The whole lower town
would have been burned to the ground, had not the inhabitants stopped
the conflagration by blowing up numerous buildings.
would have been burned to the ground, had not the inhabitants stopped
the conflagration by blowing up numerous buildings.
Macaulay
How that part of
the address which related to the Master of Stair should be framed was a
question about which there was much debate. Several of his letters were
called for and read; and several amendments were put to the vote. It
should seem that the Jacobites and the extreme Presbyterians were, with
but too good cause, on the side of severity. The majority, under the
skilful management of the Lord High Commissioner, acquiesced in words
which made it impossible for the guilty minister to retain his office,
but which did not impute to him such criminality as would have affected
his life or his estate. They censured him, but censured him in terms far
too soft. They blamed his immoderate zeal against the unfortunate clan,
and his warm directions about performing the execution by surprise. His
excess in his letters they pronounced to have been the original cause
of the massacre; but, instead of demanding that he should be brought to
trial as a murderer, they declared that, in consideration of his absence
and of his great place, they left it to the royal wisdom to deal with
him in such a manner as might vindicate the honour of the government.
The indulgence which was shown to the principal offender was not
extended to his subordinates. Hamilton, who had fled and had been vainly
cited by proclamation at the City Cross to appear before the Estates,
was pronounced not to be clear of the blood of the Glencoe men.
Glenlyon, Captain Drummond, Lieutenant Lindsey, Ensign Lundie, and
Serjeant Barbour, were still more distinctly designated as murderers;
and the King was requested to command the Lord Advocate to prosecute
them.
The Parliament of Scotland was undoubtedly, on this occasion, severe in
the wrong place and lenient in the wrong place. The cruelty and baseness
of Glenlyon and his comrades excite, even after the lapse of a hundred
and sixty years, emotions which make it difficult to reason calmly.
Yet whoever can bring himself to look at the conduct of these men with
judicial impartiality will probably be of opinion that they could
not, without great detriment to the commonwealth, have been treated
as assassins. They had slain nobody whom they had not been positively
directed by their commanding officer to slay. That subordination without
which an army is the worst of all rabbles would be at an end, if every
soldier were to be held answerable for the justice of every order
in obedience to which he pulls his trigger. The case of Glencoe was,
doubtless, an extreme case; but it cannot easily be distinguished in
principle from cases which, in war, are of ordinary occurrence. Very
terrible military executions are sometimes indispensable. Humanity
itself may require them. Who then is to decide whether there be an
emergency such as makes severity the truest mercy? Who is to determine
whether it be or be not necessary to lay a thriving town in ashes, to
decimate a large body of mutineers, to shoot a whole gang of banditti?
Is the responsibility with the commanding officer, or with the rank and
file whom he orders to make ready, present and fire? And if the general
rule be that the responsibility is with the commanding officer, and
not with those who obey him, is it possible to find any reason for
pronouncing the case of Glencoe an exception to that rule? It is
remarkable that no member of the Scottish Parliament proposed that any
of the private men of Argyle's regiment should be prosecuted for murder.
Absolute impunity was granted to everybody below the rank of Serjeant.
Yet on what principle? Surely, if military obedience was not a valid
plea, every man who shot a Macdonald on that horrible night was a
murderer. And, if military obedience was a valid plea for the musketeer
who acted by order of Serjeant Barbour, why not for Barbour who acted
by order of Glenlyon? And why not for Glenlyon who acted by order of
Hamilton? It can scarcely be maintained that more deference is due
from a private to a noncommissioned officer than from a noncommissioned
officer to his captain, or from a captain to his colonel.
It may be said that the orders given to Glenlyon were of so peculiar a
nature that, if he had been a man of virtue, he would have thrown up his
commission, would have braved the displeasure of colonel, general, and
Secretary of State, would have incurred the heaviest penalty which
a Court Martial could inflict, rather than have performed the part
assigned to him; and this is perfectly true; but the question is not
whether he acted like a virtuous man, but whether he did that for which
he could, without infringing a rule essential to the discipline of camps
and to the security of nations, be hanged as a murderer. In this case,
disobedience was assuredly a moral duty; but it does not follow that
obedience was a legal crime.
It seems therefore that the guilt of Glenlyon and his fellows was not
within the scope of the penal law. The only punishment which could
properly be inflicted on them was that which made Cain cry out that
it was greater than he could bear; to be vagabonds on the face of the
earth, and to carry wherever they went a mark from which even bad men
should turn away sick with horror.
It was not so with the Master of Stair. He had been solemnly pronounced,
both by the Commission of Precognition and by the Estates of the Realm
in full Parliament, to be the original author of the massacre. That it
was not advisable to make examples of his tools was the strongest reason
for making an example of him. Every argument which can be urged against
punishing the soldier who executes the unjust and inhuman orders of his
superior is an argument for punishing with the utmost rigour of the law
the superior who gives unjust and inhuman orders. Where there can be no
responsibility below, there should be double responsibility above. What
the Parliament of Scotland ought with one voice to have demanded was,
not that a poor illiterate serjeant, who was hardly more accountable
than his own halbert for the bloody work which he had done, should be
hanged in the Grassmarket, but that the real murderer, the most politic,
the most eloquent, the most powerful, of Scottish statesmen, should be
brought to a public trial, and should, if found guilty, die the death of
a felon. Nothing less than such a sacrifice could expiate such a crime.
Unhappily the Estates, by extenuating the guilt of the chief offender,
and, at the same time, demanding that his humble agents should be
treated with a severity beyond the law, made the stain which the
massacre had left on the honour of the nation broader and deeper than
before.
Nor is it possible to acquit the King of a great breach of duty. It
is, indeed, highly probable that, till he received the report of
his Commissioners, he had been very imperfectly informed as to the
circumstances of the slaughter. We can hardly suppose that he was much
in the habit of reading Jacobite pamphlets; and, if he did read them,
he would have found in them such a quantity of absurd and rancorous
invective against himself that he would have been very little inclined
to credit any imputation which they might throw on his servants. He
would have seen himself accused, in one tract, of being a concealed
Papist, in another of having poisoned Jeffreys in the Tower, in a third
of having contrived to have Talmash taken off at Brest. He would have
seen it asserted that, in Ireland, he once ordered fifty of his wounded
English soldiers to be burned alive. He would have seen that the
unalterable affection which he felt from his boyhood to his death for
three or four of the bravest and most trusty friends that ever prince
had the happiness to possess was made a ground for imputing to him
abominations as foul as those which are buried under the waters of the
Dead Sea. He might therefore naturally be slow to believe frightful
imputations thrown by writers whom he knew to be habitual liars on a
statesman whose abilities he valued highly, and to whose exertions he
had, on some great occasions, owed much. But he could not, after he
had read the documents transmitted to him from Edinburgh by Tweedale,
entertain the slightest doubt of the guilt of the Master of Stair. To
visit that guilt with exemplary punishment was the sacred duty of a
Sovereign who had sworn, with his hand lifted up towards heaven, that he
would, in his kingdom of Scotland, repress, in all estates and degrees,
all oppression, and would do justice, without acceptance of persons,
as he hoped for mercy from the Father of all mercies. William contented
himself with dismissing the Master from office. For this great fault, a
fault amounting to a crime, Burnet tried to frame, not a defence, but an
excuse. He would have us believe that the King, alarmed by finding how
many persons had borne a part in the slaughter of Glencoe, thought
it better to grant a general amnesty than to punish one massacre by
another. But this representation is the very reverse of the truth.
Numerous instruments had doubtless been employed in the work of death;
but they had all received their impulse, directly or indirectly, from
a single mind. High above the crowd of offenders towered one offender,
preeminent in parts, knowledge, rank and power. In return for many
victims immolated by treachery, only one victim was demanded by justice;
and it must ever be considered as a blemish on the fame of William that
the demand was refused.
On the seventeenth of July the session of the Parliament of Scotland
closed. The Estates had liberally voted such a supply as the poor
country which they represented could afford. They had indeed been put
into high good humour by the notion that they had found out a way of
speedily making that poor country rich. Their attention had been divided
between the inquiry into the slaughter of Glencoe and some specious
commercial projects of which the nature will be explained and the fate
related in a future chapter.
Meanwhile all Europe was looking anxiously towards the Low Countries.
The great warrior who had been victorious at Fleurus, at Steinkirk and
at Landen had not left his equal behind him. But France still possessed
Marshals well qualified for high command. Already Catinat and Boufflers
had given proofs of skill, of resolution, and of zeal for the interests
of the state. Either of those distinguished officers would have been a
successor worthy of Luxemburg and an antagonist worthy of William; but
their master, unfortunately for himself, preferred to both the Duke of
Villeroy. The new general had been Lewis's playmate when they were both
children, had then become a favourite, and had never ceased to be so.
In those superficial graces for which the French aristocracy was then
renowned throughout Europe, Villeroy was preeminent among the French
aristocracy. His stature was tall, his countenance handsome, his manners
nobly and somewhat haughtily polite, his dress, his furniture, his
equipages, his table, magnificent. No man told a story with more
vivacity; no man sate his horse better in a hunting party; no man made
love with more success; no man staked and lost heaps of gold with more
agreeable unconcern; no man was more intimately acquainted with the
adventures, the attachments, the enmities of the lords and ladies
who daily filled the halls of Versailles. There were two characters
especially which this fine gentleman had studied during many years, and
of which he knew all the plaits and windings, the character of the King,
and the character of her who was Queen in every thing but name. But
there ended Villeroy's acquirements. He was profoundly ignorant both of
books and of business. At the Council Board he never opened his mouth
without exposing himself. For war he had not a single qualification
except that personal courage which was common to him with the whole
class of which he was a member. At every great crisis of his political
and of his military life he was alternately drunk with arrogance
and sunk in dejection. Just before he took a momentous step his
selfconfidence was boundless; he would listen to no suggestion; he would
not admit into his mind the thought that failure was possible. On
the first check he gave up every thing for lost, became incapable of
directing, and ran up and down in helpless despair. Lewis however loved
him; and he, to do him justice, loved Lewis. The kindness of the master
was proof against all the disasters which were brought on his kingdom
by the rashness and weakness of the servant; and the gratitude of the
servant was honourably, though not judiciously, manifested on more than
one occasion after the death of the master. [601]
Such was the general to whom the direction of the campaign in the
Netherlands was confided. The Duke of Maine was sent to learn the art of
war under this preceptor. Maine, the natural son of Lewis by the Duchess
of Montespan, had been brought up from childhood by Madame de Maintenon,
and was loved by Lewis with the love of a father, by Madame de Maintenon
with the not less tender love of a foster mother.
Grave men were scandalized by the ostentatious manner in which the King,
while making a high profession of piety, exhibited his partiality for
this offspring of a double adultery. Kindness, they said, was doubtless
due from a parent to a child; but decency was also due from a Sovereign
to his people. In spite of these murmurs the youth had been publicly
acknowledged, loaded with wealth and dignities, created a Duke and Peer,
placed, by an extraordinary act of royal power, above Dukes and Peers of
older creation, married to a Princess of the blood royal, and appointed
Grand Master of the Artillery of the Realm. With abilities and courage
he might have played a great part in the world. But his intellect was
small; his nerves were weak; and the women and priests who had educated
him had effectually assisted nature. He was orthodox in belief, correct
in morals, insinuating in address, a hypocrite, a mischiefmaker and a
coward.
It was expected at Versailles that Flanders would, during this year, be
the chief theatre of war. Here, therefore, a great army was collected.
Strong lines were formed from the Lys to the Scheld, and Villeroy fixed
his headquarters near Tournay. Boufflers, with about twelve thousand
men, guarded the banks of the Sambre.
On the other side the British and Dutch troops, who were under
`-William's immediate command, mustered in the neighbourhood of Ghent.
The Elector of Bavaria, at the head of a great force, lay near Brussels.
A smaller army, consisting chiefly of Brandenburghers was encamped not
far from Huy.
Early in June military operations commenced. The first movements of
William were mere feints intended to prevent the French generals from
suspecting his real purpose. He had set his heart on retaking Namur.
The loss of Namur had been the most mortifying of all the disasters of a
disastrous war. The importance of Namur in a military point of view had
always been great, and had become greater than ever during the
three years which had elapsed since the last siege. New works, the
masterpieces of Vauban, had been added to the old defences which had
been constructed with the utmost skill of Cohorn. So ably had the two
illustrious engineers vied with each other and cooperated with nature
that the fortress was esteemed the strongest in Europe. Over one gate
had been placed a vaunting inscription which defied the allies to wrench
the prize from the grasp of France.
William kept his own counsel so well that not a hint of his intention
got abroad. Some thought that Dunkirk, some that Ypres was his object.
The marches and skirmishes by which he disguised his design were
compared by Saint Simon to the moves of a skilful chess player.
Feuquieres, much more deeply versed in military science than Saint
Simon, informs us that some of these moves were hazardous, and that such
a game could not have been safely played against Luxemburg; and this is
probably true, but Luxemburg was gone; and what Luxemburg had been to
William, William now was to Villeroy.
While the King was thus employed, the Jacobites at home, being unable,
in his absence, to prosecute their design against his person, contented
themselves with plotting against his government. They were somewhat less
closely watched than during the preceding year; for the event of
the trials at Manchester had discouraged Aaron Smith and his agents.
Trenchard, whose vigilance and severity had made him an object of terror
and hatred, was no more, and had been succeeded, in what may be called
the subordinate Secretaryship of State, by Sir William Trumball, a
learned civilian and an experienced diplomatist, of moderate opinions,
and of temper cautious to timidity. [602] The malecontents were
emboldened by the lenity of the administration. William had scarcely
sailed for the Continent when they held a great meeting at one of their
favourite haunts, the Old King's Head in Leadenhall Street. Charnock,
Porter, Goodman, Parkyns and Fenwick were present. The Earl of Aylesbury
was there, a man whose attachment to the exiled house was notorious, but
who always denied that he had ever thought of effecting a restoration
by immoral means. His denial would be entitled to more credit if he
had not, by taking the oaths to the government against which he was
constantly intriguing, forfeited the right to be considered as a man of
conscience and honour. In the assembly was Sir John Friend, a nonjuror
who had indeed a very slender wit, but who had made a very large fortune
by brewing, and who spent it freely in sedition. After dinner,--for the
plans of the Jacobites were generally laid over wine, and generally bore
some trace of the conviviality in which they had originated,--it
was resolved that the time was come for an insurrection and a French
invasion, and that a special messenger should carry the sense of the
meeting to Saint Germains. Charnock was selected. He undertook the
commission, crossed the Channel, saw James, and had interviews with the
ministers of Lewis, but could arrange nothing. The English malecontents
would not stir till ten thousand French troops were in the island; and
ten thousand French troops could not, without great risk, be withdrawn
from the army which was contending against William in the Low Countries.
When Charnock returned to report that his embassy had been unsuccessful,
he found some of his confederates in gaol. They had during his absence
amused themselves, after their fashion, by trying to raise a riot in
London on the tenth of June, the birthday of the unfortunate Prince
of Wales. They met at a tavern in Drury Lane, and, when hot with
wine, sallied forth sword in hand, headed by Porter and Goodman, beat
kettledrums, unfurled banners, and began to light bonfires. But the
watch, supported by the populace, was too strong for the revellers. They
were put to rout; the tavern where they had feasted was sacked by the
mob; the ringleaders were apprehended, tried, fined and imprisoned, but
regained their liberty in time to bear a part in a far more criminal
design. [603]
By this time all was ready for the execution of the plan which William
had formed. That plan had been communicated to the other chiefs of
the allied forces, and had been warmly approved. Vaudemont was left in
Flanders with a considerable force to watch Villeroy. The King, with
the rest of his army, marched straight on Namur. At the same moment the
Elector of Bavaria advanced towards the same point on one side, and the
Brandenburghers on another. So well had these movements been concerted,
and so rapidly were they performed, that the skilful and energetic
Boufflers had but just time to throw himself into the fortress. He was
accompanied by seven regiments of dragoons, by a strong body of gunners,
sappers and miners, and by an officer named Megrigny, who was esteemed
the best engineer in the French service with the exception of Vauban.
A few hours after Boufflers had entered the place the besieging forces
closed round it on every side; and the lines of circumvallation were
rapidly formed.
The news excited no alarm at the French Court. There it was not doubted
that William would soon be compelled to abandon his enterprise with
grievous loss and ignominy. The town was strong; the castle was believed
to be impregnable; the magazines were filled with provisions and
ammunition sufficient to last till the time at which the armies of that
age were expected to retire into winter quarters; the garrison consisted
of sixteen thousand of the best troops in the world; they were commanded
by an excellent general; he was assisted by an excellent engineer; nor
was it doubted that Villeroy would march with his great army to the
assistance of Boufflers, and that the besiegers would then be in much
more danger than the besieged.
These hopes were kept up by the despatches of Villeroy. He proposed,
he said, first to annihilate the army of Vaudemont, and then to drive
William from Namur. Vaudemont might try to avoid an action; but he could
not escape. The Marshal went so far as to promise his master news of a
complete victory within twenty-four hours. Lewis passed a whole day
in impatient expectation. At last, instead of an officer of high rank
loaded with English and Dutch standards, arrived a courier bringing news
that Vaudemont had effected a retreat with scarcely any loss, and was
safe under the walls of Ghent. William extolled the generalship of his
lieutenant in the warmest terms. "My cousin," he wrote, "you have shown
yourself a greater master of your art than if you had won a pitched
battle. " [604] In the French camp, however, and at the French Court it
was universally held that Vaudemont had been saved less by his own skill
than by the misconduct of those to whom he was opposed. Some threw
the whole blame on Villeroy; and Villeroy made no attempt to vindicate
himself. But it was generally believed that he might, at least to a
great extent, have vindicated himself, had he not preferred royal favour
to military renown. His plan, it was said, might have succeeded, had not
the execution been entrusted to the Duke of Maine. At the first glimpse
of danger the bastard's heart had died within him. He had not been able
to conceal his poltroonery. He had stood trembling, stuttering, calling
for his confessor, while the old officers round him, with tears in their
eyes, urged him to advance. During a short time the disgrace of the son
was concealed from the father. But the silence of Villeroy showed
that there was a secret; the pleasantries of the Dutch gazettes soon
elucidated the mystery; and Lewis learned, if not the whole truth, yet
enough to make him miserable. Never during his long reign had he been so
moved. During some hours his gloomy irritability kept his servants, his
courtiers, even his priests, in terror. He so far forgot the grace and
dignity for which he was renowned throughout the world that, in the
sight of all the splendid crowd of gentlemen and ladies who came to see
him dine at Marli, he broke a cane on the shoulders of a lacquey, and
pursued the poor man with the handle. [605]
The siege of Namur meanwhile was vigorously pressed by the allies. The
scientific part of their operations was under the direction of Cohorn,
who was spurred by emulation to exert his utmost skill. He had suffered,
three years before, the mortification of seeing the town, as he had
fortified it, taken by his great master Vauban. To retake it, now that
the fortifications had received Vauban's last improvements, would be a
noble revenge.
On the second of July the trenches were opened. On the eighth a gallant
sally of French dragoons was gallantly beaten back; and, late on the
same evening, a strong body of infantry, the English footguards leading
the way, stormed, after a bloody conflict, the outworks on the Brussels
side. The King in person directed the attack; and his subjects were
delighted to learn that, when the fight was hottest, he laid his hand on
the shoulder of the Elector of Bavaria, and exclaimed, "Look, look at
my brave English! " Conspicuous in bravery even among those brave English
was Cutts. In that bulldog courage which flinches from no danger,
however terrible, he was unrivalled. There was no difficulty in finding
hardy volunteers, German, Dutch and British, to go on a forlorn hope;
but Cutts was the only man who appeared to consider such an expedition
as a party of pleasure. He was so much at his ease in the hottest
fire of the French batteries that his soldiers gave him the honourable
nickname of the Salamander. [606]
On the seventeenth the first counterscarp of the town was attacked.
The English and Dutch were thrice repulsed with great slaughter, and
returned thrice to the charge. At length, in spite of the exertions of
the French officers, who fought valiantly sword in hand on the glacis,
the assailants remained in possession of the disputed works. While the
conflict was raging, William, who was giving his orders under a shower
of bullets, saw with surprise and anger, among the officers of his
staff, Michael Godfrey the Deputy Governor of the Bank of England. This
gentleman had come to the King's headquarters in order to make some
arrangements for the speedy and safe remittance of money from England
to the army in the Netherlands, and was curious to see real war. Such
curiosity William could not endure. "Mr. Godfrey," he said, "you ought
not to run these hazards; you are not a soldier; you can be of no use
to us here. " "Sir," answered Godfrey, "I run no more hazard than Your
Majesty. " "Not so," said William; "I am where it is my duty to be; and
I may without presumption commit my life to God's keeping; but you--"
While they were talking a cannon ball from the ramparts laid Godfrey
dead at the King's feet. It was not found however that the fear of being
Godfreyed,--such was during some time the cant phrase,--sufficed to
prevent idle gazers from coming to the trenches. [607] Though William
forbade his coachmen, footmen and cooks to expose themselves, he
repeatedly saw them skulking near the most dangerous spots and trying to
get a peep at the fighting. He was sometimes, it is said, provoked into
horsewhipping them out of the range of the French guns; and the story,
whether true or false, is very characteristic.
On the twentieth of July the Bavarians and Brandenburghers, under the
direction of Cohorn, made themselves masters, after a hard fight, of a
line of works which Vauban had cut in the solid rock from the Sambre to
the Meuse. Three days later, the English and Dutch, Cutts, as usual, in
the front, lodged themselves on the second counterscarp. All was ready
for a general assault, when a white flag was hung out from the ramparts.
The effective strength of the garrison was now little more than one half
of what it had been when the trenches were opened. Boufflers apprehended
that it would be impossible for eight thousand men to defend the whole
circuit of the walls much longer; but he felt confident that such a
force would be sufficient to keep the stronghold on the summit of the
rock. Terms of capitulation were speedily adjusted. A gate was delivered
up to the allies. The French were allowed forty-eight hours to retire
into the castle, and were assured that the wounded men whom they left
below, about fifteen hundred in number, should be well treated. On the
sixth the allies marched in. The contest for the possession of the
town was over; and a second and more terrible contest began for the
possession of the citadel. [608]
Villeroy had in the meantime made some petty conquests. Dixmuyde, which
might have offered some resistance, had opened its gates to him, not
without grave suspicion of treachery on the part of the governor.
Deynse, which was less able to make any defence, had followed the
example. The garrisons of both towns were, in violation of a convention
which had been made for the exchange of prisoners, sent into France. The
Marshal then advanced towards Brussels in the hope, as it should seem,
that, by menacing that beautiful capital, he might induce the allies
to raise the siege of the castle of Namur. During thirty-six hours he
rained shells and redhot bullets on the city. The Electress of Bavaria,
who was within the walls, miscarried from terror. Six convents perished.
Fifteen hundred houses were at once in flames.
The whole lower town
would have been burned to the ground, had not the inhabitants stopped
the conflagration by blowing up numerous buildings. Immense quantities
of the finest lace and tapestry were destroyed; for the industry and
trade which made Brussels famous throughout the world had hitherto been
little affected by the war. Several of the stately piles which looked
down on the market place were laid in ruins. The Town Hall itself, the
noblest of the many noble senate houses reared by the burghers of the
Netherlands, was in imminent peril. All this devastation, however,
produced no effect except much private misery. William was not to be
intimidated or provoked into relaxing the firm grasp with which he held
Namur. The fire which his batteries kept up round the castle was such as
had never been known in war. The French gunners were fairly driven from
their pieces by the hail of balls, and forced to take refuge in vaulted
galleries under the ground. Cohorn exultingly betted the Elector
of Bavaria four hundred pistoles that the place would fall by the
thirty-first of August, New Style. The great engineer lost his wager
indeed, but lost it only by a few hours. [609]
Boufflers now began to feel that his only hope was in Villeroy. Villeroy
had proceeded from Brussels to Enghien; he had there collected all the
French troops that could be spared from the remotest fortresses of the
Netherlands; and he now, at the head of more than eighty thousand men,
marched towards Namur. Vaudemont meanwhile joined the besiegers. William
therefore thought himself strong enough to offer battle to Villeroy,
without intermitting for a moment the operations against Boufflers. The
Elector of Bavaria was entrusted with the immediate direction of the
siege. The King of England took up, on the west of the town, a strong
position strongly intrenched, and there awaited the French, who were
advancing from Enghien. Every thing seemed to indicate that a great
day was at hand. Two of the most numerous and best ordered armies that
Europe had ever seen were brought face to face. On the fifteenth of
August the defenders of the castle saw from their watchtowers the mighty
host of their countrymen. But between that host and the citadel was
drawn up in battle order the not less mighty host of William. Villeroy,
by a salute of ninety guns, conveyed to Boufflers the promise of a
speedy rescue; and at night Boufflers, by fire signals which were seen
far over the vast plain of the Meuse and Sambre, urged Villeroy to
fulfil that promise without delay. In the capitals both of France and
England the anxiety was intense. Lewis shut himself up in his oratory,
confessed, received the Eucharist, and gave orders that the host should
be exposed in his chapel. His wife ordered all her nuns to their knees.
[610] London was kept in a state of distraction by a succession of
rumours fabricated some by Jacobites and some by stockjobbers. Early one
morning it was confidently averred that there had been a battle, that
the allies had been beaten, that the King had been killed, that the
siege had been raised. The Exchange, as soon as it was opened, was
filled to overflowing by people who came to learn whether the bad news
was true. The streets were stopped up all day by groups of talkers and
listeners. In the afternoon the Gazette, which had been impatiently
expected, and which was eagerly read by thousands, calmed the
excitement, but not completely; for it was known that the Jacobites
sometimes received, by the agency of privateers and smugglers who put to
sea in all weathers, intelligence earlier than that which came through
regular channels to the Secretary of State at Whitehall. Before night,
however, the agitation had altogether subsided; but it was suddenly
revived by a bold imposture. A horseman in the uniform of the Guards
spurred through the City, announcing that the King had been killed. He
would probably have raised a serious tumult, had not some apprentices,
zealous for the Revolution and the Protestant religion, knocked him down
and carried him to Newgate. The confidential correspondent of the
States General informed them that, in spite of all the stories which the
disaffected party invented and circulated, the general persuasion was
that the allies would be successful. The touchstone of sincerity in
England, he said, was the betting. The Jacobites were ready enough
to prove that William must be defeated, or to assert that he had been
defeated; but they would not give the odds, and could hardly be induced
to take any moderate odds. The Whigs, on the other hand, were ready to
stake thousands of guineas on the conduct and good fortune of the King.
[611]
The event justified the confidence of the Whigs and the backwardness of
the Jacobites. On the sixteenth, the seventeenth, and the eighteenth
of August the army of Villeroy and the army of William confronted each
other. It was fully expected that the nineteenth would be the decisive
day. The allies were under arms before dawn. At four William mounted,
and continued till eight at night to ride from post to post, disposing
his own troops and watching the movements of the enemy. The enemy
approached his lines in several places, near enough to see that it would
not be easy to dislodge him; but there was no fighting. He lay down to
rest, expecting to be attacked when the sun rose. But when the sun rose
he found that the French had fallen back some miles. He immediately sent
to request that the Elector would storm the castle without delay. While
the preparations were making, Portland was sent to summon the garrison
for the last time. It was plain, he said to Boufflers, that Villeroy had
given up all hope of being able to raise the siege. It would therefore
be an useless waste of life to prolong the contest. Boufflers however
thought that another day of slaughter was necessary to the honour of the
French arms; and Portland returned unsuccessful. [612]
Early in the afternoon the assault was made in four places at once by
four divisions of the confederate army. One point was assigned to the
Brandenburghers, another to the Dutch, a third to the Bavarians, and
a fourth to the English. The English were at first less fortunate than
they had hitherto been. The truth is that most of the regiments which
had seen service had marched with William to encounter Villeroy. As
soon as the signal was given by the blowing up of two barrels of powder,
Cutts, at the head of a small body of grenadiers, marched first out of
the trenches with drums beating and colours flying. This gallant band
was to be supported by four battalions which had never been in action,
and which, though full of spirit, wanted the steadiness which so
terrible a service required. The officers fell fast. Every Colonel,
every Lieutenant Colonel, was killed or severely wounded. Cutts received
a shot in the head which for a time disabled him. The raw recruits, left
almost without direction, rushed forward impetuously till they found
themselves in disorder and out of breath, with a precipice before them,
under a terrible fire, and under a shower, scarcely less terrible,
of fragments of rock and wall. They lost heart, and rolled back in
confusion, till Cutts, whose wound had by this time been dressed,
succeeded in rallying them. He then led them, not to the place from
which they had been driven back, but to another spot where a fearful
battle was raging. The Bavarians had made their onset gallantly but
unsuccessfully; their general had fallen; and they were beginning to
waver when the arrival of the Salamander and his men changed the fate
of the day. Two hundred English volunteers, bent on retrieving at all
hazards the disgrace of the recent repulse, were the first to force a
way, sword in hand, through the palisades, to storm a battery which had
made great havoc among the Bavarians, and to turn the guns against the
garrison. Meanwhile the Brandenburghers, excellently disciplined and
excellently commanded, had performed, with no great loss, the duty
assigned to them. The Dutch had been equally successful. When the
evening closed in the allies had made a lodgment of a mile in extent on
the outworks of the castle. The advantage had been purchased by the loss
of two thousand men. [613]
And now Boufflers thought that he had done all that his duty required.
On the morrow he asked for a truce of forty-eight hours in order that
the hundreds of corpses which choked the ditches and which would soon
have spread pestilence among both the besiegers and the besieged might
be removed and interred. His request was granted; and, before the time
expired, he intimated that he was disposed to capitulate. He would, he
said, deliver up the castle in ten days, if he were not relieved sooner.
He was informed that the allies would not treat with him on such terms,
and that he must either consent to an immediate surrender, or prepare
for an immediate assault. He yielded, and it was agreed that he and his
men should be suffered to depart, leaving the citadel, the artillery,
and the stores to the conquerors. Three peals from all the guns of the
confederate army notified to Villeroy the fall of the stronghold which
he had vainly attempted to succour. He instantly retreated towards
Mons, leaving William to enjoy undisturbed a triumph which was made more
delightful by the recollection of many misfortunes.
The twenty-sixth of August was fixed for an exhibition such as the
oldest soldier in Europe had never seen, and such as, a few weeks
before, the youngest had scarcely hoped to see. From the first battle of
Conde to the last battle of Luxemburg, the tide of military success had
run, without any serious interruption, in one direction. That tide
had turned. For the first time, men said, since France had Marshals, a
Marshal of France was to deliver up a fortress to a victorious enemy.
The allied forces, foot and horse, drawn up in two lines, formed a
magnificent avenue from the breach which had lately been so desperately
contested to the bank of the Meuse. The Elector of Bavaria, the
Landgrave of Hesse, and many distinguished officers were on horseback
in the vicinity of the castle. William was near them in his coach. The
garrison, reduced to about five thousand men, came forth with drums
beating and ensigns flying. Boufflers and his staff closed the
procession. There had been some difficulty about the form of the
greeting which was to be exchanged between him and the allied
Sovereigns. An Elector of Bavaria was hardly entitled to be saluted by
the Marshal with the sword. A King of England was undoubtedly entitled
to such a mark of respect; but France did not recognise William as King
of England. At last Boufflers consented to perform the salute without
marking for which of the two princes it was intended. He lowered his
sword. William alone acknowledged the compliment. A short conversation
followed. The Marshal, in order to avoid the use of the words Sire and
Majesty, addressed himself only to the Elector. The Elector, with every
mark of deference, reported to William what had been said; and William
gravely touched his hat. The officers of the garrison carried back to
their country the news that the upstart who at Paris was designated
only as Prince of Orange, was treated by the proudest potentates of the
Germanic body with a respect as profound as that which Lewis exacted
from the gentlemen of his bedchamber. [614]
The ceremonial was now over; and Boufflers passed on but he had
proceeded but a short way when he was stopped by Dykvelt who accompanied
the allied army as deputy from the States General. "You must return to
the town, Sir," said Dykvelt. "The King of England has ordered me to
inform you that you are his prisoner. " Boufflers was in transports of
rage. His officers crowded round him and vowed to die in his defence.
But resistance was out of the question; a strong body of Dutch cavalry
came up; and the Brigadier who commanded them demanded the Marshal's
sword. The Marshal uttered indignant exclamations: "This is an infamous
breach of faith. Look at the terms of the capitulation. What have I done
to deserve such an affront? Have I not behaved like a man of honour?
Ought I not to be treated as such? But beware what you do, gentlemen.
I serve a master who can and will avenge me. " "I am a soldier, Sir,"
answered the Brigadier, "and my business is to obey orders without
troubling myself about consequences. " Dykvelt calmly and courteously
replied to the Marshal's indignant exclamations. "The King of England
has reluctantly followed the example set by your master. The soldiers
who garrisoned Dixmuyde and Deynse have, in defiance of plighted faith,
been sent prisoners into France. The Prince whom they serve would be
wanting in his duty to them if he did not retaliate. His Majesty might
with perfect justice have detained all the French who were in Namur. But
he will not follow to such a length a precedent which he disapproves.
He has determined to arrest you and you alone; and, Sir, you must not
regard as an affront what is in truth a mark of his very particular
esteem. How can he pay you a higher compliment than by showing that he
considers you as fully equivalent to the five or six thousand men whom
your sovereign wrongfully holds in captivity? Nay, you shall even now be
permitted to proceed if you will give me your word of honour to return
hither unless the garrisons of Dixmuyde and Deynse are released within a
fortnight. " "I do not at all know," answered Boufflers, "why the King my
master detains those men; and therefore I cannot hold out any hope that
he will liberate them. You have an army at your back; I am alone; and
you must do your pleasure. " He gave up his sword, returned to Namur, and
was sent thence to Huy, where he passed a few days in luxurious repose,
was allowed to choose his own walks and rides, and was treated with
marked respect by those who guarded him. In the shortest time in which
it was possible to post from the place where he was confined to the
French Court and back again, he received full powers to promise that the
garrisons of Dixmuyde and Deynse should be sent back. He was instantly
liberated; and he set off for Fontainebleau, where an honourable
reception awaited him. He was created a Duke and a Peer. That he might
be able to support his new dignities a considerable sum of money was
bestowed on him; and, in the presence of the whole aristocracy of
France, he was welcomed home by Lewis with an affectionate embrace.
[615]
In all the countries which were united against France the news of
the fall of Namur was received with joy; but here the exultation was
greatest. During several generations our ancestors had achieved nothing
considerable by land against foreign enemies. We had indeed occasionally
furnished to our allies small bands of auxiliaries who had well
maintained the honour of the nation. But from the day on which the
two brave Talbots, father and son, had perished in the vain attempt to
reconquer Guienne, till the Revolution, there had been on the Continent
no campaign in which Englishmen had borne a principal part. At length
our ancestors had again, after an interval of near two centuries and a
half, begun to dispute with the warriors of France the palm of military
prowess. The struggle had been hard. The genius of Luxemburg and the
consummate discipline of the household troops of Lewis had pervailed
in two great battles; but the event of those battles had been long
doubtful; the victory had been dearly purchased, and the victor had
gained little more than the honour of remaining master of the field
of slaughter. Meanwhile he was himself training his adversaries. The
recruits who survived his severe tuition speedily became veterans.
Steinkirk and Landen had formed the volunteers who followed Cutts
through the palisades of Namur. The judgment of all the great warriors
whom all the nations of Western Europe had sent to the confluence of the
Sambre and the Meuse was that the English subaltern was inferior to
no subaltern and the English private soldier to no private soldier in
Christendom. The English officers of higher rank were thought hardly
worthy to command such an army. Cutts, indeed, had distinguished himself
by his intrepidity. But those who most admired him acknowledged that he
had neither the capacity nor the science necessary to a general.
The joy of the conquerors was heightened by the recollection of the
discomfiture which they had suffered, three years before, on the same
spot, and of the insolence with which their enemy had then triumphed
over them. They now triumphed in their turn. The Dutch struck medals.
The Spaniards sang Te Deums. Many poems, serious and sportive, appeared,
of which one only has lived. Prior burlesqued, with admirable spirit
and pleasantry, the bombastic verses in which Boileau had celebrated
the first taking of Namur. The two odes, printed side by side, were read
with delight in London; and the critics at Will's pronounced that, in
wit as in arms, England had been victorious.
The fall of Namur was the great military event of this year. The Turkish
war still kept a large part of the forces of the Emperor employed in
indecisive operations on the Danube. Nothing deserving to be mentioned
took place either in Piedmont or on the Rhine. In Catalonia the
Spaniards obtained some slight advantages, advantages due to their
English and Dutch allies, who seem to have done all that could be
done to help a nation never much disposed to help itself. The maritime
superiority of England and Holland was now fully established. During
the whole year Russell was the undisputed master of the Mediterranean,
passed and repassed between Spain and Italy, bombarded Palamos, spread
terror along the whole shore of Provence, and kept the French fleet
imprisoned in the harbour of Toulon. Meanwhile Berkeley was the
undisputed master of the Channel, sailed to and fro in sight of the
coasts of Artois, Picardy, Normandy and Brittany, threw shells into
Saint Maloes, Calais and Dunkirk, and burned Granville to the ground.
The navy of Lewis, which, five years before, had been the most
formidable in Europe, which had ranged the British seas unopposed from
the Downs to the Land's End, which had anchored in Torbay and had laid
Teignmouth in ashes, now gave no sign of existence except by pillaging
merchantmen which were unprovided with convoy. In this lucrative war
the French privateers were, towards the close of the summer, very
successful. Several vessels laden with sugar from Barbadoes were
captured. The losses of the unfortunate East India Company, already
surrounded by difficulties and impoverished by boundless prodigality in
corruption, were enormous. Five large ships returning from the Eastern
seas, with cargoes of which the value was popularly estimated at a
million, fell into the hands of the enemy. These misfortunes produced
some murmuring on the Royal Exchange. But, on the whole, the temper of
the capital and of the nation was better than it had been during some
years.
Meanwhile events which no preceding historian has condescended to
mention, but which were of far greater importance than the achievements
of William's army or of Russell's fleet, were taking place in London.
A great experiment was making. A great revolution was in progress.
Newspapers had made their appearance.
While the Licensing Act was in force there was no newspaper in England
except the London Gazette, which was edited by a clerk in the office
of the Secretary of State, and which contained nothing but what the
Secretary of State wished the nation to know. There were indeed many
periodical papers; but none of those papers could be called a newspaper.
Welwood, a zealous Whig, published a journal called the Observator; but
his Observator, like the Observator which Lestrange had formerly edited,
contained, not the news, but merely dissertations on politics. A crazy
bookseller, named John Dunton, published the Athenian Mercury; but the
Athenian Mercury merely discussed questions of natural philosophy, of
casuistry and of gallantry. A fellow of the Royal Society, named John
Houghton, published what he called a Collection for the Improvement of
Industry and Trade. But his Collection contained little more than the
prices of stocks, explanations of the modes of doing business in
the City, puffs of new projects, and advertisements of books, quack
medicines, chocolate, spa water, civet cats, surgeons wanting ships,
valets wanting masters and ladies wanting husbands. If ever he printed
any political news, he transcribed it from the Gazette. The Gazette was
so partial and so meagre a chronicle of events that, though it had no
competitors, it had but a small circulation. Only eight thousand copies
were printed, much less than one to each parish in the kingdom. In truth
a person who had studied the history of his own time only in the Gazette
would have been ignorant of many events of the highest importance.
He would, for example, have known nothing about the Court Martial
on Torrington, the Lancashire Trials, the burning of the Bishop of
Salisbury's Pastoral Letter or the impeachment of the Duke of Leeds.
But the deficiencies of the Gazette were to a certain extent supplied in
London by the coffeehouses, and in the country by the newsletters.
On the third of May 1695 the law which had subjected the press to a
censorship expired. Within a fortnight, a stanch old Whig, named Harris,
who had, in the days of the Exclusion Bill, attempted to set up a
newspaper entitled Intelligence Domestic and Foreign, and who had
been speedily forced to relinquish that design, announced that the
Intelligence Domestic and Foreign, suppressed fourteen years before
by tyranny, would again appear. Ten days after the first number of the
Intelligence Domestic and Foreign was printed the first number of the
English Courant. Then came the Packet Boat from Holland and Flanders,
the Pegasus, the London Newsletter, the London Post, the Flying Post,
the Old Postmaster, the Postboy and the Postman. The history of the
newspapers of England from that time to the present day is a most
interesting and instructive part of the history of the country. At first
they were small and meanlooking. Even the Postboy and the Postman,
which seem to have been the best conducted and the most prosperous, were
wretchedly printed on scraps of dingy paper such as would not now be
thought good enough for street ballads. Only two numbers came out in a
week, and a number contained little more matter than may be found in a
single column of a daily paper of our time. What is now called a
leading article seldom appeared, except when there was a scarcity of
intelligence, when the Dutch mails were detained by the west wind, when
the Rapparees were quiet in the Bog of Allen, when no stage coach had
been stopped by highwaymen, when no nonjuring congregation had been
dispersed by constables, when no ambassador had made his entry with a
long train of coaches and six, when no lord or poet had been buried in
the Abbey, and when consequently it was difficult to fill up four scanty
pages. Yet the leading articles, though inserted, as it should
seem, only in the absence of more attractive matter, are by no means
contemptibly written.
It is a remarkable fact that the infant newspapers were all on the side
of King William and the Revolution. This fact may be partly explained
by the circumstance that the editors were, at first, on their good
behaviour. It was by no means clear that their trade was not in itself
illegal. The printing of newspapers was certainly not prohibited by any
statute. But, towards the close of the reign of Charles the Second,
the judges had pronounced that it was a misdemeanour at common law to
publish political intelligence without the King's license. It is true
that the judges who laid down this doctrine were removable at the royal
pleasure and were eager on all occasions to exalt the royal prerogative.
How the question, if it were again raised, would be decided by Holt
and Treby was doubtful; and the effect of the doubt was to make the
ministers of the Crown indulgent and to make the journalists cautious.
On neither side was there a wish to bring the question of right to
issue. The government therefore connived at the publication of the
newspapers; and the conductors of the newspapers carefully abstained
from publishing any thing that could provoke or alarm the government. It
is true that, in one of the earliest numbers of one of the new journals,
a paragraph appeared which seemed intended to convey an insinuation that
the Princess Anne did not sincerely rejoice at the fall of Namur. But
the printer made haste to atone for his fault by the most submissive
apologies. During a considerable time the unofficial gazettes, though
much more garrulous and amusing than the official gazette, were scarcely
less courtly. Whoever examines them will find that the King is always
mentioned with profound respect. About the debates and divisions of the
two Houses a reverential silence is preserved. There is much invective;
but it is almost all directed against the Jacobites and the French. It
seems certain that the government of William gained not a little by the
substitution of these printed newspapers, composed under constant dread
of the Attorney General, for the old newsletters, which were written
with unbounded license.
the address which related to the Master of Stair should be framed was a
question about which there was much debate. Several of his letters were
called for and read; and several amendments were put to the vote. It
should seem that the Jacobites and the extreme Presbyterians were, with
but too good cause, on the side of severity. The majority, under the
skilful management of the Lord High Commissioner, acquiesced in words
which made it impossible for the guilty minister to retain his office,
but which did not impute to him such criminality as would have affected
his life or his estate. They censured him, but censured him in terms far
too soft. They blamed his immoderate zeal against the unfortunate clan,
and his warm directions about performing the execution by surprise. His
excess in his letters they pronounced to have been the original cause
of the massacre; but, instead of demanding that he should be brought to
trial as a murderer, they declared that, in consideration of his absence
and of his great place, they left it to the royal wisdom to deal with
him in such a manner as might vindicate the honour of the government.
The indulgence which was shown to the principal offender was not
extended to his subordinates. Hamilton, who had fled and had been vainly
cited by proclamation at the City Cross to appear before the Estates,
was pronounced not to be clear of the blood of the Glencoe men.
Glenlyon, Captain Drummond, Lieutenant Lindsey, Ensign Lundie, and
Serjeant Barbour, were still more distinctly designated as murderers;
and the King was requested to command the Lord Advocate to prosecute
them.
The Parliament of Scotland was undoubtedly, on this occasion, severe in
the wrong place and lenient in the wrong place. The cruelty and baseness
of Glenlyon and his comrades excite, even after the lapse of a hundred
and sixty years, emotions which make it difficult to reason calmly.
Yet whoever can bring himself to look at the conduct of these men with
judicial impartiality will probably be of opinion that they could
not, without great detriment to the commonwealth, have been treated
as assassins. They had slain nobody whom they had not been positively
directed by their commanding officer to slay. That subordination without
which an army is the worst of all rabbles would be at an end, if every
soldier were to be held answerable for the justice of every order
in obedience to which he pulls his trigger. The case of Glencoe was,
doubtless, an extreme case; but it cannot easily be distinguished in
principle from cases which, in war, are of ordinary occurrence. Very
terrible military executions are sometimes indispensable. Humanity
itself may require them. Who then is to decide whether there be an
emergency such as makes severity the truest mercy? Who is to determine
whether it be or be not necessary to lay a thriving town in ashes, to
decimate a large body of mutineers, to shoot a whole gang of banditti?
Is the responsibility with the commanding officer, or with the rank and
file whom he orders to make ready, present and fire? And if the general
rule be that the responsibility is with the commanding officer, and
not with those who obey him, is it possible to find any reason for
pronouncing the case of Glencoe an exception to that rule? It is
remarkable that no member of the Scottish Parliament proposed that any
of the private men of Argyle's regiment should be prosecuted for murder.
Absolute impunity was granted to everybody below the rank of Serjeant.
Yet on what principle? Surely, if military obedience was not a valid
plea, every man who shot a Macdonald on that horrible night was a
murderer. And, if military obedience was a valid plea for the musketeer
who acted by order of Serjeant Barbour, why not for Barbour who acted
by order of Glenlyon? And why not for Glenlyon who acted by order of
Hamilton? It can scarcely be maintained that more deference is due
from a private to a noncommissioned officer than from a noncommissioned
officer to his captain, or from a captain to his colonel.
It may be said that the orders given to Glenlyon were of so peculiar a
nature that, if he had been a man of virtue, he would have thrown up his
commission, would have braved the displeasure of colonel, general, and
Secretary of State, would have incurred the heaviest penalty which
a Court Martial could inflict, rather than have performed the part
assigned to him; and this is perfectly true; but the question is not
whether he acted like a virtuous man, but whether he did that for which
he could, without infringing a rule essential to the discipline of camps
and to the security of nations, be hanged as a murderer. In this case,
disobedience was assuredly a moral duty; but it does not follow that
obedience was a legal crime.
It seems therefore that the guilt of Glenlyon and his fellows was not
within the scope of the penal law. The only punishment which could
properly be inflicted on them was that which made Cain cry out that
it was greater than he could bear; to be vagabonds on the face of the
earth, and to carry wherever they went a mark from which even bad men
should turn away sick with horror.
It was not so with the Master of Stair. He had been solemnly pronounced,
both by the Commission of Precognition and by the Estates of the Realm
in full Parliament, to be the original author of the massacre. That it
was not advisable to make examples of his tools was the strongest reason
for making an example of him. Every argument which can be urged against
punishing the soldier who executes the unjust and inhuman orders of his
superior is an argument for punishing with the utmost rigour of the law
the superior who gives unjust and inhuman orders. Where there can be no
responsibility below, there should be double responsibility above. What
the Parliament of Scotland ought with one voice to have demanded was,
not that a poor illiterate serjeant, who was hardly more accountable
than his own halbert for the bloody work which he had done, should be
hanged in the Grassmarket, but that the real murderer, the most politic,
the most eloquent, the most powerful, of Scottish statesmen, should be
brought to a public trial, and should, if found guilty, die the death of
a felon. Nothing less than such a sacrifice could expiate such a crime.
Unhappily the Estates, by extenuating the guilt of the chief offender,
and, at the same time, demanding that his humble agents should be
treated with a severity beyond the law, made the stain which the
massacre had left on the honour of the nation broader and deeper than
before.
Nor is it possible to acquit the King of a great breach of duty. It
is, indeed, highly probable that, till he received the report of
his Commissioners, he had been very imperfectly informed as to the
circumstances of the slaughter. We can hardly suppose that he was much
in the habit of reading Jacobite pamphlets; and, if he did read them,
he would have found in them such a quantity of absurd and rancorous
invective against himself that he would have been very little inclined
to credit any imputation which they might throw on his servants. He
would have seen himself accused, in one tract, of being a concealed
Papist, in another of having poisoned Jeffreys in the Tower, in a third
of having contrived to have Talmash taken off at Brest. He would have
seen it asserted that, in Ireland, he once ordered fifty of his wounded
English soldiers to be burned alive. He would have seen that the
unalterable affection which he felt from his boyhood to his death for
three or four of the bravest and most trusty friends that ever prince
had the happiness to possess was made a ground for imputing to him
abominations as foul as those which are buried under the waters of the
Dead Sea. He might therefore naturally be slow to believe frightful
imputations thrown by writers whom he knew to be habitual liars on a
statesman whose abilities he valued highly, and to whose exertions he
had, on some great occasions, owed much. But he could not, after he
had read the documents transmitted to him from Edinburgh by Tweedale,
entertain the slightest doubt of the guilt of the Master of Stair. To
visit that guilt with exemplary punishment was the sacred duty of a
Sovereign who had sworn, with his hand lifted up towards heaven, that he
would, in his kingdom of Scotland, repress, in all estates and degrees,
all oppression, and would do justice, without acceptance of persons,
as he hoped for mercy from the Father of all mercies. William contented
himself with dismissing the Master from office. For this great fault, a
fault amounting to a crime, Burnet tried to frame, not a defence, but an
excuse. He would have us believe that the King, alarmed by finding how
many persons had borne a part in the slaughter of Glencoe, thought
it better to grant a general amnesty than to punish one massacre by
another. But this representation is the very reverse of the truth.
Numerous instruments had doubtless been employed in the work of death;
but they had all received their impulse, directly or indirectly, from
a single mind. High above the crowd of offenders towered one offender,
preeminent in parts, knowledge, rank and power. In return for many
victims immolated by treachery, only one victim was demanded by justice;
and it must ever be considered as a blemish on the fame of William that
the demand was refused.
On the seventeenth of July the session of the Parliament of Scotland
closed. The Estates had liberally voted such a supply as the poor
country which they represented could afford. They had indeed been put
into high good humour by the notion that they had found out a way of
speedily making that poor country rich. Their attention had been divided
between the inquiry into the slaughter of Glencoe and some specious
commercial projects of which the nature will be explained and the fate
related in a future chapter.
Meanwhile all Europe was looking anxiously towards the Low Countries.
The great warrior who had been victorious at Fleurus, at Steinkirk and
at Landen had not left his equal behind him. But France still possessed
Marshals well qualified for high command. Already Catinat and Boufflers
had given proofs of skill, of resolution, and of zeal for the interests
of the state. Either of those distinguished officers would have been a
successor worthy of Luxemburg and an antagonist worthy of William; but
their master, unfortunately for himself, preferred to both the Duke of
Villeroy. The new general had been Lewis's playmate when they were both
children, had then become a favourite, and had never ceased to be so.
In those superficial graces for which the French aristocracy was then
renowned throughout Europe, Villeroy was preeminent among the French
aristocracy. His stature was tall, his countenance handsome, his manners
nobly and somewhat haughtily polite, his dress, his furniture, his
equipages, his table, magnificent. No man told a story with more
vivacity; no man sate his horse better in a hunting party; no man made
love with more success; no man staked and lost heaps of gold with more
agreeable unconcern; no man was more intimately acquainted with the
adventures, the attachments, the enmities of the lords and ladies
who daily filled the halls of Versailles. There were two characters
especially which this fine gentleman had studied during many years, and
of which he knew all the plaits and windings, the character of the King,
and the character of her who was Queen in every thing but name. But
there ended Villeroy's acquirements. He was profoundly ignorant both of
books and of business. At the Council Board he never opened his mouth
without exposing himself. For war he had not a single qualification
except that personal courage which was common to him with the whole
class of which he was a member. At every great crisis of his political
and of his military life he was alternately drunk with arrogance
and sunk in dejection. Just before he took a momentous step his
selfconfidence was boundless; he would listen to no suggestion; he would
not admit into his mind the thought that failure was possible. On
the first check he gave up every thing for lost, became incapable of
directing, and ran up and down in helpless despair. Lewis however loved
him; and he, to do him justice, loved Lewis. The kindness of the master
was proof against all the disasters which were brought on his kingdom
by the rashness and weakness of the servant; and the gratitude of the
servant was honourably, though not judiciously, manifested on more than
one occasion after the death of the master. [601]
Such was the general to whom the direction of the campaign in the
Netherlands was confided. The Duke of Maine was sent to learn the art of
war under this preceptor. Maine, the natural son of Lewis by the Duchess
of Montespan, had been brought up from childhood by Madame de Maintenon,
and was loved by Lewis with the love of a father, by Madame de Maintenon
with the not less tender love of a foster mother.
Grave men were scandalized by the ostentatious manner in which the King,
while making a high profession of piety, exhibited his partiality for
this offspring of a double adultery. Kindness, they said, was doubtless
due from a parent to a child; but decency was also due from a Sovereign
to his people. In spite of these murmurs the youth had been publicly
acknowledged, loaded with wealth and dignities, created a Duke and Peer,
placed, by an extraordinary act of royal power, above Dukes and Peers of
older creation, married to a Princess of the blood royal, and appointed
Grand Master of the Artillery of the Realm. With abilities and courage
he might have played a great part in the world. But his intellect was
small; his nerves were weak; and the women and priests who had educated
him had effectually assisted nature. He was orthodox in belief, correct
in morals, insinuating in address, a hypocrite, a mischiefmaker and a
coward.
It was expected at Versailles that Flanders would, during this year, be
the chief theatre of war. Here, therefore, a great army was collected.
Strong lines were formed from the Lys to the Scheld, and Villeroy fixed
his headquarters near Tournay. Boufflers, with about twelve thousand
men, guarded the banks of the Sambre.
On the other side the British and Dutch troops, who were under
`-William's immediate command, mustered in the neighbourhood of Ghent.
The Elector of Bavaria, at the head of a great force, lay near Brussels.
A smaller army, consisting chiefly of Brandenburghers was encamped not
far from Huy.
Early in June military operations commenced. The first movements of
William were mere feints intended to prevent the French generals from
suspecting his real purpose. He had set his heart on retaking Namur.
The loss of Namur had been the most mortifying of all the disasters of a
disastrous war. The importance of Namur in a military point of view had
always been great, and had become greater than ever during the
three years which had elapsed since the last siege. New works, the
masterpieces of Vauban, had been added to the old defences which had
been constructed with the utmost skill of Cohorn. So ably had the two
illustrious engineers vied with each other and cooperated with nature
that the fortress was esteemed the strongest in Europe. Over one gate
had been placed a vaunting inscription which defied the allies to wrench
the prize from the grasp of France.
William kept his own counsel so well that not a hint of his intention
got abroad. Some thought that Dunkirk, some that Ypres was his object.
The marches and skirmishes by which he disguised his design were
compared by Saint Simon to the moves of a skilful chess player.
Feuquieres, much more deeply versed in military science than Saint
Simon, informs us that some of these moves were hazardous, and that such
a game could not have been safely played against Luxemburg; and this is
probably true, but Luxemburg was gone; and what Luxemburg had been to
William, William now was to Villeroy.
While the King was thus employed, the Jacobites at home, being unable,
in his absence, to prosecute their design against his person, contented
themselves with plotting against his government. They were somewhat less
closely watched than during the preceding year; for the event of
the trials at Manchester had discouraged Aaron Smith and his agents.
Trenchard, whose vigilance and severity had made him an object of terror
and hatred, was no more, and had been succeeded, in what may be called
the subordinate Secretaryship of State, by Sir William Trumball, a
learned civilian and an experienced diplomatist, of moderate opinions,
and of temper cautious to timidity. [602] The malecontents were
emboldened by the lenity of the administration. William had scarcely
sailed for the Continent when they held a great meeting at one of their
favourite haunts, the Old King's Head in Leadenhall Street. Charnock,
Porter, Goodman, Parkyns and Fenwick were present. The Earl of Aylesbury
was there, a man whose attachment to the exiled house was notorious, but
who always denied that he had ever thought of effecting a restoration
by immoral means. His denial would be entitled to more credit if he
had not, by taking the oaths to the government against which he was
constantly intriguing, forfeited the right to be considered as a man of
conscience and honour. In the assembly was Sir John Friend, a nonjuror
who had indeed a very slender wit, but who had made a very large fortune
by brewing, and who spent it freely in sedition. After dinner,--for the
plans of the Jacobites were generally laid over wine, and generally bore
some trace of the conviviality in which they had originated,--it
was resolved that the time was come for an insurrection and a French
invasion, and that a special messenger should carry the sense of the
meeting to Saint Germains. Charnock was selected. He undertook the
commission, crossed the Channel, saw James, and had interviews with the
ministers of Lewis, but could arrange nothing. The English malecontents
would not stir till ten thousand French troops were in the island; and
ten thousand French troops could not, without great risk, be withdrawn
from the army which was contending against William in the Low Countries.
When Charnock returned to report that his embassy had been unsuccessful,
he found some of his confederates in gaol. They had during his absence
amused themselves, after their fashion, by trying to raise a riot in
London on the tenth of June, the birthday of the unfortunate Prince
of Wales. They met at a tavern in Drury Lane, and, when hot with
wine, sallied forth sword in hand, headed by Porter and Goodman, beat
kettledrums, unfurled banners, and began to light bonfires. But the
watch, supported by the populace, was too strong for the revellers. They
were put to rout; the tavern where they had feasted was sacked by the
mob; the ringleaders were apprehended, tried, fined and imprisoned, but
regained their liberty in time to bear a part in a far more criminal
design. [603]
By this time all was ready for the execution of the plan which William
had formed. That plan had been communicated to the other chiefs of
the allied forces, and had been warmly approved. Vaudemont was left in
Flanders with a considerable force to watch Villeroy. The King, with
the rest of his army, marched straight on Namur. At the same moment the
Elector of Bavaria advanced towards the same point on one side, and the
Brandenburghers on another. So well had these movements been concerted,
and so rapidly were they performed, that the skilful and energetic
Boufflers had but just time to throw himself into the fortress. He was
accompanied by seven regiments of dragoons, by a strong body of gunners,
sappers and miners, and by an officer named Megrigny, who was esteemed
the best engineer in the French service with the exception of Vauban.
A few hours after Boufflers had entered the place the besieging forces
closed round it on every side; and the lines of circumvallation were
rapidly formed.
The news excited no alarm at the French Court. There it was not doubted
that William would soon be compelled to abandon his enterprise with
grievous loss and ignominy. The town was strong; the castle was believed
to be impregnable; the magazines were filled with provisions and
ammunition sufficient to last till the time at which the armies of that
age were expected to retire into winter quarters; the garrison consisted
of sixteen thousand of the best troops in the world; they were commanded
by an excellent general; he was assisted by an excellent engineer; nor
was it doubted that Villeroy would march with his great army to the
assistance of Boufflers, and that the besiegers would then be in much
more danger than the besieged.
These hopes were kept up by the despatches of Villeroy. He proposed,
he said, first to annihilate the army of Vaudemont, and then to drive
William from Namur. Vaudemont might try to avoid an action; but he could
not escape. The Marshal went so far as to promise his master news of a
complete victory within twenty-four hours. Lewis passed a whole day
in impatient expectation. At last, instead of an officer of high rank
loaded with English and Dutch standards, arrived a courier bringing news
that Vaudemont had effected a retreat with scarcely any loss, and was
safe under the walls of Ghent. William extolled the generalship of his
lieutenant in the warmest terms. "My cousin," he wrote, "you have shown
yourself a greater master of your art than if you had won a pitched
battle. " [604] In the French camp, however, and at the French Court it
was universally held that Vaudemont had been saved less by his own skill
than by the misconduct of those to whom he was opposed. Some threw
the whole blame on Villeroy; and Villeroy made no attempt to vindicate
himself. But it was generally believed that he might, at least to a
great extent, have vindicated himself, had he not preferred royal favour
to military renown. His plan, it was said, might have succeeded, had not
the execution been entrusted to the Duke of Maine. At the first glimpse
of danger the bastard's heart had died within him. He had not been able
to conceal his poltroonery. He had stood trembling, stuttering, calling
for his confessor, while the old officers round him, with tears in their
eyes, urged him to advance. During a short time the disgrace of the son
was concealed from the father. But the silence of Villeroy showed
that there was a secret; the pleasantries of the Dutch gazettes soon
elucidated the mystery; and Lewis learned, if not the whole truth, yet
enough to make him miserable. Never during his long reign had he been so
moved. During some hours his gloomy irritability kept his servants, his
courtiers, even his priests, in terror. He so far forgot the grace and
dignity for which he was renowned throughout the world that, in the
sight of all the splendid crowd of gentlemen and ladies who came to see
him dine at Marli, he broke a cane on the shoulders of a lacquey, and
pursued the poor man with the handle. [605]
The siege of Namur meanwhile was vigorously pressed by the allies. The
scientific part of their operations was under the direction of Cohorn,
who was spurred by emulation to exert his utmost skill. He had suffered,
three years before, the mortification of seeing the town, as he had
fortified it, taken by his great master Vauban. To retake it, now that
the fortifications had received Vauban's last improvements, would be a
noble revenge.
On the second of July the trenches were opened. On the eighth a gallant
sally of French dragoons was gallantly beaten back; and, late on the
same evening, a strong body of infantry, the English footguards leading
the way, stormed, after a bloody conflict, the outworks on the Brussels
side. The King in person directed the attack; and his subjects were
delighted to learn that, when the fight was hottest, he laid his hand on
the shoulder of the Elector of Bavaria, and exclaimed, "Look, look at
my brave English! " Conspicuous in bravery even among those brave English
was Cutts. In that bulldog courage which flinches from no danger,
however terrible, he was unrivalled. There was no difficulty in finding
hardy volunteers, German, Dutch and British, to go on a forlorn hope;
but Cutts was the only man who appeared to consider such an expedition
as a party of pleasure. He was so much at his ease in the hottest
fire of the French batteries that his soldiers gave him the honourable
nickname of the Salamander. [606]
On the seventeenth the first counterscarp of the town was attacked.
The English and Dutch were thrice repulsed with great slaughter, and
returned thrice to the charge. At length, in spite of the exertions of
the French officers, who fought valiantly sword in hand on the glacis,
the assailants remained in possession of the disputed works. While the
conflict was raging, William, who was giving his orders under a shower
of bullets, saw with surprise and anger, among the officers of his
staff, Michael Godfrey the Deputy Governor of the Bank of England. This
gentleman had come to the King's headquarters in order to make some
arrangements for the speedy and safe remittance of money from England
to the army in the Netherlands, and was curious to see real war. Such
curiosity William could not endure. "Mr. Godfrey," he said, "you ought
not to run these hazards; you are not a soldier; you can be of no use
to us here. " "Sir," answered Godfrey, "I run no more hazard than Your
Majesty. " "Not so," said William; "I am where it is my duty to be; and
I may without presumption commit my life to God's keeping; but you--"
While they were talking a cannon ball from the ramparts laid Godfrey
dead at the King's feet. It was not found however that the fear of being
Godfreyed,--such was during some time the cant phrase,--sufficed to
prevent idle gazers from coming to the trenches. [607] Though William
forbade his coachmen, footmen and cooks to expose themselves, he
repeatedly saw them skulking near the most dangerous spots and trying to
get a peep at the fighting. He was sometimes, it is said, provoked into
horsewhipping them out of the range of the French guns; and the story,
whether true or false, is very characteristic.
On the twentieth of July the Bavarians and Brandenburghers, under the
direction of Cohorn, made themselves masters, after a hard fight, of a
line of works which Vauban had cut in the solid rock from the Sambre to
the Meuse. Three days later, the English and Dutch, Cutts, as usual, in
the front, lodged themselves on the second counterscarp. All was ready
for a general assault, when a white flag was hung out from the ramparts.
The effective strength of the garrison was now little more than one half
of what it had been when the trenches were opened. Boufflers apprehended
that it would be impossible for eight thousand men to defend the whole
circuit of the walls much longer; but he felt confident that such a
force would be sufficient to keep the stronghold on the summit of the
rock. Terms of capitulation were speedily adjusted. A gate was delivered
up to the allies. The French were allowed forty-eight hours to retire
into the castle, and were assured that the wounded men whom they left
below, about fifteen hundred in number, should be well treated. On the
sixth the allies marched in. The contest for the possession of the
town was over; and a second and more terrible contest began for the
possession of the citadel. [608]
Villeroy had in the meantime made some petty conquests. Dixmuyde, which
might have offered some resistance, had opened its gates to him, not
without grave suspicion of treachery on the part of the governor.
Deynse, which was less able to make any defence, had followed the
example. The garrisons of both towns were, in violation of a convention
which had been made for the exchange of prisoners, sent into France. The
Marshal then advanced towards Brussels in the hope, as it should seem,
that, by menacing that beautiful capital, he might induce the allies
to raise the siege of the castle of Namur. During thirty-six hours he
rained shells and redhot bullets on the city. The Electress of Bavaria,
who was within the walls, miscarried from terror. Six convents perished.
Fifteen hundred houses were at once in flames.
The whole lower town
would have been burned to the ground, had not the inhabitants stopped
the conflagration by blowing up numerous buildings. Immense quantities
of the finest lace and tapestry were destroyed; for the industry and
trade which made Brussels famous throughout the world had hitherto been
little affected by the war. Several of the stately piles which looked
down on the market place were laid in ruins. The Town Hall itself, the
noblest of the many noble senate houses reared by the burghers of the
Netherlands, was in imminent peril. All this devastation, however,
produced no effect except much private misery. William was not to be
intimidated or provoked into relaxing the firm grasp with which he held
Namur. The fire which his batteries kept up round the castle was such as
had never been known in war. The French gunners were fairly driven from
their pieces by the hail of balls, and forced to take refuge in vaulted
galleries under the ground. Cohorn exultingly betted the Elector
of Bavaria four hundred pistoles that the place would fall by the
thirty-first of August, New Style. The great engineer lost his wager
indeed, but lost it only by a few hours. [609]
Boufflers now began to feel that his only hope was in Villeroy. Villeroy
had proceeded from Brussels to Enghien; he had there collected all the
French troops that could be spared from the remotest fortresses of the
Netherlands; and he now, at the head of more than eighty thousand men,
marched towards Namur. Vaudemont meanwhile joined the besiegers. William
therefore thought himself strong enough to offer battle to Villeroy,
without intermitting for a moment the operations against Boufflers. The
Elector of Bavaria was entrusted with the immediate direction of the
siege. The King of England took up, on the west of the town, a strong
position strongly intrenched, and there awaited the French, who were
advancing from Enghien. Every thing seemed to indicate that a great
day was at hand. Two of the most numerous and best ordered armies that
Europe had ever seen were brought face to face. On the fifteenth of
August the defenders of the castle saw from their watchtowers the mighty
host of their countrymen. But between that host and the citadel was
drawn up in battle order the not less mighty host of William. Villeroy,
by a salute of ninety guns, conveyed to Boufflers the promise of a
speedy rescue; and at night Boufflers, by fire signals which were seen
far over the vast plain of the Meuse and Sambre, urged Villeroy to
fulfil that promise without delay. In the capitals both of France and
England the anxiety was intense. Lewis shut himself up in his oratory,
confessed, received the Eucharist, and gave orders that the host should
be exposed in his chapel. His wife ordered all her nuns to their knees.
[610] London was kept in a state of distraction by a succession of
rumours fabricated some by Jacobites and some by stockjobbers. Early one
morning it was confidently averred that there had been a battle, that
the allies had been beaten, that the King had been killed, that the
siege had been raised. The Exchange, as soon as it was opened, was
filled to overflowing by people who came to learn whether the bad news
was true. The streets were stopped up all day by groups of talkers and
listeners. In the afternoon the Gazette, which had been impatiently
expected, and which was eagerly read by thousands, calmed the
excitement, but not completely; for it was known that the Jacobites
sometimes received, by the agency of privateers and smugglers who put to
sea in all weathers, intelligence earlier than that which came through
regular channels to the Secretary of State at Whitehall. Before night,
however, the agitation had altogether subsided; but it was suddenly
revived by a bold imposture. A horseman in the uniform of the Guards
spurred through the City, announcing that the King had been killed. He
would probably have raised a serious tumult, had not some apprentices,
zealous for the Revolution and the Protestant religion, knocked him down
and carried him to Newgate. The confidential correspondent of the
States General informed them that, in spite of all the stories which the
disaffected party invented and circulated, the general persuasion was
that the allies would be successful. The touchstone of sincerity in
England, he said, was the betting. The Jacobites were ready enough
to prove that William must be defeated, or to assert that he had been
defeated; but they would not give the odds, and could hardly be induced
to take any moderate odds. The Whigs, on the other hand, were ready to
stake thousands of guineas on the conduct and good fortune of the King.
[611]
The event justified the confidence of the Whigs and the backwardness of
the Jacobites. On the sixteenth, the seventeenth, and the eighteenth
of August the army of Villeroy and the army of William confronted each
other. It was fully expected that the nineteenth would be the decisive
day. The allies were under arms before dawn. At four William mounted,
and continued till eight at night to ride from post to post, disposing
his own troops and watching the movements of the enemy. The enemy
approached his lines in several places, near enough to see that it would
not be easy to dislodge him; but there was no fighting. He lay down to
rest, expecting to be attacked when the sun rose. But when the sun rose
he found that the French had fallen back some miles. He immediately sent
to request that the Elector would storm the castle without delay. While
the preparations were making, Portland was sent to summon the garrison
for the last time. It was plain, he said to Boufflers, that Villeroy had
given up all hope of being able to raise the siege. It would therefore
be an useless waste of life to prolong the contest. Boufflers however
thought that another day of slaughter was necessary to the honour of the
French arms; and Portland returned unsuccessful. [612]
Early in the afternoon the assault was made in four places at once by
four divisions of the confederate army. One point was assigned to the
Brandenburghers, another to the Dutch, a third to the Bavarians, and
a fourth to the English. The English were at first less fortunate than
they had hitherto been. The truth is that most of the regiments which
had seen service had marched with William to encounter Villeroy. As
soon as the signal was given by the blowing up of two barrels of powder,
Cutts, at the head of a small body of grenadiers, marched first out of
the trenches with drums beating and colours flying. This gallant band
was to be supported by four battalions which had never been in action,
and which, though full of spirit, wanted the steadiness which so
terrible a service required. The officers fell fast. Every Colonel,
every Lieutenant Colonel, was killed or severely wounded. Cutts received
a shot in the head which for a time disabled him. The raw recruits, left
almost without direction, rushed forward impetuously till they found
themselves in disorder and out of breath, with a precipice before them,
under a terrible fire, and under a shower, scarcely less terrible,
of fragments of rock and wall. They lost heart, and rolled back in
confusion, till Cutts, whose wound had by this time been dressed,
succeeded in rallying them. He then led them, not to the place from
which they had been driven back, but to another spot where a fearful
battle was raging. The Bavarians had made their onset gallantly but
unsuccessfully; their general had fallen; and they were beginning to
waver when the arrival of the Salamander and his men changed the fate
of the day. Two hundred English volunteers, bent on retrieving at all
hazards the disgrace of the recent repulse, were the first to force a
way, sword in hand, through the palisades, to storm a battery which had
made great havoc among the Bavarians, and to turn the guns against the
garrison. Meanwhile the Brandenburghers, excellently disciplined and
excellently commanded, had performed, with no great loss, the duty
assigned to them. The Dutch had been equally successful. When the
evening closed in the allies had made a lodgment of a mile in extent on
the outworks of the castle. The advantage had been purchased by the loss
of two thousand men. [613]
And now Boufflers thought that he had done all that his duty required.
On the morrow he asked for a truce of forty-eight hours in order that
the hundreds of corpses which choked the ditches and which would soon
have spread pestilence among both the besiegers and the besieged might
be removed and interred. His request was granted; and, before the time
expired, he intimated that he was disposed to capitulate. He would, he
said, deliver up the castle in ten days, if he were not relieved sooner.
He was informed that the allies would not treat with him on such terms,
and that he must either consent to an immediate surrender, or prepare
for an immediate assault. He yielded, and it was agreed that he and his
men should be suffered to depart, leaving the citadel, the artillery,
and the stores to the conquerors. Three peals from all the guns of the
confederate army notified to Villeroy the fall of the stronghold which
he had vainly attempted to succour. He instantly retreated towards
Mons, leaving William to enjoy undisturbed a triumph which was made more
delightful by the recollection of many misfortunes.
The twenty-sixth of August was fixed for an exhibition such as the
oldest soldier in Europe had never seen, and such as, a few weeks
before, the youngest had scarcely hoped to see. From the first battle of
Conde to the last battle of Luxemburg, the tide of military success had
run, without any serious interruption, in one direction. That tide
had turned. For the first time, men said, since France had Marshals, a
Marshal of France was to deliver up a fortress to a victorious enemy.
The allied forces, foot and horse, drawn up in two lines, formed a
magnificent avenue from the breach which had lately been so desperately
contested to the bank of the Meuse. The Elector of Bavaria, the
Landgrave of Hesse, and many distinguished officers were on horseback
in the vicinity of the castle. William was near them in his coach. The
garrison, reduced to about five thousand men, came forth with drums
beating and ensigns flying. Boufflers and his staff closed the
procession. There had been some difficulty about the form of the
greeting which was to be exchanged between him and the allied
Sovereigns. An Elector of Bavaria was hardly entitled to be saluted by
the Marshal with the sword. A King of England was undoubtedly entitled
to such a mark of respect; but France did not recognise William as King
of England. At last Boufflers consented to perform the salute without
marking for which of the two princes it was intended. He lowered his
sword. William alone acknowledged the compliment. A short conversation
followed. The Marshal, in order to avoid the use of the words Sire and
Majesty, addressed himself only to the Elector. The Elector, with every
mark of deference, reported to William what had been said; and William
gravely touched his hat. The officers of the garrison carried back to
their country the news that the upstart who at Paris was designated
only as Prince of Orange, was treated by the proudest potentates of the
Germanic body with a respect as profound as that which Lewis exacted
from the gentlemen of his bedchamber. [614]
The ceremonial was now over; and Boufflers passed on but he had
proceeded but a short way when he was stopped by Dykvelt who accompanied
the allied army as deputy from the States General. "You must return to
the town, Sir," said Dykvelt. "The King of England has ordered me to
inform you that you are his prisoner. " Boufflers was in transports of
rage. His officers crowded round him and vowed to die in his defence.
But resistance was out of the question; a strong body of Dutch cavalry
came up; and the Brigadier who commanded them demanded the Marshal's
sword. The Marshal uttered indignant exclamations: "This is an infamous
breach of faith. Look at the terms of the capitulation. What have I done
to deserve such an affront? Have I not behaved like a man of honour?
Ought I not to be treated as such? But beware what you do, gentlemen.
I serve a master who can and will avenge me. " "I am a soldier, Sir,"
answered the Brigadier, "and my business is to obey orders without
troubling myself about consequences. " Dykvelt calmly and courteously
replied to the Marshal's indignant exclamations. "The King of England
has reluctantly followed the example set by your master. The soldiers
who garrisoned Dixmuyde and Deynse have, in defiance of plighted faith,
been sent prisoners into France. The Prince whom they serve would be
wanting in his duty to them if he did not retaliate. His Majesty might
with perfect justice have detained all the French who were in Namur. But
he will not follow to such a length a precedent which he disapproves.
He has determined to arrest you and you alone; and, Sir, you must not
regard as an affront what is in truth a mark of his very particular
esteem. How can he pay you a higher compliment than by showing that he
considers you as fully equivalent to the five or six thousand men whom
your sovereign wrongfully holds in captivity? Nay, you shall even now be
permitted to proceed if you will give me your word of honour to return
hither unless the garrisons of Dixmuyde and Deynse are released within a
fortnight. " "I do not at all know," answered Boufflers, "why the King my
master detains those men; and therefore I cannot hold out any hope that
he will liberate them. You have an army at your back; I am alone; and
you must do your pleasure. " He gave up his sword, returned to Namur, and
was sent thence to Huy, where he passed a few days in luxurious repose,
was allowed to choose his own walks and rides, and was treated with
marked respect by those who guarded him. In the shortest time in which
it was possible to post from the place where he was confined to the
French Court and back again, he received full powers to promise that the
garrisons of Dixmuyde and Deynse should be sent back. He was instantly
liberated; and he set off for Fontainebleau, where an honourable
reception awaited him. He was created a Duke and a Peer. That he might
be able to support his new dignities a considerable sum of money was
bestowed on him; and, in the presence of the whole aristocracy of
France, he was welcomed home by Lewis with an affectionate embrace.
[615]
In all the countries which were united against France the news of
the fall of Namur was received with joy; but here the exultation was
greatest. During several generations our ancestors had achieved nothing
considerable by land against foreign enemies. We had indeed occasionally
furnished to our allies small bands of auxiliaries who had well
maintained the honour of the nation. But from the day on which the
two brave Talbots, father and son, had perished in the vain attempt to
reconquer Guienne, till the Revolution, there had been on the Continent
no campaign in which Englishmen had borne a principal part. At length
our ancestors had again, after an interval of near two centuries and a
half, begun to dispute with the warriors of France the palm of military
prowess. The struggle had been hard. The genius of Luxemburg and the
consummate discipline of the household troops of Lewis had pervailed
in two great battles; but the event of those battles had been long
doubtful; the victory had been dearly purchased, and the victor had
gained little more than the honour of remaining master of the field
of slaughter. Meanwhile he was himself training his adversaries. The
recruits who survived his severe tuition speedily became veterans.
Steinkirk and Landen had formed the volunteers who followed Cutts
through the palisades of Namur. The judgment of all the great warriors
whom all the nations of Western Europe had sent to the confluence of the
Sambre and the Meuse was that the English subaltern was inferior to
no subaltern and the English private soldier to no private soldier in
Christendom. The English officers of higher rank were thought hardly
worthy to command such an army. Cutts, indeed, had distinguished himself
by his intrepidity. But those who most admired him acknowledged that he
had neither the capacity nor the science necessary to a general.
The joy of the conquerors was heightened by the recollection of the
discomfiture which they had suffered, three years before, on the same
spot, and of the insolence with which their enemy had then triumphed
over them. They now triumphed in their turn. The Dutch struck medals.
The Spaniards sang Te Deums. Many poems, serious and sportive, appeared,
of which one only has lived. Prior burlesqued, with admirable spirit
and pleasantry, the bombastic verses in which Boileau had celebrated
the first taking of Namur. The two odes, printed side by side, were read
with delight in London; and the critics at Will's pronounced that, in
wit as in arms, England had been victorious.
The fall of Namur was the great military event of this year. The Turkish
war still kept a large part of the forces of the Emperor employed in
indecisive operations on the Danube. Nothing deserving to be mentioned
took place either in Piedmont or on the Rhine. In Catalonia the
Spaniards obtained some slight advantages, advantages due to their
English and Dutch allies, who seem to have done all that could be
done to help a nation never much disposed to help itself. The maritime
superiority of England and Holland was now fully established. During
the whole year Russell was the undisputed master of the Mediterranean,
passed and repassed between Spain and Italy, bombarded Palamos, spread
terror along the whole shore of Provence, and kept the French fleet
imprisoned in the harbour of Toulon. Meanwhile Berkeley was the
undisputed master of the Channel, sailed to and fro in sight of the
coasts of Artois, Picardy, Normandy and Brittany, threw shells into
Saint Maloes, Calais and Dunkirk, and burned Granville to the ground.
The navy of Lewis, which, five years before, had been the most
formidable in Europe, which had ranged the British seas unopposed from
the Downs to the Land's End, which had anchored in Torbay and had laid
Teignmouth in ashes, now gave no sign of existence except by pillaging
merchantmen which were unprovided with convoy. In this lucrative war
the French privateers were, towards the close of the summer, very
successful. Several vessels laden with sugar from Barbadoes were
captured. The losses of the unfortunate East India Company, already
surrounded by difficulties and impoverished by boundless prodigality in
corruption, were enormous. Five large ships returning from the Eastern
seas, with cargoes of which the value was popularly estimated at a
million, fell into the hands of the enemy. These misfortunes produced
some murmuring on the Royal Exchange. But, on the whole, the temper of
the capital and of the nation was better than it had been during some
years.
Meanwhile events which no preceding historian has condescended to
mention, but which were of far greater importance than the achievements
of William's army or of Russell's fleet, were taking place in London.
A great experiment was making. A great revolution was in progress.
Newspapers had made their appearance.
While the Licensing Act was in force there was no newspaper in England
except the London Gazette, which was edited by a clerk in the office
of the Secretary of State, and which contained nothing but what the
Secretary of State wished the nation to know. There were indeed many
periodical papers; but none of those papers could be called a newspaper.
Welwood, a zealous Whig, published a journal called the Observator; but
his Observator, like the Observator which Lestrange had formerly edited,
contained, not the news, but merely dissertations on politics. A crazy
bookseller, named John Dunton, published the Athenian Mercury; but the
Athenian Mercury merely discussed questions of natural philosophy, of
casuistry and of gallantry. A fellow of the Royal Society, named John
Houghton, published what he called a Collection for the Improvement of
Industry and Trade. But his Collection contained little more than the
prices of stocks, explanations of the modes of doing business in
the City, puffs of new projects, and advertisements of books, quack
medicines, chocolate, spa water, civet cats, surgeons wanting ships,
valets wanting masters and ladies wanting husbands. If ever he printed
any political news, he transcribed it from the Gazette. The Gazette was
so partial and so meagre a chronicle of events that, though it had no
competitors, it had but a small circulation. Only eight thousand copies
were printed, much less than one to each parish in the kingdom. In truth
a person who had studied the history of his own time only in the Gazette
would have been ignorant of many events of the highest importance.
He would, for example, have known nothing about the Court Martial
on Torrington, the Lancashire Trials, the burning of the Bishop of
Salisbury's Pastoral Letter or the impeachment of the Duke of Leeds.
But the deficiencies of the Gazette were to a certain extent supplied in
London by the coffeehouses, and in the country by the newsletters.
On the third of May 1695 the law which had subjected the press to a
censorship expired. Within a fortnight, a stanch old Whig, named Harris,
who had, in the days of the Exclusion Bill, attempted to set up a
newspaper entitled Intelligence Domestic and Foreign, and who had
been speedily forced to relinquish that design, announced that the
Intelligence Domestic and Foreign, suppressed fourteen years before
by tyranny, would again appear. Ten days after the first number of the
Intelligence Domestic and Foreign was printed the first number of the
English Courant. Then came the Packet Boat from Holland and Flanders,
the Pegasus, the London Newsletter, the London Post, the Flying Post,
the Old Postmaster, the Postboy and the Postman. The history of the
newspapers of England from that time to the present day is a most
interesting and instructive part of the history of the country. At first
they were small and meanlooking. Even the Postboy and the Postman,
which seem to have been the best conducted and the most prosperous, were
wretchedly printed on scraps of dingy paper such as would not now be
thought good enough for street ballads. Only two numbers came out in a
week, and a number contained little more matter than may be found in a
single column of a daily paper of our time. What is now called a
leading article seldom appeared, except when there was a scarcity of
intelligence, when the Dutch mails were detained by the west wind, when
the Rapparees were quiet in the Bog of Allen, when no stage coach had
been stopped by highwaymen, when no nonjuring congregation had been
dispersed by constables, when no ambassador had made his entry with a
long train of coaches and six, when no lord or poet had been buried in
the Abbey, and when consequently it was difficult to fill up four scanty
pages. Yet the leading articles, though inserted, as it should
seem, only in the absence of more attractive matter, are by no means
contemptibly written.
It is a remarkable fact that the infant newspapers were all on the side
of King William and the Revolution. This fact may be partly explained
by the circumstance that the editors were, at first, on their good
behaviour. It was by no means clear that their trade was not in itself
illegal. The printing of newspapers was certainly not prohibited by any
statute. But, towards the close of the reign of Charles the Second,
the judges had pronounced that it was a misdemeanour at common law to
publish political intelligence without the King's license. It is true
that the judges who laid down this doctrine were removable at the royal
pleasure and were eager on all occasions to exalt the royal prerogative.
How the question, if it were again raised, would be decided by Holt
and Treby was doubtful; and the effect of the doubt was to make the
ministers of the Crown indulgent and to make the journalists cautious.
On neither side was there a wish to bring the question of right to
issue. The government therefore connived at the publication of the
newspapers; and the conductors of the newspapers carefully abstained
from publishing any thing that could provoke or alarm the government. It
is true that, in one of the earliest numbers of one of the new journals,
a paragraph appeared which seemed intended to convey an insinuation that
the Princess Anne did not sincerely rejoice at the fall of Namur. But
the printer made haste to atone for his fault by the most submissive
apologies. During a considerable time the unofficial gazettes, though
much more garrulous and amusing than the official gazette, were scarcely
less courtly. Whoever examines them will find that the King is always
mentioned with profound respect. About the debates and divisions of the
two Houses a reverential silence is preserved. There is much invective;
but it is almost all directed against the Jacobites and the French. It
seems certain that the government of William gained not a little by the
substitution of these printed newspapers, composed under constant dread
of the Attorney General, for the old newsletters, which were written
with unbounded license.
