No More Learning

He had been five or six times
arrested for political offences. The last crime laid to his charge was,
that he had contemptuously denied the validity of a warrant, signed by
a Roman Catholic Justice of the Peace. He had been brought before
the Privy Council and strictly examined, but to little purpose. He
resolutely refused to criminate himself; and the evidence against
him was insufficient. He was dismissed; but, before he retired, James
exclaimed in great heat, "My Lord, this is not the first trick that you
have played me. " "Sir," answered Lovelace, with undaunted spirit, "I
never played any trick to your Majesty, or to any other person. Whoever
has accused me to your Majesty of playing tricks is a liar. " Lovelace
had subsequently been admitted into the confidence of those who planned
the Revolution. [517] His mansion, built by his ancestors out of the
spoils of Spanish galleons from the Indies, rose on the ruins of a house
of Our Lady in that beautiful valley through which the Thames, not yet
defiled by the precincts of a great capital, nor rising and falling with
the flow and ebb of the sea, rolls under woods of beech round the gentle
hills of Berkshire. Beneath the stately saloon, adorned by Italian
pencils, was a subterraneous vault, in which the bones of ancient monks
had sometimes been found. In this dark chamber some zealous and daring
opponents of the government had held many midnight conferences during
that anxious time when England was impatiently expecting the Protestant
wind. [518] The season for action had now arrived. Lovelace, with
seventy followers, well armed and mounted, quitted his dwelling,
and directed his course westward. He reached Gloucestershire without
difficulty. But Beaufort, who governed that county, was exerting all his
great authority and influence in support of the crown. The militia had
been called out. A strong party had been posted at Cirencester. When
Lovelace arrived there he was informed that he could not be suffered to
pass. It was necessary for him either to relinquish his undertaking
or to fight his way through. He resolved to force a passage; and his
friends and tenants stood gallantly by him. A sharp conflict took place.
The militia lost an officer and six or seven men; but at length the
followers of Lovelace were overpowered: he was made a prisoner, and sent
to Gloucester Castle. [519]

Others were more fortunate. On the day on which the skirmish took place
at Cirencester, Richard Savage, Lord Colchester, son and heir of the
Earl Rivers, and father, by a lawless amour, of that unhappy poet whose
misdeeds and misfortunes form one of the darkest portions of literary
history, came with between sixty and seventy horse to Exeter. With him
arrived the bold and turbulent Thomas Wharton. A few hours later came
Edward Russell, son of the Earl of Bedford, and brother of the virtuous
nobleman whose blood had been shed on the scaffold. Another arrival
still more important was speedily announced. Colchester, Wharton, and
Russell belonged to that party which had been constantly opposed to
the court. James Bertie, Earl of Abingdon, had, on the contrary, been
regarded as a supporter of arbitrary government. He had been true to
James in the days of the Exclusion Bill. He had, as Lord Lieutenant of
Oxfordshire, acted with vigour and severity against the adherents of
Monmouth, and had lighted bonfires to celebrate the defeat of Argyle.
But dread of Popery had driven him into opposition and rebellion. He was
the first peer of the realm who made his appearance at the quarters of
the Prince of Orange. [520]

But the King had less to fear from those who openly arrayed themselves
against his authority, than from the dark conspiracy which had spread
its ramifications through his army and his family. Of that conspiracy
Churchill, unrivalled in sagacity and address, endowed by nature with
a certain cool intrepidity which never failed him either in fighting
or lying, high in military rank, and high in the favour of the Princess
Anne, must be regarded as the soul. It was not yet time for him to
strike the decisive blow. But even thus early he inflicted, by the
instrumentality of a subordinate agent, a wound, serious if not deadly,
on the royal cause.

Edward, Viscount Cornbury, eldest son of the Earl of Clarendon, was a
young man of slender abilities, loose principles, and violent temper. He
had been early taught to consider his relationship to the Princess Anne
as the groundwork of his fortunes, and had been exhorted to pay her
assiduous court. It had never occurred to his father that the hereditary
loyalty of the Hydes could run any risk of contamination in the
household of the King's favourite daughter: but in that household
the Churchills held absolute sway; and Cornbury became their tool. He
commanded one of the regiments of dragoons which had been sent westward.
Such dispositions had been made that, on the fourteenth of November, he
was, during a few hours, the senior officer at Salisbury, and all
the troops assembled there were subject to his authority. It seems
extraordinary that, at such a crisis, the army on which every thing
depended should have been left, even for a moment, under the command of
a young Colonel who had neither abilities nor experience. There can
be little doubt that so strange an arrangement was the result of deep
design, and as little doubt to what head and to what heart the design is
to be imputed.

Suddenly three of the regiments of cavalry which had assembled at
Salisbury were ordered to march westward. Cornbury put himself at their
head, and conducted them first to Blandford and thence to Dorchester.
From Dorchester, after a halt of an hour or two, they set out for
Axminster. Some of the officers began to be uneasy, and demanded an
explanation of these strange movements. Cornbury replied that he had
instructions to make a night attack on some troops which the Prince
of Orange had posted at Honiton. But suspicion was awake. Searching
questions were put, and were evasively answered. At last Cornbury was
pressed to produce his orders. He perceived, not only that it would
be impossible for him to carry over all the three regiments, as he had
hoped, but that he was himself in a situation of considerable peril. He
accordingly stole away with a few followers to the Dutch quarters. Most
of his troops returned to Salisbury but some who had been detached
from the main body, and who had no suspicion of the designs of their
commander, proceeded to Honiton. There they found themselves in the
midst of a large force which was fully prepared to receive them.
Resistance was impossible. Their leader pressed them to take service
under William. A gratuity of a month's pay was offered to them, and was
by most of them accepted. [521]

The news of these events reached London on the fifteenth. James had been
on the morning of that day in high good humour. Bishop Lamplugh had just
presented himself at court on his arrival from Exeter, and had been most
graciously received. "My Lord," said the King, "you are a genuine old
Cavalier. " The archbishopric of York, which had now been vacant more
than two years and a half, was immediately bestowed on Lamplugh as the
reward of loyalty. That afternoon, just as the King was sitting down
to dinner, arrived an express with the tidings of Cornbury's defection.
James turned away from his untasted meal, swallowed a crust of bread and
a glass of wine, and retired to his closet. He afterwards learned that,
as he was rising from table, several of the Lords in whom he reposed the
greatest confidence were shaking hands and congratulating each other
in the adjoining gallery. When the news was carried to the Queen's
apartments she and her ladies broke out into tears and loud cries of
sorrow. [522]

The blow was indeed a heavy one. It was true that the direct loss to the
crown and the direct gain to the invaders hardly amounted to two hundred
men and as many horses. But where could the King henceforth expect to
find those sentiments in which consists the strength of states and of
armies? Cornbury was the heir of a house conspicuous for its attachment
to monarchy. His father Clarendon, his uncle Rochester, were men whose
loyalty was supposed to be proof to all temptation. What must be the
strength of that feeling against which the most deeply rooted hereditary
prejudices were of no avail, of that feeling which could reconcile a
young officer of high birth to desertion, aggravated by breach of trust
and by gross falsehood? That Cornbury was not a man of brilliant parts
or enterprising temper made the event more alarming. It was impossible
to doubt that he had in some quarter a powerful and artful prompter.
Who that prompter was soon became evident. In the meantime no man in the
royal camp could feel assured that he was not surrounded by traitors.
Political rank, military rank, the honour of a nobleman, the honour of a
soldier, the strongest professions, the purest Cavalier blood, could no
longer afford security. Every man might reasonably doubt whether every
order which he received from his superior was not meant to serve the
purposes of the enemy. That prompt obedience without which an army is
merely a rabble was necessarily at an end. What discipline could there
be among soldiers who had just been saved from a snare by refusing to
follow their commanding officer on a secret expedition, and by insisting
on a sight of his orders?

Cornbury was soon kept in countenance by a crowd of deserters superior
to him in rank and capacity: but during a few days he stood alone in
his shame, and was bitterly reviled by many who afterwards imitated his
example and envied his dishonourable precedence. Among these was his
own father. The first outbreak of Clarendon's rage and sorrow was highly
pathetic. "Oh God! " he ejaculated, "that a son of mine should be a
rebel! " A fortnight later he made up his mind to be a rebel himself. Yet
it would be unjust to pronounce him a mere hypocrite. In revolutions men
live fast: the experience of years is crowded into hours: old habits of
thought and action are violently broken; novelties, which at first sight
inspire dread and disgust, become in a few days familiar, endurable,
attractive. Many men of far purer virtue and higher spirit than
Clarendon were prepared, before that memorable year ended, to do what
they would have pronounced wicked and infamous when it began.

The unhappy father composed himself as well as he could, and sent to ask
a private audience of the King. It was granted. James said, with more
than his usual graciousness, that he from his heart pitied Cornbury's
relations, and should not hold them at all accountable for the crime of
their unworthy kinsman. Clarendon went home, scarcely daring to look his
friends in the face. Soon, however, he learned with surprise that the
act, which had, as he at first thought, for ever dishonoured his family,
was applauded by some persons of high station. His niece, the Princess
of Denmark, asked him why he shut himself up. He answered that he had
been overwhelmed with confusion by his son's villany. Anne seemed not
at all to understand this feeling. "People," she said, "are very uneasy
about Popery. I believe that many of the army will do the same. " [523]

And now the King, greatly disturbed, called together the principal
officers who were still in London. Churchill, who was about this time
promoted to the rank of Lieutenant General, made his appearance with
that bland serenity which neither peril nor infamy could ever disturb.
The meeting was attended by Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Grafton, whose
audacity and activity made him conspicuous among the natural children
of Charles the Second. Grafton was colonel of the first regiment of Foot
Guards. He seems to have been at this time completely under Churchill's
influence, and was prepared to desert the royal standard as soon as the
favourable moment should arrive. Two other traitors were in the circle,
Kirke and Trelawney, who commanded those two fierce and lawless bands
then known as the Tangier regiments. Both of them had, like the other
Protestant officers of the army, long seen with extreme displeasure the
partiality which the King had shown to members of his own Church; and
Trelawney remembered with bitter resentment the persecution of his
brother the Bishop of Bristol. James addressed the assembly in terms
worthy of a better man and of a better cause. It might be, he said, that
some of the officers had conscientious scruples about fighting for him.
If so he was willing to receive back their commissions. But he adjured
them as gentlemen and soldiers not to imitate the shameful example of
Cornbury. All seemed moved; and none more than Churchill. He was the
first to vow with well feigned enthusiasm that he would shed the last
drop of his blood in the service of his gracious master: Grafton was
loud and forward in similar protestations; and the example was followed
by Kirke and Trelawney. [524]

Deceived by these professions, the King prepared to set out for
Salisbury. Before his departure he was informed that a considerable
number of peers, temporal and spiritual, desired to be admitted to an
audience. They came, with Sancroft at their head, to present a petition,
praying that a free and legal Parliament might be called, and that a
negotiation might be opened with the Prince of Orange.

The history of this petition is curious. The thought seems to have
occurred at once to two great chiefs of parties who had long been rivals
and enemies, Rochester and Halifax. They both, independently of one
another, consulted the Bishops. The Bishops warmly approved of the
suggestion. It was then proposed that a general meeting of peers should
be called to deliberate on the form of an address to the King. It was
term time; and in term time men of rank and fashion then lounged every
day in Westminster Hall as they now lounge in the clubs of Pall Mall
and Saint James's Street. Nothing could be easier than for the Lords
who assembled there to step aside into some adjoining room and to hold
a consultation. But unexpected difficulties arose. Halifax became first
cold and then adverse. It was his nature to discover objections to
everything; and on this occasion his sagacity was quickened by rivalry.
The scheme, which he had approved while he regarded it as his own, began
to displease him as soon as he found that it was also the scheme of
Rochester, by whom he had been long thwarted and at length supplanted,
and whom he disliked as much as it was in his easy nature to dislike
anybody. Nottingham was at that time much under the influence of
Halifax. They both declared that they would not join in the address
if Rochester signed it. Clarendon expostulated in vain. "I mean no
disrespect," said Halifax, "to my Lord Rochester: but he has been a
member of the Ecclesiastical Commission: the proceedings of that court
must soon be the subject of a very serious inquiry; and it is not fit
that one who has sate there should take any part in our petition. "
Nottingham, with strong expressions of personal esteem for Rochester,
avowed the same opinion. The authority of the two dissentient Lords
prevented several other noblemen from subscribing the address but the
Hydes and the Bishops persisted. Nineteen signatures were procured; and
the petitioners waited in a body on the King. [525]

He received their address ungraciously. He assured them, indeed, that he
passionately desired the meeting of a free Parliament; and he promised
them, on the faith of a King, that he would call one as soon as the
Prince of Orange should have left the island. "But how," said he, "can a
Parliament be free when an enemy is in the kingdom, and can return near
a hundred votes? " To the prelates he spoke with peculiar acrimony. "I
could not," he said, "prevail on you the other day to declare against
this invasion: but you are ready enough to declare against me. Then you
would not meddle with politics. You have no scruple about meddling now.
You have excited this rebellious temper among your flocks, and now you
foment it. You would be better employed in teaching them how to obey
than in teaching me how to govern. " He was much incensed against his
nephew Grafton, whose signature stood next to that of Sancroft, and said
to the young man, with great asperity, "You know nothing about religion;
you care nothing about it; and yet, forsooth, you must pretend to have
a conscience. " "It is true, sir," answered Grafton, with impudent
frankness, "that I have very little conscience: but I belong to a party
which has a great deal. " [526]

Bitter as was the King's language to the petitioners, it was far less
bitter that that which he held after they had withdrawn. He had done,
he said, far too much already in the hope of satisfying an undutiful and
ungrateful people. He had always hated the thought of concession: but
he had suffered himself to be talked over; and now he, like his
father before him, had found that concession only made subjects more
encroaching. He would yield nothing more, not an atom, and, after his
fashion, he vehemently repeated many times, "Not an atom. " Not only
would he make no overtures to the invaders, but he would receive
none. If the Dutch sent flags of truce, the first messenger should be
dismissed without an answer; the second should be hanged. [527] In such
a mood James set out for Salisbury. His last act before his departure
was to appoint a Council of five Lords to represent him in London during
his absence. Of the five, two were Papists, and by law incapable of
office. Joined with them was Jeffreys, a Protestant indeed, but more
detested by the nation than any Papist. To the other two members of this
board, Preston and Godolphin, no serious objection could be made. On
the day on which the King left London the Prince of Wales was sent to
Portsmouth. That fortress was strongly garrisoned, and was under the
government of Berwick. The fleet commanded by Dartmouth lay close at
hand: and it was supposed that, if things went ill, the royal infant
would, without difficulty, be conveyed from Portsmouth to France. [528]

On the nineteenth James reached Salisbury, and took up his quarters in
the episcopal palace. Evil news was now fast pouring in upon him from
all sides. The western counties had at length risen. As soon as the news
of Cornbury's desertion was known, many wealthy landowners took
heart and hastened to Exeter. Among them was Sir William Portman of
Bryanstone, one of the greatest men in Dorsetshire, and Sir Francis
Warre of Hestercombe, whose interest was great in Somersetshire. [529]
But the most important of the new comets was Seymour, who had recently
inherited a baronetcy which added little to his dignity, and who, in
birth, in political influence, and in parliamentary abilities, was
beyond comparison the foremost among the Tory gentlemen of England. At
his first audience he is said to have exhibited his characteristic pride
in a way which surprised and amused the Prince. "I think, Sir Edward,"
said William, meaning to be very civil, "that you are of the family
of the Duke of Somerset. " "Pardon me, sir," said Sir Edward, who never
forgot that he was the head of the elder branch of the Seymours, "the
Duke of Somerset is of my family. " [530]

The quarters of William now began to present the appearance of a court.
More than sixty men of rank and fortune were lodged at Exeter; and the
daily display of rich liveries, and of coaches drawn by six horses,
in the Cathedral Close, gave to that quiet precinct something of the
splendour and gaiety of Whitehall. The common people were eager to take
arms; and it would have been easy to form many battalions of infantry.
But Schomberg, who thought little of soldiers fresh from the plough,
maintained that, if the expedition could not succeed without such help,
it would not succeed at all: and William, who had as much professional
feeling as Schomberg, concurred in this opinion. Commissions therefore
for raising new regiments were very sparingly given; and none but picked
recruits were enlisted.

It was now thought desirable that the Prince should give a public
reception to the whole body of noblemen and gentlemen who had assembled
at Exeter. He addressed them in a short but dignified and well
considered speech. He was not, he said, acquainted with the faces of all
whom he saw. But he had a list of their names, and knew how high
they stood in the estimation of their country. He gently chid their
tardiness, but expressed a confident hope that it was not yet too late
to save the kingdom. "Therefore," he said, "gentlemen, friends, and
fellow Protestants, we bid you and all your followers most heartily
welcome to our court and camp. " [531]

Seymour, a keen politician, long accustomed to the tactics of faction,
saw in a moment that the party which had begun to rally round the Prince
stood in need of organization. It was as yet, he said, a mere rope of
sand: no common object had been publicly and formally avowed: nobody was
pledged to anything. As soon as the assembly at the Deanery broke up, he
sent for Burnet, and suggested that an association should be formed, and
that all the English adherents of the Prince should put their hands to
an instrument binding them to be true to their leader and to each other.
Burnet carried the suggestion to the Prince and to Shrewsbury, by both
of whom it was approved. A meeting was held in the Cathedral. A short
paper drawn up by Burnet was produced, approved, and eagerly signed. The
subscribers engaged to pursue in concert the objects set forth in the
Prince's declaration; to stand by him and by each other; to take signal
vengeance on all who should make any attempt on his person; and, even
if such an attempt should unhappily succeed, to persist in their
undertaking till the liberties and the religion of the nation should be
effectually secured. [532]

About the same time a messenger arrived at Exeter from the Earl of Bath,
who commanded at Plymouth. Bath declared that he placed himself, his
troops, and the fortress which he governed at the Prince's disposal. The
invaders therefore had now not a single enemy in their rear. [533]

While the West was thus rising to confront the King, the North was all
in a flame behind him. On the sixteenth Delamere took arms in Cheshire.
He convoked his tenants, called upon them to stand by him, promised
that, if they fell in the cause, their leases should be renewed to their
children, and exhorted every one who had a good horse either to take the
field or to provide a substitute. [534] He appeared at Manchester with
fifty men armed and mounted, and his force had trebled before he reached
Boaden Downs.

The neighbouring counties were violently agitated. It had been arranged
that Danby should seize York, and that Devonshire should appear at
Nottingham. At Nottingham no resistance was anticipated. But at York
there was a small garrison under the command of Sir John Reresby. Danby
acted with rare dexterity. A meeting of the gentry and freeholders of
Yorkshire had been summoned for the twenty-second of November to address
the King on the state of affairs.
All the Deputy Lieutenants of the
three Ridings, several noblemen, and a multitude of opulent esquires and
substantial yeomen had been attracted to the provincial capital. Four
troops of militia had been drawn out under arms to preserve the public
peace. The Common Hall was crowded with freeholders, and the discussion
had begun, when a cry was suddenly raised that the Papists were up, and
were slaying the Protestants. The Papists of York were much more likely
to be employed in seeking for hiding places than in attacking enemies
who outnumbered them in the proportion of a hundred to one. But at that
time no story of Popish atrocity could be so wild and marvellous as not
to find ready belief. The meeting separated in dismay. The whole city
was in confusion. At this moment Danby at the head of about a hundred
horsemen rode up to the militia, and raised the cry "No Popery! A free
Parliament! The Protestant religion! " The militia echoed the shout. The
garrison was instantly surprised and disarmed. The governor was placed
under arrest. The gates were closed. Sentinels were posted everywhere.
The populace was suffered to pull down a Roman Catholic chapel; but
no other harm appears to have been done. On the following morning the
Guildhall was crowded with the first gentlemen of the shire, and with
the principal magistrates of the city. The Lord Mayor was placed in the
chair. Danby proposed a Declaration setting forth the reasons which had
induced the friends of the constitution and of the Protestant religion
to rise in arms. This Declaration was eagerly adopted, and received in a
few hours the signatures of six peers, of five baronets, of six knights,
and of many gentlemen of high consideration. [535]

Devonshire meantime, at the head of a great body of friends and
dependents, quitted the palace which he was rearing at Chatsworth, and
appeared in arms at Derby. There he formally delivered to the municipal
authorities a paper setting forth the reasons which had moved him to
this enterprise. He then proceeded to Nottingham, which soon became the
head quarters of the Northern insurrection. Here a proclamation was put
forth couched in bold and severe terms. The name of rebellion, it was
said, was a bugbear which could frighten no reasonable man. Was it
rebellion to defend those laws and that religion which every King of
England bound himself by oath to maintain? How that oath had lately been
observed was a question on which, it was to be hoped, a free Parliament
would soon pronounce. In the meantime, the insurgents declared that they
held it to be not rebellion, but legitimate self defence, to resist
a tyrant who knew no law but his own will. The Northern rising became
every day more formidable. Four powerful and wealthy Earls, Manchester,
Stamford, Rutland, and Chesterfield, repaired to Nottingham, and were
joined there by Lord Cholmondley and by Lord Grey de Ruthyn. [536]

All this time the hostile armies in the south were approaching each
other. The Prince of Orange, when he learned that the King had arrived
at Salisbury, thought it time to leave Exeter. He placed that city and
the surrounding country under the government of Sir Edward Seymour, and
set out on Wednesday the twenty-first of November, escorted by many of
the most considerable gentlemen of the western counties, for Axminster,
where he remained several days.

The King was eager to fight; and it was obviously his interest to do
so. Every hour took away something from his own strength, and added
something to the strength of his enemies. It was most important, too,
that his troops should be blooded. A great battle, however it might
terminate, could not but injure the Prince's popularity. All this
William perfectly understood, and determined to avoid an action as long
as possible. It is said that, when Schomberg was told that the enemy
were advancing and were determined to fight, he answered, with the
composure of a tactician confident in his skill, "That will be just as
we may choose. " It was, however, impossible to prevent all skirmishing
between the advanced guards of the armies. William was desirous that
in such skirmishing nothing might happen which could wound the pride or
rouse the vindictive feelings of the nation which he meant to deliver.
He therefore, with admirable prudence, placed his British regiments in
the situations where there was most risk of collision. The outposts
of the royal army were Irish. The consequence was that, in the little
combats of this short campaign, the invaders had on their side the
hearty sympathy of all Englishmen.

The first of these encounters took place at Wincanton. Mackay's
regiment, composed of British soldiers, lay near a body of the King's
Irish troops, commanded by their countryman, the gallant Sarsfield.
Mackay sent out a small party under a lieutenant named Campbell,
to procure horses for the baggage. Campbell found what he wanted at
Wincanton, and was just leaving that town on his return, when a strong
detachment of Sarsfield's troops approached. The Irish were four to one:
but Campbell resolved to fight it out to the last. With a handful of
resolute men he took his stand in the road. The rest of his soldiers
lined the hedges which overhung the highway on the right and on the
left. The enemy came up. "Stand," cried Campbell: "for whom are you? " "I
am for King James," answered the leader of the other party. "And I for
the Prince of Orange," cried Campbell. "We will prince you," answered
the Irishman with a curse. "Fire! " exclaimed Campbell; and a sharp fire
was instantly poured in from both the hedges. The King's troops received
three well aimed volleys before they could make any return. At length
they succeeded in carrying one of the hedges; and would have overpowered
the little band which was opposed to them, had not the country people,
who mortally hated the Irish, given a false alarm that more of the
Prince's troops were coming up. Sarsfield recalled his men and fell
back; and Campbell proceeded on his march unmolested with the baggage
horses.

This affair, creditable undoubtedly to the valour and discipline of the
Prince's army was magnified by report into a victory won against great
odds by British Protestants over Popish barbarians who had been brought
from Connaught to oppress our island. [537]

A few hours after this skirmish an event took place which put an end to
all risk of a more serious struggle between the armies. Churchill and
some of his principal accomplices were assembled at Salisbury. Two of
the conspirators, Kirke and Trelawney, had proceeded to Warminster,
where their regiments were posted. All was ripe for the execution of the
long meditated treason.

Churchill advised the King to visit Warminster, and to inspect the
troops stationed there. James assented; and his coach was at the door
of the episcopal palace when his nose began to bleed violently. He
was forced to postpone his expedition and to put himself under medical
treatment. Three days elapsed before the hemorrhage was entirely
subdued; and during those three days alarming rumours reached his ears.

It was impossible that a conspiracy so widely spread as that of which
Churchill was the head could be kept altogether secret. There was no
evidence which could be laid before a jury or a court martial: but
strange whispers wandered about the camp. Feversham, who held the chief
command, reported that there was a bad spirit in the army. It was hinted
to the King that some who were near his person were not his friends, and
that it would be a wise precaution to send Churchill and Grafton under
a guard to Portsmouth. James rejected this counsel. A propensity to
suspicion was not among his vices. Indeed the confidence which he
reposed in professions of fidelity and attachment was such as might
rather have been expected from a goodhearted and inexperienced stripling
than from a politician who was far advanced in life, who had seen much
of the world, who had suffered much from villanous arts, and whose own
character was by no means a favourable specimen of human nature. It
would be difficult to mention any other man who, having himself so
little scruple about breaking faith, was so slow to believe that his
neighbours could break faith with him. Nevertheless the reports which he
had received of the state of his army disturbed him greatly. He was now
no longer impatient for a battle. He even began to think of retreating.
On the evening of Saturday, the twenty-fourth of November, he called a
council of war. The meeting was attended by those officers against whom
he had been most earnestly cautioned. Feversham expressed an opinion
that it was desirable to fall back. Churchill argued on the other side.
The consultation lasted till midnight. At length the King declared that
he had decided for a retreat. Churchill saw or imagined that he was
distrusted, and, though gifted with a rare self command, could not
conceal his uneasiness. Before the day broke he fled to the Prince's
quarters, accompanied by Grafton. [538]

Churchill left behind him a letter of explanation. It was written with
that decorum which he never failed to preserve in the midst of guilt and
dishonour. He acknowledged that he owed everything to the royal favour.
Interest, he said, and gratitude impelled him in the same direction.
Under no other government could he hope to be so great and prosperous as
he had been: but all such considerations must yield to a paramount duty.
He was a Protestant; and he could not conscientiously draw his sword
against the Protestant cause. As to the rest he would ever be ready
to hazard life and fortune in defence of the sacred person and of the
lawful rights of his gracious master. [539]

Next morning all was confusion in the royal camp. The King's friends
were in dismay. His enemies could not conceal their exultation. The
consternation of James was increased by news which arrived on the same
day from Warminster. Kirke, who commanded at that post, had refused to
obey orders which he had received from Salisbury. There could no longer
be any doubt that he too was in league with the Prince of Orange. It
was rumoured that he had actually gone over with all his troops to
the enemy: and the rumour, though false, was, during some hours, fully
believed. [540] A new light flashed on the mind of the unhappy King. He
thought that he understood why he had been pressed, a few days before,
to visit Warminster. There he would have found himself helpless, at the
mercy of the conspirators, and in the vicinity of the hostile outposts.
Those who might have attempted to defend him would have been easily
overpowered. He would have been carried a prisoner to the head quarters
of the invading army. Perhaps some still blacker treason might have
been committed; for men who have once engaged in a wicked and perilous
enterprise are no longer their own masters, and are often impelled, by a
fatality which is part of their just punishment, to crimes such as they
would at first have shuddered to contemplate. Surely it was not without
the special intervention of some guardian Saint that a King devoted
to the Catholic Church had, at the very moment when he was blindly
hastening to captivity, perhaps to death, been suddenly arrested by what
he had then thought a disastrous malady.

All these things confirmed James in the resolution which he had taken
on the preceding evening. Orders were given for an immediate retreat.
Salisbury was in an uproar. The camp broke up with the confusion of a
flight. No man knew whom to trust or whom to obey. The material strength
of the army was little diminished: but its moral strength had been
destroyed. Many whom shame would have restrained from leading the way to
the Prince's quarters were eager to imitate an example which they never
would have set; and many, who would have stood by their King while
he appeared to be resolutely advancing against the invaders, felt no
inclination to follow a receding standard. [541]

James went that day as far as Andover. He was attended by his son in
law Prince George, and by the Duke of Ormond. Both were among the
conspirators, and would probably have accompanied Churchill, had he
not, in consequence of what had passed at the council of war, thought it
expedient to take his departure suddenly. The impenetrable stupidity of
Prince George served his turn on this occasion better than cunning would
have done. It was his habit, when any news was told him, to exclaim in
French, "possible? " "Is it possible? " This catchword was now of great
use to him. "Est-il-possible? " he cried, when he had been made to
understand that Churchill and Grafton were missing. And when the ill
tidings came from Warminster, he again ejaculated, "Est-il-possible? "

Prince George and Ormond were invited to sup with the King at
Andover. The meal must have been a sad one. The King was overwhelmed by
his misfortunes. His son in law was the dullest of companions. "I have
tried Prince George sober," said Charles the Second; "and I have tried
him drunk; and, drunk or sober, there is nothing in him. " [542] Ormond,
who was through life taciturn and bashful, was not likely to be in high
spirits at such a moment. At length the repast terminated. The King
retired to rest. Horses were in waiting for the Prince and Ormond,
who, as soon as they left the table, mounted and rode off. They were
accompanied by the Earl of Drumlanrig, eldest son of the Duke of
Queensberry. The defection of this young nobleman was no insignificant
event. For Queensberry was the head of the Protestant Episcopalians of
Scotland, a class compared with whom the bitterest English Tories might
be called Whiggish; and Drumlanrig himself was Lieutenant Colonel of
Dundee's regiment, a band more detested by the Whigs than even Kirke's
lambs. This fresh calamity was announced to the King on the following
morning. He was less disturbed by the news than might have been
expected. The shock which he had undergone twenty-four hours before
had prepared him for almost any disaster; and it was impossible to be
seriously angry with Prince George, who was hardly an accountable being,
for having yielded to the arts of such a tempter as Churchill. "What! "
said James, "is Est-il-possible gone too? After all, a good trooper
would have been a greater loss. " [543] In truth the King's whole anger
seems, at this time, to have been concentrated, and not without cause,
on one object. He set off for London, breathing vengeance against
Churchill, and learned, on arriving, a new crime of the arch deceiver.
The Princess Anne had been some hours missing.

Anne, who had no will but that of the Churchills, had been induced
by them to notify under her own hand to William, a week before, her
approbation of his enterprise. She assured him that she was entirely in
the hands of her friends, and that she would remain in the palace, or
take refuge in the City, as they might determine. [544] On Sunday the
twenty-fifth of November, she, and those who thought for her, were under
the necessity of coming to a sudden resolution. That afternoon a courier
from Salisbury brought tidings that Churchill had disappeared, that he
had been accompanied by Grafton, that Kirke had proved false, and that
the royal forces were in full retreat. There was, as usually happened
when great news, good or bad, arrived in town, an immense crowd that
evening in the galleries of Whitehall. Curiosity and anxiety sate
on every face. The Queen broke forth into natural expressions of
indignation against the chief traitor, and did not altogether spare his
too partial mistress. The sentinels were doubled round that part of the
palace which Anne occupied. The Princess was in dismay. In a few hours
her father would be at Westminster. It was not likely that he would
treat her personally with severity; but that he would permit her any
longer to enjoy the society of her friend was not to be hoped. It could
hardly be doubted that Sarah would be placed under arrest and would be
subjected to a strict examination by shrewd and rigorous inquisitors.
Her papers would be seized. Perhaps evidence affecting her life might be
discovered. If so the worst might well be dreaded. The vengeance of the
implacable King knew no distinction of sex. For offences much smaller
than those which might probably be brought home to Lady Churchill he had
sent women to the scaffold and the stake. Strong affection braced the
feeble mind of the Princess. There was no tie which she would not
break, no risk which she would not run, for the object of her idolatrous
affection. "I will jump out of the window," she cried, "rather than be
found here by my father. " The favourite undertook to manage an escape.
She communicated in all haste with some of the chiefs of the conspiracy.
In a few hours every thing was arranged. That evening Anne retired to
her chamber as usual. At dead of night she rose, and, accompanied by her
friend Sarah and two other female attendants, stole down the back stairs
in a dressing gown and slippers. The fugitives gained the open street
unchallenged. A hackney coach was in waiting for them there. Two men
guarded the humble vehicle. One of them was Compton, Bishop of London,
the Princess's old tutor: the other was the magnificent and accomplished
Dorset, whom the extremity of the public danger had roused from his
luxurious repose. The coach drove instantly to Aldersgate Street, where
the town residence of the Bishops of London then stood, within the
shadow of their Cathedral. There the Princess passed the night. On the
following morning she set out for Epping Forest. In that wild tract
Dorset possessed a venerable mansion, which has long since been
destroyed. In his hospitable dwelling, the favourite resort, during,
many years, of wits and poets, the fugitives made a short stay. They
could not safely attempt to reach William's quarters; for the road
thither lay through a country occupied by the royal forces. It was
therefore determined that Anne should take refuge with the northern
insurgents. Compton wholly laid aside, for the time, his sacerdotal
character. Danger and conflict had rekindled in him all the military
ardour which he had felt twenty-eight years before, when he rode in
the Life Guards. He preceded the Princess's carriage in a buff coat and
jackboots, with a sword at his side and pistols in his holsters. Long
before she reached Nottingham, she was surrounded by a body guard of
gentlemen who volunteered to escort her. They invited the Bishop to act
as their colonel; and he consented with an alacrity which gave great
scandal to rigid Churchmen, and did not much raise his character even in
the opinion of Whigs. [545]

When, on the morning of the twenty-sixth, Anne's apartment was found
empty, the consternation was great in Whitehall. While the Ladies of
her Bedchamber ran up and down the courts of the palace, screaming and
wringing their hands, while Lord Craven, who commanded the Foot Guards,
was questioning the sentinels in the gallery, while the Chancellor was
sealing up the papers of the Churchills, the Princess's nurse broke into
the royal apartments crying out that the dear lady had been murdered by
the Papists. The news flew to Westminster Hall. There the story was that
Her Highness had been hurried away by force to a place of confinement.
When it could no longer be denied that her flight had been voluntary,
numerous fictions were invented to account for it. She had been grossly
insulted; she had been threatened; nay, though she was in that situation
in which woman is entitled to peculiar tenderness, she had been beaten
by her cruel stepmother. The populace, which years of misrule had made
suspicious and irritable, was so much excited by these calumnies that
the Queen was scarcely safe. Many Roman Catholics, and some Protestant
Tories whose loyalty was proof to all trials, repaired to the palace
that they might be in readiness to defend her in the event of an
outbreak. In the midst of this distress and tenor arrived the news of
Prince George's flight. The courier who brought these evil tidings was
fast followed by the King himself. The evening was closing in when James
arrived, and was informed that his daughter had disappeared. After all
that he had suffered, this affliction forced a cry of misery from his
lips.