It was night, and the large assembly of persons who had thronged the
palace at Kensington during the day had taken their departure.
Silence had returned after the noise and bustle of the sunshine had
subsided; scarcely a sound was heard throughout the whole building,
except the porter snoring in the hall. The King himself had taken his
frugal supper, and was sitting alone in his cabinet with merely a
page at the door; his courtiers were scattered in their different
apartments; and his immediate attendants were waiting in the distant
chambers where he slept, for the hour of his retiring to rest.
Such had been the state of things for some little time, when the
great bell rang, and the porter started up to open the door. A
gentleman on horseback appeared without, accompanied by two others,
apparently servants; and the principal personage demanded, in a tone
of authority, "Is the Earl of Portland in the palace?"
The porter, though not well pleased to be roused, replied, with every
sort of deference to the air and manner of the visitor, saying that
the Earl was in the palace, but he believed was unwell.
"I am afraid I must disturb him," said the stranger. "My business is
of too much importance to his lordship to wait till to-morrow
morning."
The porter then gave the speaker another look: the dress, the
demeanour, the horses, the attendants, were all such as commanded
respect, although he did not recollect the stranger's face. "Well,
sir," he said, "if you will come in, I will have his lordship
informed."
The stranger nodded his head, and turning to his followers, bade them
take away the horses. "I will walk back," he said, and then following
the porter, entered the palace. The janitor led him onward through
some large folding doors to a room where two or three servants were
sitting, into whose hands he delivered him, bidding one of them
conduct him to the page in waiting. This was speedily done; and the
page, on being informed of the stranger's desire, again examined him
somewhat curiously, and asked his name.
"That matters not," replied the stranger. "Tell him merely that it is
a gentleman to whom he rendered great service many years ago, and who
has now important intelligence to give him."
"I fear, sir," replied the page, "that my Lord Portland would not
like to be disturbed without some clearer information than that."
"Do as you are ordered, sir," replied the gentleman, in a tone of
stern authority, which seemed not a little to surprise his hearer.
"Tell Lord Portland it is a gentleman whose life he saved at the
battle of the Boyne."
The page retired with the air of one who would fain have been sullen
if he had dared; and the stranger remained standing with his hand
upon the table in the middle of the room, the doors closed round him
on all sides, and no one apparently near.
His first thought was one not often indulged in that place, though by
no means an unnatural one. It was a thought, for merely expressing
which, not less than twelve people were once committed to a severe
and lengthened imprisonment by a king of France. "How easy would it
now be," the stranger said mentally, "to kill a king, were one so
minded! Now, God forbid," he added, "that even the attempt of such
an act should ever stain our loyalty to our legitimate sovereign!
Those Romans, those splendid but most barbarous of barbarians, were
certainly the greatest cheats of their own understandings that ever
lived. There was scarcely a crime, a vice, or a folly upon earth,
that they did not hug to their hearts, when they had once gilded it
with a glorious name."
As he thus paused, moralizing, he laid down his hat upon the table,
and brushing back his grey hair from his brow, pressed his hand upon
his forehead as if his head ached, and then dropping it again, mused
for several minutes with his eyes fixed upon the floor. He was only
roused from this deep fit of thought by the door opening suddenly. A
gentleman rather below the middle height, with strong marked
features, and a keen but steadfast eye, entered the room with a paper
in his hand. His eyes were fixed upon the ground as he came in, and
he walked with a firm but somewhat heavy step, as if his limbs did
not move very easily, though he was by no means a man far advanced in
life.
The stranger gazed at him for a moment with a look of inquiry, and
then advanced immediately towards him, bowing with a stately air, and
saying, "My Lord of Portland, since I last saw you, you are somewhat
changed, but perhaps not so much as I am, and therefore I may have to
recall myself to your remembrance; especially as those who confer a
benefit in a moment of haste and tumult, are more likely to forget
the person they obliged, than that person to forget his benefactor."
He spoke in French, as it was generally known that Lord Portland was
unwilling to speak English, though he understood it.
The other heard him out in perfect silence, and without the slightest
change of countenance; but looked him in the face attentively, as if
endeavouring to recollect his features.
"I have seen you somewhere before," he said at length, "but where I
really do not know. It must have been a long time ago. Pray what do
you want?"
"It is a long time ago, my lord," replied the visitor, "and the place
where we met is far distant. It was upon the banks of the Boyne, just
when the battle was over."
"Oh, I think I remember now," replied the other: "did I not come up
just as one of our people had got his knee upon your throat, and was
going to fire his pistol into your head, because you would ask no
quarter, while another was wrenching your broken sword out of your
hand?"
"You did," answered the stranger, "you did: you saved my life; and
when I jumped up and got to a horse, you would not let them fire
after me. It was not to be forgotten, my lord; but--"
At that moment the door was again thrown open, and the page
re-entered the room, speaking in a somewhat harsh and authoritative
tone as he came in, so as to cut across what the stranger was about
to say, with "My Lord of Portland--;" but the gentleman who had
entered just before waved his hand, saying, in a stern voice, "Leave
the room! and wait without."
The man obeyed immediately, and the other turning to the visitor,
added, "I am at this moment not very well, and extremely busy--even
pressed for a moment, so that I must leave you just now. If you will
sit down and write what you wish, it shall have favourable attention,
or if you would rather say it, and explain it more fully by word of
mouth, I will send an intimate friend of mine to you to whom you can
tell what you think proper. I will hear what it is, and give every
attention to it; but at this moment it is impossible for me to
remain. These papers in my hand require instant reply, and I was
seeking for some one to answer them when I came here."
"What I have to say," answered the stranger, "requires also instant
attention; that is to say, it must be told to your lordship before
to-morrow morning, and I will therefore, if you will permit me,
remain here till you are ready to hear. When once told to you, the
burden of it will be off my shoulders."
"I could have wished to have gone to bed," replied the other, with a
faint smile, "without any farther burden upon mine. But if it so
please you to wait, do it; but I fear I shall be long."
The visitor, however, signified his acquiescence by bowing his head;
and the other left him without saying anything more.
"Somewhat of the insolence of office!" he said to himself, as his
acquaintance quitted the room: "however, I must not forget the
obligation;" and seating himself, he fell into deep thought, which
seemed of a painful kind; for the muscles of his face moved with the
emotions of his mind, and one or two half-uttered words escaped him.
At length, he seemed weary of his own thoughts, and turning round as
if to look for some occupation for his thoughts, he said, "It matters
not!"
There were no books in the room, nor any pictures; there was nothing
that could attract the eye or amuse the mind, except the beautiful
forms of some of the gilded panel-frames, and the spots of the carpet
beneath his feet. The visitor began to grow weary, and to think that
Lord Portland was very long in returning.
At length, however, when he had been there about half an hour, a
somewhat younger man entered, splendidly dressed according to the
costume of the day, and advancing directly towards the stranger, he
said in very good English--
"My name is Keppel, sir, and I am directed to say that Lord Portland
will really be hardly able to see you to-night, as he is anything but
well; but as it would appear that what you have to say is important,
I wish to know whether it is important to the King or to the Earl
himself. If to the latter, the Earl will see you at two o'clock
to-morrow; if to the King, I am directed to request that you would
communicate it to me, by whom it shall be most faithfully reported,
both to Lord Portland and to the King himself."
"Sir," replied the stranger, "the motive of my coming is on no
private business. It is on business of importance to the state
generally--of the very utmost importance. I had wished to communicate
it to Lord Portland, because that gentleman once performed an act of
great kindness and generosity towards me, and I wished to give him
the means of rendering a great service to his master."
"The King and Lord Portland are both indebted to you, sir," replied
Keppel, better known as the Earl of Albemarle, with a grave smile;
"but in those circumstances, as the greatest favour to all parties,
you will be pleased to communicate anything you have to say to me.
From your whole tone and demeanour, I am perfectly sure that what you
have to say is none of the unimportant things with which we are too
often troubled here; and I may therefore confidently add, that, after
you have given me a knowledge of the business, either the King or
Lord Portland, as you may think fit, will see you to-morrow."
"Well, sir," replied the visitor, "I have no right to stand on
ceremony, especially at such a moment as this. What I have to say
would have been much more easily said to Lord Portland himself, as he
knows under what circumstances we met, knows probably who I am, and
would make allowances for my peculiar views. YOU may think it next to
high treason for me to call that Personage, who was not long ago
William Prince of Orange, by any other name than King of England"
"Oh no! oh no!" said Keppel with a smile--"names are but names, my
good sir; and in this boisterous land of England we are accustomed to
see things stripped of all ornaments. The difficulty you mention is
easily obviated, by calling him of whom you just have spoken, 'The
High Personage.'"
"Names, indeed, are nothing," said the other with a smile. "What I
have got to say, sir, is this, that I have undoubted reason to know
that the life of the High Personage we refer to is in hourly danger;
that there are persons in this realm who have not only designed to
kill him, but have laid with skill and accuracy their schemes for
effecting that purpose. I have heard that he is very apt--for I have
never seen the royal hunt--to go out to the chase nearly alone, or
rather, I should say, very slightly attended; and I came to tell Lord
Portland that if this were continued, that High Personage's life
could not be counted upon from day to day. Let him be well guarded;
let there be always some one near him as he rides; and, as far as
possible, let some of his guards be ready to escort him home on his
return."
"Your information," said Keppel, "is certainly very important, and the
precaution you recommend wise and judicious; but yet I fear you must
give us some more information to render it at all efficient--I say
this, not at all from doubting you, but because we have had,
especially of late, so many false reports of plots which never
existed, that the King has become careless and somewhat rash. Nor
would it be possible for either Lord Portland or myself to persuade
him to take any precautions unless we had some more definite
information. If you know that such a plot really exists, you must
also know the names of those who laid it."
"But those names I will never give up," replied the other: "it is
quite sufficient for me, sir, to satisfy my own heart and my own
conscience, that I have given a full and timely warning of what is
likely to ensue. It matters not to me whether that warning be taken
or not; I have done what is right; I will tell no more. Lord Portland
knows that I am neither a, coward, nor a low born man. I expect
not--I ask not for favour, immunity, reward, or even thanks. All I do
ask is, in the words of the poet, 'that Caesar would be a friend to
Caesar.'"
"But you are doubtless aware," answered Keppel, after a pause, "that
by concealing the names, and in any degree the purposes of persons
guilty of high treason, you bring yourself under the same
condemnation."
"I both know the fact, sir," replied the other, "and I knew before I
came that it might be urged against me here; but I did not think that
Lord Portland would urge it. However that may be, I came fully
prepared to do what I think right, and as nothing, not even the cause
to which I am most attached, would induce me to become an assassin or
to wink at cold-blooded murder, so, sir, nothing on earth will induce
me to betray others to the death which I do not fear myself. At all
events, the truth of what I have told may be positively relied upon;
and that I ask no reward or recompence of any kind, may well be
received to show that the warning I have given is not vain."
Keppel again mused for a moment or two, and then said, "Well, sir, I
must not urge you by any harsh menace, nor was such my intention in
what I said. But there are other considerations which should induce
you to tell me more than you have told. One is, the safety of the
Great Personage we have mentioned himself. It is scarcely possible
for him to guard against the evil you apprehend in the manner you
propose. He is by far too fearless a man, as you well know, to shut
himself up within the walls of his palace, or even to conceal himself
in his carriage. If he rides out, he cannot always be surrounded by
guards, nor can he have a troop galloping after him through the
hunting field."
"Sir," replied the stranger, "to you and to his other friends and
attendants I must leave the guardianship of his person--I neither know
him nor his habits. I have done what I conceive to be my duty; I have
done it to the extreme limit of what I judge right; and neither fear
nor favour will make me go one step farther."
"These scruples are very extraordinary," replied Keppel--"indeed, I
cannot understand them: but at all events I must beg you to remain a
little, while I go and speak to Lord Portland upon the subject.
Perhaps, if the King himself were to hear you, you might say more."
"I should say no more to the Personage you mention," replied the
other, "than I should to Lord Portland--for to the one I am obliged,
to the other, not."
"Well, wait a few minutes," replied Keppel, and quitted the room.
The other remained standing where the courtier had left him, though
the thought crossed his mind, "My errand is now done. Why should I
remain any longer? I should risk less by going now than by
lingering."
But still he stayed; and in two minutes, or perhaps less, the door
again opened, giving admission, not to Keppel, but to the elder
personage with whom he had spoken before. Advancing into the middle
of the room, he leaned upon the table, near which the other was
standing, and said--
"Monsieur Keppel has told me all that you have said, and, moreover,
what you have refused to say. First, let me tell you that I am much
obliged to you for the intelligence you have brought; and next, let
me exhort you to make it more full and complete to render it
effectual."
"I have made it as complete, my lord," replied his visitor, "as it is
possible for me to do without betraying men who were once my friends,
and who have only lost my friendship by such schemes as these. I must
not say any more even at your request; for I must not take from you
the power of saying, that you saved the life of a man of honour. You
must contrive means to secure the Great Personage we speak of, and I
doubt not you will be able to do so. I had but one object in coming
here, my lord, and that object was not a personal one; it was to tell
you of the danger, and thereby enable you to guard against it; it was
to tell you, that a body of rash and criminal men have conspired
together, to assassinate a Personage who stands in the way of their
schemes."
"Are there many of them?" demanded his companion.
"A great many," he replied--"enough to render their object perfectly
secure, if means be not taken to frustrate it."
"But," said the other, "the men must be mad, for many of them must be
taken and executed very soon."
"True," answered his visitor, "if we were to suppose the country
would remain quiet all the while. But assassination might only be the
prelude to insurrection and to civil war, and to the restoration of
our old monarchs to the throne."
"Such was the purpose, was it?" replied his companion.
"Assassination is a pitiful help, and has never yet been called in to
aid a great or good cause."
"Ay, my lord," replied his informant; "but in this instance it is a
base adjunct affixed to the general scheme of insurrection by a few
bloody-minded men, without the knowledge of thousands who would have
joined the rising, and without the knowledge, I am sure, of King
James himself."
"I really do not see," said the other, "what should have caused such
hatred against the person they aim at--the post of King of England is
no bed of roses; and a thousand, a thousand-fold happier was he, as
Stadtholder of Holland, governing a willing people and fighting the
battles of freedom throughout the world, than monarch of this great
kingdom, left without a moment's peace, by divisions and factions in
the mass of the nation, which called him to the throne, and seeing
union nowhere but in that small minority of the people who oppose his
authority, and even attempt his life. His is no happy fate."
"Sir, there are some men," replied the other, "in whom certain
humours and desires are so strong, that the gratification thereof is
worth the whole of the rest of a life's happiness, and gratified
ambition may be sufficient in this case to compensate for the
sacrifice of peace. I mean not to speak one word against the master
that you serve. He has, as you say, fought the battles of liberty for
many years: he is a brave and gallant soldier, too, as ever lived: I
doubt not he is a kind friend and a good master"
"Stay, stay," replied the other, holding up his hand "before you go
farther, let me tell you that you are under a mistake. I am the
personage of whom you speak--I am the King. When I prevented the
soldiers from killing you, Bentinek was near me. He is taller than I
am: the Dutch guards saw him before me, and shouted his name, which
led to your error."
The effect of these words upon the other can hardly be imagined. He
turned pale--he turned red; but he yielded to the first impulse both
of gratitude and respect, and without taking time to think or
hesitate, he bent his knee and kissed the King's hand.
"Rise, rise!" said William--"I ask nothing of you, sir, but to speak
to me as you would have done if I had really been Lord Portland. I
could not let you go on without explanation, for you had said all
that could be pleasant to a king's ears to hear; and you seemed about
to say those things which you might not have been well pleased to
remember, when you discovered my real situation."
"I thank you, sir, most deeply," replied the other, "for that act of
kindness, as well as for that which went before. I have hitherto, as
I need scarcely say, been a strenuous and eager supporter of King
James. I have served him with all my ability, and had he at any time
returned to this country, would have served him with my sword. That
sword, sir, however, can never now be drawn against the man who has
saved my life; and, indeed, though I have known many changes and
chances, yet I remember no one moment of joy and satisfaction greater
than this, when I think that, spontaneously, I have refused to take a
share in criminal designs against my benefactor, though I knew him
not to be so, and have revealed the schemes against his life, who
generously spared my own."
"I intended," said the King, "in the character of Lord Portland, to
press you to farther explanations; but now that you know who I am, I
may feel a greater difficulty in so doing. I must leave it to
yourself, then, to tell me all that you may think necessary for my
safety."
The other put his hand to his head, and for a few minutes seemed
embarrassed and pained. "The discovery, sir," he said, at length,
"alters my situation also; and yet I pray and beseech you, do not
press me to perform an act that is base and dishonourable; grant me
but one or two conditions, and I will go to the very verge of what I
ought to do, towards you."
"I will press you to nothing, sir," replied William; "what are the
conditions?"
"First," replied the other, "that I may not be asked to name any
names; secondly, that I may never be called upon to give any evidence
upon this subject in a court of justice."
"The names, of course, are important," said William, "as by having
them we are placed most upon our guard. However, you have come
voluntarily to render me a service, and I will not press hard upon
you. The conditions you ask shall be granted. The names shall not be
required of you, and you shall not be called upon to give evidence.
Call in Keppel! Arnold!" he added, raising his voice; and immediately
the door was opened, and Keppel entered, bowing low as he did so.
"I have promised this gentleman two things, Keppel," said the King.
"First, that he shall not be pressed to give up the names of the
conspirators; and, secondly, that he shall not be called upon to give
evidence against them."
"Your majesty is very gracious," replied Keppel: "without the
names of the persons, I scarcely think--"
William made a sign with his hand, saying, "That is decided. Now,
sir, what more have you to add?"
"Merely this, sir," replied the other: "it is not much, indeed, but
it will enable you to take greater measures for your safety. The
design to assassinate you has existed some time, but the period for
putting it in execution was formerly fixed for the month of April. My
opposition to the bloody design, and to the purpose of bringing
French troops into Great Britain, has deranged all the plans of these
base men. I had fancied that such opposition, and the falling away
of many others on whom the assassins counted, would have induced them
to abandon the whole design. Last night, however, I received
intelligence that, instead of so doing, their purpose was but
strengthened, and their design only hastened; that instead of April,
the assassination was to take place whenever it could be
accomplished; that even to-morrow, when it is believed you dine with
the Lord Romney, if it were found possible absolutely to surround the
house so as to prevent escape, the deed was to be attempted there; or
as you went; or as you came back. If none of these occasions suited,
you were to be assailed the first time that you went out to hunt; and
dresses such as those worn by many of your attendants in the chase
are already ordered for the purpose of facilitating the execution of
the murder, and the escape of the assassins. It has been calculated,
I find, that on the night of next Saturday you are likely to pass
across Turnham Green towards ten o'clock, and that is one of the
occasions which is to be made use of, if others fail."
William looked at Lord Albemarle, and Albemarle at the King; but the
latter remained silent for a minute or two, as if to give his
informant time to go on. The other, however, added nothing more; and
the King, after this long pause, said, "I must not conceal from you,
sir, that we have heard something of this matter, and may probably
soon have farther tidings."
"It is high time, sir," replied the other, "that you should have
farther tidings, for the first attempt will certainly be to-morrow
night."
"Perhaps we have acted somewhat rashly," said Keppel; "but to say
truth, there have been so many reports of plots, that we thought it
but right to discourage the matter; his Majesty justly observing,
that if he were to give attention to everything of the kind, he would
have nothing to do but to examine into the truth of stories composed
for the purpose of obtaining rewards. We therefore gave this matter
not so much attention as it would seem to require."
"It requires every attention, sir," replied their visitor; "and from
whomsoever you may have obtained the information, if possible, obtain
more from him immediately. If he tell you what I have told, he tells
you truth; and if so, it is probable that any farther information he
may give will be true likewise. Did I know his name, perhaps I could
say more."
"Suppose his name were Johnstone?" said the King.
"I know of none such," replied the other, "who could give you much
information. There are many persons, whom men call Jacobites, of that
name, and many very gallant gentlemen who would sooner die than
become assassins. But none that I know of, in this business."
"What would you say, then," the King continued, "to the name of
Williamson, or Carter, or Porter?"
"Porter!" replied the other, gazing in the King's face--"Porter!--I
believe, sir," he added, "you are too generous to attempt to wring
from me the names of persons connected with this business in any
underhand manner; and therefore I reply to you straightforwardly,
that if Captain Porter should give you any information upon this
matter consistent with the tidings that I have given, or in
explanation thereof, you may believe him. He is not a gentleman I
either very much respect or esteem; but I do not believe that he is
one who would willingly take a part in assassination, or who would
falsify the truth knowingly."
"Sir, you confirm my good opinion of you," replied the King: "we have
intimation of some of these proceedings from Porter, and have had
intimation from other quarters also, but none such as could be relied
upon till the information that you have given us to-night. Porter's,
indeed, might have proved more satisfactory; but he does not bear a
good reputation, and it was judged better to discourage the thing
altogether. He shall now be heard, and very likely the whole will be
explained. On the complete discovery of the plot, I need hardly say
that any reward within reason which you may require shall be given
you."
The stranger waved his hand somewhat indignantly. "There was a man
found, sir," he said, "to sell the blood of Christ himself for thirty
pieces of silver; and therefore it can scarcely be considered as
insulting to any of the sons of men to suppose that they would follow
that example. I, however, do not trade in such things, and I require
no reward whatsoever for that which I have done. I trust and see now
that it will prove effectual, and I am perfectly satisfied. If these
men fall into your hands by other means than mine, and incur the
punishment they have justly deserved, I have not a word to say for
them, but I have only to beseech you, sir, to separate the innocent
from the guilty; to be careful--oh! most careful, in a moment of
excitement and just indignation--not to confound the two, and to make
a just distinction between fair and open enemies of your government,
and base and treacherous assassins."
"I shall strive to do so, sir," answered the King, "and would always
rather lean towards mercy than cruelty. And now, as it grows late, I
would fain know your name, and would gladly see you again."
"My name, sir," replied the other, "must either be kept secret, or
revealed to your Majesty alone. I have long been a nameless man,
having lost all, and spent all, in behalf of that family opposed to
your dynasty."
"Who have, doubtless, shown you no gratitude," said William.
"They have had no means, sir," replied the Jacobite, "and I have made
no demand upon them."
"It is but right, however," said the King, changing the subject,
"that I should know your name. When I inquired who you were when we
last met--the only time, indeed, we have met, till now--they gave me
a name which I now see must have been a mistaken one. Do you object
to give it before this gentleman?"
"To give my real name, sir," replied the other, "I do. But I have no
objection to give it to you yourself in private."
"Leave us, Arnold," said the King; and Lord Albemarle immediately
quitted the presence.