost. Many that
have passed for heroes yet showed then the agonies of fear in their looks
and whole deportment. The Prince still retained his usual calmness, and
the same tranquillity of spirit that I had observed in him in his happiest
days. On the 28th it calmed a little, and our fleet came all in, to our
great joy. The rudder of one third-rate was broken; and that was all the
hurt that the storm had done. At last the much-longed-for east wind came.
And so hard a thing it was to set so vast a body in motion that two days of
this wind were lost before all could be quite ready.
[Footnote 1: William of Orange.]
On November 1 (O.S.), we sailed out with the evening tide, but made little
way that night, that so our fleet might come out and move in order. We
tried next day till noon if it were possible to sail northward, but the
wind was so strong and full in the east that we could not move that way.
About noon the signal was given to steer westward. This wind not only
diverted us from that unhappy course, but it kept the English fleet in the
river; so that it was not possible for them to come out, though they were
come down as far as to the Gunfleet. By this means we had the sea open to
us, with a fair wind and a safe navigation. On the 3d we passed between
Dover and Calais, and before night came in sight of the Isle of Wight. The
next day, being the day in which the Prince was both born and married, he
fancied if he could land that day it would look auspicious to the army and
animate the soldiers. But we all, who considered that the day following,
being gunpowder-treason day, our landing that day might have a good effect
on the minds of the English nation, were better pleased to see that we
could land no sooner.
Torbay was thought the best place for our great fleet to lie in, and it was
resolved to land the army where it could be best done near it; reckoning
that being at such a distance from London we could provide ourselves with
horses, and put everything in order before the King could march his army
toward us, and that we should lie some time at Exeter for the refreshing of
our men. I was in the ship, with the Prince's other domestics, that went
in the van of the whole fleet. At noon on the 4th, Russel came on board us
with the best of all the English pilots that they had brought over. He gave
him the steering of the ship, and ordered him to be sure to sail so that
next morning we should be short of Dartmouth; for it was intended that some
of the ships should land there, and that the rest should sail into Torbay.
The pilot thought he could not be mistaken in measuring our course, and
believed that he certainly kept within orders, till the morning showed us
we were past Torbay and Dartmouth. The wind, though it had abated much
of its first violence, was yet still full in the east; so now it seemed
necessary for us to sail on to Plymouth, which must have engaged us in a
long and tedious campaign in winter through a very ill country.
Nor were we sure to be received at Plymouth. The Earl of Bath, who was
governor, had sent by Russel a promise to the Prince to come and join him;
yet it was not likely that he would be so forward as to receive us at our
first coming. The delays he made afterward, pretending that he was managing
the garrison, whereas he was indeed staying till he saw how the matter was
likely to be decided, showed us how fatal it had proved, if we had been
forced to sail on to Plymouth. But while Russel was in no small disorder,
after he saw the pilot's error (upon which he bade me go to my prayers, for
all was lost), and as he was ordering the boat to be cleared to go aboard
the Prince, on a sudden, to all our wonder, it calmed a little. And then
the wind turned into the south, and a soft and happy gale of wind carried
in the whole fleet in four hours' time into Torbay. Immediately as many
landed as conveniently could. As soon as the Prince and Marshal Schomberg
got to shore, they were furnished with such horses as the village of
Broxholme could afford, and rode up to view the grounds, which they found
as convenient as could be imagined for the foot in that season. It was not
a cold night; otherwise the soldiers, who had been kept warm aboard, might
have suffered much by it.
As soon as I landed, I made what haste I could to the place where the
Prince was; who took me heartily by the hand, and asked me if I would
not now believe in predestination. I told him I would never forget that
providence of God which had appeared so signally on this occasion.[1] He
was cheerfuller than ordinary. Yet he returned soon to his usual gravity.
The Prince sent for all the fishermen of the place and asked them which was
the properest place for landing his horse, which all apprehended would be a
tedious business and might hold some days. But next morning he was showed
a place, a quarter of a mile below the village, where the ships could be
brought very near the land, against a good shore, and the horses would
not be put to swim above twenty yards. This proved to be so happy for our
landing, though we came to it by mere accident, that if we had ordered the
whole island round to be sounded we could not have found a properer place
for it. There was a dead calm all that morning; and in three hours' time
all our horse were landed, with as much baggage as was necessary till
we got to Exeter. The artillery and heavy baggage were left aboard, and
ordered to Topsham, the seaport to Exeter. All that belonged to us was so
soon and so happily landed that by the next day at noon we were in full
march, and marched four miles that night. We had from thence twenty miles
to Exeter, and we resolved to make haste thither.
[Footnote 1: Light is thrown on this passage by the following curious
account given in M'Cormick's _Life of Carstares_: "Mr. Carstares set out
along with his highness in quality of his domestic chaplain, and went
aboard of his own ship. It is well known that, upon their first setting out
from the coast of Holland, the fleet was in imminent danger by a violent
tempest, which obliged them to put back for a few days. Upon that occasion,
the vessel which carried the Prince and his retinue narrowly escaped
shipwreck, a circumstance which some who were around his person were
disposed to interpret into a bad omen of their success. Among these, Dr.
Burnet happening to observe that it seemed predestined that they should not
set foot on English ground, the Prince said nothing; but, upon stepping
ashore at Torbay, in the hearing of Mr. Carstares, he turned about to Dr.
Burnet, and asked him what he thought of the doctrine of predestination
now?" Cunningham, according to the translation of the Latin MS. of his
_History of England_, says that "Dr. Burnet, who understood but little
of military affairs, asked the Prince of Orange which way he intended to
march, and when? and desired to be employed by him in whatever service
he should think fit. The Prince only asked what he now thought of
predestination? and advised, if he had a mind to be busy, to consult the
canons." The Bishop omits mentioning the proximate cause of the Prince's
question, and says nothing about his declining the offer of his services,
which indeed it is not likely that he did, at least so uncivilly.]
But as we were now happily landed, and marching, we saw new and
unthought-of characters of a favorable providence of God watching over us.
We had no sooner got thus disengaged from our fleet than a new and great
storm blew from the west; from which our fleet, being covered by the land,
could receive no prejudice; but the King's fleet had got out as the wind
calmed, and in pursuit of us was come as far as the Isle of Wight, when
this contrary wind turned upon them. They tried what they could to pursue
us; but they were so shattered by some days of this storm that they were
forced to go into Portsmouth, and were no more fit for service that year.
This was a greater happiness than we were then aware of: for Lord Dartmouth
assured me some time after, that, whatever stories we had heard and
believed, either of officers or seamen, he was confident they would all
have fought very heartily. But now, by the immediate hand of Heaven, we
were masters of the sea without a blow. I never found a disposition to
superstition in my temper: I was rather inclined to be philosophical upon
all occasions; yet I must confess that this strange ordering of the winds
and seasons just to change as our affairs required it, could not but make
a deep impression on me as well as on all that observed it. Those famous
verses of Claudian seemed to be more applicable to the Prince than to him
they were made on:
"Heaven's favorite, for whom the skies do fight,
And all the winds conspire to guide thee right!"
The Prince made haste to Exeter, where he stayed ten days, both for
refreshing his troops and for giving the country time to show its
affection. Both the clergy and magistrates of Exeter were very fearful and
very backward. The Bishop and the dean ran away. And the clergy stood off,
though they were sent for and very gently spoken to by the Prince. The
truth was, the doctrines of passive obedience and non-resistance had been
carried so far and preached so much that clergymen either could not all
on the sudden get out of that entanglement into which they had by long
thinking and speaking all one way involved themselves, or they were ashamed
to make so quick a turn. Yet care was taken to protect them and their
houses everywhere, so that no sort of violence or rudeness was offered to
any of them. The Prince gave me full authority to do this, and I took so
particular a care of it that we heard of no complaints. The army was kept
under such an exact discipline that everything was paid for where it
was demanded, though the soldiers were contented with such moderate
entertainment that the people generally asked but little for what they did
eat. We stayed a week at Exeter before any of the gentlemen of the country
about came in to the Prince. Every day some persons of condition came from
other parts. The first were Lord Colchester, Mr. Wharton, the eldest sons
of the Earl of Rivers, and Lord Wharton, Mr. Russel, Lord Russel's brother,
and the Earl of Abingdon.
The King came down to Salisbury, and sent his troops twenty miles farther.
Of these, three regiments of horse and dragoons were drawn on by their
officers, Lord Cornbury and Colonel Langston, on design to come over to the
Prince. Advice was sent to the Prince of this. But because these officers
were not sure of their subalterns, the Prince ordered a body of his men to
advance and assist them in case any resistance was made. They were within
twenty miles of Exeter, and within two miles of the body that the Prince
had sent to join them, when a whisper ran about among them that they were
betrayed. Lord Cornbury had not the presence of mind that so critical a
thing required. So they fell in confusion, and many rode back. Yet one
regiment came over in a body, and with them about a hundred of the other
two.
This gave us great courage, and showed us that we had not been deceived in
what was told us of the inclinations of the King's army. Yet, on the other
hand, those who studied to support the King's spirit by flatteries, told
him that in this he saw that he might trust his army, since those who
intended to carry over those regiments were forced to manage it with so
much artifice, and dared not discover their design either to officers or
soldiers, and that as soon as they perceived it the greater part of them
had turned back. The King wanted support; for his spirits sunk extremely.
His blood was in such fermentation that he was bleeding much at the nose,
which returned oft upon him every day. He sent many spies over to us. They
all took his money, and came and joined themselves to the Prince, none of
them returning to him. So that he had no intelligence brought him of what
the Prince was doing but what common reports brought him, which magnified
our numbers and made him think we were coming near him while we were still
at Exeter. He heard that the city of London was very unquiet.
News was brought him that the Earls of Devonshire and Danby, and Lord
Lumley, were drawing great bodies together, and that both York and
Newcastle had declared for the Prince. Lord Delamere had raised a regiment
in Cheshire. And the body of the nation did everywhere discover their
inclinations for the Prince so evidently that the King saw he had nothing
to trust to but his army. And the ill-disposition among them was so
apparent that he reckoned he could not depend on them. So that he lost
both heart and head at once. But that which gave him the last and most
confounding stroke was that Lord Churchill and the Duke of Grafton left him
and came and joined the Prince at Axminster, twenty miles on that side of
Exeter.
After this he could not know on whom he could depend. The Duke of Grafton
was one of King Charles' sons by the Duchess of Cleveland. He had been
some time at sea, and was a gallant but rough man. He had more spirit than
anyone of that spurious race. He made answer to the King, about this time,
that was much talked of. The King took notice of somewhat in his behavior
that looked factious, and he said he was sure he could not pretend to act
upon principles of conscience; for he had been so ill-bred that, as he knew
little of religion, so he regarded it less. But he answered the King that,
though he had little conscience, yet he was of a party that had conscience.
Soon after that, Prince George, the Duke of Ormond, and Lord Drumlanerick,
the Duke of Queensbury's eldest son, left him and came over to the Prince,
and joined him when he was come as far as the Earl of Bristol's house at
Sherburn.
When the news came to London the Princess was so struck with the
apprehensions of the King's displeasure, and of the ill-effects that it
might have, that she said to Lady Churchill that she could not bear the
thoughts of it, and would leap out of window rather than venture on it. The
Bishop of London was then lodged very secretly in Suffolk Street. So Lady
Churchill, who knew where he was, went to him and concerted with him the
method of the Princess' withdrawing from the court. The Princess went
sooner to bed than ordinary. And about midnight she went down a back stairs
from her closet, attended only by Lady Churchill,[1] in such haste that
they carried nothing with them. They were waited for by the Bishop of
London, who carried them to the Earl of Dorset's, whose lady furnished them
with everything, And so they went northward as far as Northampton, where
that Earl attended on them with all respect, and quickly brought a body of
horse to serve for a guard to the Princess. And in a little while a small
army was formed about her, who chose to be commanded by the Bishop of
London, of which he too easily accepted, and was by that exposed to much
censure.
[Footnote 1: And Mrs. Berkeley, afterward Lady Fitzharding. The back stairs
were made a little before for that purpose. The Princess pretended she was
out of order, upon some expostulations that had passed between her and the
Queen, in a visit she received from her that night, therefore said she
would not be disturbed till she rang her bell. Next morning, when her
servants had waited two hours longer than her usual time of rising, they
were afraid something was the matter with her, and finding the bed open,
and her highness gone, they ran screaming to my father's lodgings, which
were the next to hers, and told my mother the Princess was murdered by the
priests; thence they went to the Queen, and old Mistress Buss asked her in
a very rude manner what she had done with her mistress. The Queen answered
her very gravely, she supposed their mistress was where she liked to be,
but did assure them she knew nothing of her, but did not doubt they would
hear of her again very soon. Which gave them little satisfaction, upon
which there was a rumor all over Whitehall that the Queen had made away
with the Princess.--_Dartmouth._]
These things put the King in an inexpressible confusion. He saw himself now
forsaken not only by those whom he had trusted and favored most, but even
by his own children. And the army was in such distraction that there was
not any one body that seemed entirely united and firm to him. A foolish
ballad was made at that time treating the papists, and chiefly the Irish,
in a very ridiculous manner, which had a burden, said to be Irish words,
_lero, lero, lilibulero_, that made an impression on the army that cannot
be well imagined by those who saw it not. The whole army, and at last all
people both in city and country, were singing it perpetually. And perhaps
never had so slight a thing so great an effect.
But now strange counsels were suggested to the King and Queen. The priests
and all the violent papists saw a treaty was now opened. They knew that
they must be the sacrifice. The whole design of popery must be given up,
without any hope of being able in an age to think of bringing it on again.
Severe laws would be made against them. And all those who intended to
stick to the King, and to preserve him, would go into those laws with a
particular zeal; so that they and their hopes must be now given up and
sacrificed forever. They infused all this into the Queen. They said she
would certainly be impeached, and witnesses would be set up against her and
her son; the King's mother had been impeached in the Long Parliament; and
she was to look for nothing but violence. So the Queen took up a sudden
resolution of going to France with the child. The midwife, together with
all who were assisting at the birth, were also carried over, or so disposed
of that it could never be learned what became of them afterward.
The Queen prevailed with the King not only to consent to this, but to
promise to go quickly after her. He was only to stay a day or two after
her, in hope that the shadow of authority that was still left in him might
keep things so quiet that she might have an undisturbed passage. So she
went to Portsmouth. And thence, in a man-of-war, she went over to France,
the King resolving to follow her in disguise. Care was also taken to send
all the priests away. The King stayed long enough to get the Prince's
answer. And when he had read it he said he did not expect so good terms. He
ordered the lord chancellor to come to him next morning. But he had called
secretly for the great seal. And the next morning, being December 10th,
about three in the morning he went away in disguise with Sir Edward Hales,
whose servant he seemed to be. They passed the river, and flung the great
seal into it; which was some months after found by a fisherman near
Foxhall. The King went down to a miserable fisher-boat that Hales had
provided for carrying them over to France.
Thus a great king, who had yet a good army and a strong fleet, did choose
rather to abandon all than either to expose himself to any danger with that
part of the army that was still firm to him or to stay and see the issue of
a parliament. Some put this mean and unaccountable resolution on a want of
courage. Others thought it was the effect of an ill-conscience, and of some
black thing under which he could not now support himself. And they who
censured it the most moderately said that it showed that his priests had
more regard for themselves than for him; and that he considered their
interests more than his own; and that he chose rather to wander abroad with
them and to try what he could do by a French force to subdue his people
than to stay at home and be shut up within the bounds of law, and be
brought under an incapacity of doing more mischief; which they saw was
necessary to quiet those fears and jealousies for which his bad government
had given so much occasion. It seemed very unaccountable, since he was
resolved to go, that he did not choose rather to go in one of his yachts or
frigates than to expose himself in so dangerous and ignominious a manner.
It was not possible to put a good construction on any part of the
dishonorable scene which he then acted.
With this his reign ended: for this was a plain deserting of his people and
exposing the nation to the pillage of an army which he had ordered the Earl
of Feversham to disband. And the doing this without paying them was letting
so many armed men loose upon the nation; who might have done much mischief
if the execution of those orders that he left behind him had not been
stopped. I shall continue the recital of all that passed in this
_interregnum_, till the throne, which he now left empty, was filled.
He was not got far, when some fishermen of Feversham, who were watching
for such priests and other delinquents as they fancied were making their
escape, came up to him. And they, knowing Sir Edward Hales, took both the
King and him, and brought them to Feversham. The King told them who he
was.[1] And that flying about brought a vast crowd together to look on this
astonishing instance of the uncertainty of all worldly greatness, when he
who had ruled three kingdoms and might have been the arbiter of all Europe
was now in such mean hands, and so low an equipage. The people of the town
were extremely disordered with this unlooked-for accident; and, though for
a while they kept him as a prisoner, yet they quickly changed that into
as much respect as they could possibly pay him. Here was an accident that
seemed of no great consequence. Yet all the strugglings which that party
have made ever since that time to this day, which from him were called
afterward the Jacobites, did rise out of this; for if he had got clear
away, by all that could be judged, he would not have had a party left; all
would have agreed that here was a desertion, and that therefore the nation
was free and at liberty to secure itself. But that following upon this gave
them a color to say that he was forced away and driven out. Till now he
scarce had a party but among the papists. But from this incident a party
grew up that has been long very active for his interests.