William III. was seated in a small cabinet, with a table to his right
hand on which his elbow rested; an inkstand and paper were beside
him; and on the other hand, a step behind, stood a gentleman of good
mien, with his hand upon the back of the King's chair, in an attitude
familiar, but not disrespectful. The harsh and somewhat coarse
features of the monarch, which abstractedly seemed calculated to
display strong passions, were in their habitual state of cold
immobility; and Wilton, though he knew his person well, and had seen
him often, could not derive from the King's face the slightest
intimation of what was passing in his mind. There was no trace of
anger, it is true; the brow was sufficiently contracted to appear
thoughtful, but no more; and, at the same time, there was not one
touch even of courteous affability to be seen in those rigid lines to
tell that the young gentleman had been sent for upon some pleasurable
occasion. Dignity, to a certain extent, there must have been in his
demeanour, that sort of dignity which is communicated to the body by
great powers of mind, and great decision of character--in fact,
dignity divested of grace. Nobody could have taken him for a vulgar
man, although his person, as far as mere lines and colouring go,
might have been that of the lowest artizan; but what is more, no one
could see him, however simple might be his dress, without feeling
that there sat a distinguished man of some kind.
Wilton had been accustomed too much and too long to mingle with the
first people in the first country of the world, to suffer himself to
be much affected by any of the external pomp and circumstance of
courts, or even by the vague sensations of respect with which fancy
invests royalty; but he could not help feeling, as he entered the
presence of William, that he was approaching a man of vast mind as
well as vast power.
William looked at him quietly for several minutes, letting him
approach within two steps, and gazing at him still, even after he had
stopped, without uttering a single word. Wilton bowed, and then stood
erect before the King, feeling a little embarrassed, it is true, but
determined not to suffer his embarrassment to appear.
At length, the King addressed him in a harsh tone of voice, saying,
"Well, sir, what have you to say?"
"May it please your majesty," replied Wilton, "I do not know on what
subject your majesty wishes me to speak. I met one of the royal
servants in the Park who commanded me to present myself here
immediately, and I came hither accordingly, without waiting to
inquire for what purpose."
"Oh! then you do not know?" said the King. "I thought you did know,
and most likely were prepared. But it is as well as it is. I doubt
not you will answer me truly. Where were you on Friday, the 22d of
February last?"
"I cannot exactly say where I was, Sire," replied Wilton; "for during
the greater part of that day I was continually changing my place.
Having set out for a small town or village called High Halstow, in
Kent, at an early hour in the day, I arrived there just before
nightfall, and remained in that place or in the neighbourhood for
several hours, indeed, till nearly or past midnight."
"Pray what was your business there?" demanded the King.
"I fear," replied Wilton, "I must trouble your majesty with some long
details to enable you to understand the object of my going."
"Go on," was William's laconic reply; and the young gentleman
proceeded to tell him, that having been employed in recovering Lady
Laura from those who had carried her off, he had learned in the
course of his inquiries in London that she was likely to be heard of
in that neighbourhood.
"I judged it likely to be so myself, sire," continued Wilton,
"because I believed her to have been carried off by some persons
belonging to a party of Jacobites who were known to be caballing
against the government, though to what extent was not then
ascertained."
"And what made you judge," demanded the King, "that she had been
carried off by these men?"
"Because, sire," replied Wilton, "the lady's father had been an
acquaintance of Sir John Fenwick, one of the most notorious of the
persons now implicated in the present foul plot against your
majesty's life and crown. With him the Duke of Gaveston, I found, had
quarrelled some time previously, and I suspected, though I had no
proof thereof, that this quarrel had been occasioned by the Duke
strongly differing from Sir John Fenwick in his political views, and
refusing to take any part in any designs against the government."
"I am glad to hear this of the Duke, sir," replied the King. "Then it
was out of revenge, you believe, they carried away the young lady?"
"Rather out of a desire to have a hold upon the Duke," replied
Wilton. "I found afterwards, your majesty, that their intention was
to send the young lady to France, and I judged throughout that their
design was to force the Duke into an intrigue which they found he
would not meddle with willingly."
William III., though he was himself of a very taciturn character, and
not fond of loquacity in others, was yet fond of full explanations,
always sitting in judgment, as it were, upon what was said to him,
and passing sentence in his own breast. He now made Wilton go over
again the particulars of Lady Laura's being taken away, though it was
evident that he had heard all the facts before, and obliged him to
enter into every minute detail which in any way affected the
question.
When this was done, without any other comment than a look to the
gentleman on his left hand, he fixed his eyes again upon Wilton, and
asked,--"Now, where did you learn that these conspirators were likely
to be found in Kent?"
"I heard it from a gentleman named Green," replied Wilton, "whom I
met with at a tavern in St. James's-street."
"Green is a very common name," said the King.
"I do not believe that it is his real name," replied Wilton; "but
what his real name is I do not know. I had not seen him often before;
but he informed me of these facts, and I followed his advice and
directions."
"That was rash," said the King. "You are sure you do not know his
real name?"
"I cannot even guess it, sire," replied Wilton; and the King, after
exchanging a mute glance with his attendant, went on,--"Well, when
you had discovered the place of meeting of these conspirators, and
reached it, what happened then?"
"I did not go, may it please your majesty, to discover their place of
meeting, but to discover the place where Lady Laura was detained,
which, when I had done, aided by a person I had got to assist
me--after Arden, formerly Messenger of State, had fled from me in a
most dastardly manner, in a casual rencounter with some
people--smugglers, I believe--I made the master of the house and some
other persons whom we found there, set the Lady Laura at liberty. I
informed her of the authority that her father had given me, and she
was but too glad to accept the assistance of any friend with whom she
was acquainted."
"So, so; stop!" said the King. "So, then, Arden was not with you at
this time?"
"No, sire," replied Wilton--"he had run away an hour before."
"That was not like a brave man," said William.
"No, indeed, sire," replied Wilton, "nor like one of your majesty's
friends, for it is your enemies that generally run away."
A faint smile came upon William's countenance, and he said, "Go on.
What happened next?"
"Before we could make our escape from the house," replied Wilton, "we
were stopped by a large party of men, who entered; and, principally
instigated by Sir John Fenwick, who was one of them, they opposed, in
a violent manner, our departure."
Hitherto Wilton had been very careful of his speech, unwilling to
compromise any one, and especially unwilling to mention the name of
Lord Sherbrooke, the Lady Helen Oswald, or anybody else except the
conspirators who had taken a part in the events of that night. Now,
however, when he had to dwell principally upon the conduct of the
conspirators and himself; he did so more boldly, and gave a full
account of all that had been said and done till the entrance of the
Duke of Berwick. He knew, or rather divined, from what had already
passed, that this was in reality the point to which the examination
he underwent principally tended. But yet he spoke with more ease,
for, notwithstanding the danger which existed at that moment in
acknowledging any communication whatsoever with Jacobites, he well
knew that the conduct of the Duke of Berwick himself only required to
be truly reported, to be admired by every noble and generous mind;
and he felt conscious that in his own behaviour he had only acted as
became an upright and an honourable heart. He detailed then,
particularly, the fact of his having seen one of his opponents in the
act of pointing a pistol at him over the shoulder of their principal
spokesman: he mentioned his having cocked his own pistol to fire in
return, and he stated that at the time he felt perfectly sure his
life was about to be made a sacrifice to apprehensions of discovery
on the part of the conspirators; and he then related to the King how
he had seen a stranger enter and strike up the muzzle of the pistol
pointed at him, at the very moment the other was in the act of
firing.
"The ball," he said, "passed through the window above my head, and
seeing that new assistance had come to my aid, I did not fire."
"Stay, stay!" said the King. "Let me ask you a question or two first.
Did you see, in the course of all this time, the person called Sir
George Barkley amongst these conspirators?"
"I saw a person, sire," replied Wilton, "whom I believed at the time
to be Sir George Barkley, and have every reason to believe so still."
"And this person who came to your assistance so opportunely was not
the same?" demanded the King.
"Not the least like him, sire," replied Wilton. "He was a young
gentleman, of six or seven and twenty, I imagine, but certainly no
more than thirty."
"What was his name?" demanded the King.
"The name he gave," replied Wilton, "was Captain Churchill."
"Go on," said William, and Wilton proceeded.
Avoiding all names as far as possible, he told briefly, but
accurately, the severe and striking reprehension that the Duke of
Berwick had bestowed upon Sir George Barkley and the rest of the
conspirators: he dwelt upon the hatred he had displayed of the crime
they were about to commit, and of the noble and upright tendency of
every word that he had spoken. William's eyes glistened slightly, and
a glow came up in his pale cheek, but he made no comment till Wilton
seemed inclined to stop. He then bade him again go on, and made him
tell all that had happened till he and Lady Laura had quitted the
house, to make the best of their way to Halstow. He then said--
"Three questions. Why did you not give instant information of this
conspiracy when you came to town?"
"May it please your majesty," replied Wilton, "I found immediately on
my arrival that the conspiracy was discovered, and warrants issued
against the conspirators. Nothing, therefore, remained for me to do,
but to explain to Lord Byerdale the facts, which I did."
"If your majesty remembers," said the gentleman on the King's left,
mingling in the conversation for the first time, "Lord Byerdale said
so."
"Secondly," said the King, "Is it true that this gentleman who came
to your assistance went with you, and under your protection, to the
inn at Halstow, and thence, by your connivance, effected his escape?"
The King's brow was somewhat dark and ominous, and his tone stern, as
he pronounced these words: but Wilton could not evade the question so
put without telling a lie, and he consequently replied at once,
"Sire, he did."
"Now for the third question," said the King,--"What was his real
name?"
Wilton hesitated. He believed he had done right in every respect;
that he had done what he was bound to do in honour; that he had done
what was in reality the best for the King's own service; but yet he
knew not by any means how this act might be looked upon. The minds of
all men were excited, at that moment, to a pitch of indignation
against the whole Jacobite faction, which made the slightest
connivance with any of their practices, the slightest favour shown to
any of their number, a high crime in the eyes of every one. But
Wilton knew that he was, moreover, actually and absolutely punishable
by law as a traitor for what he had done: what he was called upon to
confess was, in the strict letter of the law, quite sufficient to
send him to the Tower, and to bring his neck under the axe; for in
treason all are principals, and he had aided and abetted one marked
as a traitor. But, nevertheless, though he hesitated for a moment
whether he should speak at all, yet he had resolved to do so, and of
course to do so truly, when the King, seeing him pause, and mistaking
the motives, added,--
"You had better tell the truth, sir. Captain Churchill has confessed,
that though out of consideration for you he had admitted that he was
present on this occasion, yet that in reality he had never quitted
his house during the whole of the day in question."
"Sire," replied Wilton, looking him full in the face, with a calm,
but not disrespectful air, "your majesty may have seen by my answers
hitherto that whatever I do say will be the truth, plain and
undisguised. I only hesitated whether I should not beg your majesty
to excuse my answering at all, as you know by the laws of England no
man can be forced to criminate himself; but as I acted in a manner
that became a man of honour, and also in a manner which I believed at
the time to be fitted to promote your majesty's interests, and to be
in every respect such as you yourself could wish, I will answer the
question, though, perhaps, my answer might in some circumstances be
used against myself."
The slightest possible shade of displeasure had come over the King's
countenance, when Wilton expressed a doubt as to answering the
question at all; but whether it was from his natural command over his
features, the coldness of a phlegmatic constitution, or that he
really was not seriously angry, the cloud upon his brow was certainly
not a hundredth part so heavy as it would probably have been with any
other sovereign in Europe. He contented himself, then, when Wilton
had come to the end of the sentence, by merely saying, with evident
marks of impatience and curiosity, "Go on. What was his real name?"
"The name, sire, by which he is generally known," replied Wilton, "is
the Duke of Berwick."
For once the King was moved. He started in his chair, and turning
round, looked at the gentleman by his side, exclaiming, "It was not
Drummond, then!"
"No, sire," replied Wilton; "although he never expressly stated his
name to me, yet from all that was said by every one around, I must
admit that I knew perfectly it was the Duke of Berwick. But, sire,
whoever it was, he had saved my life: he had said not one word
disrespectful to your Majesty's person: he had reprobated in the most
severe and cutting terms those conspirators, some of whom have
already bowed the head to the sword of justice; and he had
stigmatized the acts they proposed to commit with scorn, contempt,
and horror. All this he had done in my presence to ten or twelve
armed men, whose conduct to myself, and schemes against you, showed
them capable of any daring villany. These, sire, may be called my
excuses for aiding a person, known to be an enemy of your crown, to
escape from your dominions; but, if I may so far presume to say--it,
there was a reason as well as an excuse which suggested itself to my
mind at the time, and in which your majesty's interests were
concerned."
The King had listened attentively: the frown had gone from his brow;
and he had so far given a sign of approbation, as, when Wilton
mentioned the conduct of the Duke of Berwick, to make a slight
inclination of the head. When the young gentleman concluded, however,
he paused in order to let him go on, always more willing that others
should proceed, than say a single word to bid them do so.
"What is your reason?" he said at last, finding that nothing was
added.
"It was this, sire," replied Wilton; "that I knew the Duke of Berwick
was connected with your majesty's own family; that he was one person
of high character and reputation amongst a vast number of low and
infamous conspirators; that he was perfectly innocent of the dark and
horrible crimes of which they were guilty; and yet, that he must be
considered by the law of the land as a traitor even for setting his
foot upon these shores, and must be concluded by the law and its
ministers under the same punishment and condemnation as all those
assassins and traitors who are now expiating their evil purposes on
the scaffold. In these circumstances, sire, I judged that it would be
much more agreeable to your majesty that he should escape, than that
he should be taken; that you would be very much embarrassed, indeed,
what to do with him, if any indiscreet person were to stop him in his
flight; and that you would not disapprove of that conduct, the first
motive of which, I openly confess, was gratitude towards the man who
had saved my life."
"Sir, you did very right," said William, with scarcely a change of
countenance. "You did very right, and I am much obliged to you."
At the same time, he held out his hand. Wilton bent his knee, and
kissed it; and as he rose, William added, "I don't know what I can do
for you; but if at any time you want anything, let me know, for I
think you have done well--and judged well. My Lord of Portland here,
on application to him, will procure you audience of me."
With those few words, which, however, from William III., conveyed a
great deal of meaning, the King bowed his head to signify that
Wilton's audience was over; and the young gentleman withdrew from his
presence, very well satisfied with the termination of an affair,
which certainly, in some hands, might have ended in evil instead of
good.