moved that Oates should be set at liberty; but this motion was overruled.* The business of the day was nearly over, and Halifax was about to rise, when he was informed that a messenger from Sheerness was in attendance. No occurrence could be more perplexing or annoying. To do any thing, to do nothing, was to incur a grave responsibility. Halifax, wishing probably to obtain time for communication with the prince, would have adjourned the meeting; but Mulgrave begged the Lords to keep their seats, and introduced the messenger. The man told his story with many tears, and produced a letter written in the king's hand, and addressed to no particular person, but imploring the aid of all good Englishmen.† Such an appeal it was hardly possible to disregard. The Lords ordered Feversham to hasten with a troop of the Life Guards to the place where the king was detained, and to set his majesty at liberty." Already Middleton and a few other adherents of the royal cause had set out to assist and comfort their unhappy master. They found him strictly confined, and were not suffered to enter his presence till they had delivered up their swords. The concourse of people about him was by this time immense. Some Whig gentlemen of the neighborhood had brought a large body of militia to guard him. They had imagined most erroneously that by detaining him they were ingratiating themselves with his enemies, and were greatly disturbed when they learned that the treatment which the king had undergone was disapproved by the provisional government in London, and that a body of cavalry was on the road to release him. Feversham soon arrived. He had left his troop at Sittingbourne; but there was no occasion to use force. The king was suffered to depart without opposition, and was removed by his friends to Rochester, where he took some rest, which he greatly needed. He was in a pitiable state. Not only was his understanding, which had never been very clear, altogether bewildered; but the personal courage which, when a young man, he had shown in several battles, both by sea and by land, had forsaken him. The rough corporal usage, which he had now, for the first time, undergone, seems to have discomposed him more than any other event of his checkered life. The deser VOL. II. * Halifax MS.; Citters, Dec. 8, 1688. 38 tion of his army, of his favorites, of his family, affected less than the indignities which he suffered when his hoy was boarded. The remembrance of those indignities continued long to rankle in his heart, and on one occasion showed itself in a way which moved all Europe to contemptuous mirth. In the fourth year of his exile he attempted to lure back his subjects by offering them an amnesty. The amnesty was accompanied by a long list of exceptions; and in this list the poor fishermen who had searched his pockets rudely appeared side by side with Churchill and Danby. From this circumstance we may judge how keenly he must have felt the outrage while it was still recent.* Yet, had he possessed an ordinary measure of good sense, he would have seen that those who had detained him had unintentionally done him a great service. The events which had taken place during his absence from his capital ought to have convinced him that, if he had succeeded in escaping, he never would have returned. In his own despite he had been saved from ruin. He had another chance, a last chance. Great as his offences had been, to dethrone him, while he remained in his kingdom and offered to assent to such conditions as a free parliament might impose, would have been almost impossible. During a short time he seemed disposed to remain. He sent Feversham from Rochester with a letter to William. The substance of the letter was, that his majesty was on his way back to Whitehall, that he wished to have a personal conference with the prince, and that Saint James's Palace should be fitted up for his highness.† William was now at Windsor. He had learned with deep mortification the events which had taken place on the coast of Kent. Just before the news arrived, those who approached him observed that his spirits were unusually high. He had, indeed, reason to rejoice. A vacant throne was before him. All parties, it seemed, would, with one voice, invite him to mount-it. On a sudden his prospects were overcast. abdication, it appeared, had not been completed. A large proportion of his own followers would have scruples about deposing a king who remained among them, who invited them to represent their grievances in a parliamentary way, and who promised The *See his proclamation, dated from St. Germain's, April 20, 1692. + Clarke's Life of James, ii. 261, Orig. Mem. full redress. It was necessary that the prince should examine nis new position, and determine on a new line of action. No course was open to him which was altogether free from obJections, no course which would place him in a situation so advantageous as that which he had occupied a few hours before. Yet something might be done. The king's first attempt to escape had failed. What was now most to be desired was, that he should make a second attempt with better success. Не must be at once frightened and enticed. The liberality with which he had been treated in the negotiation at Hungerford, and which he had requited by a breach of faith would now be out of season. No terms of accommodation must be proposed to him. If he should propose terms he must be coldly answered. No violence must be used towards him, or even threatened. Yet it might not be impossible, without either using or threat. ening violence, to make so weak a man uneasy about his personal safety. He would soon be eager to fly. All facilities for flight must then be placed within his reach; and care must be taken that he should not again be stopped by any officious blunderer. Such was William's plan; and the ability and determination with which he carried it into effect present a strange contrast to the folly and cowardice with which he had to deal. He soon had an excellent opportunity of commencing his system. of intimidation. Feversham arrived at Windsor with James's letter. The messenger had not been very judiciously selected. It was he who had disbanded the royal army. To him primarily were to be imputed the confusion and terror of the Irish night. His conduct was loudly blamed by the public. William had been provoked into muttering a few words of menace and a few words of menace from William's lips generally meant something. Feversham was asked for his safe conduct. He had none. By coming without one into the midst of a hostile camp, he had, according to the laws of war, made himself liable to be treated with the utmost severity. William refused to see him, and ordered him to be put under arrest.* Zulestein was instantly despatched to inform James that the prince declined the proposed conference, and desired that his majesty would remain at Rochester. But it was too late. James was already in London. He had hesitated about the journey, and had, at one time, deter * Clarendon's Diary, Dec. 16, 1688; Burnet, i. 800. mined to make another attempt to reach the Continent. But at length he yielded to the urgency of friends who were wiser than himself, and set out for Whitehall. He arrived there on the afternoon of Sunday, the sixteenth of December. He had been apprehensive that the common people who, during his absence, had given so many proofs of their aversion to Popery would offer him some affront. But the very violence of the recent outbreak had produced a remission. The storm had spent itself. Good humor and pity had succeeded to fury. In no quarter was any disposition shown to insult the king. Some cheers were raised as his coach passed through the city. The bells of some churches were rung and a few bonfires were lighted in honor of his return.* His feeble mind, which had just before been sunk in despondency, was extravagantly elated by these unexpected signs of popular good will and compassion. He entered his dwelling in high spirits. It speedily resumed its old aspect. Roman Catholic priests, who had, during the preceding week, been glad to hide themselves from the rage of the multitude in vaults and cocklofts, now came forth from their lurking-places, and demanded possession of their old apartments in the palace. Grace was said at the royal table by a Jesuit. The Irish brogue, then the most hateful of all sounds to English ears, was heard every where in the courts and galleries. The king himself had resumed all his old haughtiness. He held a council, his last council, and, even in that extremity, summoned to the board persons not legally qualified to sit there. He expressed high displeasure at the conduct of those lords who, during his absence, had dared to take the administration on themselves. It was their duty, he conceived, to let society be dissolved, to let the houses of ambassadors be pulled down, to let London be set on fire, rather than assume the functions which he had thought fit to abandon. Among those whom he thus censured were some * Clarke's Life of James, ii. 262, Orig. Mem.; Burnet, i. 799. In the History of the Desertion, (1689,) it is affirmed that the shouts on this occasion were uttered merely by some idle boys, and that the great body of the people looked on in silence. Oldmixon, who was in the crowd, says the same; and Ralph tells us that the i..formation which he had received from a respectable eye-witness was to the same effect. The truth probably is, that the signs of joy were in themselves slight, but seemed extraordinary because a violent explosion of public indignation had been expected. Barillon metions that there had been acclamations and some bonfires, but adds, Le peuple dans le fond est pour le Prince d'Orange." Dec. 17, 1688 6 nobles and prelates who, in spite of all his errors, had been constantly true to him, and who, even after this provocation, never could be induced by hope or fear to transfer their allegiance from him to any other sovereign.* 66 But his courage was soon cast down. Scarcely had he entered his palace when Zulestein was announced... William's cold and stern message was delivered. The king still pressed for a personal conference with his nephew. "I would not have left Rochester," he said, "if I had known that he wished me not to do so; but, since I am here, I hope that he will come to Saint James's." "I must plainly tell your majesty," said Zulestein, "that his highness will not come to London while there are any troops here which are not under his orders." The king, confounded by this answer, remained silent. Zulestein retired; and soon a gentleman entered the bedchamber with the news that Feversham had been put under arrest.† James was greatly disturbed. Yet the recollection of the applause with which he had been greeted still buoyed up his spirits. A wild hope rose in his mind. He fancied that London, so long the stronghold of Protestantism and Whiggism, was ready to take arms in his defence. He sent to ask the common council whether, if he took up his residence in the city, they would engage to defend him against the prince. But the common council had not forgotten the seizure of the charter and the judicial murder of Cornish, and refused to give the pledge which was demanded. Then the king's heart again sank within him. Where, he asked, was he to look for protection? He might as well have Dutch troops about him as his own Life Guards. As to the citizens, he now understood what their huzzas and bonfires were worth. Nothing remained but flight; and yet, he said, he knew that there was nothing which his enemies so much desired as that he would fly.‡ While he was in this state of trepidation, his fate was the subject of a grave deliberation at Windsor. The court of William was now crowded to overflowing with eminent men of all parties. Most of the chiefs of the northern insurrection had joined him. Several of the lords, who had, during the *London Gazette, Dec. 16, 1688; Mulgrave's Account of the Revolution; History of the Desertion; Burnet, i. 799; Evelyn's Diary, Dec. 13, 17, 1688. † Clarke's History of James, ii. 262, Orig. Mem. Barillon, Dec. 17, 1688; Clarke's Life of James, ii. 271. |