No More Learning

Shrewsbury brought with him twelve thousand pounds, which he
had raised by a mortgage on his estates, and which he lodged in the bank
of Amsterdam. [458] Devonshire, Danby, and Lumley remained in England,
where they undertook to rise in arms as soon as the Prince should set
foot on the island.

There is reason to believe that, at this conjuncture, William first
received assurances of support from a very different quarter. The
history of Sunderland's intrigues is covered with an obscurity which it
is not probable that any inquirer will ever succeed in penetrating:
but, though it is impossible to discover the whole truth, it is easy
to detect some palpable fictions. The Jacobites, for obvious reasons,
affirmed that the revolution of 1688 was the result of a plot concerted
long before. Sunderland they represented as the chief conspirator. He
had, they averred, in pursuance of his great design, incited his
too confiding master to dispense with statutes, to create an illegal
tribunal, to confiscate freehold property, and to send the fathers of
the Established Church to a prison. This romance rests on no evidence,
and, though it has been repeated down to our own time, seems hardly
to deserve confutation. No fact is more certain than that Sunderland
opposed some of the most imprudent steps which James took, and in
particular the prosecution of the Bishops, which really brought on the
decisive crisis. But, even if this fact were not established, there
would still remain one argument sufficient to decide the controversy.
What conceivable motive had Sunderland to wish for a revolution? Under
the existing system he was at the height of dignity and prosperity.
As President of the Council he took precedence of the whole temporal
peerage. As Principal Secretary of State he was the most active and
powerful member of the cabinet. He might look forward to a dukedom.
He had obtained the garter lately worn by the brilliant and versatile
Buckingham, who, having squandered away a princely fortune and a
vigorous intellect, had sunk into the grave deserted, contemned, and
broken-hearted. [459] Money, which Sunderland valued more than honours,
poured in upon him in such abundance that, with ordinary management, he
might hope to become, in a few years, one of the wealthiest subjects in
Europe. The direct emolument of his posts, though considerable, was a
very small part of what he received. From France alone he drew a regular
stipend of near six thousand pounds a year, besides large occasional
gratuities. He had bargained with Tyrconnel for five thousand a year, or
fifty thousand pounds down, from Ireland. What sums he made by selling
places, titles, and pardons, can only be conjectured, but must have been
enormous. James seemed to take a pleasure in loading with wealth one
whom he regarded as his own convert. All fines, all forfeitures went to
Sunderland. On every grant toll was paid to him. If any suitor ventured
to ask any favour directly from the King, the answer was, "Have you
spoken to my Lord President? " One bold man ventured to say that the Lord
President got all the money of the court. "Well," replied His Majesty
"he deserves it all. " [460] We shall scarcely overrate the amount of the
minister's gains, if we put them at thirty thousand pounds a year: and
it must be remembered that fortunes of thirty thousand pounds a year
were in his time rarer than fortunes of a hundred thousand pounds a year
now are. It is probable that there was then not one peer of the realm
whose private income equalled Sunderland's official income.

What chance was there that, in a new order of things, a man so
deeply implicated in illegal and unpopular acts, a member of the High
Commission, a renegade whom the multitude, in places of general resort,
pursued with the cry of Popish dog, would be greater and richer? What
chance that he would even be able to escape condign punishment?

He had undoubtedly been long in the habit of looking forward to the time
when William and Mary might be, in the ordinary course of nature and
law, at the head of the English government, and had probably attempted
to make for himself an interest in their favour, by promises and
services which, if discovered, would not have raised his credit at
Whitehall. But it may with confidence be affirmed that he had no wish
to see them raised to power by a revolution, and that he did not at
all foresee such a revolution when, towards the close of June 1688, he
solemnly joined the communion of the Church of Rome.

Scarcely however had he, by that inexpiable crime, made himself an
object of hatred and contempt to the whole nation, when he learned
that the civil and ecclesiastical polity of England would shortly be
vindicated by foreign and domestic arms. From that moment all his plans
seem to have undergone a change. Fear bowed down his whole soul, and was
so written in his face that all who saw him could read. [461] It could
hardly be doubted that, if there were a revolution, the evil counsellors
who surrounded the throne would be called to a strict account: and among
those counsellors he stood in the foremost rank. The loss of his places,
his salaries, his pensions, was the least that he had to dread. His
patrimonial mansion amid woods at Althorpe might be confiscated. He
might lie many years in a prison. He might end his days in a foreign
land a pensioner on the bounty of France. Even this was not the worst.
Visions of an innumerable crowd covering Tower Hill and shouting with
savage joy at the sight of the apostate, of a scaffold hung with black,
of Burnet reading the prayer for the departing, and of Ketch leaning on
the axe with which Russell and Monmouth had been mangled in so butcherly
a fashion, began to haunt the unhappy statesman. There was yet one way
in which he might escape, a way more terrible to a noble spirit than
a prison or a scaffold. He might still, by a well timed and useful
treason, earn his pardon from the foes of the government. It was in his
power to render to them at this conjuncture services beyond all price:
for he had the royal ear; he had great influence over the Jesuitical
cabal; and he was blindly trusted by the French Ambassador. A channel of
communication was not wanting, a channel worthy of the purpose which it
was to serve. The Countess of Sunderland was an artful woman, who, under
a show of devotion which imposed on some grave men, carried on, with
great activity, both amorous and political intrigues. [462] The handsome
and dissolute Henry Sidney had long been her favourite lover. Her
husband was well pleased to see her thus connected with the court of the
Hague. Whenever he wished to transmit a secret message to Holland, he
spoke to his wife: she wrote to Sidney; and Sidney communicated her
letter to William. One of her communications was intercepted and carried
to James. She vehemently protested that it was a forgery. Her husband,
with characteristic ingenuity, defended himself by representing that it
was quite impossible for any man to be so base as to do what he was in
the habit of doing. "Even if this is Lady Sunderland's hand," he said,
"that is no affair of mine. Your Majesty knows my domestic misfortunes.
The footing on which my wife and Mr. Sidney are is but too public. Who
can believe that I would make a confidant of the man who has injured my
honour in the tenderest point, of the man whom, of all others, I ought
most to hate? " [463] This defence was thought satisfactory; and secret
intelligence was still transmitted from the wittol to the adulteress,
from the adulteress to the gallant, and from the gallant to the enemies
of James.

It is highly probable that the first decisive assurances of Sunderland's
support were conveyed orally by Sidney to William about the middle of
August. It is certain that, from that time till the expedition was
ready to sail, a most significant correspondence was kept up between the
Countess and her lover. A few of her letters, partly written in cipher,
are still extant. They contain professions of good will and promises
of service mingled with earnest intreaties for protection. The writer
intimates that her husband will do all that his friends at the Hague
can wish: she supposes that it will be necessary for him to go
into temporary exile: but she hopes that his banishment will not be
perpetual, and that his patrimonial estate will be spared; and she
earnestly begs to be informed in what place it will be best for him to
take refuge till the first fury of the storm is over. [464]

The help of Sunderland was most welcome. For, as the time of striking
the great blow drew near, the anxiety of William became intense. From
common eyes his feelings were concealed by the icy tranquillity of his
demeanour: but his whole heart was open to Bentinck. The preparations
were not quite complete. The design was already suspected, and could
not be long concealed. The King of France or the city of Amsterdam might
still frustrate the whole plan. If Lewis were to send a great force into
Brabant, if the faction which hated the Stadtholder were to raise its
head, all was over. "My sufferings, my disquiet," the Prince wrote, "are
dreadful. I hardly see my way. Never in my life did I so much feel the
need of God's guidance. " [465] Bentinck's wife was at this time dangerously
ill; and both the friends were painfully anxious about her. "God support
you," William wrote, "and enable you to bear your part in a work
on which, as far as human beings can see, the welfare of his Church
depends. " [466]

It was indeed impossible that a design so vast as that which had been
formed against the King of England should remain during many weeks
a secret. No art could prevent intelligent men from perceiving that
William was making great military and naval preparations, and from
suspecting the object with which those preparations were made. Early in
August hints that some great event was approaching were whispered up
and down London. The weak and corrupt Albeville was then on a visit to
England, and was, or affected to be, certain that the Dutch government
entertained no design unfriendly to James. But, during the absence of
Albeville from his post, Avaux performed, with eminent skill, the
duties both of French and English Ambassador to the States, and supplied
Barillon as well as Lewis with ample intelligence. Avaux was satisfied
that a descent on England was in contemplation, and succeeded in
convincing his master of the truth. Every courier who arrived at
Westminster, either from the Hague or from Versailles, brought earnest
warnings. [467] But James was under a delusion which appears to have
been artfully encouraged by Sunderland. The Prince of Orange, said the
cunning minister, would never dare to engage in an expedition beyond
sea, leaving Holland defenceless. The States, remembering what they had
suffered and what they had been in danger of suffering during the great
agony of 1672, would never incur the risk of again seeing an invading
army encamped on the plain between Utrecht and Amsterdam. There was
doubtless much discontent in England: but the interval was immense
between discontent and rebellion. Men of rank and fortune were not
disposed lightly to hazard their honours, their estates, and their
lives. How many eminent Whigs had held high language when Monmouth was
in the Netherlands! And yet, when he set up his standard, what eminent
Whig had joined it? It was easy to understand why Lewis affected to give
credit to these idle rumours. He doubtless hoped to frighten the King
of England into taking the French side in the dispute about Cologne. By
such reasoning James was easily lulled into stupid security. [468] The
alarm and indignation of Lewis increased daily. The style of his letters
became sharp and vehement. [469] He could not understand, he wrote, this
lethargy on the eve of a terrible crisis. Was the King bewitched? Were
his ministers blind? Was it possible that nobody at Whitehall was aware
of what was passing in England and on the Continent? Such foolhardy
security could scarcely be the effect of mere improvidence. There must
be foul play. James was evidently in bad hands. Barillon was earnestly
cautioned not to repose implicit confidence in the English ministers:
but he was cautioned in vain. On him, as on James, Sunderland had cast a
spell which no exhortation could break.

Lewis bestirred himself vigorously. Bonrepaux, who was far superior
to Barillon in shrewdness, and who had always disliked and distrusted
Sunderland, was despatched to London with an offer of naval assistance.
Avaux was at the same time ordered to declare to the States General that
France had taken James under her protection. A large body of troops was
held in readiness to march towards the Dutch frontier. This bold attempt
to save the infatuated tyrant in his own despite was made with the full
concurrence of Skelton, who was now Envoy from England to the court of
Versailles.

Avaux, in conformity with his instructions, demanded an audience of the
States. It was readily granted. The assembly was unusually large. The
general belief was that some overture respecting commerce was about
to be made; and the President brought a written answer framed on that
supposition. As soon as Avaux began to disclose his errand, signs
of uneasiness were discernible. Those who were believed to enjoy the
confidence of the Prince of Orange cast down their eyes. The agitation
became great when the Envoy announced that his master was strictly bound
by the ties of friendship and alliance to His Britannic Majesty, and
that any attack on England would be considered as a declaration of war
against France. The President, completely taken by surprise, stammered
out a few evasive phrases; and the conference terminated. It was at
the same time notified to the States that Lewis had taken under his
protection Cardinal Furstemburg and the Chapter of Cologne. [470]

The Deputies were in great agitation. Some recommended caution and
delay. Others breathed nothing but war. Fagel spoke vehemently of
the French insolence, and implored his brethren not to be daunted by
threats. The proper answer to such a communication, he said, was to
levy more soldiers, and to equip more ships. A courier was instantly
despatched to recall William from Minden, where he was holding a
consultation of high moment with the Elector of Brandenburg.

But there was no cause for alarm. James was bent on ruining himself; and
every attempt to stop him only made him rush more eagerly to his doom.
When his throne was secure, when his people were submissive, when
the most obsequious of Parliaments was eager to anticipate all his
reasonable wishes, when foreign kingdoms and commonwealths paid emulous
court to him, when it depended only on himself whether he would be the
arbiter of Christendom, he had stooped to be the slave and the hireling
of France. And now when, by a series of crimes and follies, he had
succeeded in alienating his neighbours, his subjects, his soldiers, his
sailors, his children, and had left himself no refuge but the protection
of France, he was taken with a fit of pride, and determined to assert
his independence. That help which, when he did not want it, he had
accepted with ignominious tears, he now, when it was indispensable to
him, threw contemptuously away. Having been abject when he might, with
propriety, have been punctilious in maintaining his dignity, he became
ungratefully haughty at a moment when haughtiness must bring on him
at once derision and ruin. He resented the friendly intervention which
might have saved him. Was ever King so used? Was he a child, or an
idiot, that others must think for him? Was he a petty prince, a Cardinal
Furstemburg, who must fall if not upheld by a powerful patron? Was he
to be degraded in the estimation of all Europe, by an ostentatious
patronage which he had never asked? Skelton was recalled to answer for
his conduct, and, as soon as he arrived, was committed prisoner to the
Tower. Citters was well received at Whitehall, and had a long audience.
He could, with more truth than diplomatists on such occasions think at
all necessary, disclaim, on the part of the States General, any hostile
project. For the States General had, as yet, no official knowledge of
the design of William; nor was it by any means impossible that they
might, even now, refuse to sanction that design. James declared that he
gave not the least credit to the rumours of a Dutch invasion, and that
the conduct of the French government had surprised and annoyed him.
Middleton was directed to assure all the foreign ministers that there
existed no such alliance between France and England as the Court of
Versailles had, for its own ends, pretended. To the Nuncio the King said
that the designs of Lewis were palpable and should be frustrated.
This officious protection was at once an insult and a snare. "My good
brother," said James, "has excellent qualities; but flattery and vanity
have turned his head. " [471] Adda, who was much more anxious about Cologne
than about England, encouraged this strange delusion. Albeville, who had
now returned to his post, was commanded to give friendly assurances to
the States General, and to add some high language, which might have been
becoming in the mouth of Elizabeth or Oliver. "My master," he said, "is
raised, alike by his power and by his spirit, above the position which
France affects to assign to him. There is some difference between a King
of England and an Archbishop of Cologne. " The reception of Bonrepaux
at Whitehall was cold. The naval succours which he offered were not
absolutely declined; but he was forced to return without having settled
anything; and the Envoys, both of the United Provinces and of the House
of Austria, were informed that his mission had been disagreeable to
the King and had produced no result. After the Revolution Sunderland
boasted, and probably with truth, that he had induced his master to
reject the proffered assistance of France. [472]

The perverse folly of James naturally excited the indignation of his
powerful neighbour. Lewis complained that, in return for the greatest
service which he could render to the English government, that government
had given him the lie in the face of all Christendom. He justly remarked
that what Avaux had said, touching the alliance between France and Great
Britain, was true according to the spirit, though perhaps not according
to the letter. There was not indeed a treaty digested into articles,
signed, sealed, and ratified: but assurances equivalent in the
estimation of honourable men to such a treaty had, during some years,
been constantly exchanged between the two Courts. Lewis added that, high
as was his own place in Europe, he should never be so absurdly jealous
of his dignity as to see an insult in any act prompted by friendship.
But James was in a very different situation, and would soon learn the
value of that aid which he had so ungraciously rejected. [473]

Yet, notwithstanding the stupidity and ingratitude of James, it would
have been wise in Lewis to persist in the resolution which had been
notified to the States General. Avaux, whose sagacity and judgment made
him an antagonist worthy of William, was decidedly of this opinion.
The first object of the French government--so the skilful Envoy
reasoned--ought to be to prevent the intended descent on England. The
way to prevent that descent was to invade the Spanish Netherlands, and
to menace the Batavian frontier. The Prince of Orange, indeed, was so
bent on his darling enterprise that he would persist, even if the white
flag were flying on the walls of Brussels. He had actually said that, if
the Spaniards could only manage to keep Ostend, Mons, and Namur till the
next spring, he would then return from England with a force which would
soon recover all that had been lost. But, though such was the Prince's
opinion, it was not the opinion of the States. They would not readily
consent to send their Captain General and the flower of their army
across the German Ocean, while a formidable enemy threatened their own
territory. [474]

Lewis admitted the force of these reasonings: but he had already
resolved on a different line of action. Perhaps he had been provoked
by the discourtesy and wrongheadedness of the English government, and
indulged his temper at the expense of his interest. Perhaps he was
misled by the counsels of his minister of war, Louvois, whose influence
was great, and who regarded Avaux with no friendly feeling. It was
determined to strike in a quarter remote from Holland a great and
unexpected blow. Lewis suddenly withdrew his troops from Flanders, and
poured them into Germany. One army, placed under the nominal command of
the Dauphin, but really directed by the Duke of Duras and by Vauban, the
father of the science of fortification, invested Philipsburg. Another,
led by the Marquess of Boufflers, seized Worms, Mentz, and Treves. A
third, commanded by the Marquess of Humieres, entered Bonn. All down the
Rhine, from Carlsruhe to Cologne, the French arms were victorious. The
news of the fall of Philipsburg reached Versailles on All Saints day,
while the Court was listening to a sermon in the chapel. The King made
a sign to the preacher to stop, announced the good news to the
congregation, and, kneeling down, returned thanks to God for this great
success. The audience wept for joy. [475] The tidings were eagerly
welcomed by the sanguine and susceptible people of France. Poets
celebrated the triumphs of their magnificent patron. Orators extolled
from the pulpit the wisdom and magnanimity of the eldest son of the
Church. The Te Deum was sung with unwonted pomp; and the solemn notes of
the organ were mingled with the clash of the cymbal and the blast of the
trumpet. But there was little cause for rejoicing. The great statesman
who was at the head of the European coalition smiled inwardly at the
misdirected energy of his foe. Lewis had indeed, by his promptitude,
gained some advantages on the side of Germany: but those advantages
would avail little if England, inactive and inglorious under four
successive Kings, should suddenly resume her old rank in Europe. A few
weeks would suffice for the enterprise on which the fate of the world
depended; and for a few weeks the United Provinces were in security.

William now urged on his preparations with indefatigable activity and
with less secrecy than he had hitherto thought necessary. Assurances of
support came pouring in daily from foreign courts. Opposition had become
extinct at the Hague. It was in vain that Avaux, even at this last
moment, exerted all his skill to reanimate the faction which had
contended against three generations of the House of Orange. The chiefs
of that faction, indeed, still regarded the Stadtholder with no friendly
feeling. They had reason to fear that, if he prospered in England, he
would become absolute master of Holland. Nevertheless the errors of the
court of Versailles, and the dexterity with which he had availed himself
of those errors, made it impossible to continue the struggle against
him. He saw that the time had come for demanding the sanction of the
States. Amsterdam was the head quarters of the party hostile to his
line, his office, and his person; and even from Amsterdam he had at this
moment nothing to apprehend. Some of the chief functionaries of that
city had been repeatedly closeted with him, with Dykvelt, and with
Bentinck, and had been induced to promise that they would promote, or
at least that they would not oppose, the great design: some were
exasperated by the commercial edicts of Lewis: some were in deep
distress for kinsmen and friends who were harassed by the French
dragoons: some shrank from the responsibility of causing a schism which
might be fatal to the Batavian federation; and some were afraid of the
common people, who, stimulated by the exhortations of zealous preachers,
were ready to execute summary justice on any traitor to the Protestant
cause. The majority, therefore, of that town council which had long
been devoted to France pronounced in favour of William's undertaking.
Thenceforth all fear of opposition in any part of the United Provinces
was at an end; and the full sanction of the federation to his enterprise
was, in secret sittings, formally given. [476]

The Prince had already fixed upon a general well qualified to be second
in command. This was indeed no light matter.
A random shot or the dagger
of an assassin might in a moment leave the expedition without a head. It
was necessary that a successor should be ready to fill the vacant place.
Yet it was impossible to make choice of any Englishman without giving
offence either to the Whigs or to the Tories; nor had any Englishman
then living shown that he possessed the military skill necessary for
the conduct of a campaign. On the other band it was not easy to assign
preeminence to a foreigner without wounding the national sensibility
of the haughty islanders. One man there was, and only one in Europe,
to whom no objection could be found, Frederic, Count of Schomberg, a
German, sprung from a noble house of the Palatinate. He was generally
esteemed the greatest living master of the art of war. His rectitude and
piety, tried by strong temptations and never found wanting, commanded
general respect and confidence. Though a Protestant, he had been,
during many years, in the service of Lewis, and had, in spite of the ill
offices of the Jesuits, extorted from his employer, by a series of great
actions, the staff of a Marshal of France. When persecution began to
rage, the brave veteran steadfastly refused to purchase the royal favour
by apostasy, resigned, without one murmur, all his honours and commands,
quitted his adopted country for ever, and took refuge at the court of
Berlin. He had passed his seventieth year; but both his mind and his
body were still in full vigour. He had been in England, and was much
loved and honoured there. He had indeed a recommendation of which very
few foreigners could then boast; for he spoke our language, not only
intelligibly, but with grace and purity. He was, with the consent of the
Elector of Brandenburg, and with the warm approbation of the chiefs of
all English parties, appointed William's lieutenant. [477]

And now the Hague was crowded with British adventurers of all the
various parties which the tyranny of James had united in a strange
coalition, old royalists who had shed their blood for the throne, old
agitators of the army of the Parliament, Tories who had been persecuted
in the days of the Exclusion Bill, Whigs who had fled to the Continent
for their share in the Rye House Plot.

Conspicuous in this great assemblage were Charles Gerard, Earl of
Macclesfield, an ancient Cavalier who had fought for Charles the First
and had shared the exile of Charles the Second; Archibald Campbell, who
was the eldest son of the unfortunate Argyle, but had inherited nothing
except an illustrious name and the inalienable affection of a numerous
clan; Charles Paulet, Earl of Wiltshire, heir apparent of the Marquisate
of Winchester; and Peregrine Osborne, Lord Dumblame, heir apparent of
the Earldom of Danby. Mordaunt, exulting in the prospect of adventures
irresistibly attractive to his fiery nature, was among the foremost
volunteers. Fletcher of Saltoun had learned, while guarding the frontier
of Christendom against the infidels, that there was once more a hope of
deliverance for his country, and had hastened to offer the help of his
sword. Sir Patrick Hume, who had, since his flight from Scotland, lived
humbly at Utrecht, now emerged from his obscurity: but, fortunately, his
eloquence could, on this occasion, do little mischief; for the Prince
of Orange was by no means disposed to be the lieutenant of a debating
society such as that which had ruined the enterprise of Argyle. The
subtle and restless Wildman, who had some time before found England an
unsafe residence, and had retired to Germany, now repaired from Germany
to the Prince's court. There too was Carstairs, a presbyterian minister
from Scotland, who in craft and courage had no superior among the
politicians of his age. He had been entrusted some years before by Fagel
with important secrets, and had resolutely kept them in spite of the
most horrible torments which could be inflicted by boot and thumbscrew.
His rare fortitude had earned for him as large a share of the Prince's
confidence and esteem as was granted to any man except Bentinck. [478]
Ferguson could not remain quiet when a revolution was preparing. He
secured for himself a passage in the fleet, and made himself busy among
his fellow emigrants: but he found himself generally distrusted and
despised. He had been a great man in the knot of ignorant and hotheaded
outlaws who had urged the feeble Monmouth to destruction: but there was
no place for a lowminded agitator, half maniac and half knave, among the
grave statesmen and generals who partook the cares of the resolute and
sagacious William.

The difference between the expedition of 1685 and the expedition of 1688
was sufficiently marked by the difference between the manifestoes which
the leaders of those expeditions published. For Monmouth Ferguson had
scribbled an absurd and brutal libel about the burning of London, the
strangling of Godfrey, the butchering of Essex, and the poisoning of
Charles. The Declaration of William was drawn up by the Grand Pensionary
Fagel, who was highly renowned as a publicist. Though weighty and
learned, it was, in its original form, much too prolix: but it was
abridged and translated into English by Burnet, who well understood the
art of popular composition. It began by a solemn preamble, setting forth
that, in every community, the strict observance of law was necessary
alike to the happiness of nations and to the security of governments.
The Prince of Orange had therefore seen with deep concern that the
fundamental laws of a kingdom, with which he was by blood and by
marriage closely connected, had, by the advice of evil counsellors, been
grossly and systematically violated. The power of dispensing with
Acts of Parliament had been strained to such a point that the whole
legislative authority had been transferred to the crown. Decisions at
variance with the spirit of the constitution had been obtained from
the tribunals by turning out Judge after Judge, till the bench had
been filled with men ready to obey implicitly the directions of the
government. Notwithstanding the King's repeated assurances that he would
maintain the established religion, persons notoriously hostile to that
religion had been promoted, not only to civil offices, but also to
ecclesiastical benefices. The government of the Church had, in defiance
of express statutes, been entrusted to a new court of High Commission;
and in that court one avowed Papist had a seat. Good subjects, for
refusing to violate their duty and their oaths, had been ejected from
their property, in contempt of the Great Charter of the liberties of
England. Meanwhile persons who could not legally set foot on the island
had been placed at the head of seminaries for the corruption of youth.
Lieutenants, Deputy Lieutenants, Justices of the Peace, had been
dismissed in multitudes for refusing to support a pernicious and
unconstitutional policy. The franchises of almost every borough in the
realm bad been invaded. The courts of justice were in such a state
that their decisions, even in civil matters, had ceased to inspire
confidence, and that their servility in criminal cases had brought on
the kingdom the stain of innocent blood. All these abuses, loathed by
the English nation, were to be defended, it seemed, by an army of
Irish Papists. Nor was this all. The most arbitrary princes had never
accounted it an offence in a subject modestly and peaceably to represent
his grievances and to ask for relief. But supplication was now treated
as a high misdemeanour in England. For no crime but that of offering
to the Sovereign a petition drawn up in the most respectful terms, the
fathers of the Church had been imprisoned and prosecuted; and every
Judge who gave his voice in their favour had instantly been turned out.
The calling of a free and lawful Parliament might indeed be an effectual
remedy for all these evils: but such a Parliament, unless the whole
spirit of the administration were changed, the nation could not hope to
see. It was evidently the intention of the court to bring together, by
means of regulated corporations and of Popish returning officers, a
body which would be a House of Commons in name alone. Lastly, there
were circumstances which raised a grave suspicion that the child who
was called Prince of Wales was not really born of the Queen. For these
reasons the Prince, mindful of his near relation to the royal house, and
grateful for the affection which the English people had ever shown to
his beloved wife and to himself, had resolved, in compliance with the
request of many Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and of many other persons
of all ranks, to go over at the head of a force sufficient to repel
violence. He abjured all thought of conquest. He protested that,
while his troops remained in the island, they should be kept under the
strictest restraints of discipline, and that, as soon as the nation had
been delivered from tyranny, they should be sent back. His single object
was to have a free and legal Parliament assembled: and to the decision
of such a Parliament he solemnly pledged himself to leave all questions
both public and private.

As soon as copies of this Declaration were banded about the Hague, signs
of dissension began to appear among the English. Wildman, indefatigable
in mischief, prevailed on some of his countrymen, and, among others,
on the headstrong and volatile Mordaunt, to declare that they would
not take up arms on such grounds. The paper had been drawn up merely to
please the Cavaliers and the parsons. The injuries of the Church and the
trial of the Bishops had been put too prominently forward; and nothing
had been said of the tyrannical manner in which the Tories, before their
rupture with the court, had treated the Whigs. Wildman then brought
forward a counterproject, prepared by himself, which, if it had been
adopted, would have disgusted all the Anglican clergy and four fifths of
the landed aristocracy. The leading Whigs strongly opposed him: Russell
in particular declared that, if such an insane course were taken, there
would be an end of the coalition from which alone the nation could
expect deliverance. The dispute was at length settled by the authority
of William, who, with his usual good sense, determined that the
manifesto should stand nearly as Fagel and Burnet had framed it. [479]

While these things were passing in Holland, James had at length become
sensible of his danger. Intelligence which could not be disregarded came
pouring in from various quarters. At length a despatch from Albeville
removed all doubts. It is said that, when the King had read it, the
blood left his cheeks, and he remained some time speechless. [480] He
might, indeed, well be appalled. The first easterly wind would bring
a hostile armament to the shores of his realm. All Europe, one single
power alone excepted, was impatiently waiting for the news of his
downfall. The help of that single power he had madly rejected. Nay,
he had requited with insult the friendly intervention which might have
saved him. The French armies which, but for his own folly, might
have been employed in overawing the States General, were besieging
Philipsburg or garrisoning Mentz. In a few days he might have to fight,
on English ground, for his crown and for the birthright of his infant
son. His means were indeed in appearance great. The navy was in a
much more efficient state than at the time of his accession: and the
improvement is partly to be attributed to his own exertions. He had
appointed no Lord High Admiral or Board of Admiralty, but had kept
the chief direction of maritime affairs in his own hands, and had been
strenuously assisted by Pepys. It is a proverb that the eye of a
master is more to be trusted than that of a deputy: and, in an age of
corruption and peculation, a department on which a sovereign, even of
very slender capacity, bestows close personal attention is likely to be
comparatively free from abuses. It would have been easy to find an abler
minister of marine than James; but it would not have been easy to find,
among the public men of that age, any minister of marine, except James,
who would not have embezzled stores, taken bribes from contractors, and
charged the crown with the cost of repairs which had never been made.
The King was, in truth, almost the only person who could be trusted not
to rob the King. There had therefore been, during the last three years,
much less waste and pilfering in the dockyards than formerly. Ships
had been built which were fit to go to sea. An excellent order had
been issued increasing the allowances of Captains, and at the same time
strictly forbidding them to carry merchandise from port to port
without the royal permission. The effect of these reforms was already
perceptible; and James found no difficulty in fitting out, at short
notice, a considerable fleet. Thirty ships of the line, all third rates
and fourth rates, were collected in the Thames, under the command of
Lord Dartmouth. The loyalty of Dartmouth was above suspicion; and he was
thought to have as much professional skill and knowledge as any of the
patrician sailors who, in that age, rose to the highest naval commands
without a regular naval training, and who were at once flag officers on
the sea and colonels of infantry on shore. [481]

The regular army was the largest that any King of England had ever
commanded, and was rapidly augmented. New companies were incorporated
with the existing regiments. Commissions for the raising of fresh
regiments were issued. Four thousand men were added to the English
establishment. Three thousand were sent for with all speed from Ireland.
As many more were ordered to march southward from Scotland. James
estimated the force with which he should be able to meet the invaders at
near forty thousand troops, exclusive of the militia. [482]

The navy and army were therefore far more than sufficient to repel a
Dutch invasion. But could the navy, could the army, be trusted? Would
not the trainbands flock by thousands to the standard of the deliverer?
The party which had, a few years before, drawn the sword for Monmouth
would undoubtedly be eager to welcome the Prince of Orange. And what had
become of the party which had, during seven and forty years, been the
bulwark of monarchy? Where were now those gallant gentlemen who had ever
been ready to shed their blood for the crown? Outraged and insulted,
driven from the bench of justice and deprived of all military command,
they saw the peril of their ungrateful Sovereign with undisguised
delight. Where were those priests and prelates who had, from ten
thousand pulpits, proclaimed the duty of obeying the anointed delegate
of God? Some of them had been imprisoned: some had been plundered: all
had been placed under the iron rule of the High Commission, and had been
in hourly fear lest some new freak of tyranny should deprive them of
their freeholds and leave them without a morsel of bread. That Churchmen
would even now so completely forget the doctrine which had been their
peculiar boast as to join in active resistance seemed incredible. But
could their oppressor expect to find among them the spirit which in the
preceding generation had triumphed over the armies of Essex and Waller,
and had yielded only after a desperate struggle to the genius and vigour
of Cromwell? The tyrant was overcome by fear. He ceased to repeat that
concession had always ruined princes, and sullenly owned that he must
stoop to court the Tories once more. [483] There is reason to believe
that Halifax was, at this time, invited to return to office, and that he
was not unwilling to do so. The part of mediator between the throne and
the nation was, of all parts, that for which he was best qualified, and
of which he was most ambitious. How the negotiation with him was broken
off is not known: but it is not improbable that the question of the
dispensing power was the insurmountable difficulty. His hostility to
that power had caused his disgrace three years before; and nothing that
had since happened had been of a nature to change his views. James,
on the other hand, was fully determined to make no concession on that
point. [484] As to other matters he was less pertinacious. He put forth
a proclamation in which he solemnly promised to protect the Church
of England and to maintain the Act of Uniformity. He declared himself
willing to make great sacrifices for the sake of concord. He would no
longer insist that Roman Catholics should be admitted into the House of
Commons; and he trusted that his people would justly appreciate such
a proof of his disposition to meet their wishes. Three days later
he notified his intention to replace all the magistrates and Deputy
Lieutenants who had been dismissed for refusing to support his
policy. On the day after the appearance of this notification Compton's
suspension was taken off. [485]

At the same time the King gave an audience to all the Bishops who were
then in London. They had requested admittance to his presence for the
purpose of tendering their counsel in this emergency. The Primate was
spokesman. He respectfully asked that the administration might be put
into the hands of persons duly qualified, that all acts done
under pretence of the dispensing power might be revoked, that the
Ecclesiastical Commission might be annulled, that the wrongs of
Magdalene College might be redressed, and that the old franchises of the
municipal corporations might be restored. He hinted very intelligibly
that there was one most desirable event which would completely secure
the throne and quiet the distracted realm. If His Majesty would
reconsider the points in dispute between the Churches of Rome and
England, perhaps, by the divine blessing on the arguments which the
Bishops wished to lay before him, he might be convinced that it was his
duty to return to the religion of his father and of his grandfather.
Thus far, Sancroft said, he had spoken the sense of his brethren. There
remained a subject on which he had not taken counsel with them, but to
which he thought it his duty to advert. He was indeed the only man of
his profession who could advert to that subject without being suspected
of an interested motive. The metropolitan see of York had been three
years vacant. The Archbishop implored the King to fill it speedily with
a pious and learned divine, and added that such a divine might without
difficulty be found among those who then stood in the royal presence.
The King commanded himself sufficiently to return thanks for this
unpalatable counsel, and promised to consider what bad been said. [486]
Of the dispensing power he would not yield one tittle. No unqualified
person was removed from any civil or military office. But some of
Sancroft's suggestions were adopted. Within forty-eight hours the Court
of High Commission was abolished. [487] It was determined that the
charter of the City of London, which had been forfeited six years
before, should be restored; and the Chancellor was sent in state to
carry back the venerable parchment to Guildhall. [488] A week later the
public was informed that the Bishop of Winchester, who was by virtue of
his office Visitor of Magdalene College, had it in charge from the King
to correct whatever was amiss in that society. It was not without a long
struggle and a bitter pang that James stooped to this last humiliation.
Indeed he did not yield till the Vicar Apostolic Leyburn, who seems to
have behaved on all occasions like a wise and honest man, declared that
in his judgment the ejected President and Fellows had been wronged, and
that, on religious as well as on political grounds, restitution ought to
be made to them. [489] In a few days appeared a proclamation restoring
the forfeited franchises of all the municipal corporations. [490]

James flattered himself that concessions so great made in the short
space of a month would bring back to him the hearts of his people. Nor
can it be doubted that such concessions, made before there was reason to
expect an invasion from Holland, would have done much to conciliate the
Tories. But gratitude is not to be expected by rulers who give to fear
what they have refused to justice. During three years the King had been
proof to all argument and to all entreaty. Every minister who had
dared to raise his voice in favour of the civil and ecclesiastical
constitution of the realm had been disgraced. A Parliament eminently
loyal had ventured to protest gently and respectfully against a
violation of the fundamental laws of England, and had been sternly
reprimanded, prorogued, and dissolved. Judge after Judge had been
stripped of the ermine for declining to give decisions opposed to the
whole common and statute law. The most respectable Cavaliers had been
excluded from all share in the government of their counties for refusing
to betray the public liberties. Scores of clergymen had been deprived of
their livelihood for observing their oaths. Prelates, to whose steadfast
fidelity the King owed the crown which he wore, had on their knees
besought him not to command them to violate the laws of God and of the
land. Their modest petition had been treated as a seditious libel.
They had been browbeaten, threatened, imprisoned, prosecuted, and had
narrowly escaped utter ruin. Then at length the nation, finding that
right was borne down by might, and that even supplication was regarded
as a crime, began to think of trying the chances of war. The oppressor
learned that an armed deliverer was at hand and would be eagerly
welcomed by Whigs and Tories, Dissenters and Churchmen. All was
immediately changed. That government which had requited constant and
zealous service with spoliation and persecution, that government which
to weighty reasons and pathetic intreaties had replied only by injuries,
and insults, became in a moment strangely gracious. Every Gazette now
announced the removal of some grievance. It was then evident that on the
equity, the humanity, the plighted word of the King, no reliance could
be placed, and that he would govern well only so long as he was under
the strong dread of resistance. His subjects were therefore by no means
disposed to restore to him a confidence which he had justly forfeited,
or to relax the pressure which had wrung from him the only good acts
of his whole reign. The general impatience for the arrival of the Dutch
became every day stronger. The gales which at this time blew obstinately
from the west, and which at once prevented the Prince's armament from
sailing and brought fresh Irish regiments from Dublin to Chester, were
bitterly cursed and reviled by the common people. The weather, it was
said, was Popish. Crowds stood in Cheapside gazing intently at the
weathercock on the graceful steeple of Bow Church, and praying for a
Protestant wind. [491]

The general feeling was strengthened by an event which, though merely
accidental, was not unnaturally ascribed to the perfidy of the King. The
Bishop of Winchester announced that, in obedience to the royal commands,
he designed to restore the ejected members of Magdalene College.
He fixed the twenty-first of October for this ceremony, and on the
twentieth went down to Oxford. The whole University was in expectation.
The expelled Fellows had arrived from all parts of the kingdom, eager
to take possession of their beloved home. Three hundred gentlemen on
horseback escorted the Visitor to his lodgings. As he passed, the bells
rang, and the High Street was crowded with shouting spectators. He
retired to rest. The next morning a joyous crowd assembled at the gates
of Magdalene: but the Bishop did not make his appearance; and soon it
was known that he had been roused from his bed by a royal messenger,
and had been directed to repair immediately to Whitehall. This strange
disappointment caused much wonder and anxiety: but in a few hours came
news which, to minds disposed, not without reason, to think the worst,
seemed completely to explain the King's change of purpose. The Dutch
armament had put out to sea, and had been driven back by a storm. The
disaster was exaggerated by rumour. Many ships, it was said, had been
lost. Thousands of horses had perished. All thought of a design on
England must be relinquished, at least for the present year. Here was
a lesson for the nation. While James expected immediate invasion and
rebellion, he had given orders that reparation should be made to those
whom he had unlawfully despoiled. As soon as he found himself safe,
those orders had been revoked. This imputation, though at that time
generally believed, and though, since that time, repeated by writers who
ought to have been well informed, was without foundation. It is
certain that the mishap of the Dutch fleet could not, by any mode of
communication, have been known at Westminster till some hours after the
Bishop of Winchester had received the summons which called him away
from Oxford. The King, however, had little right to complain of the
suspicions of his people. If they sometimes, without severely examining
evidence, ascribed to his dishonest policy what was really the effect of
accident or inadvertence, the fault was his own. That men who are in the
habit of breaking faith should be distrusted when they mean to keep it
is part of their just and natural punishment. [492]

It is remarkable that James, on this occasion, incurred one unmerited
imputation solely in consequence of his eagerness to clear himself from
another imputation equally unmerited. The Bishop of Winchester had been
hastily summoned from Oxford to attend an extraordinary meeting of
the Privy Council, or rather an assembly of Notables, which had been
convoked at Whitehall. With the Privy Councillors were joined, in this
solemn sitting, all the Peers Spiritual and Temporal who chanced to be
in or near the capital, the Judges, the crown lawyers, the Lord Mayor
and the Aldermen of the City of London. A hint had been given to Petre
that he would do well to absent himself. In truth few of the Peers would
have chosen to sit with him. Near the head of the board a chair of state
was placed for the Queen Dowager. The Princess Anne had been requested
to attend, but had excused herself on the plea of delicate health.

James informed this great assembly that he thought it necessary to
produce proofs of the birth of his son. The arts of bad men had poisoned
the public mind to such an extent that very many believed the Prince
of Wales to be a supposititious child. But Providence had graciously
ordered things so that scarcely any prince had ever come into the world
in the presence of so many witnesses. Those witnesses then appeared and
gave their evidence. After all the depositions had been taken, James
with great solemnity declared that the imputation thrown on him was
utterly false, and that he would rather die a thousand deaths than wrong
any of his children.

All who were present appeared to be satisfied. The evidence was
instantly published, and was allowed by judicious and impartial persons
to be decisive. [493] But the judicious are always a minority; and
scarcely anybody was then impartial. The whole nation was convinced that
all sincere Papists thought it a duty to perjure themselves whenever
they could, by perjury, serve the interests of their Church. Men who,
having been bred Protestants, had for the sake of lucre pretended to be
converted to Popery, were, if possible, less trustworthy than sincere
Papists. The depositions of all who belonged to these two classes were
therefore regarded as mere nullities. Thus the weight of the testimony
on which James had relied was greatly reduced. What remained was
malignantly scrutinised. To every one of the few Protestant witnesses
who had said anything material some exception was taken.