The invitation to the Prince of Orange had been signed by the Bishop of London on the 30th of June. On the 2nd of November, a Declaration, bearing date the 10th of October, began to be circulated in England, the space between June and October having been spent by His Highness in making preparations for his enterprise. The document, drawn up by the Grand Pensionary of Holland, had been revised and translated by Burnet, who sat by the Prince’s elbow, and came to be described as “Champion in ordinary of the Revolution, and ready to enter the lists against all comers.”

The Declaration gave the utmost prominence to the religious question. An ecclesiastical and unconstitutional Court had been revived, which had misapplied the Church’s property, invaded her dignity, and persecuted her members. A plan had been carried out for the re-establishment of Popery in Protestant England. Monasteries, convents, Popish churches, and Jesuit colleges had sprung up in all directions, and at the Council Board one of the hated order had taken his seat. Political liberties had been violated, charters withdrawn, Parliamentary government suspended, Judges displaced for their conscientiousness, and the right of petition denied even to spiritual Lords; Ireland had been given over to Papists, Scotland had been shorn of her freedom, and to crown all, the public had been deceived by the announcement of the birth of a pretended Prince. Hence the rights of the Princess of Orange had been invaded, and His Highness had undertaken an expedition “with no other view than to get a free Parliament assembled which might remedy those grievances, inquire into that birth, and secure national religion and liberty under a just and legal government for the future.” He further stated that he had been earnestly solicited by many Lords, both spiritual and temporal, by many gentlemen, and by other subjects of all ranks, to interpose.[33]

After James had made his concessions, a postscript to the Declaration was received from William. The concessions, he urged, went to prove the truth of the charges made; they arose from a consciousness of guilt; no dependence could be placed upon them; and only a Parliament could re-establish the rights of the English people.

Other documents of the same kind followed. The Prince boldly appealed to the military, reminding them how Protestant soldiers had been cashiered in Ireland, and Popish soldiers forced upon England. It would be the crime of the army, if the nation lost its liberty; the glory of the army, if the liberty of the nation was saved. Herbert wrote to the seamen, telling them their fate would be infamy, if the Prince failed of success; dismission from the service, if he succeeded.[34]

William’s Declaration alarmed James; at last he became undeceived. The webs woven by Dutch diplomacy were blown away. His confusion increased at finding he had reason to suspect Bishops as being amongst the Prince’s allies. He sent in haste to Sancroft on the 16th of October, and told him of the intention to invade England. He added, it would be a fitting thing for the Bishops to draw up a paper expressing their abhorrence of the attempt. The Primate plausibly pleaded that the Bishops had left London, and strangely declared, that he could not believe the Prince of Orange had any such design as was supposed. Matters were allowed to rest until the 31st of October, and then the King sent for Compton, Bishop of London.[35] He came the next day. The King referred to William’s Declaration, and read the paragraph stating that spiritual Lords had invited the Prince to come over. Compton, with a cunning which in a Papist he would have pronounced Jesuitical, replied, “I am confident the rest of the Bishops would as readily answer in the negative as myself.”[36] This skilfully-contrived evasion was a lie to all intents and purposes; but it took effect, for James admitted that he believed the Bishops were innocent. When he proceeded to urge a request that they should publicly disown any implication in this matter, his Lordship answered that the request should be considered. The King rejoined, that every one must answer for himself, and that he would send for the Archbishop to bring his brethren together.

A third important meeting followed next day, the 2nd of November, when the Bishop of London, with Crew, of Durham, and Cartwright, of Chester—both considered half Papists—and Watson, of St. David’s, a thorough courtier,[37] were brought together at Whitehall, and the Archbishop following them there, conducted them into the Royal closet. The Archbishop explicitly denied having signed the invitation. The Bishop of London artfully said he had given his answer the day before. The Bishop of Durham declared, “I am sure I am none of them.” “Nor I.” “Nor I,” cried the other two. James proceeded to insist that they and their brethren on the Bench should publicly vindicate themselves, and express abhorrence of William’s design.

The next day, November the 3rd, the Bishops of London and Rochester went to Lambeth to dine with His Grace, but finding their brethren of Chester and St. David’s present, though uninvited, they proceeded to a friend’s house in the neighbourhood, and returned, between two and three o’clock, to the Palace, after the other two had left. Then they conferred with Sancroft as to what should be done.[38]

The fourth important meeting of this kind took place on November the 6th, when the Archbishop, and the Bishops of London, Rochester, and Peterborough, made their appearance in the Sovereign’s presence; the Bishop of St. David’s—throughout an object of suspicion—“waiting for them in the Guard-chamber, ready to thrust in with them to the King.” The Primate, taking Lord Preston aside, requested him to procure for them a private audience; upon which the King, through his Lordship, ordered the obnoxious and forward Prelate to withdraw. The rest told James they had done all they could, and that if he were satisfied, they did not care for other people’s opinions; but when he talked to them of such a paper as he had required, they fell back on the ground they had occupied before, that scarcely one in five hundred believed in the genuineness of the document published in the Prince’s name. The Archbishop did not touch the question of the paper so much wished for by James, although one had been drawn up, and signed by himself; most probably the reason of this omission was, that he could not carry his brethren with him in the matter, and he felt it would not do for him to make a solitary disavowal on the subject. Presently the dispute wandered into a confused maze, and the Archbishop could not help adverting to the treatment which he and his six brethren had received at the Royal hands. The King was annoyed, but the Primate persevered; the rest supported him, and His Majesty stood like a stag at bay. James retorted that if they complained, he had a right to complain too, and the quarrel became unseemly in the extreme. Indeed, His Majesty was now beginning to find that whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap, and as he had by his lawyers bearded the Bishops in his own Court at Westminster, the Bishops in return were bearding him in his own Palace of Whitehall. The conversation came round to the old point. James wanted them to sign a paper. They would not. “I am your King,” he said; “I am judge what is best for me. I will go my own way; I desire your assistance in it.” Go his own way he might, but they would not go with him. Whatever their high notions of Royal prerogatives, and the obligations of subjects, might have been once, the recent trial had wonderfully opened the eyes of their understanding. They would not take on themselves the responsibility of publishing any disclaimer. His Majesty might publish to the world what they had said, if he liked.[39] “No,” said he; “if I should publish it, the people would not believe me.” Not believe him? The confession was most humiliating. “Sir,” said the right reverend father, “the word of a King is sacred—it ought to be believed.” “They that could believe me guilty of a false son, what will they not believe of me?” was the bitter rejoinder. James’ credit had sunk as low as it could. Further talking was useless. “I will urge you no further,” said he, in conclusion. “If you will not assist me as I desire, I must stand upon my own legs, and trust to myself and my own arms.” So they were dismissed.[40]

One of the Bishops, writing on the 14th of October, had remarked, “All people’s mouths are now full of praises for our order, to whom they say they shall ever owe the preservation of our religion,”—a statement which should be considered in connection with what I have said as to letters of a different purport addressed to Sancroft. The fact seems to have been, that whilst some Churchmen were dissatisfied with irregularities in the Establishment which they blamed the Bishops for not correcting, others—a far larger number—looking chiefly at that moment to the religious and political liberties of the country, regarded certain of the Bishops as making a noble stand against the designs of James. The Bishops’ popularity increased the following month, and although Compton’s Jesuitical answer to the King must be condemned by everybody, and the doubts expressed by the Bishops present at the interview on the 6th, as to the genuineness of William’s Declaration, will appear to most people as reflecting either upon their judgment or their straightforwardness, still their determination not to submit to James’ dictation was in harmony with the spirit which had made the seven so popular. Their firmness in this respect—in connection with the resistance offered to James by other Prelates not present on this last occasion, and responsible neither for Compton’s equivocation or their brethren’s remarks about the Orange documents—certainly operated in favour of the approaching Revolution, the full nature of which, however, they did not foresee.

The day before this 6th of November a momentous event had occurred, of which at the time they knew nothing.

William had set sail from Holland on the 16th of October, with a flag floating over the quaint, high-built frigate, bearing an inscription, of which the first three words formed the motto of the House of Orange, “I will maintain—the liberties of England and the Protestant religion.” As it fluttered on the staff, the wind changed, the fleet had to put back; but the Declaration of the 10th, sent before him, announced his coming, and people, as they awaited the visitation, looked out to sea, and prayed for a “Protestant east wind” to waft over the desired Deliverer. Whilst James was talking to the Bishops on the 2nd of November, the ship had left Helvoetsluys, and after sailing northward, had tacked about a second time, and with a fair wind was making for the British Channel.

In the fleet with the Prince was Frederic, Count of Schomberg, who, though he had been in the service of Louis XIV., remained a staunch member of the Reformed Church, and entered heartily into the design of the Protestant Champion, whom he attended in the capacity of Lieutenant. Another distinguished officer was Isaac Dumont de Bostaquet—a Huguenot soldier who had suffered for his religion, and had been driven from his paternal chateau of La Fontelaye, in France, by the intolerant policy of his infatuated Sovereign. Narrowly escaping with his life, after a number of romantic adventures, he found refuge in Holland, and now placed his sword at the command of the Prince, with all the zeal which could be kindled in the cause of liberty by memories of tyranny and oppression. In William’s dragoon regiments of red and blue were fifty French officers, all more or less inspired by similar feelings. Two companies of French infantry were commanded by Captains de Chauvernay and Rapin-Thoyras, afterwards the historian of England. Perhaps the equipment of these soldiers—dusty, worn, and tattered—appeared to disadvantage when compared with the brilliant uniforms of the Dutch, the German, the Swedes, the Swiss, and the English, who crowded within the wooden walls; but they deserve more notice than they have received, and more gratitude than was ever paid them.[41] Whilst England afforded a sanctuary to the Huguenots oppressed by Popery, in their own country,—Huguenots helped England to keep off the yoke of a like oppression. There were other noteworthy men amongst William’s followers.

Gilbert Burnet was there, full of Dutch memories, full of English hopes, picking up knowledge from the sailors, and musing upon the issue of his patron’s enterprise, not without side glances at his own fortunes. Not far off stood Carstairs, a catholic-spirited Scotch Presbyterian, who had manifested the utmost fortitude under torture, and who, when his own cause rose to the ascendant, did what is rare, for he signally manifested the virtue of moderation. Beside him was a different character, Robert Ferguson, implicated in the Rye-house Plot, and a ringleader in Monmouth’s rebellion.

The fleet presented a magnificent spectacle. “Nothing could be more beautiful,” says Dumont de Bostaquet, “than the evolution of the immense flotilla which now took place under a glorious sky;”[42] and Rapin, recording his own impressions of the moment, observes, “What a glorious show the fleet made! Five or six hundred ships in so narrow a channel, and both the English and French shores covered with numberless spectators is no common sight. For my part, who was then on board the fleet, it struck me extremely.”

Such a fleet, known to be conveying an army to the coast, watched on its way with imperfect information and with mingled fear and hope, must have been to Englishmen a spectacle full of excitement, to which history records scarcely a parallel.

The 4th of November being Sunday, and also the Prince’s birthday, he spent in devotion. Intending to land at Torbay, he found himself carried beyond his destination by the violence of the wind, or the unskilfulness of the pilot; and some measure of agitation,—such as thrilled the multitudes straining their eyes on the Dover Cliffs, whilst the quaintly-built vessels passed by,—must have moved the inhabitants of the towns and villages on both sides the sweep of water at the mouth of the Ex: as we imagine, on the red sand hills, groups gathered here and there, peering through windy weather in search of the ships about to rest under the headland of Devonshire Tor. The next day, the Dutch reached the desired spot, and “the forces were landed with such diligence and tranquillity, that the whole army was on shore before night.”[43]

The associations of the year and the day were propitious. Just a century before, God had scattered the Spanish Armada; and on the 5th of November, 1605, the three Estates of England had been delivered from the Gunpowder Plot. The Calvinist William took the Arminian Burnet by the hand, asking, “Will you not believe in predestination?” “I will never forget,” the chaplain cautiously replied, “that providence of God which has appeared so signally on this occasion.” Public worship followed the landing. Carstairs was the first, “Scotsman and Presbyterian as he was,” to call down the blessings of Heaven on the expedition; and after his prayer, “the troops all along the beach, at his instance, joined in the 118th Psalm,” and this act of devotion produced a sensible effect on the troops.[44] The Prince for awhile seemed elated, yet soon relapsed into his habitual gravity; but Burnet only interpreted the general feeling of the moment when he says, “We saw new and unthought-of characters of a favourable providence of God watching over us.”[45]

Tidings of what had happened rapidly spread, and excited all sorts of people, especially such as had religious sympathies with the new visitors. Devonshire traditions afford an idea of what was felt and done by Dissenters. A lady, worshipping in a meeting-house at Totnes, in commemoration of the discovery of Gunpowder Plot, when she learnt that the Prince had reached the neighbouring bay, immediately hastened, in company with another like-spirited matron, to meet His Highness at Brixham, who “shook hands with them, and gave them a parcel of his Proclamations to distribute, which they did so industriously that not one was left in the family as a memorial of their adventure.”[46]

A story is also told that Roman Catholics were at the time eagerly expecting assistance from the French, and a priest with his friends, stationed on a watch-tower, having descried white flags on the men of war as they hove in sight, prepared an entertainment for the earnestly-desired guests, and proceeded to chant a Te Deum, in gratitude for their arrival. They were soon undeceived, and the fare provided for the French was enjoyed by the Dutch.[47]

The army next day marched on to Exeter, the officers, like the soldiers, wet to the skin, having neither change of raiment, nor food, nor horses, nor servants, nor beds—the baggage still remaining in the ships. But expressions of sympathy, perhaps timorously conveyed, cheered them somewhat on this dreary day; and stories are still circulated amongst the Nonconformist families of the neighbourhood, of ancestors who watched the landing, and spoke of “seeing the country people rolling apples down the hill-side to the soldiers.”[48]

The progress was slow, and the stay at the Western capital long. Thomas Lamplugh, the Bishop who had approved of the Declaration and of the conduct of His Majesty’s servile Judges, showed his fidelity to James by rushing up to London, where he was rewarded with the Archiepiscopal throne of York. York had been left vacant for more than two years and a half, with the design, it was said, of being ultimately occupied by a Roman Catholic. A Popish Bishop had been settled there, with a title in partibus infidelium, whose crosier and utensils were seized after the landing of the Prince of Orange.[49]

The Dean of Exeter also fled in alarm, and His Highness took up his abode in the deserted Deanery. The Prebendaries refused to meet him, or to occupy their stalls, when he marched in military state through the western portal, well studded with statues of saints and kings; and proceeding up the nave, with its exquisite minstrels’ gallery, ascended the steps of the choir, passed under the beautiful screen, and took his seat on the Episcopal throne,—the ornamentation of which in ebonlike oak, without a single nail in the curious structure, so admirably contrasts with the pale arches and the vaulted roof. As soon as the chanting of the Te Deum had ceased, Burnet read His Highness’s Declaration, which proved a signal for such of the clergy and choristers as had ventured on being present, to quit the edifice. At the end of the reading the Doctor cried, “God save the Prince of Orange!” to which some of the congregation responded with a hearty Amen.

De Bostaquet, the French Huguenot, accustomed to the extreme and rigid simplicity of Protestant worship in his own country, was scandalized at what he witnessed at Exeter. He regarded the English service as retaining nearly all the externals of Popery—for such he counted the altar, and the great candles on each side, and the basin of silver-gilt between, and the Canons, in surplices and stoles, ranged in stalls on each side the nave, and the choir of little boys singing with charming voices. He was touched somewhat with the beauty of the music, but the sturdy and ultra-Reformer declared it was all opposed to the simplicity of the French reformed religion, and he confessed he was by no means edified with it.[50]

Burnet delivered a sermon on the following Sunday; and on the same day, Robert Ferguson, being refused by the Presbyterians the keys of the meeting-house in St. James Street, exclaimed, “I will take the kingdom of heaven by violence!” and calling for a hammer, broke open the door. Sword in hand he mounted the pulpit, and preached against the Papists from the 16th verse of the 94th Psalm: “Who will rise up for me against the evil doers?”[51]

At first the Prince’s affairs wore an unfavourable appearance—people of influence did not join him; but before long the tide turned, “and every man mistaking his neighbour’s courage for his own, all rushed to the camp or to the stations which had been assigned them, with a violence proportioned to their late fears.”[52] A hearty welcome awaited His Highness in many places through which he marched, the Dissenters in particular hailing his approach. One of them, a country gentleman, living at Coaxden Hall, rich in rookeries, between Axminster and Chard, had tables spread with provisions under an avenue of trees leading up to the house. The gentleman was Richard Cogan, whose wife Elizabeth, before her marriage, concealed him under a feather-bed, after the Monmouth rebellion, and so saved his life and won his affections. His mother had been a Royalist; and amongst many stories told of Charles’s adventures after his defeat at Worcester, it is related that this lady covered him with the skirts of her enormously-hooped petticoats.[53] The clergy of Dorset found themselves in an awkward position after William had triumphantly passed through the country. They had received an order of Council, sent by the Bishop, prescribing prayers for the Prince of Wales and the Royal family. But now, although some persevered in using the prayers, others laid them aside. There still exists a letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury from the incumbent of Wimborne, asking what he should do under the circumstances.[54]

When Ken heard that the Dutch were coming to Wells, he immediately left the city, and in obedience to His Majesty’s general commands, took all his coach horses with him, and as many of his saddle horses as he could; seeking shelter in a village near Devizes, intending to wait on James, should he come into that neighbourhood. Ken was awkwardly situated, having been chaplain to the Princess of Orange, and knowing many of the Dutch officers; therefore, to prevent suspicion, he left his diocese, determined to preserve his allegiance to a Monarch who still occupied the throne.[55] William found himself in the neighbourhood where the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth had a few years earlier unfurled his flag, to which certain Nonconformists had been drawn, who paid a terrible penalty for their rashness. Many retained keen recollections of Sedgmoor fight and Taunton Assizes, and could scarcely calculate upon the success of this new attempt; yet they sympathized intensely in William’s designs, as is manifest from some of their Church records containing narratives of the Deliverer’s march through the west of England. The Declaration said little in favour of Nonconformists, and only by implication gave hopes to them of legal security. But the documents received an interpretation from the knowledge that William believed conscience to be God’s province, and that toleration is as politic as it is righteous.

Three days before the landing of the Prince, James admonished his subjects, upon peril of being prosecuted, not to publish the treasonable Proclamations; and on the day after the landing, he denounced the act as aiming at the immediate possession of the Crown. Between those two dates, the Scottish Bishops, whose feudal-like loyalty mastered their patriotism, and placed them in opposition to their Episcopal brethren of the South, sent an address to the falling Monarch, in which they denounced the invasion, and professed unshaken allegiance to be part of their religion; not doubting that God, who had often delivered His Majesty, would now give him the hearts of his subjects and the necks of his enemies.[56] Another Scotch address, breathing the utmost devotion, followed, in significant opposition to the ominous silence maintained by Englishmen. This flash of enthusiasm, however, on the other side the Tweed, did nothing for the salvation of the House of Stuart,—the current of opinion throughout the realm, amongst high and low, having set in the opposite direction.

At this critical moment, amidst the confusion which reigned at Whitehall, and as selfish courtiers were waiting to see how they could promote their own interests, the misguided Sovereign commanded his army to march towards Salisbury. The night before he himself started for that city, a few noblemen and Bishops waited upon him with a proposal to assemble Parliament, and treat with the Prince of Orange; when, according to his own account, he told the Prelates that it would much better become men of their calling to instruct the people in their duty to God and the King, rather than foment a rebellions temper, by presenting such petitions at the very moment the enemy stood at the door. He says he regarded them as making religion a cloak of rebellion, and was at last convinced that the Church’s doctrine of passive obedience formed too sandy a foundation for a Prince’s hope.[57] His answer to the request for a Parliament, according to the report of the Bishop of Rochester, ran in these words: “What you ask of me, I most passionately desire, and I promise you upon the faith of a king, that I will have a Parliament, and such an one as you ask for, as soon as ever the Prince of Orange has quitted this realm. For how is it possible a Parliament should be free in all its circumstances, as you petition for, whilst an enemy is in the kingdom, and can make return of near a hundred voices?”[58]

James reached Salisbury on the 19th of November, and took up his abode in the Episcopal Palace,—under the shadow of the noble spire which rises so gracefully out of the midst of a pleasant landscape of quaint-looking houses, near the confluence of two rivers, bordered by gardens and orchards, by green meadows and brown fields. There he had reason enough to be alarmed by the progress of events, and to reflect on the instability of worldly greatness; yet he did not despair.

He was wonderfully slow in giving up all hope of help from Bishops. To the last he seemed to cling to that order with the tenacity of a sailor who has seized on a plank from a foundered vessel. From Salisbury he sent for the Bishop of Winchester, who had cautiously remained at his princely castle during these troublous times. The Bishop wrote to the Archbishop of Canterbury the following account of this fruitless visit:—

A spirit of disaffection soon showed itself in the upper ranks. Lord Lovelace had been deeply involved in intrigues preparatory to the Revolution; and in a crypt under his Elizabethan mansion, called Lady-place, at Hurley, so well known to all pilgrims to picturesque spots, on the banks of the Thames, he had held midnight conferences whilst all the Whigs were longing for a Protestant wind. He now quitted his home, at the head of seventy followers, and galloped westward to join the Prince. Colchester, Wharton, Russel, and Abingdon proceeded in the same direction; but, what foreboded more mischief, defection broke out in the ranks of Royalism. Cornbury, eldest son of Lord Clarendon, and nephew of James’ first wife, at the head of three regiments, deserted the camp at Salisbury, and joined the Prince—most of his soldiers, more faithful than himself, deserting him, when they discovered his treachery. Still worse defections followed. Prince George of Denmark—the husband of the Princess Anne, James’ daughter, a person who, with all her weakness of mind, had acquired a reputation for Protestant zeal—went next. In company with the Duke of Ormond, he rode off from Andover, having the previous night supped at his father-in-law’s table. The Churchills—great favourites with James, great supporters of his cause—soon fell into the stream. The destined hero of Blenheim, accompanied by Grafton, pushed on his way to worship the rising sun. A story is told, I do not know on what authority, that William, on seeing these unexpected visitors, exclaimed, “If ye be come peaceably to me to help me, mine heart shall be knit unto you, but if ye be come to betray me to mine enemies (seeing that there is no wrong in my hands), the God of your fathers rebuke it.” One of them replied, “Thine are we, David, and on thy side, thou son of Jesse. Peace, peace be unto thee, and peace be to thy helpers, for thy God helpeth thee.” The Princess Anne, imitating her husband’s example, disappeared from Whitehall, and in a carriage—preceded by Compton, Bishop of London, who wore a purple velvet coat and jack boots, with pistols in his holsters and a sword in his hand[60]—was driving off at the top of her horses’ speed to the town of Nottingham.

The desertions at Salisbury drove James back to London; there the last drop was added to the cup of his domestic sorrow, when he learned that his daughter Anne had abandoned his cause. Further calamities befell him. Rochester, Godolphin, even Jeffreys, meeting their master in Council, recommended the calling of a Parliament; and at the same time Clarendon blamed James for leaving Salisbury without fighting a battle. Eventually, after having bewailed his son Cornbury’s apostacy, the great courtier thought it the safest course to imitate that son’s example.

James was now reduced to extremities, and on the 22nd of November he issued a Proclamation, in which he recalled his revolted subjects to allegiance with the promise of a free and gracious pardon, and tempted the soldiers of the Dutch army to come over to the Royal standard with the promise of liberal entertainment, or of safe dismissal to their own country. On the 30th, appeared another Proclamation, for the speedy calling of a Parliament.[61]

Matters were proceeding favourably on the other side. Crossing Salisbury Plain, marching past Stonehenge, William and his army, with great military display, took possession of Salisbury, after which the Prince occupied a house in the neighbouring village of Berwick. Clarendon, on reaching the Episcopal city, which had become the head quarters of the Revolution, alighted at the George Inn, where he found the Dutch Ambassador; and the next morning waited on the Prince, who took him into his bedchamber, and talked with him for half an hour, telling him how glad he felt to see him, and how seasonable the accession of his son had proved. The Earl, hearing Burnet was in the house, went to see that important person. “What,” asked the latter, “can be the meaning of the King’s sending these Commissioners?” “To adjust matters for the safe and easy meeting of the Parliament,” replied Clarendon. “How,” rejoined the other, “can a Parliament meet, now the kingdom is in this confusion—all the West being possessed by the Prince’s forces, and all the North being in arms for him?” Clarendon urged that if the design was to settle things, they might hope “for a composure.” The Doctor, with his usual warmth, answered, “It is impossible: there can be no Parliament: there must be no Parliament. It is impossible!”[62]

Clarendon made his way to Berwick—the house used by the Prince at the time was in the possession of one of Clarendon’s relatives—there he had a private conference with His Highness, and was received “very obligingly.” The Earl wished that the opposing parties might come to terms, and talked with Burnet, who, walking up and down the room, in wonderful warmth exclaimed, “What treaty? How can there be a treaty? The sword is drawn. There is a supposititious child, which must be inquired into.” Clarendon was puzzled at Burnet’s conduct, and asked him why the day before, at prayers in the Cathedral, he had behaved so as to make the congregation stare; for when the usual collect for the Sovereign was being repeated, he sat down in his stall and made an “ugly noise.” Burnet replied, he could not join in the usual supplications for James as King of England.[63]

As William rode on horseback from Berwick to Salisbury, the people flocked to see and bless him. He acknowledged their affectionate salutations by taking off his hat, saying, “Thank you, good people. I am come to secure the Protestant religion, and to free you from Popery.”

William’s popularity advanced with hasty strides from the south to the north and east of England, obtaining marked manifestation in certain towns and cities, connected with other and somewhat similar struggles. The nobility and gentry of the northern midland counties met at Derby—where, a little more than half a century later, the Pretender Charles Edward lodged for a few days, flushed with the hope of recovering his grandfather’s crown—and there they declared it to be their duty to endeavour the healing of present distractions, as they apprehended the consequences which might arise from the landing of an army. They wished there should be the calling of a free Parliament, to which the Prince of Orange was willing to submit his pretensions. At Nottingham, the refuge of the Princess Anne—where Charles I. had raised his standard, and Colonel Hutchinson had held the Castle—many of the upper and middle classes assembled, to enumerate grievances under which the nation groaned. The laws, as they said, had become a nose of wax, and being sensible of the influence of Jesuitical councils in the Government, they avowed their determination not to deliver posterity over to Rome and slavery, but to join with the Prince in recovering their almost ruined laws, liberties, and religion.

At York—so closely connected with the Civil Wars—Sir Henry Gooderick, in the Common Hall, addressed a hundred gentlemen to this effect, “that there having been great endeavours made by the Government of late years to bring Popery into the kingdom, and by many devices to set at nought the laws of the land,” there could be no proper redress of grievances “but by a free Parliament; that now was the only time to prefer a petition of the sort; and that they could not imitate a better pattern than had been set before them by several Lords, spiritual and temporal.” Alarmed by flying reports of what the Papists were about to do, the Earl of Danby, Lord Horton, Lord Willoughby, and others, scoured the streets of the city at the head of a troop, shouting, “A free Parliament, the Protestant religion, and no Popery!”[64] At Newcastle and at Hull—ground covered by Commonwealth memories—demonstrations occurred in favour of a free Parliament. In the fine old Market-place of Norwich, abounding in Puritan associations, the Duke of Norfolk addressed the Mayor and citizens, and talked of securing law, liberty, and the Protestant religion. Just afterwards, the townsmen of King’s Lynn—where one meets with the shades of Oliver Cromwell and the Earl of Manchester—responded to the Duke in a strain like his own. Berwick-on-Tweed followed in the wake of other towns. Even the heads of Houses at Oxford sent to the Prince an assurance of support, and an invitation to visit them, telling him that their plate, if needful, should be at his service.[65] In short, a flame of enthusiasm in favour of the Dutch deliverer spread from one end of the land to the other.[66]

I have shown that treachery weakened the cause of James; I am sorry to say, that falsehood was employed in support of William. Two genuine Declarations were published in his cause; a third appeared, of the most violent description. It stated as his resolution, that all Papists found with arms on their persons or in their houses, should be treated as freebooters and banditti, be incapable of quarter, and be delivered up to the discretion of his soldiers; all persons assisting them were to be looked upon as partakers of their crimes. It stated, also, that numerous Papists had of late resorted to London and Westminster; that there was reason to suspect they did so, not for their own security, but in order to make a desperate attempt upon those places; and that French troops, procured by the interest and power of the Jesuits, would, if possible, land in England, in “pursuance of the engagements which, at the instigation of that pestilent Society, His most Christian Majesty, with one of his neighbouring Princes of the same communion, had entered into, for the utter extirpation of the Protestant religion out of Europe.”[67] Burnet, who was in the secrets of the Prince’s Court, observes, “No doubt was made that it was truly the Prince’s Declaration; but he knew nothing of it; and it was never known who was the author of so bold a thing. No person ever claimed the merit of it, for though it had an amazing effect, yet, it seems he that contrived it apprehended that the Prince would not be well pleased with the author of such an imposture in his name. The King was under such a consternation, that he neither knew what to resolve on, nor whom to trust.”[68] It has been said[69] that the Declaration was not made public until after the Prince had left Sherborne. William did not issue any counter Declaration nor publish any repudiation of the document, but left it to produce its effect. Such a want of straightforwardness contradicts his general character, but most likely those about him, seeing how effective the Declaration proved, prevented its being cancelled; still, if the main blame rests with them, their master remains responsible for having at least winked at the maxim of doing evil that good might come. Years afterwards one Speke—who had been in the Prince’s army, and who was goaded by revenge for his brother’s death under Judge Jeffreys—avowed himself the fabricator of the infamous device, and said that he gave it to the Prince with his own hand at Sherborne Castle; that His Highness seemed somewhat surprised at first, but that when he had considered it, he and those about him were not displeased. No credit can be given to a man who played the part which Speke confessed he had done. Part of his statement is improbable, and is contradicted by the relation of circumstances given by Bishop Burnet. At all events, the effect of the forgery was terrible, and soon afterwards this same man contrived another and still more diabolical scheme. In the meanwhile, attempts at negotiation went on. James had appointed Commissioners to meet William, but things now reached a point rendering conferences utterly idle. The Palace was thrown into confusion by the escape of the Royal family, and the consternation of the Court is reflected in a much damaged letter, brought under the notice of historical students by the Historical MSS. Commission. “Your lordship,” says Turner, Bishop of Ely, under date December 11, 1688, to Trelawny, Bishop of Bristol, both numbered amongst the seven, “has heard by [this time that on] Sunday night, the Queen and Prince of Wales [left] about 2 in the morning. They went [in a boat with] oars to Lambeth, and so, without guards, in [a coach] towards Gravesend, where a yacht lay for [them]. Many of quality slink away daily. ’Tis believed [the Ki]ng will follow very suddenly. How are the mighty fallen. [My] Lord, these are sad and strange revolutions for our general [and grie]vous national sins, which God Almighty forgive and relieve us. This minute I receive an advice from the Earl of Rochester that the King is secretly withdrawn this morning. God preserve him and direct us.”