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THE HISTOilY 
 
 THE BRITISH REBELLION 
 
 1685 
 
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 A HISTORY 
 
 OF THE \ 9J 
 
 ENGLISH AND SCOTCH REBELLIONS 
 
 or 
 
 1685. 
 
 DESCRIBING THE STRUGGLES OF THE ENGLISH AND 
 
 SCOTCH PEOPLE TO RID THEMSELVES OF A 
 
 POPISH KING, JAMES THE SECOND. 
 
 THE 
 DUKE OF MONMOUTH HEADING THE REBELLION IN ENGLAND. 
 
 AND 
 
 THE EARL OF ARGYLE THAT OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 ADVENTUROUS CAREER, MELANCHOLY DEFEATURE, AND 
 SAD CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIA W. H. GEORGE. 
 
 " Details are the physiognomy of character, and by thern they engrave 
 themselves upon the imagination." Lamariine. 
 
 NEW-YORK : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CADY Sz. BURGESS, 
 60 JOHN-STREET. 
 
 
 

 Entered according; to Act of Congress, by Julia W. II. George, in the year of 
 our Lord one thousand eight hundred and iifty-oue, in the Clerk's Office of 
 the District Court of the Southern District of New-York. 
 
 D. Fansiiaw, Printer. 
 35 Ann, cor. of Nassan-st 
 
 
 
 • 
 
PREFACE 
 
 <; The tastes of those who were the rising generation 
 when the Waverly Novels were the absorbing theme," 
 says a celebrated writer, "have become matured. They 
 require to have history rendered as agreeable without 
 fiction as with it. They desire to have it written without 
 sacrificing truth to fastidiousness, that they may read it 
 with their children ; and that the whole family party 
 shall be eager to resume the book when they gather 
 round the work-table in the long winter evenings," when 
 amusement blended with instruction, through works con- 
 veying a knowledge of the past, shall be that proper and 
 wholesome food which has truth for its basis, and facts, 
 not fancies, for its superstructure. 
 
 There is an universal thirst in the present age for 
 this kind of reading ; and every work issuing from the 
 press bearing on its title page records of deeds of actual 
 occurrence, with their heroes and heroines faithfully por- 
 trayed, meets with a ready grasp from thousands of eager 
 and expectant hearts ; as the dry chronicles of ancient 
 times, perused as tasks in early youth, have left little 
 remembrance of the realities of those times which the 
 chivalrous age and spirit of the past render, in truth, so 
 absorbing and interesting. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Books in former ages were written for the few ; now 
 they are penned for the [many. A more general cle- 
 velopement of mind and character pervades all classes, 
 and the peasant and the prince may now almost, we 
 might say, enjoy alike the labors of those who are instru- 
 mental in giving additional light to what has been ren- 
 dered hitherto too obscure in its details for general adap- 
 tation and improvement. 
 
 The following pages give a history of the Rebellion 
 of 1685, headed by James Scot, Duke of Monmouth, the 
 eldest illegitimate son of Charles the Second, whose career 
 is perhaps one of the most remarkable upon record. In 
 tracing the sad consecmences of his ill-advised invasion, 
 while strictly confining ourselves to facts, we shall also 
 endeavor so to delineate his character and motives, as 
 shall place before our renders a full and complete his- 
 tory of the eventful period in which he performed so 
 conspicuous a part. 
 
 The Earl of Argyle led the rebellion in Scotland 
 about the same time. An anachronism will be found in 
 the manner in which we have placed their histories ; the 
 Scottish rebellion having commenced and ended before 
 that of England was terminated ; but as the narration 
 of facts are strictly given, this was deemed unimportant. 
 
 In this work there will be found little allusion to 
 notes or " documentary testimony ;" but what is here ad- 
 duced has been derived from true and reliable sources, and 
 the details related, therefore, depended on as authentic. 
 
 Argyle's character was very different to that of Mon- 
 mouth, and he might truly be said to have erred on 
 
PREFACE. 7 
 
 virtue's side. Like Monmouth, however, he wanted that 
 firmness of purpose and will, necessary to a commander ; 
 determination in a leader, being equally as essential as 
 obedience in a subordinate. 
 
 As the title imports, it is a chronicle of the events of 
 the time, as they occurred, faithfully portraying one of 
 the most suffering periods England has ever known. 
 
 New-York, March, 1851. 
 
THE 
 
 HISTORY OF THE BRITISH REBELLION OF 1685, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Dissatisfaction and disaffection distinguished a 
 large portion of both, public and private individuals 
 during the latter years of the reign of Charles the 
 Second, which was still more increased when they 
 considered that to their present grievances, by the 
 succession of the duke his brother, all the horrors 
 of a Papal administration would be added. To rid 
 themselves of so odious a necessity many plans had 
 been formed, and many plots entered into, but failure 
 and discovery had, so far, only been the result. Baf- 
 fled, but not by that means deprived of hopes of 
 accomplishing their end, we find the whigs, in the 
 Spring of 1681, convened to concert measures to 
 carry a plan into execution to prevent the Duke of 
 York from ever ascending the throne of England. 
 
 Charles had been taken suddenly ill at Windsor 
 
 Castle, and, by his physicians, thought in a very 
 
 dangerous condition. Under those circumstances no 
 
 time for the accomplishment of their object was to 
 
 2 
 
10 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 be lost. The Duke of Monmouth, Charles' eldest 
 illegitimate son, therefore, with his colleagues, Lord 
 Grey, Lord Russell, and the restless Lord Shaftes- 
 bury, thought this the proper opportunity to orga- 
 nize their plans, and, in the event of the king's ill- 
 ness proving fatal, to rise in arms against the suc- 
 cession of his brother. 
 
 Charles recovered, but the designs they had form- 
 ed were not on this account abandoned. These con- 
 spirators, together with the Earls of Essex and 
 Salisbury, determined on continuing the Oxford par- 
 liament after the king should dissolve it, which in a 
 few days was to take place. To this end they detained 
 several lords in the house under pretext of signing 
 the impeachment of Fitzharris. At this juncture 
 news reached them that the commons had broken 
 up in great consternation, among whom were leaders 
 in the same desperate measure, which acted on them 
 like magic, and they at once resolved upon separat- 
 ing, though still determined to persevere. 
 
 Shaftesbury, more unfortunate than the others, 
 was taken up and imprisoned, and this, for some 
 time, ended their plottings and machinations. But the 
 smouldering fire, which, notwithstanding its progress, 
 was for a time hidden beneath an exterior of calm 
 and safe quiet, was to burst forth with renewed vio- 
 lence. The seeds of rebellion had been sown on no 
 ungenial soil, the grains had taken root, and were 
 expanding hidden, but deep ; and the fruits would 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 11 
 
 manifest themselves at no very distant day. The 
 spirit of sedition was spreading fast, both in town 
 and country. 
 
 Monmouth, in the meantime, had engaged the Earl 
 of Macclesfield, Lord Brendon, Sir Gilbert Gerard, 
 and other gentlemen of Cheshire ; Lord Russell enter- 
 ed into a correspondence with Sir William Courtenay, 
 Sir Francis Drake, and Sir Francis Howe, who pro- 
 mised to raise the "West. While one William Tren- 
 chard promised the conspirators a large interest in 
 the disaffected town of Taunton, where he said he 
 had considerable influence. 
 
 Lord Shaftesbury had been set at liberty, as no 
 sufficient cause could be proved for his further deten- 
 tion in prison, though he was known to be a danger- 
 ous person. He therefore commenced operations in 
 London, assisted by Robert Ferguson, a violent whig, 
 and a most inveterate talker, who used that talent in 
 stirring up all whom he came across to join Mon- 
 mouth's standard, and assist at this great juncture in 
 endeavoring to prevent a Catholic ruler occupying 
 the British throne. He had been an Independant cler- 
 gyman, and was listened to the more readily on that 
 account, inspiring confidence wherever he went, and 
 being made the recipient of all the movements going 
 forward in the different counties by the several par- 
 ties employed to correspond on the subject. 
 
 Lord Shaftesbury's disposition little fitted him for 
 the office he had undertaken. Fearful and nervous, 
 
12 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 he realized all the horrors of his desperate situation, 
 though full of schemes of daring, and longing to come 
 to that crisis when action would give full scope and 
 exercise for these restless feelings, for whom quiet and 
 suspense was torture in the highest degree. He was 
 therefore indefatigable in his endeavors to bring about 
 this desired consummation. Secreting himself by day 
 and prowling about all night, his constant exordium 
 was, "Let us commence at once, let us lose no time, 
 lest, the knowledge of our intentions getting wind, 
 the whole thing should explode and come to nothing 
 at last." Meetings were, therefore, constantly being 
 held at the houses of different whigs in London, par- 
 ticularly at one Shepherd's, a wine merchant, more 
 zealous than the rest, and, like Shaftesbury, panting 
 for action. The plan of the insurrection was here at 
 length formed. Devonshire, Cheshire and Bristol 
 were to be the places of rendezvous ; all the opera- 
 tion were laid down, and even the state of the guards 
 examined and discussed, and an attack pronounced 
 practicable. Then followed the reading of a declara- 
 tion, in which they justified themselves to the public 
 for the steps they were about to take. 
 
 Every preliminary being thus agreed upon, no- 
 thing seemed to remain but to commence the insurrec- 
 tion at once, which would have been the case had not 
 news arrived from Trenchard, that the rising in the 
 west of England could not be in sufficient forward- 
 ness for some weeks to come. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 13 
 
 The impatience of Shaftesbury's temper could ill 
 brook this delay, for he thought that success could 
 alone be secured by instantaneous measures. He 
 could command, he said, ten thousand himself, ready 
 at the beck of his finger to spring forth and fly to 
 their arms. 
 
 This was very annoying to Monmouth and Kus- 
 sell, for their calculations were made with more judg- 
 ment and coolness than that of their colleague ; and 
 they were afraid of what it would eventually drive 
 him to, and it did end in his giving up all in a pa- 
 roxism of rage, and flying to Amsterdam, where, 
 having given great dissatisfaction for his former 
 councils against the Dutch commonwealth, he was 
 refused every public appointment he solicited, and 
 in a short time died, little, alas ! deplored or lamented. 
 
 His furious temper, it was discovered, had done 
 great injury to the cause in which he was engaged, 
 the iniquitous designs he entertained being of a na- 
 ture so heinous that they would have been destruc- 
 tive in the highest degree in a faction where unanimi- 
 ty of interests were above all things necessary, and 
 an assumption at least, of purity of purpose in their 
 designs. 
 
 The death of Shaftesbury was productive of much 
 evil to their plans, the conspirators in the city hav- 
 ing rested their entire dependance in his lordship, 
 and looked upon him as their leader. The circum- 
 stances in which they were placed, however, required 
 
14 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 a movement of some kind ; and, after mature delibera- 
 tion, they agreed to stand by each other and to or- 
 ganize their plans, and then commence the insurrec- 
 tion. A council of six was therefore formed, consist- 
 ing of Monmouth, Eussell, Essex, Howard, Algernon, 
 Sidney, and John Hampden, grand-son of the great 
 parliamentary leader. These men entered into an 
 agreement with Argyle and the Scottish mal-con- 
 tents, then in Holland, for the payment of ten 
 thousand pounds to purchase arms, and in order to 
 bring them into the field. 
 
 With all this seeming unanimity of purpose, each 
 of the conspirators had their own peculiar ends in 
 view. Sidney and Essex were desirous of establish- 
 ing a commonwealth ; Hampden and Russell were zea- 
 lously attached to the ancient constitution, and wish- 
 ed to exclude the duke, and redress all the grievan- 
 ces of the people. But Monmouth differed from them 
 all, he wished to possess the crown. With these several 
 purposes in view they were, however, united in one 
 common feeling of discontent at Charles' adminis- 
 tration, and hatred of the Duke, his brother and suc- 
 cessor, so that the insurrection was resolved on by 
 all who had engaged in forwarding so daring an act. 
 Unknown to the conspirators there was yet ano- 
 ther plot in active operation, and numbered among its 
 leaders West,Tyley,Norton and Ay loffe,lawyers ; Fer- 
 guson, Rouse, Hone, Ruling, Holloway, Browne, Lee, 
 and Rumbould. They held meetings for the purpose of 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 15 
 
 concerting measures for the assassination of the king 
 and the duke. Nothing could surpass the heartless- 
 ness of these men when discussing this subject, which 
 the j familiarly termed " lopping." One plan formed 
 was to waylay Charles as he returned from the races. 
 Eumbould, who was a maltster, and possessed an es- 
 tate which lay in the way to New Market, laid before 
 them a plan of his farm, showing how easy it would 
 be, by overturning a cart, to upset the king's coach 
 and then fire on him from behind the hedges. But 
 this was providentially prevented by the house which 
 he occupied at New Market suddenly taking fire, 
 obliging him to fly a week before his usual time, and 
 ere their plans had been matured, or they had provid- 
 ed themselves with arms necessary for carrying them 
 into execution. Indeed it all amounted to little more 
 than talk, and their meeting resulted in scarcely any- 
 thing beyond the expression of the rancorous feel- 
 ings which they fostered against the king and the 
 duke. This was called the rye-house plot, from 
 Kumbould's house of that name. All was discovered 
 through a man of the name of Euling, a Salter, who, 
 to save himself from the punishment of a crime of 
 which he was accused, disclosed all the circumstances 
 and the names of the persons engaged in it. This led 
 to an investigation, and one after another, with the 
 hope of saving themselves, confessed or confirmed 
 the evidence of Euling; but one Eumsey, besides 
 this, gave information of the conspirators' meetings at 
 
16 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 Shepherd's, and the result was that Grey and How- 
 ard were arrested. Howard had concealed himself 
 in [a chimney, and when taken, being a man of no 
 principle, he at once gave information of his confe- 
 derates, in the hope that by doing so he would secure 
 both a pardon and reward. Essex, Sidney and Hamp- 
 den were also apprehended, and^ others every day 
 discovered and thrown into prison. Eussell was sent 
 to the Tower, but Monmouth absconded. 
 
 Subsequently many of the conspirators were 
 executed, and this circumstance might be supposed 
 to set all future rebellious feelings at rest ; but not 
 so. Lord Halifax, seeing how the duke's influence 
 prevailed, resolved on having recourse to Monmouth, 
 and to this end sought out and found his retreat, 
 and prevailed on him to write to the king, express- 
 ing his penitence, and begging his forgiveness. 
 
 Charles was unable to withstand his son's plead- 
 ings, and with all the father in his heart invited him 
 to come to court, an invitation which was promptly 
 accepted ; and when he arrived there the king did 
 everything to effect a reconciliation between him 
 and his brother James, who felt all these proceedings 
 to be chiefly aimed at him, to prevent his succeeding 
 Charles on the throne. 
 
 Confidence being thus established, Charles in- 
 duced Monmouth to give him the whole history of 
 the conspiracy and the consjnrators, promising that 
 his testimony should never be employed against his 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 17 
 
 friends. To this end he called an extra council, and 
 told them that his son had expressed the greatest 
 penitence for the part he had taken ; had pledged 
 his word never again to be engaged in anything of 
 the kind ; and published a paragraph to that effect. 
 
 Monmouth waited for his complete pardon, in 
 prison, and then hastened to retrieve his character 
 by denying this public statement; which so enraged 
 the king that he ordered him to leave the kingdom, 
 and all his confederates also. 
 
 Monmouth was Charles' eldest illegitimate son, 
 and had been married some years to an amiable 
 lady, who had borne him two children. She was de- 
 votedly attached to her husband, but unfortunately 
 her love had never been returned. In his early 
 youth Monmouth had entered deeply into the dissi- 
 pations of his father's court, and in order to correct 
 his profligate habits a marriage was negociated be- 
 tween him and one of the ladies of the palace, a 
 friend of the queen's, who, although living in an 
 atmosphere so vicious, yet retained the most unble- 
 mished purity of character. Monmouth obeyed, me- 
 chanically, this wish of the king ; but it failed to 
 effect the desired reformation. He spent little of 
 his time in the society of his wife, but gave himself 
 up to every species of pleasure and gaiety, as before. 
 
 The Duchess of Monmouth bore the neglect and 
 indifference with which she was treated, with mild- 
 ness and resignation, until reports reached her that 
 
18 
 
 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 another shared in the affection which should have 
 been wholly hers. 
 
 Lady Wentworth was a young and beautiful 
 baroness in her own right ; and on her presentation 
 to the queen her beauty had completely captivated 
 Monmouth. 
 
 The duchess had beheld with sorrow her hus- 
 band's ill-advised measures and plottings to raise a 
 rebellion, and would have raised her feeble voice 
 against it ; but, knowing how vain and futile would 
 be any attempt of the kind on her part, forbore. 
 But his banishment from the kingdom filled her 
 with the most unspeakable anguish, not only on 
 account of his absence, but other causes. 
 
 Monmouth departed, but not alone. His voyage 
 to Holland, whither he bent his steps, was cheered 
 by the presence of Lady Wentworth, who forsook 
 her parents and her duty to be his companion in 
 exile. 
 
 Monmouth's object in going to Holland was to 
 become the guest of William and Mary, Prince and 
 Princess of Orange ; and they now having ceased to 
 regard him as a rival, received him with every de- 
 monstration of regard. 
 
 Charles' banishment they considered an extreme- 
 ly severe measure ; while to Monmouth^ himself it 
 appeared an evidence of not only a want of affec- 
 tion for him, but positive hatred. But this was a 
 very mistaken idea ; and he was soon led to change 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 19 
 
 his opinion. For constant supplies of money reach- 
 ed him from Whitehall, followed by assurances that 
 if no new cause of offence was given, he would 
 speedily be recalled. It was also known that Charles 
 never permitted any one to speak against his banish- 
 ed son in his presence, and in truth he mourned his 
 absence more than any other, for he was his favor- 
 ite son. 
 
 Monmouth's personal attractions were great, add- 
 ed to which were manners so blandly elegant that 
 he soon became the reigning favorite among the 
 gay society of the Hague. 
 
 Lady Wentvvorth lived in a beautiful retirement 
 at Brabant, whither he often went; but whenever 
 he did so his absence cast a gloom over everything 
 that remained behind, and his return was welcomed 
 with general joy. The unexpected kindness of his 
 father filled his heart with delight ; and balls and 
 parties owed their highest charm to his gay spirits 
 and presence. He introduced the country dance to 
 the Dutch ladies, who in return taught him to skate 
 on the canals. The Princess of Orange (Charles' 
 eldest daughter by his first marriage) entered into 
 this amusement with great spirit, eclipsing all the 
 other ladies in the shortness of her dress, and the 
 expertness of her movements, much to the astonish- 
 ment of the English ministers, and the quiet inha- 
 bitants of the place. 
 
 Monmouth was the observed, however, of all 
 
20 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 observers ; and he was in truth an elegant looking 
 and accomplished man. He was, moreover, a king's 
 son, which fact gave him a precedence which none 
 attempted to dispute. 
 
 Pleasure and ambition were the ruling elements 
 of his character ; and though toying with the hour, 
 amid the festivities which on every side surrounded 
 him, the defeat he had met with rankled deeply in 
 his heart. Beneath the smiling surface of his hand- 
 some countenance a dark shadow rested on his soul ; 
 and a future often gleamed forth in brightness before 
 him, as yet in embryo, it is true, and unknown to 
 all save himself, but one on which he pondered with 
 great delight, and allowed nothing to divert him 
 from. 
 
 He sedulously, however, avoided the "Whigs on 
 all occasions, and this was construed by his old asso- 
 ciates into a fickleness and an ingratitude on his 
 part, which they little expected. But they did not 
 read aright his motives. He longed incessantly to 
 be released from his present banishment, and endea- 
 vored so to comport himself, that his father should 
 hear nothing but favorable reports concerning him. 
 
 The malcontents, however, continued in heart 
 the same as ever, and knowing the popularity of 
 Monmouth, tried hard to enlist him in their rest- 
 lessness, in some charge or other. But he refused, 
 and stood aloof and determined amid all their soli- 
 citations. In the midst of these private machina- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 21 
 
 tions Charles the Second died, mentioning on his 
 deathbed each of his children but Monmouth. 
 
 Amid the gaiety of the Hague, where time was 
 divided betwixt dancing and skating, news reached 
 the exiled Duke of Monmouth of his father's death. 
 And his grief, it is said, was perfectly overwhelm- 
 ing ; he wept and sobbed during the whole night to 
 such an excess that his cries were heard by all who 
 lodged near him. 
 
 The next day he quitted the Hague ; but the 
 Prince and Princess of Orange, ere he did so, extort- 
 ed from him a promise of never attempting anything 
 against the government of England. On this they 
 furnished him with all the money he required for 
 his immediate necessities. This amiable prince and 
 princess were actuated towards him by the kindest 
 feelings ; and seeing his grief on the death of the 
 king, and pitying his banished, melancholy condi- 
 tion, they suggested — as their friendship, if conti- 
 nued to be openly expressed, would in all probability 
 lead to a rupture with England and Holland — that 
 he should repair to the imperial camp, as the war 
 was then raging between the Hungarians and the 
 Turks, and there he should be provided with means 
 suitable for an English nobleman. 
 
 But Monmouth could not make up his mind to 
 this ; and turning his back on all their schemes, he 
 sought the residence of Lady Wentworth, where he 
 
22 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 resolved, as he had now no fears of his father's dis- 
 covery, to yield to the suggestions of his heart. 
 
 He had some compunctious visitings of consci- 
 ence for his desertion of his dutchess, but he quieted 
 these misgivings by the words Lady Wentworth had 
 so often spoken, that love like theirs was registered 
 in heaven. 
 
 When he arrived at Brabant her transports were 
 unbounded ; while tears checked the raptures which 
 this joyful surprise occasioned, at seeing him look so 
 pale and miserable from his late affliction. 
 
 Every former grievance was now forgotten by 
 Monmouth. His grief for his father subsided under 
 the influence of the devoted love of his Henrietta ; 
 and forgetting the splendors which he had enjoy- 
 ed at court, where he was its brightest ornament, 
 the popularity that was his when at the head of 
 a party, and the ambition which had wayed his 
 heart while aspiring to athrone, he gave himself tip 
 to those softer feelings with her whom he delud- 
 ed himself by regarding as his true wife in the sight 
 of heaven ; since his present bonds were those of 
 love, and that of his dutchess formed from obedience 
 to his father only. But he was not suffered to enjoy 
 this state of things long. Ferguson used all his arts 
 to draw him from his retreat ; and Grey, whose po- 
 verty was most deplorable, and rendered him fit for 
 any enterprise, however daring, joined in trying to 
 persuade Monmouth to agree with them in forming 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 23 
 
 a plan for a descent upon England, as nothing but uni- 
 versal dissatisfaction was felt at James' being on the 
 throne, as he was a papist ; to all of which he turned 
 a deaf ear, saying, he was so completely happy where 
 he then was, that he wished for nothing more than to 
 be left in its quiet possession. But those men were not 
 to be discouraged by such romantic arguments, and 
 love at length seconded the persuasions used to ex- 
 cite the ambition which they knew once so perfect- 
 ly ruled in his breast. Lady Wentworth expressed 
 her wish to see the man she loved king of England, 
 offering him all she possessed to sustain a war, con- 
 sisting of her diamonds and her rents ; and yielding to 
 the solicitation of her in whose smiles all his happi- 
 ness was centred, he consented to enter again the 
 lists he had been compelled to abandon, and once 
 more become a candidate for the crown. Monmouth's 
 marriage in early life he always termed a forced one, 
 and, like all others of its class, where hands, not 
 hearts were paired, it yielded no happiness. The re- 
 sult was that he sought those pleasures abroad which 
 his home could not afford him. During his connec- 
 tion with Lady Wentworth conscience would often 
 intervene, and press upon him the conviction that the 
 connection was a sinful one; but he tried to justify 
 himself by asserting the love that each felt for the 
 other, and to express his belief that affection like 
 theirs was sanctioned in heaven. 
 
 He went forth, therefore, a second time to con- 
 
24 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 spire against the government of England, and under 
 the pretext of trying to overthrow popery, in his 
 inmost heart to endeavor to possess the crown, that 
 she whom he so devotedly and entirely loved might 
 share it with him. 
 
 This movement greatly delighted all the English 
 living in exile for faults like his own, and they seized 
 with avidity upon the idea of having him as their lea- 
 der; and collecting in a body, they engaged and fitted 
 out three large vessels, (which they pretended were 
 to sail for the Canaries) to carry them to the British 
 shores. T^he government of Amsterdam quietly and 
 unsuspectingly allowed them to depart under this 
 impression, notwithstanding the expostulations of 
 Skelton, the English minister, who remonstrated 
 warmly against it, doubting the motives ascribed to 
 those who had lived there, and believing in some re- 
 bellious intentions towards Great Britain, tried to 
 influence the admiralty to detain them. But this 
 they refused, and Monmouth and his followers sail- 
 ed off unmolested. 
 
 They had a wretched voyage, for the elements 
 threatened, and several men-of-war vessels were 
 seen cruising near them, which filled them with long 
 and anxious fears. Bat Monmouth escaped both the 
 storms and the enemy. They hailed the white cliffs 
 of Albion as the scene they trusted of future success ; 
 and landing off Dorsetshire sent oneDare on shore 
 at Taunton, to prepare the good people for what 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 25 
 
 was to take place, and to use the influence he pos- 
 sessed, which was considerable, in getting them to 
 join the forthcoming rebellion against the govern- 
 ment, for the purpose of overthrowing popery and 
 once more establishing the Protestant religion in 
 the nation, with Monmouth for their sovereign. This 
 acted on all ranks like a charm. The cruelties which 
 James had caused the Protestants to endure made 
 them rise for such a movement, and in their hearts 
 he was already hailed as their king, and all felt rea- 
 dy to fight for such a cause. 
 
 Monmouth and his party landed June 11th, 1685, 
 at Lyme, a small town situated on a rocky, wild and 
 sea-washed coast. In the days of the Plantagenets a 
 pier of singular construction was erected there, being 
 built of unhewn, uncemented stones. It was called a 
 cob, and formed the only haven of the place, and was 
 an anchorage for fishermen only, as ships rarely put 
 in there, so that when the three vessels containing 
 Monmouth and his party appeared in sight the inha- 
 bitants were perplexed beyond measure.^The custom- 
 house officers, as usual, had boarded them, but con- 
 trary to their usual practice, had not returned. This 
 circumstance, in a small town,had flown like wild-fire, 
 and wonderment filled every heart. The cliffs were 
 covered with spectators, waiting anxiously for an 
 explanation of these mysterious appearances. Soon 
 large boats filled with persons put off from one of 
 the ships, then another and another, and made for 
 
26 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 the shore, among whom were Monmouth, Grey, An- 
 drew Fletcher, a Scotchman, and Ferguson, Mon- 
 mouth's tempter to this daring measure. 
 
 When they came on land Monmouth kneeled 
 down and devoutly thanked God for his preserva- 
 tion of the friends of liberty and true religion dur- 
 ing the perils of the voyage, and besought the divine 
 blessing on the work they were about to engage in, 
 in the nation's behalf, then drawing his sword he de- 
 sired all to follow him into the town. 
 
 On his arrival, as soon as his intention was known, 
 the enthusiasm of the people knew no bounds, the 
 most uproarious applause followed, and the Protes- 
 tant religion and Monmouth shouted from all quar- 
 ters ; while down with the usurper James, issued from 
 every mouth. A proclamation was read, desiring all 
 military stores in the town to be deposited in the 
 town-hall, and setting forth the nature of their expe- 
 dition. Again burst forth shouts and acclamations, 
 and again vociferated the inflated populace against 
 James, calling him by every degraded epithet, and 
 charging him with poisoning the late king, strang- 
 ling Godfrey, and cutting the throat of Essex, ending 
 with a resolve that the sword should never rest in 
 its sheath till he was dethroned and executed. 
 
 All this was very encouraging and flattering to 
 Monmouth and his party, and their hopes of success 
 rose with every new instance of dislike to the king 
 and his popish administration. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 27 
 
 The form of government proposed by Monmouth 
 took possession of all hearts. It was first for liberty, 
 then for the Protestant religion, with a free tolera- 
 tion of all its sects and parties. Then parliaments 
 were to be held annually, not subject to royal caprice 
 as they were now, to be prorogued or dissolved at 
 pleasure. The standing army abolished and a mili- 
 tia substituted in its place, to be commanded by she- 
 riffs, and the sheriffs chosen by freeholders. All 
 this'readily found an echo in every heart, and to see 
 him who thus stood forward as the champion of so ma- 
 ny privileges, on the throne, was their greatest desire. 
 
 But Monmouth was considered illegitimate, this, 
 they feared, would prove a barrier to their wishes. 
 This he at once undertook to disprove, by showing 
 satisfactorily that he was born in wedlock, and accord- 
 ingly was the king by blood ; but, that waiving its 
 claim, he preferred being elected by a free parliament, 
 and being made sovereign by the will and the hearts 
 of the people, whom he sought alone to serve. In the 
 meantime to be regarded as the enemy of popery, 
 and having taking up arms, to effect its overthrow. 
 
 In view of all this he was almost idolized, and 
 his followers entertained the most sanguine hopes of 
 obtaining the destruction of the existing govern- 
 ment, and carrying all before them. 
 
 Monmouth now began to assume his royal pre- 
 rogative in the forms of state he caused to be ob- 
 served towards him. Wherever he went the monarch 
 
28 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 was to be acknowledged, and the dignity of his po- 
 sition duly recognised ; and he was so much beloved 
 by all ranks, that his wishes in this respect were met 
 with alacrity, and performed with readiness and 
 zeal. To Lady Wentworth this was highly gratifying, 
 and she incited in every communication renewed 
 ardour in the pursuit of a project which a second 
 time, but for her, he never would have attempted. 
 The tory party consisted mostly of the nobility 
 and gentry, but the middling classes clung to the 
 views and feelings which Cromwell had established; 
 and when it became known that Monmouth sought 
 to establish a similar order of things, their enthusi- 
 asm at once burst forth. Multitudes poured forth to 
 meet him, and the hedges for miles, as he passed 
 through Devonshire, were lined with people, many 
 strewing flowers and branches of trees in his way. 
 Five thousand horsemen had joined him before he 
 reached Exeter, where nine hundred young men, 
 dressed in white, assembled to meet "the good Duke 
 of Monmouth, the protestant duke," as he was call- 
 ed, and to rally around his standard. The fact that 
 the nobility did not join him, had no effect upon 
 them. He was the sovereign of their hearts, who, 
 kept out of his legitimate rights, excited the warm- 
 est sympathy. Crowds were added to his forces, and 
 before he had been on English ground three days 
 he numbered fifteen hundred men as his adherents, 
 ready to spill their last drop of blood in his cause. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 29 
 
 He could hardly find clerks enough to take their 
 names down sufficiently fast, so eagerly did they 
 pour in upon him. And from Taunton news had 
 arrived that all were for him there, and already forty 
 horsemen had arrived. So far the promise of success 
 was great. But another party were preparing to 
 oppose the insurgents. June the 13th the red regi- 
 ment of Dorsetshire sallied forth to meet the foe ; 
 and another regiment from Dorsetshire, with Sir W. 
 Portman as colonel, marched in the same cause. 
 Fletcher, the Scotchman, was appointed to command 
 a company of cavalry under Grey ; but being badly 
 mounted, the horse he had having been used for 
 farming purposes, he thought at such a time he was 
 justified in taking a comrade's Rosinante, and accord- 
 ingly took that of Dare, without once signifying his 
 intention. Dare, as was very natural, resented this 
 liberty, and abused him in no very measured terms. 
 Fletcher bore it patiently, feeling its justice, till 
 Dare insolently threatened him with a switch, and 
 shook it at him ; which so enraged the high-spirited 
 and high-born Scot, that he took a pistol from his 
 pocket and shot him dead on the spot. 
 
 This act produced great confusion in Monmouth's 
 army, and excited the greatest indignation. The 
 idea of killing a man for a few rude words and a 
 threat, was monstrous ; and there was a general cry 
 for vengeance on the foreigner who had murdered 
 an Englishman. Monmouth was unable to stay the 
 
30 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 tumult, and Fletcher, who was very sorry for his 
 hasty conduct, fled from the ranks, abandoned the 
 cause altogether, and went to the continent on board 
 the very ship which had brought him over. On his 
 arrival he repaired to Hungary, and joining an army 
 against Christendom, fought bravely against the 
 enemy. 
 
 These two men were a great loss to Monmouth ; 
 but Lord Grey marched off with his regiment of ca- 
 valry against the opposite party at Bridgeport. They 
 had a skirmish, but the insurgents were not victori- 
 ous, and returned after it as soon as possible to 
 Lyme. 
 
 This departure on the outset gave great offence 
 to the Monmouth party, and they would have exe- 
 cuted summary vengeance on him, had not the duke 
 remonstrated with his usual good-natured mildness, 
 and explained the disadvantages Grey labored un- 
 der, in having an untrained cavalry to contend with, 
 and that it was impossible for any one to succeed 
 under such circumstances — which was indeed true. 
 
 New recruits poured in daily from every quarter, 
 and exercising arms and drilling occupied all their 
 time. The news, therefore, was soon spread and 
 sent to London, that a rebellion had commenced. 
 
 An army with Christopher Monk, Duke of Albe- 
 marle, and son to George Monk, restorer of the 
 Stuarts, consisting of four thousand, was raised, 
 with which it was thought the insurgents would at 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 31 
 
 once be put down; and to this end he marched 
 towards Lyme. On the 15th of June he reached 
 Axminster, but there he found the rebels drawn up 
 to oppose him. 
 
 The enemy presented a very formidable appear- 
 ance, the hedges being lined with musketeers. But 
 in numbers Albemarle's army far exceeded the 
 rebels. Still he doubted, and feared the issue ; for 
 he knew how the whole common people were pre- 
 possessed in favor of Monmouth. He therefore soon 
 retreated, leaving the rebels in possession of the 
 field ; and the routed army in their flight left the 
 ground covered with their arms and uniforms. 
 
 This advantage, slight as it was, wonderfully en- 
 couraged and delighted Monmouth and his party ; 
 and it was suggested by his officers to press on to 
 Exeter, and take it at once. Monmouth could not 
 be brought to agree to this measure, as he argued, 
 and justly, that his troops required more training, 
 being composed mostly of persons wholly unused 
 to arms. 
 
 His moderation and judgment on every occasion 
 greatly raised him in the estimation of his followers, 
 although acting so frequently against their wishes ; 
 which, had he listened to, would have plunged them 
 into the most deplorable circumstances. But in all 
 things he felt himself the ruler and the monarch ; 
 which imparted that degree of dignity to his charac- 
 ter, always so imposing in a superior. He therefore 
 
32 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 swayed their feelings, as the lightest breeze the as- 
 pen's foliage — calm and noiseless, yet reaching its 
 most delicate and distant fibres. His next move was 
 towards Taunton, where they halted on the 18th of 
 June. 
 
 But while these proceedings were going forward, 
 the news of Monmouth's landing had reached the 
 king by a letter from the mayor of Lyme, in which 
 he described the conduct of the rebels, their impli- 
 cation of his character, as read in the proclamation 
 in the market-place, and the measures which had 
 followed. 
 
 The king, on receiving it, immediately called a 
 privy council, the result of which was that every 
 company of foot and cavalry should at once be in- 
 creased. Monmouth -was declared guilty of high 
 treason, and all his followers. Meanwhile addresses 
 from the king's loyal subjects poured in from all 
 quarters, assuring him of their fidelity and affection, 
 and their resolution to defend him in every attempt 
 made against his government and person. 
 
 A bill of attainder soon followed the meeting of 
 the privy council, by both houses of parliament, and 
 the sum of five thousand pounds was offered as a 
 reward for the apprehension of Monmouth, as a 
 rebel, and the leader of a rebellion against the crown 
 and government. 
 
 Monmouth meanwhile was at Taunton, enjoying 
 in perspective the prosperous issue of his enterprise, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 33 
 
 for a double energy to his plans was imparted to 
 him through the enthusiasm of the inhabitants of 
 that then important town, where to a man all were 
 attached to the system which Cromwell had intro- 
 duced forty years before. Amid suffering and priva- 
 tion they had stood by him ; and though the restora- 
 tion had succeeded, in their hearts they remained 
 firm to the principles he had established ; ' and when 
 Monmouth appeared amongst them, as one who 
 sought to revive what he had fought for, their joy 
 burst forth in uncontrollable bursts of delight, and 
 they decorated their houses and their persons in 
 wreaths, arches and boughs of evergreen. 
 
 One of their beloved townsmen, named Joseph 
 Allaire, a pious divine, who wrote several religious 
 tracts, had greatly suffered for the sincerity and at- 
 tachment he expressed for the non-conformists during 
 Cromwell's time, for which he was thrown into jail 
 by the victorious cavaliers. From thence he ad- 
 dressed several letters to his beloved friends in 
 Taunton, expressive of his resignation to the will of 
 heaven, and his love for those who took such a 
 lively interest in his behalf. 
 
 He died, at length, worn out by the study, toil, 
 and privation he endured, deeply lamented by a 
 large number, who cherished his memory with feel- 
 ings of the deepest gratitude and veneration for the 
 instruction he had given them, and the fidelity he 
 cherished to the last. 
 
 3 
 
34 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 Years had passed since this had occurred, but 
 their feelings had deepened with the lapse of time, 
 and hope renewed again the visions that had long 
 lain dormant in their breasts. 
 
 Young ladies wrought banners for the noble army 
 which, under the name of insurgents, they trusted, 
 were on their way to victory. One in particular was 
 embroidered purposely for the duke, on which were 
 beautifully inscribed the emblems of royalty. This 
 a party of lovely girls presented to Monmouth them- 
 selves, who received it with that winning and grace- 
 ful courtesy for which he was remarkable. The 
 procession was headed by a lady more matured than 
 the others, who presented him with a Bible richly 
 embellished with gold; when taking it reverently, 
 he exclaimed with fervor, " I come to defend the 
 truths contained in this holy book, and to seal them, 
 if necessary, with my blood." 
 
 From the lower and middle ranks of life Mon- 
 mouth's popularity was principally derived. The 
 higher classes not only stood aloof, but expressed 
 themselves in the warmest terms hostile to his pro- 
 ceedings. This annoyed, and often depressed him ; 
 but thoughts of her he loved still spurred him on, 
 and the happiness inwoven with his ultimate success 
 ltnt an energy and an impetus to his actions, which 
 any other circumstance connected with his enterprise 
 would have failed to produce, especially this disaf- 
 fection of the nobility and gentry so deeply express* 
 ed towards him. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION, 
 
 Still; with all this popularity of the middling and 
 lower classes, in distant towns all remained quiet. 
 His presence seemed requisite to excite the people 
 and keep up their enthusiasm. Around the blue flag 
 waving to the summer breeze, had rallied, at Lyme 
 and Taunton, people of every trade, persuasion, and 
 profession; but not one scion of nobility, not one 
 member of the House of Commons. How was this 
 to be accounted for ? Ferguson suggested the an- 
 swer. In the position he had taken, he appeared 
 only as the leader of a rebel army fighting against 
 the crown. Who of them would desire to be consi- 
 dered as a follower in such a cause ? Few, if any, 
 he contended.' " Assert," said he, " your claims as 
 king ; this will give a new face to things altogether, 
 and indicate the rights for which you are now pre- 
 paring to make war." 
 
 Monmouth's case, to every rightly judging mind, 
 must present a most pitiable aspect. In no one act 
 had he been led by his own will. From the first the 
 advice of others had swayed him, and was likely to 
 to the last. The clearness and forethought which 
 individual and unwarped reason gives birth to, was 
 in his case entirely gone. The tool of others he had 
 commenced, and so he was to continue. Ferguson's 
 views were at once adopted, and on the morning of 
 the 20th of June he was proclaimed the rightful 
 sovereign of England, under the name of King Mon- 
 jiiouth ; the Christian name being waived, as, the 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 reigning monarch being called James, and Monmouth 
 also, the reason was obvious why the rule of kings 
 was in this instance changed. 
 
 His first act after this proclamation was, to send 
 forth several proclamations, headed with his sign 
 manual, and in one of them actually set a price on 
 the head of James ; in another he declared the Par- 
 liament to be an unlawful body, and commanded 
 them to disperse ; another ordered the people to 
 withhold paying any more taxes to the usurper; the 
 fourth proclaimed Albemarle a traitor, for having 
 risen in arms against the rightful sovereign. 
 
 When the king and privy council saw these 
 proclamations, which had been immediately forward- 
 ed to London, they regarded them with contempt, 
 and wondered at the folly that had suggested them, 
 while the people who composed his own followers 
 looked upon this assumption of royalty in anything 
 but a favorable light. He had pledged himself, only 
 a week before, never to claim the crown but as a free 
 offering from his victorious partisans ; his word, 
 therefore, was broken, and their respect for him sunk 
 accordingly. A leader in any cause should be most 
 tenacious of his honor; the enthusiasm of nature is 
 based on the highest principle of truth, and the 
 avowed champion of the Bible should have held 
 sacred the grand basis of its holy teachings. 
 
 Monmouth's policy was not understood, or known 
 to them ; and those for whose favor he had pursued 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 37 
 
 such a perfidious course still stood aloof, and were 
 disregardful of his proceedings ; not, however, from 
 feelings of loyalty to James ; far from it, but he, being 
 now an old man, and his eldest daughter a Protest- 
 ant, and married to a prince who was at the head of 
 the Protestants on the Continent, they looked for- 
 ward, at the demise of the king, to the quiet posses- 
 sion of every thing the nation could wish in the suc- 
 cessor to the crown. To avoid the war which Mon- 
 mouth's claims entailed had led them to withhold 
 from him their countenance or support, as they felt, 
 in the natural course of things, that time would res- 
 tore all they desired ; their pride too a little revolted 
 at his pretensions ; and the old nobility shrunk from 
 the idea of an illegitimate scion of ro} r alty filling the 
 English throne. Another reason, made by those 
 more calculating than the rest, was, that if Mon- 
 mouth proved successful, a war between him and the 
 House of Orange was inevitable, more bitter, and 
 perhaps more lasting than that which existed so long 
 between the Roses. Eventuating, it might be, in a 
 series of incalculable miseries ; breaking up, in all 
 probability, the Protestants of Europe, and causing 
 hostile divisions among them ; then creating a war, 
 perhaps, between Holland and England, which might 
 cause both to fall into the hands of France. With 
 these ultimations before them, many, even of the lead- 
 ing Whigs, wished any thing but success to Mon- 
 mouth, whose victory must, they feared, of necessity 
 
BRITISH REBELLION, 
 
 entail endless hostilities on the nation, and his defeat 
 was infinitely, on that account, more desirable than 
 the triumphant issue he contemplated. 
 
 There was only one thing which consoled Mon- 
 mouth under this continued disaffection of the aris- 
 tocratic whigs, and that was, he thought that the 
 people of England hated popery, and had, when he 
 last appeared before them, manifested the greatest 
 attachment to him for his Protestant principles. His 
 mind was filled with the hope r during the whole of 
 his voyage, that as soon as they heard of his arrival 
 they would at once raise up in his behalf, but, with 
 all this show of affection for him, notwithstanding 
 his intentions had been transmitted immediately to 
 his former faithful adherents, and they promised to 
 ioin him, they still remained quiet without making 
 one effort in his cause. 
 
 Their bravery, like that of many others, when 
 danger is at a distance, vanished like the early dew 
 before the morning sun, when it became near ; and 
 they began to feel the value of peace, and to estimate 
 its privileges, by contrasting it with the horrors at- 
 tendant on a civil war. Excuses were poured forth 
 from all quarters, and faithlessness vindicated to a 
 leader who had, with such apparent levity, broken 
 his solemn pledge to his followers without one feel- 
 ing of either remorse or shame. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 On assuming the regal title Monmouth passed 
 through Taunton, Frome, and Bridgewater. But it 
 was evident with little elation at his new honors. His 
 handsome features, on the contrary, bore the impress 
 of both depression of spirits and mental suffering. 
 Five years had elapsed since he had last appeared 
 before them engaged in the same cause, but what a 
 great change had taken place. A marked and op- 
 pressive melancholy was visible, which greatly affect- 
 ed the faithful people, who still regarded him with 
 feelings of the deepest affection and admiration, and 
 wherever he appeared rent the air with shouts and 
 acclamations, and forgot with his presence whatever 
 might have offended them before. There is some- 
 thing in a devoted peasantry exceedingly touching. 
 Men of the world are most generally guided by 
 worldly expectations of gain or hopes of aggrandise- 
 ment in their actions, but a guileless peasantry are 
 led solely by the heart. Surrounded by rural influ- 
 ences and nature's loveliness, when summer bloom 
 spreads her mantle of beauty o'er hill and glade, and 
 wood and grove were vocal with songs of harmony 
 
40 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 and love, Monmouth was peculiarly alive to the feel- 
 ings which the scenes and circumstances so naturally 
 called forth ; and the devotion of those tillers of the 
 soil caused more sadness than rejoicing. Had he 
 the prospect of requiting their faithfulness and zeal 
 it would have been different, but they had more love 
 than strength ; and if they failed, how fearful was 
 the result ! He looked to that side more than to 
 the other. 
 
 The gloom, I have generally thought, which over- 
 shadows the spirit, is often prophetic. Perhaps it 
 would he well sometimes to listen to its wail and be- 
 hold in it a warning for the future. But Monmouth 
 was the tool of others. 
 
 In Bridgewater a few whig magistrates and al- 
 dermen came forth in their robes to welcome his ap- 
 proach, and to form a procession, which halted at 
 the cross, and then proclaimed him king. The peo- 
 ple there also furnished his troops handsomely, pro- 
 viding them with every abundance at a trifling ex- 
 pense. They were stationed at the Castle field, the 
 duke himself occupying the castle, always the resi- 
 dence of royalty when visiting the town. 
 
 Monmouth, however, labored under great disad- 
 vantages. His army consisted of six thousand men, 
 and double that number would have enrolled them- 
 selves as his followers, but he had no armory for 
 them. All he brought with him from the Continent 
 were already in the hands of his soldiers, and those 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 41 
 
 who joined them now had to provide themselves 
 with such implements as they used on their farms 
 or in their trades, as no others could be obtained. 
 Large scythes were fastened to long poles, and all 
 the country was put in requisition for them, yet 
 enough could not be found to meet the demand, and 
 thousands, on this account, had to give up their 
 hopes of fighting for one to whom, in heart and 
 soul, they were so much bound. 
 
 It will be readily supposed that his army made 
 but a poor appearance. Many of them wearing their 
 civil dress, resembling workmen going to labor more 
 than soldiers, while the cavalry, mounted on half 
 broken colts, presented a forlorn spectacle indeed to 
 build hopes of success upon ; for the firing of a gun 
 frightened them into such disorder that often they 
 became perfectly unmanageable. Yet Ferguson was 
 all elation and spirit, encouraging Monmouth to pro- 
 ceed, infusing courage and enthusiasm into the sol- 
 diery, laughing at the government for putting a price 
 on the head of a man who defied them and all their 
 power, and inciting with all these disadvantages one, 
 who left to his own judgment, would have abandon- 
 ed all further hopes of success in his enterprise, with 
 the aid before him, and fled. But Ferguson's wishes 
 blinded his reason, or assuredly he would have act- 
 ed a different part. He was a dissenter, and had been 
 a preacher, and longed above all things to destroy 
 the popish administration of James the Second. 
 
 3* 
 
42 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 Forty young men, well mounted at their own 
 expense, composed the body-guard of Monmouth, 
 who delighted in the service in which they had en- 
 listed. Thus was mingled in the bitter cup many 
 sweets from which the duke derived energy to 
 proceed, while Lady Wentworth's commendations 
 breathed ail the poetry of the most devoted affection, 
 and described her sole joy to consist in the night 
 dream she had fostered, of seeing him possessor of 
 the crown and throne of England, and sharing it 
 with her. Monmouth's chief interest lay in Somer- 
 setshire ; and from his friends in Bridgewater espe- 
 cially he had been supplied with some money for the 
 contingencies of war. But beyond Somersetshire the 
 royal armies were in active preparation, with per- 
 sons at their head whose influence was of a most for- 
 midable description. Wealth and rank united their 
 forces, and commotion pervaded every section of 
 the country. 
 
 The Duke of Beaufort, a staunch lo}*alist, head- 
 ed an army on the north-east, a man whose vast 
 wealth and popularity resembled the barons who 
 flourished in so much power in the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, and who, on this occasion, enlisted all within 
 his command for the support of the crown. And 
 that interest combined in itself four counties, of 
 which he was Lord Lieutenant, besides being Presi- 
 dent of Wales, where also the name of Beaufort ral- 
 lied around him its stalwart peasantry and its flour- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 43 
 
 ishing yeomen. The force lie possessed was enor- 
 mous, for he might be said almost to be regarded in 
 the light of a sovereign of his vast dominions ; mov- 
 ing about wherever he went with scarcely less pomp 
 than royalty itself. His household was conducted 
 on the same magnificent scale, and the elegance and 
 splendor of his abode at Badmington is said to have 
 been grand and imposing in the highest degree. 
 Some idea of it may be formed from his spreading 
 wine tables every day for the entertainment of at 
 least two hundred persons. His steward had under 
 his command a large number of pages and gentle- 
 men ; a troop of cavalry were at the service of the 
 master of the horse, while the kitchen and cellar 
 appointments were without a parallel in that part of 
 the country. All these things tended to a wide- 
 spread celebrity of the Duke of Beaufort's magnifi- 
 cence, while his character for affability and amiabi- 
 lity were universally acknowledged. And this man, 
 with his great power, stood prepared to give battle 
 to Monmouth, whom he regarded in the light of an 
 impertinent invader of the nation and the rights of 
 sovereignty ; and the Duke of Albemarle also had 
 summoned a body of the Devonshire militia, which 
 he stationed on the west of the rebel army ; and on 
 the east were the trainbands of Wiltshire, command- 
 ed by the Earl of Pembroke. Bristol was occupied 
 by the trainbands of Gloucestershire, stationed there 
 by the Duke of Beaufort. Added to these, the Sus- 
 
44 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 sex militia commenced their march westward, under 
 Lord Lumly, who, though himself a Protestant, re- 
 cently converted from Catholicism, was still a royal- 
 ist, and unhesitatingly took his post as a defender of 
 his king. The Earl of Abingdon headed the Oxford- 
 shire company, and the Bishop of Oxford and Dean 
 of Christ Church called out all the undergraduates 
 of the University to a man, to unite in arms for the 
 support of the monarch at this cricis, who, obeying 
 his wishes on the instant, crowded at once to give 
 their names, full of enthusiastic zeal in the cause of 
 their king, and respect for their commander. Christ 
 Church yielded nearly two hundred musketeers and 
 pikemen, while the noblemen and gentlemen were 
 appointed to act as officers to them. 
 
 Monmouth's strength, when compared to the roy- 
 alists, therefore presented an inequality of the most 
 startling character, and nothing but the success of 
 Cromwell in a similar undertaking, could have in- 
 duced his party to proceed. But Cromwell and Mon- 
 mouth's characters were widely different. Cromwell's 
 whole heart was in the cause for which he fought : 
 no secondary consideration swayed him, no voice or 
 mind of another purposed for him. His gigantic in- 
 tellect grasped the idea, and then organized his plans, 
 with system and forethought for their accomplish- 
 ment, with that soul-like energy which persons filled 
 with the high responsibilities of elevated situations 
 can alone appreciate. The step he had taken seemed 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 45 
 
 a duty lie owed his country and his God. His con- 
 science might be said to impel his every action, 
 and to it was owing the perfect order which reign- 
 ed among troops, that, like their master, saw God's 
 approval in all they did. 
 
 He was styled a fanatic, from the religious zeal 
 which characterized all his doings. Many have ques- 
 tioned his sincerity, and attributed the vilest hypo- 
 crisy to all his actions. But hypocrisy was never 
 known to produce such results. The sanctity of his 
 soldiers, the humanity and propriety which distin- 
 guished them from all others of their class, has been 
 and will be handed down to posterity while the 
 world stands. Cromwell went forth to battle with a 
 singleness of mind which rarely fails in its object, 
 while Monmouth, with the enjoyment of the end 
 only in view, looked more to chance than means for 
 success ; to the gratification of the ambitious desires 
 of a vain and foolish woman, more than to any be- 
 neficial issue, either to the nation or himself. But 
 his followers saw in him another Cromwell, and his 
 good fortune stimulated and cheered their every 
 movement, and excited hopes against all possible 
 suggestions to the contrary. 
 
 Monmouth continued to delay taking any de- 
 cisive step, which of course was giving every 
 chance to the king to collect, from all quarters, his 
 regular troops. In addition to those already cited, 
 two regiments, commanded by Feversham and 
 
46 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 Churchill, were marching from London towards So- 
 mersetshire, to meet the rebel army ; and despatches 
 had been sent to Holland, ordering Skelton to re- 
 quest that the three English regiments stationed 
 there, in the Dutch service, might be sent immediate- 
 ly to England. The Prince of Orange, on hearing 
 this rebellious movement of Monmouth, was much 
 struck, and his own interest being as much at stake 
 as that even of the king himself, lost no time in 
 giving information to the authorities of Amsterdam 
 of the necessities which had caused this demand, and 
 to urge their immediate compliance with the royal 
 request. They demurred greatly at first, but finally 
 agreed, and in a few days the troops sailed for the 
 port of London. 
 
 This arrival gave great delight to the king, but 
 though they had come ostensibly to serve him, in 
 their hearts they loved the cause of Monmouth, be- 
 ing most of them Protestants, and therefore hating 
 Popery. During their private or social meetings, 
 when the hilarity of the hour caused them to forget 
 that on all sides spies surrounded them, they drank 
 Monmouth's health. Two of them, who had given 
 utterance to the toast, were informed against, and 
 the result was that one was hanged, and the other 
 barbarously and severely flogged, as examples to the 
 others. Their disaffection to the king was by these 
 means greatly increased, so much so that it was not 
 deemed advisable to send them against the insur- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 47 
 
 gents. They were therefore retained in London, to 
 supply the places of others before stationed there, 
 who were altogether loyalists, and who were dis- 
 patched to join the other regiments towards Bridge- 
 water. 
 
 While the king thus went on strengthening his 
 forces from every possible source, every means to 
 weaken those of Monmouth were used. A 'great 
 number of whigs were arrested and thrown into 
 prison, lest they might form an addition to his army. 
 Men of wealth and standing, and leading blameless 
 lives, without one hostile movement towards the 
 government, were among those who, torn from their 
 families, and their occupations and pleasures, were 
 incarcerated because they were in favor of the Pro- 
 testant religion, and from that cause were supposed 
 to be friends of Monmouth. 
 
 All London at that time wore an aspect of gloom ; 
 every kind of business was suspended, the theatres 
 were deserted, and the most talented representations 
 of no account. The realities which surrounded the 
 people were of too saddening a nature to allow their 
 minds to be interested in anything of an imaginary 
 character. The English are deep thinkers, and un- 
 like their French neighbors, amusement under any 
 circumstances is rarely made a business ; with them 
 it is the recreation of an idle hour, and hence the 
 different character of their amusements. Gravity is 
 the characteristic of both the music and the enter- 
 
48 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 tainments of the French people, though themselves 
 lively even to levity ; while the English, who are in 
 reality a grave people, are proverbial for their mirth- 
 loving propensities. 
 
 The dissenters throughout the nation suffered 
 great persecution, and prisons were filling fast with 
 the unhappy victims ; every minister feared, how- 
 ever innocent of hostile feelings to the government, 
 and however blameless his conduct, that he would 
 be rent from his home and family, and thrown into 
 jail. That of Oxford was already full of these un- 
 happy culprits, as they were called, where they lan- 
 guished, with no hope before them in the event of 
 Monmouth's defeat. 
 
 Churchill arrived at Bridgewater, and at once 
 commenced harassing the enemy. Monmouth, on 
 seeing this, thought it advisable to leave Bridgewater, 
 and with his army commenced the march. Churchill 
 with his regiment followed ; they were a small num- 
 ber compared with that of Monmouth's troops, but 
 their leader was a skilful general, and under his or- 
 ders they annoyed the insurgents greatly. Added 
 to this, the roads were extremely muddy and heavy ; 
 for a night's rain, refreshing and grateful to the 
 parched herbage in the highest degree, had so drench- 
 ed everything that they were unable to make much 
 progress. A day's march only brought them as far 
 as Glastonbury, where they halted for the night. 
 Here they found much difficulty in getting accom- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 49 
 
 modations, for the town was small, and houses of 
 entertainment few ; they were therefore obliged to 
 sleep in barns and out-houses, and many of them in 
 the abbey, then fallen into decay, and amid its ivied 
 walls and cloisters, now become the abode of owls 
 and bats, to seek the only place of shelter that re- 
 mained to them for their tired limbs to rest in. In 
 the morning they again collected, and, amid the 
 good wishes of all the unsophisticated dwellers of 
 the town and country around, who regarded Mon- 
 mouth as the defender of all that was dear to their 
 hearts, they sat out with a view of first laying 
 siege at Bristol, as he thought it high time to organ- 
 ise some plan of action. Many whigs, he knew, of 
 high standing, holding important situations, resided 
 there. The garrison was not very formidable, con- 
 sisting only of the Trainbands of Gloucestershire. 
 The Duke of Beaufort's muster of peasantry and 
 yeomanry might, he thought, be easily vanquished 
 before the king's soldiers could arrive. So with this 
 pleasant hope they marched vigorously forward; as, 
 in the event of achieving this victory, their pecu- 
 niary means would be greatly augmented, and this 
 defeat add that degree of glory to their enterprise 
 which would act on the country like magic, and 
 cause those whigs who had felt reluctant to join him 
 through fear, to flock at once to his standard. 
 
 The fortifications on the north of Bristol were 
 very weak on the Gloucestershire side, while those 
 
50 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 towards Somersetshire, on the south, presented an 
 aspect of great strength. It was concluded, there- 
 fore, to make the attack on the north side, but 
 difficulties attended the measure ; the Somersetshire 
 side was only five miles from Pensford, where they 
 then were, while the north side, towards Gloucester- 
 shire, would take a whole day's march to reach, and 
 they would have to take a circuitous route to Keyn- 
 sham across the Aron, once a bridge which had been 
 nearly broken down by militia, and rendered too 
 dangerous to venture upon. They had therefore to 
 wait until the bridge was repaired. 
 
 Monmouth's partizans in Bristol had been in- 
 formed of his intentions, and great tumult prevailed 
 among them. All was anxiety and expectation. He 
 was almost in sight of the city, and the whole night 
 they determined to watch for his coming. As some 
 of them wandered about the quay, towards sunset, 
 a cry of fire sounded through the shipping, and the 
 greatest consternation and terror in a short time pre- 
 vailed. The shipping was of great extent, and one 
 of the vessels, amid that forest of masts, was en- 
 veloped in flames and smoke. The alarm soon 
 spread, thousands flocked to assist and witness the 
 alarming spectacle, completely absorbed in contem- 
 plating the awful result of its spreading. The streets 
 were filled with citizens hastening to the spot, and 
 the river was filled with boats. The whole town was 
 in commotion. Cries of war, treason, fire, murder, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 51 
 
 rang through, the excited multitude, but amid all 
 the confusion and uproar, none of Beaufort's men 
 stirred. The news of Monmouth's intention had be- 
 come known, and they had received their com- 
 mander's orders to remain quiet, for that he would 
 sooner see the whole city consumed than that trai- 
 tors should possess it. The fire was supposed to 
 have been artfully contrived by Monmouth's friends, 
 who imagined the imminent danger which such a 
 circumstance threatened would call, not only all the 
 civil, but all the military force together by surprise 
 and fear, and thus facilitate Monmouth's project of 
 entering the city while they were thus scattered. 
 But Beaufort's generalship was not thus to be 
 diverted ; he too kept watch all night on the banks 
 of the Avon, and his strength had been considerably 
 increased by the arrival of a troop of cavalry from 
 Cheppenham, by which he hoped to suppress the 
 insurrection, both within and without the gates ; but 
 all remained quiet, the fire had been extinguished, 
 and the citizens had quietly dispersed. 
 
 Monmouth had remained, with a great part of 
 his troops, at Pensford, from which he had seen the 
 fire; he kept there till the morning dawned, and 
 then set forth for Keynsham, where, the bridge 
 being repaired, they could have passed over, but he 
 thought it advisable to let his army rest until even- 
 ing, and when the shadows of night had closed in, to 
 proceed to Bristol and make the attack. 
 
52 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 All this delay was against Monmouth ; the king's 
 troops, horse and foot regiments, were close on him. 
 The first that arrived at Keynsham was one com- 
 manded by Col. Oglethorpe, who at once dashed in 
 among the rebels, and on their trying to oppose him, 
 inflicted great injury and produced great discomfi- 
 ture among them. They were only two hundred in 
 number, and having accomplished their object, re- 
 tired with very little damage on their part. 
 ;! T This attack, with the knowledge that the royal 
 troops were near at hand, changed Monmouth's 
 views with regard to taking Bristol altogether. Had 
 he commenced before they- arrived it would have 
 been different, but now he saw nothing but failure 
 in the attempt. His spirits were much depressed, 
 and abandonment would have been his choice, had 
 not Ferguson, with his usual tempting and exciting 
 language, caused him to rally and form new plans 
 for the future. The first of which was to march for- 
 ward to Glocestershire, cross the Severn, and on 
 their arrival on the opposite side, immediately de- 
 molish the bridge, and by this means effectually 
 prevent the enemy from following. Then proceed 
 along the banks of the river till they reached Wor- 
 cestershire, and from thence march on to Shropshire 
 and Cheshire. The end proposed in doing this was 
 to gain troops, as in these counties he knew the sen- 
 timents of the people were favorable towards him. 
 But to plan is one thing and to execute another; his 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 53 
 
 army were in anything but a condition for such 
 a course, their shoes were much worn by their 
 marches through the mud on the preceding days, 
 and followed, as they knew they would be, by the 
 enemy ; under these disadvantages and the fatigue 
 they felt, they opposed the proposition so eloquently, 
 that Monmouth yielded. Beside, they argued, if the 
 king's troops, now so far outnumbering his, were to 
 press after them in order to bring them to battle, all 
 hopes of success were entirely over, as they must be 
 overpowered. What they required more than any- 
 thing was a muster, as nothing farther could be done 
 if their number was not increased. Some of Mon- 
 mouth's followers from the county of Wiltshire ex- 
 patiated largely on the interest the people felt for 
 him there, and suggested marching immediately in 
 that direction, as the best thing they could do. 
 Grey and Ferguson approved of the suggestion, and 
 the duke, ever ready to rely more on the judgment 
 of others than his own, readily coincided with them. 
 Having decided thus, they commenced their march, 
 and reaching Bath, concluded to make an attack, 
 but a strong garrison having already been made by 
 the king's forces, the}'' had to give up that idea. 
 Fevershaw's troops they also found fast approach- 
 ing, so again they marched forward till the evening, 
 when reaching Philips-Norton they resolved to re- 
 main and rest for, the night. 
 
 To this place Lord Fevershaw followed them, 
 
54 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 coming in sight about day-break ; they at once col- 
 lected, and to prevent his entering lined the hedges 
 on either side of the entrance to the town. First 
 came the advanced guard of the royal army, with 
 his brother, the Duke of Grafton at their head — 
 eldest son of the Duchess of Cleveland; he wore a 
 very determined and resolute air, with manners 
 rough and unpolished in the highest degree. He 
 was some years younger than Monmouth, but 
 seemed resolved that no consideration of consangui- 
 nity should influence him, and he marched boldly 
 forward through the lane, embowered with trees, 
 whose thick foliage prevented his seeing anything 
 through them. Behind these the rebel army poured 
 forth a constant volley of musketry, but undismayed 
 they marched on to the town, where a barricade ar- 
 rested their further progress, and a heavy fire poured 
 again into their ranks, completely discomfited them, 
 and a thousand or more being killed, Grafton, with 
 all the rebels opposition, cut his way through and 
 fled. 
 
 This small victory gave renewed courage to Mon- 
 mouth ; and the royal guard being thus routed, 
 joined the main body of the king's forces, and the 
 armies again met. A few shots were exchanged, 
 but neither sought to give battle. Fevershaw 
 thought it advisable to wait until the militia should 
 join him, and retreated a short distance, to a place 
 called Bradford. Thus closed another day; and 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 55 
 
 when night came Monmouth set forward towards 
 Frome, in Somersetshire, to gain new troops, as he 
 knew he was popular there. This was true, but dis- 
 appointment awaited him notwithstanding. He was 
 proclaimed king a few days before in the market- 
 place, and the news reaching the Earl of Pembroke, 
 who being near at hand with the Wiltshire militia, 
 marched at once to Frome, dispersed the rustics who 
 had risen in opposition to him, and took away all 
 the scythes and pitchforks with which they had 
 armed themselves. Not content with this, he seized 
 on all the arms of the inhabitants, so that not a 
 weapon remained in the town, and Monmouth had 
 none to give them. 
 
 This produced a general panic. Wearied with 
 fatigue of body, from the heavy marching of the pre- 
 ceding night through a country saturated from the 
 quantities of rain which had fallen, almost bare- 
 foot, and now this sad disappoinment to contend 
 with, their spirits almost entirely failed them. But 
 their beloved commander's presence still encouraged 
 them, though no cheering news from Wiltshire, 
 that last hope, had reached them. Thus every 
 thing wore a dreary aspect, and many a brave heart 
 sunk before this array of dark appearances. Mon- 
 mouth seemed absolutely overcome with despair, 
 and reproached himself and his advisers in the 
 most bitter terms. His lovely retirement at Bra- 
 bant rose in all its beauty of peaceful quiet, and 
 
5G BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 happy love, in sad contrast to the present perilous 
 situation in which he was placed; and he would 
 have fled at once, leaving all behind him, had not 
 the expostulations of Ferguson and Lord Grey pre- 
 vented. They represented the miserable condition of 
 his faithful followers if he did so, and the certain 
 doom which would be theirs on being left to the 
 mercy of the enemy. And what a return for their 
 having left their peaceful dwellings, their smiling 
 corn-fields and happy families, to follow and serve 
 him. His feelings were touched, and he resolved, 
 come what might, to stand to his cause and to them 
 to the last. 
 
 Feversham, it was reported, had been joined by 
 reinforcements, and Avas advancing to meet him ; but 
 his troops had received no addition, the only hope 
 which had sustained him for several days. Under 
 these discouragements the insurgents knew not what 
 to plan, what course to take, but their decision was 
 made by a most unexpected and cheering event. 
 News reached them that the peasantry at Axbridge 
 had become excited by hearing of his champeonage 
 in the cause of the Protestant religion, and had risen 
 en masse to meet him at Bridgewater, armed with 
 their most formidable farm weapons, such as pitch- 
 forks, pikes, scythes, bludgeons and flails. This was 
 indeed cheering. They at once resolved to go forth 
 to meet these gallant spirits, and commenced their 
 march back again to Bridgewater. On their way 
 
B"R I Tt S H R K H K L 1. 1 O N . 57 
 
 they passed through Wells, where, in order to pro- 
 vide themselves with bullets, they tore the lead from 
 the roof of the Catholic cathedral there, and not con- 
 tent with this, defaced the building by other acts 
 which no necessity sanctioned. In the excited state 
 of their feelings, which the sight of this Papal edifice 
 called forth, they would even have torn down the 
 altar, had not some of their leaders interposed, and 
 stood before it, sword in hand, to protect it. From 
 Wells they proceeded to Bridgewater, but the expec- 
 tations they had formed were again doomed to dis- 
 appointment, as, on their arrival, they found the 
 number exceedingly small in comparison with the 
 anticipations they had indulged in respecting this 
 addition to their troops. 
 
 The royal army was very near, consisting of two 
 thousand five hundred regulars and fifteen hundred 
 militia from Wiltshire ; and the fifth of July, on 
 the early dawn of a Sabbath morning, they proceed- 
 ed from Somerton to the plain of Sedgemoor, which 
 stood about three miles from Bridgewater. A Pro- 
 testant bishop accompauied them — the bishop of 
 Winchester. When young he had fought in the 
 army of Charles the First against Cromwell, and 
 now, though in the vale of years, his loyalty, and 
 perhaps a love of martial glory still lingering in his 
 heart, caused him to present himself in the king's 
 camp, with a purpose that did honor to himself and 
 his Christian calling. He thought his presence might 
 
58 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 stimulate those who, vacillating between Papacy and 
 Protestantism, might take heart and save themselves 
 from the fate which he saw but too probably awaited 
 the rebels. The enemy's position being communicat- 
 ed to Monmouth, still in the town of Bridgewater, 
 he, with Grey and Ferguson, went up in the church 
 tower, one of exceeding height, and commanding an 
 extensive view of the surrounding country, to see 
 the encampment, where, with the aid of a telescope, 
 he beheld them all. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Sedgemoor, as its name imports, was at one time 
 a complete marsh. The parent river ran through it, 
 and when the rains were heavy it overflowed its 
 banks to a considerable extent : and this place was 
 probably selected by the king's army from that 
 cause, as we have it upon record that this ground 
 had prevented two armies in succession from invad- 
 ing the country — " the Celts against the kings of 
 Wessex," and the Danes when pursuing Alfred. 
 At that time boats were used to cross it, as it 
 presented the appearance of a large pool or lake, 
 and the treacherous nature of the soil rendered it 
 unsafe for strangers to attempt fording it, as in some 
 parts it would swallow up whatever rested on it ; so 
 that no one dared venture to cross it at such seasons, 
 without such assistance. There were several islets, 
 covered with sedge and wild marsh shrubs, where 
 swine and deer herded, and not many years before 
 this period the traveller who wished to visit Bridge- 
 water had to take a circuitous route to avoid this 
 
60 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 dangerous place. When Monmouth, however, visited 
 it, many improvements had taken place; it had been 
 partially drained, and on several parts of the moor 
 villages and village churches could be distinctly 
 seen. The names given them were indicative of 
 their watery situation heretofore, one of them being 
 western Zoyland, where Feversham, with the royal 
 troops of cavalry lay. This was his head-quarters, 
 and an old woman now living there knew the girl 
 who waited on him, a circumstance corroborated by 
 several of her aged neighbors, by whom are also 
 shown, in a state of high preservation, part of the 
 dinner service from which he ate. 
 
 The historian, in travelling through Somerset- 
 shire, will find relics like these frequently, among a 
 people of almost primitive simplicity, where genera- 
 tion after generation occupying the same farm, tra- 
 ditions and circumstances have been handed down, 
 till their memories furnished data and events of the 
 most interesting character to those who seek a know- 
 ledge of the past. 
 
 At another village, called Middlezoy, a company 
 of militia took up their quarters, from Wiltshire, 
 under the command of Col. Lord Pembroke ; and on 
 the open part of Sedgemoor were several of the 
 king's troops of infantry. Monmouth surveyed all 
 these from the town, with a fainting spirit ; for what 
 were his simple, untutored followers to those who 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 61 
 
 had been trained to the service of war ? True, there 
 was no lack of zeal in the hearts of those who had 
 left their all to serve him, and now stood ready to 
 stake their lives in the battle that was so soon to 
 commence ; but in the ranks of the enemy he could 
 discern many who had been with him when they 
 drove the defenders of Both well bridge from their 
 posts, dispersing them, in their blind enthusiasm, 
 like mist before the sun. There stood, too, the very 
 men called Dumbarton's regiment, whose known 
 bravery had distinguished them all over the world. 
 " Ah !" he exclaimed, " did they but fight in my 
 cause, my fears would soon vanish, and confidence 
 impart to my sinking soul the comfort and consola- 
 tion I now seek in vain. Henrietta," he soliloquised, 
 " in how fearful a position has my love for you 
 placed me!" 
 
 The three stations of the enemy were, Zoyland, 
 where the cavalry were quartered ; at Middlezoy, 
 some leagues distant, stood a company of militia ; 
 and near Chedzoy, another village, were the regular 
 troops. Their being so far apart, Monmouth consi- 
 dered by no means unfavorable to him, and some- 
 thing like a feeling of hope arose in his breast as he 
 surveyed their divided ranks. Their thin appearance 
 indicated, he thought, a careless negligence widely 
 different from what might be expected from people 
 on the eve of battle ; and reports had reached Bridge- 
 
62 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 water that the soldiers under Feversham were in- 
 dulging in large potations of the cider which that ■ 
 part of the country produced in such abundance. 
 
 Monmouth descended from the tower, notwith- 
 standing the favorable observations he tried to think 
 he had made, with a sad, foreboding heart ; and on 
 consulting with Grey and Ferguson, concluded to 
 make the attack in the night. Meanwhile his troops 
 had collected in the grounds of the castle, and form- 
 ing into bands, had commenced religious exercises 
 suitable to the day. The weather was beautiful, and 
 all nature breathed of loveliness and hope. And as 
 their voices joined in the hymns and psalms they 
 selected for the occasion, it filled the air with their 
 rude though earnest vocalization. Ferguson address- 
 ed the assembled multitude with his characteristic 
 ardor, and his very text contained a prayer that the 
 cause of right might prevail. " The Lord God of 
 Gods, the Lord God of Gods, he knoweth, and Israel 
 shall know. If it be in rebellion, or in transgression 
 against the Lord, save us not this day." 
 
 The righteousness of their cause, therefore, he 
 had at least fully established, and doubted not for 
 a moment that victory would crown their brows at 
 the outset. Monmouth remained in the castle, sur- 
 veying the scene from the windows, a prey to anx- 
 iety ; for he felt the crisis was approaching, and in 
 the event of failure how fearful were the conse- 
 quences to himself and these brave and faithful 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 63 
 
 followers! Far different were the feelings of Fe- 
 versham and Churchill, at Zoyland. Feversham, in 
 particular, was indulging in every luxury he could 
 command, and treating his fellow subordinate offi- 
 cers with that cold and haughty caprice which dis- 
 tinguished his character, and withholding that de- 
 gree of confidence necessary on such occasions ; as 
 his success in previous battles justified him not 
 only to trust, but consult and advise with them in 
 their present position. This conduct from a man 
 whom Churchill thoroughly despised, would, in other 
 circumstances, have -been resented as it became a 
 gentleman and an officer, but prudential considera- 
 tions for the future urged him to stifle his feelings ; 
 as he knew how disadvantageous such a report to 
 the king would operate, and whenever one was 
 sent informing him of their proceedings, Feversham 
 would have to send it. By this means he obtained 
 what he desired, for Feversham praised his con- 
 duct highly in his official communication to James, 
 and Churchill stood high, in consequence, in the 
 royal favor. 
 
 While these things were going on without Bridge- 
 water, the town itself was full of sorrowing and 
 broken-hearted women, who had come from different 
 parts of the country to see their relatives ; some of 
 which belonged to the king's forces, and some to 
 Monmouth's. Beautiful girls were among them, in 
 search of their lovers. Mothers with their babes had 
 
64 BRITISH R K li K I, L I U K . 
 
 travelled long and weary miles to sec their husbands. 
 Sisters seeking their brothers, daughters their beloved 
 fathers, presented a spectacle which the stoutest heart 
 could not behold unmoved. Tears and lamentations 
 were only heard, for the contiguity of the two armies 
 had spread through the different counties, watching 
 with the deepest interest their every movement, and 
 immediate battle they knew was now to follow. 
 Their relatives would soon be engaged in a struggle 
 of life and death, and the wretchedness and anxiety 
 it occasioned may be imagined only by those who 
 have been similarly circumstanced. A great many 
 wandered to the Castle-fields, to gain a look, if pos- 
 sible, of their relatives who belonged to the rebel 
 army, and there beheld preachers, in red coats, with, 
 swords by their sides, engaged in services they trust- 
 ed the Almighty would recognize, and spare the lives 
 of those who were about to fight in his cause. And 
 Monmouth himself — by not only Lady Wentworth 
 were tears and prayers poured forth for him — his wife, 
 whom he had slighted and forsaken, with woman's 
 faithful and unchanging love in her heart, still clung 
 to the companion of her youth, still hoped against 
 hope for the affection she believed once all her own. 
 How ardently she prayed and trusted for his success ! 
 while Lady Wentworth, full of but one object, from 
 day to day yielded herself up to a belief, so natural 
 to persons of strong feelings, especially when nursed 
 in solitude, (where enthusiasm assumes the right 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 65 
 
 over excited imaginations,) that Monmouth must 
 be successful, and become, in consequence, Eng- 
 land's acknowledged sovereign — king of the na- 
 tion's hearts, as he was the idol of her own. His 
 letters fostered these delusive ideas, even when his 
 soul was sinking within him at the discourage- 
 ments which met him on every side ; but he knew 
 how dreadful a thing suspense was, and therefore 
 brightened as much as possible a future for her, 
 whose present admitted of no pleasure beyond the 
 prospective of his triumphs, as she was separated 
 from her family and continued to live in the beauti- 
 ful retirement they occupied together, alone ; living 
 upon the news she received from time to time of his 
 movements ; and among her birds, books, and flow- 
 ers, diverting her mind by creating visions of fu- 
 ture splendor and happiness, that was to re-pay her 
 for all the anxiety and sorrow this separation had 
 caused her. 
 
 The sun set in beauty over the smiling land- 
 scape, now redolent with summer bloom, but nature's 
 loveliness inspired no joy in hearts so full of the mo- 
 mentous object before them. The exercises of the 
 day had had a very soothing effect on the religious 
 portion of the rebels, and they indulged in great 
 hopes of victory from the happy state of their feel- 
 ings. To mild dewy eve succeeded night's solemn 
 reign; the moon rose in unclouded brightness, and 
 beneath her bright beams the soldiers were marshal- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 led forth and arranged into order for battle. They 
 commenced their march towards Sedgemoor, where, 
 although the night was so fine, a dense deep fog 
 arising from the marsh enveloped everything. This 
 was a great annoyance. The army, as it proceeded, 
 extended nearly six miles round, having taken a cir- 
 cuitous route to the moor in different divisions. The 
 clock from the castle chimed the hour of eleven, 
 when Monmouth, with his body-guard, set forth after 
 them, sad and depressed, and his countenance bear- 
 ing the stamp of the greatest internal suffering and 
 despair. 
 
 On every one who beheld him, his melancholy 
 hopeless look made a deep impression, and long was 
 it remembered by those who pressed to see him as 
 he departed from Bridgewater. He led the foot re- 
 giments himself, passing through a green lane adorn- 
 ed with hedge-rows on either side, covered with 
 flowers glittering with dew-drops in the bright moon- 
 light. 
 
 Lord Grey led the cavalry, though, owing to his 
 ill success at Bridgeport, some greatly opposed it. 
 Silence, deep and unbroken, reigned throughout all 
 the ranks, as their idea was to steal upon and sur- 
 prise the enemy. The watch-word they adopted was 
 "So-ho!" from the situation of Monmouth's palace, 
 which stood in Soho Fields, London. 
 
 The duke's scouts had brought intelligence of 
 two trenches, or " rhines," as they were called, which 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. G7 
 
 lay this side of the royal encampment, filled with 
 water and mud, but these they resolved, at all 
 hazards, to cross. There was yet another, deeper 
 and longer, which they had overlooked, in the im- 
 mediate neighborhood of the enemy, named the 
 Bussex Ehine. 
 
 When they arrived at Sedgemoor, the trains 
 containing the ammunition remained on the out- 
 skirts. On two of the Ehines, or trenches, cause- 
 ways had been erected, over one of which the horse 
 and foot passed in a long narrow file, and then 
 proceeded to cross the other ; but the fog was so 
 great that the guide could not distinguish the 
 way, and the whole troop were thrown into such 
 confusion that a pistol went off, no one knew how. 
 The sound reached the ears of the king's army, 
 who were on the watch ; they immediately looked 
 in the direction whence the sound proceeded, and 
 there beheld the advancing multitude. Carbines 
 were fired on the instant, while off they set to ap- 
 prize Feversham, at Western Zoyland ; dispatching 
 one also to give the news to the infantry encamp- 
 ment, crying out, as he approached, " The enemy 
 is at hand ! The enemy is at hand !" Dumbar- 
 ton's regiment sounded to arms, the pealing drum 
 awakening them to the call of loyal duty. They soon 
 got to order and marched forward. Monmouth was 
 near at hand, and had commenced drawing up his 
 forces for battle. Grey came on with his cavalry, 
 
68 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 but they were suddenly and unexpectedly interrupt- 
 ed in their progress. The Bassex Ehine, an immense 
 quagmire, lay before them, for which no preparation 
 had been made, nor any knowledge given even of its 
 existence. Here Dumbarton's men drew up for ac- 
 tion ; calling out, "For whom are you there on the 
 opposite side ?" 
 
 "For the king," was the response of the in- 
 surgents. 
 
 " For the king, which king ?" was demanded by 
 the royalists. 
 
 The answer was quickly given — •" King Mon- 
 mouth!" coupled with the words, "God with us!" 
 the words used by Cromwell's men when fighting 
 against the government forty years before. No more 
 was said, but a thundering volley of musketry was 
 poured into the rebel ranks by the king's battalion, 
 which scattered the cavalry under Grey's command 
 in every direction. 
 
 The promptitude of the rojsii army was in some 
 contrast to Lord Grey's conduct on this occasion, and 
 he was much censured for allowing them the prece- 
 dence. But those who did so, should have taken 
 into consideration the surprise and momentary be- 
 wilderment which naturally followed upon the know- 
 ledge of the barrier which so unexpectedly arrested 
 their progress, which very naturally explains the 
 cause of his delay. Under such circumstances the 
 most able and practised commander would be dis- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 69 
 
 comfited, and the vantage ground, in consequence, be 
 possessed by those on whom such a surprise had not 
 fallen. The condition of Lord Grey's cavalry also was 
 greatly against him. Eegular trained horses would 
 not so soon have scattered, but those raw colts could 
 not stand fire. Monmouth's hope had been to surprise 
 the enemy, and on this hung his chief prospect of 
 success. Instead of which he had been completely 
 captured by it himself, and his horse galloped off in 
 a contrary direction over the moor ; the heavy fog 
 still enveloping every thing. Grey's men had return- 
 ed Dumbarton's fire, but it did little execution. The 
 infantry, as the cavalry dispersed, came running up, 
 headed by the duke, and, like Lord Grey, were com- 
 pelled to stop by the unexpected appearance of the 
 trench. They halted and drew up for action on its 
 borders, like the cavalry, and fired a volley, which 
 was at once returned ; this continued without in- 
 termission full three quarters of an hour ; his hardy 
 peasantry equalling, by their bravery and dexterity, 
 even veteran soldiers, for their energy and spirit 
 were untiring, and the duke's courage rose with its 
 manifestation considerably. But this was not the 
 only army he had to contend with ; the other regi- 
 ments of the royalists were in sight, and moving for- 
 ward to the scene of action. The life-guards and 
 blues, with Feversham at their head, advanced to- 
 wards them. Some of Grey's horse collected and re- 
 turned, but they were quickly dispersed by these 
 
70 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 new forces, and again galloped off as before. Their 
 scattered appearance, a second time, spread alarm 
 and fear among the insurgents who remained in 
 charge of the ammunition, and the trains were driven 
 off by the wagoners, with disappointed and trem- 
 bling hearts, as fast as possible, never once daring to 
 look behind till they had travelled many miles be- 
 yond Sedgemoor. 
 
 Monmouth fought with his infantry, on foot, en- 
 couraging them by words and actions in every 
 way he could ; but the darkness and the fog was 
 against him ; and troops untrained to war could not 
 be expected, however brave and energetic they 
 might feel, to equal soldiers who had lived all, or a 
 great part of, their lives in the practice of arms. 
 Besides, their generals knew their ground ; no sur- 
 prise met them but the daring temerity of the rebels 
 in concerting their schemes. Confidence in their 
 success never for a moment deserted the unprinci- 
 pled Feversham, who, when he dressed for the bat- 
 tle-field, did it with the gaiety and precision of a 
 man going to some party of pleasure, instead of war. 
 When Churchill and he approached, Monmouth, de- 
 serted by the cavalry, and the wagons of ammuni- 
 tion gone, saw plainly all was lost. 
 
 The day now began to dawn, and gradually to 
 dispel the darkness and gloom which had surround- 
 ed the two contending armies ; but the duke's hopes 
 having entirely failed him, he acted on the last sug- 
 
BK1TI8H REBELLION. 71 
 
 gestion of poor, weak humanity — self-preservation ; 
 and turning from the thousands of devoted hearts, 
 fighting with their rude weapons to place him on 
 the throne, at such fearful hazards, seized the first 
 horse he came to, and rode from the field of what 
 he felt to be such unequal strife, before his progress 
 was cut off by being hemmed in by another line ot 
 advancing infantry. 
 
 This act showed Monmouth's character in 
 no very favorable light ; history has branded it 
 with a meanness, a want of bravery, and a tho- 
 rough heartlessness, almost unparalleled, in a leader 
 whose followers had been actuated solely from mo- 
 tives of attachment to join in an enterprise which 
 perilled not only all they possessed, but their lives. 
 But these brave men, though aware of Monmouth's 
 desertion, still kept both heart and ground, and 
 fought manfully in his cause. They were attack- 
 ed right and left by the Life Guards and the 
 Blues, but resisted with all their might, rushing 
 on them with their muskets and scythes, fearlessly 
 facing the royal horse, and pouring it into them 
 with unflinching courage. Then came a regiment 
 commanded by Oglethorpe, who endeavored to 
 break through the ranks of the valorous rustics, 
 but they were vigorously repulsed and driven back ; 
 on another side they were assailed, where the brave 
 rebels were again victorious, laying their leader, 
 Sarsfield, dead on the ground. These defeats of 
 
72 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 the enemy quite inspired the insurgents; and had 
 Monmouth, when he fled, only concerted schemes 
 for the supply of powder and ball to these faithful 
 creatures, the issue would have been different. As 
 it now stood, it was evident they must fail for 
 want of new supplies, as cry after cry for ammuni- 
 tion rent the unanswering air ; but no hand brought 
 the needed succour, and their extremity almost 
 destroyed the bold energy which had hitherto sup- 
 ported them. 
 
 While they were in this condition, destitute of 
 all but their scythes, pitchforks, bludgeons, and the 
 use of the but-ends of their muskets, the royal ar- 
 tillery came up, the great guns drawn by the Bishop 
 of Winchester's coach-horses, as at that time there 
 were no appointments like those now so amply 
 supplied the army on such occasions. The cannon 
 did terrible execution, and soon broke the ranks 
 of the rebels. Their arms could do nothing in 
 such a case, and they had to witness the fall of 
 hundreds of their brave band. The event they 
 foresaw soon followed — more than a thousand of 
 their comrades were killed. A company of infantry 
 crossed over and attacked them ; here again they 
 fought with all their might, till borne down com- 
 pletely with the unequal contest. The victory of 
 the king's troops was most decisive, and the labels 
 were routed, with only about three hundred of the 
 royalists killed and wounded. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 73 
 
 As daylight revealed the scenes enacted dur- 
 ing the darkness of the night, how sickening was 
 the sight! The moor this side the "Bussex Khine" 
 was literally strewn with the dying and the dead. 
 The sun rose in unclouded loveliness, and four 
 o'clock saw the unfortunate survivors of the rebel 
 army on their way to Bridgewater. Great numbers, 
 dreadfully cut and wounded, sank down and died, 
 their whole appearance presenting so woful and 
 so mangled a spectacle, that the townsfolk, even 
 to the tory inhabitants, pitied and succoured them 
 in their dreadful extremity, Catholics joining in the 
 general sympathy for what they termed their mis- 
 guided zeal for an unprincipled fanatic, as they call- 
 ed Monmouth. 
 
 But with all their sufferings, their attachment 
 remained unabated. He was still the idol of their 
 hearts 5 willingly would they again, with the slight- 
 est prospect of success, have gone forth in the same 
 cause. Their defeat was far less painful than their 
 hopelessness for the future. 
 
 Their bravery has been recorded in history as 
 being scarcely equalled in the annals of war. Alone, 
 deserted by their leader, and without ammunition, 
 an agricultural peasantry for the most part, contend- 
 ing with outnumbered regular troops for the space 
 of several hours, bears upon its face a valor as sur- 
 prising as it was heroic, and reflected then, as it 
 
74 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 does now, a character for bravery, energy, and de- 
 voted zeal, beyond all praise. 
 
 Monmouth galloped from the moor with his 
 mind filled with thoughts of the most bewildering 
 nature; the war-charms he wore around his neck, 
 which the Scotch people had declared were infalli- 
 ble, mocked his blind superstitious folly for ever 
 having credited their power ; and in his wretched- 
 ness and misery he would have torn them from his 
 person, and cast them to the ground — but there was 
 no time to spare for such a purpose. Grey had 
 joined him, and they made with all speed for Nood- 
 gates' Inn, some miles beyond, on the road to Bland- 
 ford, where they concluded to leave their horses, as 
 by that means they could the better elude their pur- 
 suers, who, they knew, would soon be in quest of 
 them. It was about the time when the farmers and 
 laborers were rising to go forth to their fields ; and 
 meeting a sturdy peasant on his way to work, Mon- 
 mouth asked him to change clothes with him, offer- 
 ing him money for the exchange. The man consent- 
 ed, and by his new habiliments the duke hoped to 
 save his life. Lord Grey and he, accompanied by 
 Buyse and a few others who had come up with 
 them, then wandered through lanes, crossed woods 
 and fields in the direction of the coast of Hants, 
 with the hope of finding a vessel, when they would 
 embark and cross over to Holland. They travelled 
 all day, without halting, in the burning sun, till 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 75 
 
 nightfall, when they sought shelter in the open air, 
 beneath some trees, in a remote and apparently de- 
 solate part of the country. 
 
 Parties in the meantime were in active pursuit 
 of the wretched fugitives. Lord Lumley, with the 
 Sussex militia, were stationed at Ringwood, from 
 there he sent forth scouts to scour the country in 
 every direction. And the Somerset militia had been 
 ordered to make a a chain of posts " from the sea to 
 the northern extremity of the coast of Dorsetshire. 
 Notwithstanding, they were left quiet and unmolest- 
 ed during the night ; but at daybreak, as they crept 
 forth from their hiding-places, they found by the 
 footprints in the soft, dusty mould, that their pur- 
 suers had passed quite near them, and still, doubt- 
 less, surrounded them on all sides. They were not 
 wrong in their conjectures. As they set again steal- 
 thily forward, divided, the better to elude suspicion, 
 Lord Grey, undisguised, was discovered and taken, 
 at about five o'clock on the morning of the 7th of 
 July. He made no resistance ; he fully realized his 
 unhappy position, but could not help acknowledging 
 at a subsequent period, that the dreadful anxiety he 
 had undergone, while with Monmouth, was such that 
 his imprisonment was an actual relief. 
 
 The duke eluded his fierce pursuers all that day, 
 his peasant dress causing them to overlook him for 
 some laborer ; but they still followed up their earnest 
 
76 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 search. The numerous cottages on the heath forming 
 the boundaries of Dorsetshire and Hampshire, were 
 entered, and every nook and corner strictly scruti- 
 nized, but in vain ; while men, women and children 
 were closely questioned. Farm-houses and gentle- 
 men's seats were also examined, out-houses and en- 
 closures, but not the slightest clue was given, till a 
 shout, on seeing a man in the duke's dress, called 
 their attention to the rustic who had changed clothes 
 with Monmouth, sauntering before them. He was 
 at once interrogated, and simply told the tale as it 
 was. They, of course, could do nothing with the 
 man, but they felt they must now seek Monmouth 
 in a new attire, and to this end resolved to watch 
 every peasant closely as he passed them. 
 
 Sir William Portman, in addition to stationing 
 the militia towards the coast, mustered a large body 
 of the foot regiments and cavalry to assist in the cap- 
 ture of the fugitive duke, who, wandering without 
 having taken a mouthful of food since their flight, 
 might be said to be more dead than alive with fa- 
 tigue, hunger, and thirst, which were all overlooked 
 in the one all-absorbing desire of escape and life. 
 
 He had changed his plans several times, with the 
 vagueness which always follows such a state of 
 mind ; till, at length, his only aim was to secrete 
 himself securely in some hiding place where he 
 might remain, undetected, in safe quiet. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 77 
 
 Byron says there is but one step from the sub- 
 lime to the ridiculous ; and but a few short steps, the 
 intervention of a few short hours, found the candi- 
 date for the honors of a throne a wanderer and a fu- 
 gitive from the axe of the executioner. 
 
 Through divers windings Monmouth came to 
 Shag's heath, in Dorsetshire, a common belonging to 
 the parish of Woodlands. It possesses all the wild- 
 ness of nature and aspect usual with heathy land, 
 neither houses or trees relieving its dull monotony 
 for miles, save a few mud-walled cots. In the middle 
 of this dreary plain was an enclosure, where were 
 corn, pea, and other fields. Here the unhappy duke 
 thought he would be able to lie in safe ambush. 
 Buyse was with him, but they did not keep close to- 
 gether. Here they were followed ; sentinels guarded 
 the outer hedge, and whenever they peeped through 
 the bushes in that direction their eyes encountered 
 the heads of soldiers, earnestly gazing around, which 
 ever way they turned, while the fields were being 
 searched in every direction. This state of things 
 could not last long ; and their capture seemed inevi- 
 table. Once they knew they had been seen, for a 
 fire immediately followed ; but they slunk away 
 among the corn, and escaped its stroke. Dogs had 
 also been let loose to scent them out. Poor, unhappy 
 man 1 in such a condition, how does the tear of com- 
 passionate sympathy flow forth for your desperate 
 
78 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 situation. Alas ! misguided Duke of Monmouth, to 
 others, not yourself, was the perilous enterprise you 
 engaged in traceable, and yet you are the victim 
 sought, on which to wreck the deepest vengeance of 
 insulted majesty. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 Night once more enveloped all things in its som- 
 bre mantle, but no advantage could be taken by 
 the wretched fugitives of its gloom to extend their 
 wanderings; they felt they were hemmed in on 
 every side. Any movement would be fatal, so to 
 remain passive was the only alternative in their 
 " Island prison," (the inclosure bearing the name of 
 Island;) relieving their gnawing hunger by plucking 
 ears of corn from their stalks, the only food they 
 had tasted since the battle. The bright morning suc- 
 ceeded the darkness of night, every eye was again 
 bent towards the suspected spot, and Buyse was dis- 
 covered and taken. He was immediately question- 
 ed respecting Monmouth. He replied that he was 
 not far off. This led to another search through the 
 fields, but without success. A poor woman pass- 
 ing that way, was interrogated as to having seen 
 any one about there, and the duke's person describ- 
 ed. She readily answered that she had seen him, 
 and pointed to a place not far distant, where he 
 might be found. The soldiers hurried to the spot, 
 and in a deep ditch, shadowed by an ash-tree, over- 
 

 80 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 grown by fern and brush-wood, crouched up at the 
 bottom, lay the unfortunate object of their pursuit. 
 His peasant dress all soiled and torn, his beard 
 whitened by the sufferings he had undergone, his 
 handsome features bearing the impress of despair, 
 and his fine eyes sunken and hollow, presented a 
 most pitiable and wretched appearance. One of the 
 men had known him for some years, and seeing the 
 change which had taken place in a few days, was so 
 much affected by it that he burst into tears. Sir W. 
 Portman was present when he was taken, and as they 
 approached some of them were going to fire upon 
 Monmouth, but he ordered that no violence of any 
 kind should be used. It was perfectly unnecessary, as 
 he did not make the slightest resistance, but trem- 
 bled to such a degree that he could scarcely stand. 
 Could Lady Wentworth have witnessed this fi- 
 nale to her foolish ambition, how would her heart 
 have smote her. The brilliant, elegant, fascinating 
 and handsome Duke of Monmouth reduced to such 
 a state ! He was guarded on the spot on which he 
 was taken until a carriage arrived to convey him be- 
 fore the magistrate of the parish of Woodlands, 
 where he was searched, and every thing found on 
 his person taken from him ; consisting of a purse of 
 gold, some raw peas, which he had gathered to eat ; 
 a book on fortifications, and an album, containing, 
 among other curious matter, sundry charms, such as 
 spells for opening prison doors, and cures for those 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 81 
 
 wounded on the field of battle; prayers also for 
 those occasions. There were, beside, several songs 
 in his own hand- writing, memorandums of various 
 journeys, interviews with the Prince and Princess of 
 Orange, travels and stages noted down of a tour 
 through several counties, till he came to Todding- 
 ton, in Bedfordshire, the paternal residence of his 
 Henrietta, Baroness of Wentworth and ISTettleside 
 in her own right, the object of his ill-starred love. 
 
 The village of Toddington is one of rare beauty. 
 Situated in rich wooded land, the eye is charmed at 
 every turn with the varied loveliness of the surround- 
 ing landscape. The beautiful residence of Sir Tho- 
 mas, her father, lay here, surrounded by extensive 
 parks abounding with deer, roaming at will amid the 
 beautiful luxuriance which nature and art combined 
 to furnish. This was the birthplace of Lady Went- 
 worth, his only child, where she unfolded her youth- 
 ful loveliness to her idolizing parents, whose fond- 
 ness she so ill repaid in after life, and whose coun- 
 sels to the man for whom she abandoned everything, 
 ended in the wretched departure we have recorded. 
 
 The justice of peace, before whom he was taken, 
 ordered Monmouth to be sent immediately to Lon- 
 don. Col. Wra. Legge went in the coach with him, 
 attended by a strong guard, who were instructed, in 
 the event of his making an}'- resistance, to stab him 
 on the road. But this precaution was little needed ; 
 he was perfectly passive, his despairing condition 
 
 5 
 
82 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 absorbing all bis faculties, and rendering him alive 
 to but one consideration — the wretched death that 
 was so soon to follow. Where now was the efficacy 
 of those superstitions which he had regarded as safe- 
 guards in every extremity ? He had in the carriage 
 with him a table book full of astrological figures, 
 perfectly imcomprehensible to any one else but him- 
 self. He showed it to his companion, Sir W. Legge, 
 and also explained the use of several of the charms 
 given him by the Scotch people, and the influence 
 they had over him ; concluding by calling them 
 blind and foolish inventions, to cheat the judgment 
 and mislead the imagination. 
 
 Lord Grey was conveyed to London with him, 
 and nothing could exceed the contrast their de- 
 meanor exhibited. For while Monmouth was the 
 very impersonation of despair, Grey was able to 
 talk and laugh, and even went so far as to joke 
 upon his situation. 
 
 The place where Monmouth secreted himself, is 
 called " Monmouth's Close " to this day, and ^the 
 ash-tree against which he leaned, overshadowing the 
 ditch, has been visited by thousands, who have 
 carved their names on its bark. Woodlands be- 
 longed to Lord Shaftesbury after the death of his 
 brother; and traditions are still handed down, of 
 that sad event, to the traveller and sojourner in that 
 part of the country. 
 
 On their way the prisoner stopped at Eingwood, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 83 
 
 where Monmouth, wrote a letter to the king, descrip- 
 tive of the miserable situation he was in, and de- 
 ploring the part he had taken in the rebellion ; that 
 he had promised the Prince and Princess of Orange, 
 at the Hague, never to attempt anything against the 
 government, but that his judgment had been blind- 
 ed by the advice of a dreadful set of unprincipled 
 men, who had excited his mind by their wicked and 
 unjust calumnies. Those persons he now contemned 
 and despised as they deserved, and lamented most 
 sincerely having for a moment listened to them. He 
 pleaded his relationship, and the affection of the 
 brother he loved, for his son, who now lay at his 
 mercy ; and besought to be admitted to the royal 
 presence, that he might confide a secret of import- 
 ance to him, and him only. He also wrote to the 
 queen-dowager and the lord treasurer, beseeching 
 them to intercede in his behalf. 
 
 Let us now return to the still more wretched 
 state of the rebels whom we left pouring into Bridge- 
 water, with all the marks of the unfortunate battle 
 upon them. Numbers died on the spot, their last 
 remaining strength having been spent in reaching 
 the town. While those that survived were so terri- 
 bly gashed, and smeared with blood, that they were 
 scarcely recognisable. But even in this sad condi- 
 tion they were not allowed to rest. Feversham's men 
 were in active pursuit, and soon captured these- 
 brave and suffering rustics, and, without one feeling 
 
84 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 of compassion, huddled the poor victims into carts, 
 with their wounds undressed, amid the cries and la- 
 mentations of their relatives who had remained to 
 see the issue of the battle. In this state they were 
 hurried off to the jails and prisons of Somersetshire. 
 These buildings were crowded almost to suffocation 
 with the king's prisoners, as they were called, and 
 their suffering numbers, confined in damp and un- 
 wholesome cells, without the slightest attention to 
 their wounds, carries upon its face a torture of mind 
 and body at which humanity shudders. But no pity 
 soothed the silent agonies they endured ; no hand or 
 heart sought to give them relief; while the wretch- 
 ed families to which they severally belonged, were 
 plunged into a state whose utter misery and heart- 
 breaking situation bafiles all description ; for not a 
 ray of hope broke through the gloom that so com- 
 pletely overshadowed them. 
 
 Meanwhile the triumph of the victors was being 
 celebrated by the tories all through the country. 
 Farmers feasted the king's troops everywhere, and 
 the bells of Western Zoyland pealed merrily the 
 whole of that day. These were mingled with shouts 
 of rejoicing, and filled the air for miles around with 
 sounds in sad contrast with the feelings of the miser- 
 able rebels. Yet, with all the pain and misery they 
 endured, the love of the being for whom they thus 
 suffered might be said to support them cheerfully. 
 Nothing could shake, for a moment, the hold Mon- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 85 
 
 mouth had on their affections, and thoughts of his 
 fate affected them far more than their own. 
 
 Notwithstanding the numbers taken, hundreds 
 had made their escape, and were dispersed all 
 through Somersetshire. One of Feversham's officers, 
 Colonel Kirke, was ordered to Bridgewater for the 
 purpose of securing, if possible, those fugitives who 
 had fled from what they termed justice. To this end 
 he marched with a regiment of his own men, as soon 
 as he had secured what still remained at Bridgewa- 
 ter, to Taunton, accompanied all the way by two 
 carts of the wounded rebels, whose gashes and blood 
 were exposed to a burning July sun — thus wantonly 
 augmenting their sufferings, and by cruel and heart- 
 less threats of what would be done as soon as they 
 arrived at the town, exciting the most dreadful and 
 agonising thoughts. Added to these were a long 
 line of prisoners on foot, chained two and two. 
 
 When they arrived at Taunton the work com- 
 menced, and, without judge or jury, numbers were 
 hanged. To give an idea of the ferocity of this 
 Kirke and his men, he had the gallows erected di- 
 rectly opposite to where they held their carousals, 
 and to the hoisting of every man (who was not even 
 permitted to speak to his nearest relatives standing 
 weeping around) they filled their glasses, and with 
 gleeful delight pledged each other's health in bum- 
 pers ; while the band who accompanied them were 
 
86 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 ordered to strike up with a rejoicing air as their legs 
 dropped, and the last quiver was seen. 
 
 The cruelty and depravity of this Kirke can 
 scarcely be imagined, and can only be accounted for 
 in its vile excesses, from his residence at Tangier. 
 He had been employed by the government to com- 
 mand the garrison there, and its distant site allowed 
 him the practice of every species of villainy with 
 impunity. It is said that he was a perfect despot, 
 and was constantly engaged in hostilities against 
 tribes of foreigners ; occupying nations where no laws, 
 either human or divine, protected them from any in- 
 vasion that might be made to despoil them either of 
 their property or their lives. The catalogue of his 
 crimes, on these occasions, is a series of enormities 
 at which the soul sickens at the thought that such 
 monsters in human form should be found, who could 
 perpetrate acts of so revolting a nature. He allowed 
 no goods to be sold anywhere within his jurisdic- 
 tion, without his permission, and until they had been 
 previously offered to him ; and no case of litigation 
 could receive decision until this reptile had been 
 made the recipient of a bribe, to substantiate its va- 
 lidity. If it happened that a merchant displeased 
 him at any time, revenge lay entirely in his own 
 hands ; a power which he exercised to a most un- 
 heard-of degree ; entering their ware-houses, and 
 spoiling their goods before their very faces. To in- 
 stance one occasion : a wine-merchant had failed in 
 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 87 
 
 the customary courtesy of furnishing his cellar, and 
 his malignant spirit devised a plan to make him re- 
 pent his unpolitic course. Calling on the vintner one 
 day, with an excuse to examine his stock, he staved 
 every puncheon, hogshead, and barrel in his vaults, 
 and left without one word either of apology or ex- 
 planation. 
 
 Fear governed all the surrounding country, and 
 no one dared complain or remonstrate, as his tyran- 
 nical temper vented the slightest cause of displeasure 
 on civilians, by employing his minions to put them 
 to death ; while foreign savages were sent to the 
 holy inquisition to be burned alive. His soldiers' 
 punishment, whenever they were disobedient, was 
 severe flogging. To the Jews, who had for years 
 previous to his arrival carried on a quiet disposal of 
 their wares, he sent forth a command that they should 
 depart from the place ; which mandate they were 
 forced to obey, or they knew their lives would be 
 the forfeit. 
 
 His despotic flag waved from the ramparts of his 
 castle, a signal of terror, which filled all hearts with 
 hatred, gloom, and despair ; and the sight of his sol- 
 diers excited feelings still worse, for their master 
 permitted them to prowl about the town at night, 
 while on watch, and insult the peaceful inhabitants 
 as much as they pleased ; a liberty which those 
 reckless men made no scruple of improving, drinking 
 to excess, and sparing neither age nor sex when in 
 their drunken and besotted state. 
 
88 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 When Kirke, therefore, was reealled to England, 
 the rejoicing of the inhabitants of Tangier was be- 
 yond all description. His soldiers also accompanied 
 him. This regiment had been raised at first for the 
 desperate service to which they had been dedicated 
 — that of subjugating the neighboring infidel nations. 
 Such were the men, under such a leader, now let 
 loose on the unfortunate Monmouth's followers, and 
 the instances of their ferocity, viciousness, and cru- 
 elty, are almost beyond credibility. 
 
 The sign-board of the inn where they took up 
 their abode, in Taunton, swung on hinges between 
 two posts, exhibiting on its face a white hart. These 
 posts, after removing the sign, he made to support 
 a gallows, and on it he hung victim after victim, 
 calling their struggles, when in the agony of death, 
 dancing, and mockingly ordering suitable music for 
 such an exercise. One of the rebels, being known 
 to feel more than ordinary affection for his leader, 
 the duke, was suspended by the neck, and when his 
 struggles became indicative of the last agony, he was 
 barbarously cut down and mocked with a sIioav of 
 mercy, then, when a little recovered, again hung up; 
 then cut down a second time, and asked if he repent- 
 ed going to fight against the king? b irmly and 
 bravely he replied, "No!" Then followed immedi- 
 ately the final drop. Several were hanged and quar- 
 tered, others, beside that, seethed in pitch. The man 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 89 
 
 selected for this office was a peasant, whose conduct 
 on several occasions betokened lenity to the rebels, 
 though he professed to be one of the king's own 
 men. On being questioned, he of course denied the 
 charge, but summary measures would at once have 
 been taken, had he not consented to assist the exe- 
 cutioner then standing ankle-deep in blood, as he 
 quartered one after another of the dead bodies cut 
 from the scaffold. 
 
 This man was called from that circumstance, 
 " Tom Boilman ;" and though he lived years after 
 in a neighboring village, the stain on his name for 
 purchasing life by such means never departed — from 
 that time he was shunned, hated, contemned, and 
 despised. The vengeance of heaven seemed to have 
 followed him also, for returning one evening late 
 from labor, during a violent thunderstorm, he sought 
 shelter on the outskirts of a wood, beneath a branch- 
 ing oak, when a flash of lightning killed him. 
 
 The misery and wretchedness which reigned 
 throughout Somersetshire among the peasantry, his- 
 tory, however faithful, would vainly attempt to 
 pourtray. The smiling cottages of those hardy and 
 contented rustics were now the abodes only of wi- 
 dows and fatherless children, under circumstances, 
 the bare contemplation of which must harrow every 
 feeling heart. Many a tender wife had witnessed 
 the cruel butchery of her beloved husband ; many 
 children their fathers' ; and some, when only suing 
 
 5* 
 

 90 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 for a last embrace, a last word of divine consolation, 
 had been rudely and cruelly repulsed by the hard- 
 ened villain, whose ferocity, already described, con* 
 veys but a faint idea of the monstrous depravity 
 which lent to cruelty every species of aggravation 
 the most fiendish nature could conceive. Fain 
 would we drop the curtain over what yet remains ; 
 but history requires a full account of the proceed- 
 ings of past ages, and wisdom, when contrasting the 
 present with the days gone by — we trust for ever — 
 will draw lessons of instruction which shall be as a 
 beacon to enlighten and rejoice the spirit, that ad- 
 vancing years have brought with them that benign 
 character of which Campbell so sweetly sung, when 
 he wrote, 
 
 " Come bright improvement on the car of time." 
 
 But this Kirke's cruelty was not his only cha- 
 racteristic. He loved to enrich his coffers with the 
 spoils of war. If any of the rebels were known to 
 be wealthy, or to possess anything available, he 
 could be very tender in his compassions, and lent a 
 listening and ready ear to those who sued with a 
 bonus in their hands. Yes, even to state offenders 
 like these, there could be mercy shown ; but to the 
 honest and brave men whose valor claims the tribute 
 of admiration from every age, where they were un- 
 able to purchase the favor of this monster, they were 
 executed as we have described. More than a hun- 
 dred were despatched in one week ; and the women 
 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 91 
 
 and children, who crowded around the fatal spot to 
 witness the last agonies of their beloved relatives, 
 filled the air with lamentations and groans of des- 
 pair ; for they had not only lost the beings in whom 
 their affections were garnered up, but their bereave- 
 ment was aggravated by the thoughts of, it might be, 
 the starvation which was to follow. Their whole sub- 
 sistence, in these cases, being derived from their daily 
 labor. And widows and fatherless babes, now de- 
 prived of all means of support, as the future rose 
 before them, yielded to the consummate misery of 
 their condition with a hopelessness, the heart that 
 experienced such bitterness could alone understand. 
 
 Those who were rich enough to purchase their 
 liberty and exemption from the penalty paid by the 
 poor, were permitted to seek refuge from justice by 
 going to a foreign land. America offered the neces- 
 sary asylum, and many with their families embarked 
 for its friendly shores. Vessels were crowded with 
 these refugees to such a degree, that there was great 
 danger lest a sufficiency of water and provisions 
 could be laid in for them during the voyage. 
 
 These unjust proceedings, however, soon got 
 spread abroad, and reached the ears of the king, who 
 was highly displeased at the mercenary spirit he had 
 displayed in the ministration of his official power. 
 His further spoils were therefore cut short, by being 
 summoned to London, and new means devised for 
 others to execute vengeance on the remaining thou- 
 
92 BRITISH REBfiLLIOS. 
 
 sands of rebels yet pining in suffering within the 
 surrounding jails and prisons. 
 
 While these cruelties were being perpetrated in 
 Somersetshire, Monmouth had reached London, and 
 contrary to established rules on such occasions, (un- 
 less mercy was to be exercised towards a prisoner,) 
 he was conveyed to the king's palace, where an in- 
 terview with James was promised. This inspired 
 the duke with something like hope; he thought 
 within himself, "He is my father's brother, and when 
 he sees me he may relent.'' But his calculations 
 were all on one side. How could he have expected 
 the slightest s}^mpathy or favor from a kinsman, 
 whom he had held up to the public as having com- 
 mitted such dreadful crimes ? Had he forgotten ac- 
 cusing him before the people, in the market-place of 
 Lyme, of poisoning his own brother, the late king, 
 of cutting the throat of another man, and of incen- 
 diarism ? Or did he suppose he could be ignorant of 
 the proclamation containing these accusations? Had 
 rebellion been the only thing chargeable against 
 Monmouth, the king's clemency might have been 
 exercised, from considerations of the brother whom 
 he so tenderly loved. But with this array of crimes 
 before him, James' heart was not only steeled against 
 Monmouth, but incensed with the highest indigna- 
 tion; and he determined to see him face to face, that 
 he might feel the justice of the blow he was aboift 
 to strike, when he reflected on the atrocities he had 
 laid to his charge. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 98 
 
 The duke, with his hands and arms bound by a 
 silken cord, was ushered into the presence of the 
 king, who, seated in his chair of state, sternly await- 
 ed his reception. The letters addressed to the queen 
 dowager and the lord treasurer, from Ringwood, had 
 produced no effect ; and as Monmouth entered, and 
 glanced at his uncle, he saw there was little to hope. 
 As to the crimes he had committed under the head 
 of high treason, they never once entered his mind, 
 the utter misery and humiliation of his situation ab- 
 sorbing every other consideration; and, falling on 
 his knees, he crept, with his arms bound, to the feet 
 of James, and cried for pardon and for mercy at his 
 hands, declaring all he had done was the fault of 
 others, that he had been made the victim of vile 
 plotters against the government, whose sophistry 
 had worked upon his too easy and too credulous 
 temper — especially Ferguson, whose name he loaded 
 with every vile epithet he could command. 
 
 During this declamation of innocence on his part, 
 and inculpation of his colleagues, the king never 
 once relaxed a muscle. The stern man of business 
 sat in inflexible rigidity of purpose, and regarded 
 Monmouth as a traitor whom, had he felt inclined to 
 spare, justice asserted was of too dangerous a cha- 
 racter to be let loose again ivpon society. His ven- 
 geance was partly slaked by beholding his abject 
 humility, crawling upon the ground, and acknow- 
 ledging himself the tool of others, whose weak judg- 
 
94 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 ments he had not the wisdom or the prudence to set 
 aside, by either duty to his sovereign, or affection 
 to the brother of a parent whose love had been so 
 signally displayed towards him. 
 
 " Do you forget," James asked, in reply to his 
 cry for forgiveness, " the proclamation at Lyme ?" 
 compressing his lips, and ej^eing him severely. 
 
 " I never saw it," was Monmouth's groaning reply. 
 
 " And you mean to aver that you signed, with- 
 out reading, a paper of such magnitude?" the king 
 asked, with a stern and searching look, in which 
 contempt was strongly mingled. 
 
 " I did," said Monmouth, in a faltering voice. 
 
 " O vile hypocrisy," was the reply. " Do not 
 imagine I could believe such a monstrous falsehood 
 for a moment ? Ah, no ; you knew what it con- 
 tained well enough. 
 
 " You covered, too, your wishes to possess the 
 throne, by assuming the championage of the Pro- 
 testant religion, it appears. What a pity j^ou did 
 not succeed," he continued, deridingly. 
 
 Love of life in the timorous, what will it not lead 
 to ! Monmouth's too amiable docility of character 
 may truly be said to have been his ruin. And the 
 yielding nature of his temper, so remarkable through- 
 out his unfortunate career, in his extremity to con- 
 ciliate the king, led him to make a confession in 
 favor of Catholicism. 
 
 James heard all he said, but told him his case 
 was utterly beyond the pale of mercy this side the 
 
British rebellion. 95 
 
 grave ; that the aggravated nature of his offences 
 precluded its possibility ; and, recommending him 
 to propitiate that tribunal before which he was so 
 soon to appear, he ordered the officers to reconduct 
 him to the Tower. 
 
 (i Then, all hope is over," exclaimed Monmouth, 
 springing to his feet. And, summoning the courage 
 which desperation so often calls forth, he turned his 
 back on the king, and left his presence. 
 
 By many historians, this abject solicitation for 
 pardon, from a sovereign whom he had sought in 
 every way to injure, is placed to Monmouth's ac- 
 count as the greatest possible instance of cowardice 
 and meanness. But. before pronouncing this sum- 
 mary verdict, we should pause ; and, comparing this 
 act with his former conduct, where, on a similar oc- 
 casion, though not reduced to the extreme verge on 
 which he now stood, certainly presented a widely 
 different aspect. 
 
 In the measures concerted for a rebellion in 
 the year 1681, during Charles the Second's life, it 
 will be well remembered, Monmouth took a leading 
 part. The plot was discovered, and all the conspira- 
 tors were taken up except himself. He found a hid- 
 ing place, but was subsequently induced by a friend, 
 who looked forward to the future and another more 
 fortunate rising, to solicit his father's forgiveness, 
 which he obtained, and he was recalled to court. 
 Before he received a pardon, according to the form 
 
96 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 requisite to make it legal, Charles besought him to 
 give the names of his colleagues, promising the duke 
 that no punishment should result from his confidence. 
 Monmouth yielded to this solicitation, and forthwith 
 a paragraph appeared in the newspapers, that he 
 had given a promise to the king never again to at- 
 tempt a rebellion against the government. 
 
 Monmouth read this notice with feelings of the 
 highest indignation, and, as soon as he received the 
 formal form of forgiveness, lost no time in retrieving 
 his pledged word to his friends, by recanting ail the 
 king had caused to be published with regard to him- 
 self. This, of course, showed the honorable nature of 
 his character, but a severe penalty awaited him for it. 
 
 This avowal came to Charles' ears, and he was, 
 with his colleagues, banished from the kingdom. 
 
 He had frequently been in the habit of visiting 
 the seat of Sir Thomas Wentworth in Toddington ; 
 but no one knew the real cause which led him there. 
 To the baronet's daughter all these visits were made ; 
 though she was, in the eyes of her parents, betrothed 
 to a young man of great worth and wealth. When 
 Monmouth received this mandate from his father, he 
 fled to Lady Wentworth, and, confiding to her the 
 unexpected blow his father had dealt him ; in the 
 wild and romantic devotion which filled her heart, 
 she at once declared she would go with him. 
 
 This sacrifice so far exceeded all he could 
 have imagined possible in a young and beautiful 
 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 97 
 
 girl, idolized by her parents, and sought in mar- 
 riage by a nobleman whose claims to the affection of 
 woman could not be for a moment disputed; that 
 Monmouth's love and admiration were not only the 
 raptures of excited triumph, but secured to that mis- 
 guided being the devotion of a heart which never for 
 a moment after swayed from its object, during life # 
 
 She accompanied him privately to Holland ; but 
 they did not reside together, as he wished to conceal 
 from his father that he had a companion in exile. 
 But at his death they enjoyed all the felicity their 
 situation admitted, in a union of hearts that had but 
 one drawback, the illegitimacy of the compact. 
 
 In this connection we may see the explanation of 
 all we may have deemed inconsistent in Monmouth's 
 character and conduct. To thoughts of Lady Went- 
 worth were alone owing his humiliation to James ; 
 for well he knew the anguish his death would occa- 
 sion her. His heart, his courage sunk, as her agony 
 rose before him, and for her sake he would have 
 crawled like the veriest reptile before any man. 
 
 There is nothing to justify, and much to condemn 
 in this conduct ; but I deemed the explanation I 
 have given, necessary, in order to account for so un- 
 manly a display of sunken and abject humanity, so 
 different from his former conduct, wherein he had 
 acted so heroically. 
 
 Lord Grey was also brought before the royal 
 presence, but his magnanimous bearing was in strong 
 
99 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 contrast to the unhappy duke. He answered all the 
 charges which the king made against him, with a 
 readiness and promptitude that quite affected James. 
 He acknowledged being engaged in the rebellion, 
 and explained the part he took in it, with an un- 
 flinching front. He attempted no palliation, and 
 asked no favor. Calm, collected, self-possessed, he 
 heard the sentence pronounced on such offenders, 
 with an aspect which defied both pity and reproach, 
 and rejoined his fellow-prisoner, after the interview 
 was ended, with sorrow for the fate of him whom he 
 would gladly have died to save. 
 
 They were conveyed back to the Tower ; and a 
 weeping and sympathizing populace, thronged the 
 streets in their endeavors to obtain a look at the pri- 
 soners, especially Monmouth; who, although there 
 had been no public manifestation in his favor, was 
 greatly beloved by a large majority of the London- 
 ers ; especially by those occupying the middle sta- 
 tions of life, who in heart being Protestants, had all 
 along secretly hoped that he would have been victo- 
 rious, and caused the religion they loved to be esta- 
 blished. The Papist king they hated, but he held 
 them in awe, and they made no attempt at a rescue, 
 though in their hearts they longed to tear Monmouth 
 from his grasp. 
 
 They embarked from the wharf, and were rowed 
 till they reached the ditch which joins with the 
 river, when they came to a water gate, called " Trai- 
 tor's Gate," to which all state prisoners, in former 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 99 
 
 times, were conveyed, leading immediately into the 
 Tower. 
 
 Monmouth's depression was greater than ever, 
 and seemed almost to threaten his life. Hope had 
 entirely fled, and the thought of what was so soon to 
 follow, steeped his soul in the very depths of despair. 
 The king, meanwhile, showed he was not unmindful 
 of his unfortuate and misguided kinsman. He sent 
 his wife, accompanied by the keeper of the privy 
 seal, Lord Clarendon, to visit the prisoner. Their 
 presence lit up a monentary gleam of hope in Mon- 
 mouth's heart, for Clarendon might be able to influ- 
 ence the king, as he knew he possessed some pow- 
 er ; and to him he resolved to apply. The Duchess 
 of Monmouth had brought her children with her, 
 thinking that in an hour like this he would forget 
 the past, repent his unfaithfulness towards her, and, 
 in the plenitude of his repentance, ask her forgive- 
 ness, and sue for that return of affection of which his 
 desertion had rendered him so unworthy. But her 
 woman's reasoning she soon found vain. Her hus- 
 band received her very coldly, and, forgetful often 
 of her presence, addressed himself almost wholly to 
 the earl, pleading, with all the eloquence he could 
 command, the misery of his condition, and beseech- 
 ing his interference in his behalf. But Clarendon 
 gave him no encouragement ; although he deeply 
 pitied the blind infatuation which had led him to 
 peril life in a cause which excluded every hope of 
 
100 
 
 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 the royal mercy. They soon left ; Clarendon feeling 
 he had discharged an unpleasant duty, and the duch- 
 ess convinced that, if he had been permitted to live, 
 his regard for her and her children had ceased for 
 ever. To him she was tenderly attached, and her 
 misery could scarcely be said to be heightened by 
 the doom that threatened him. Her heart had been 
 lacerated in every pore by the estrangement which 
 followed his acquaintance with Lady Wentworth, 
 and her existence had been shrouded in worse than 
 the gloom of death, for there the wicked cease from 
 troubling, and the weary are at rest. In her case 
 there was no repose. Her thoughts were like the 
 troubled deep, and in the virtuous seclusion she 
 sought, she gave herself wholly up to learning each 
 movement of her husband and his guilty companion, 
 through persons employed by him. How harassing 
 such a situation was, may more easily be conceived 
 than described. The climax, therefore, to which it 
 led, could scarcely be said to augment her sufferings ; 
 and, as she left the Tower, and reflected on his cold- 
 ness, sorrow and pity gave place to indignation, 
 and a feeling which involuntarily arose in her breast, 
 that his punishment was deserved. 
 Shakspeare has said, that 
 
 " Hell holds no Jury like a v\ oman scorned." 
 
 The expression of the sentiment is somewhat ex- 
 aggerated, but man can hope for little mercy at the 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 101 
 
 tribunal of broken faith, broken vows, and a broken 
 heart. The duchess went forth with feelings natu- 
 ral to a woman injured, as she felt she had been ; 
 and resigned him, in the stoicism which followed 
 her outraged affections, to his fate, without a tear; 
 
 Towards evening James dispatched two bishops 
 of the Episcopal church to visit Monmouth, with 
 the solemn message that the day was fixed for his 
 execution. 
 
 It was Monday, and Wednesday was the day 
 appointed. When Monmouth heard them utter this 
 determination of the king, the blood receded from 
 his cheeks, his tongue clave to the roof of his 
 mouth, and he trembled, like an aspen leaf, from 
 head to foot. The bishops were much moved by 
 witnessing his distress, and besought him in his 
 hour of need to seek succor from above, to confess 
 his contrition to that Almighty Ruler whom he had 
 offended, and endeavor to find peace and acceptance 
 while hope and life remained. 
 
 But Monmouth could think only of endeavoring 
 to obtain forgiveness and a respite from this cruel and 
 overwhelming sentence. And, instead of acting on 
 the advice so kindly given, occupied himself wholly 
 in writing letters to all the influential men he knew, 
 to intercede for him with the king, that he might 
 not be executed. 
 
 The bishops visited him again and again during 
 the two intervening days, and explained the doc- 
 
102 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 trines of the church, exhorting him te confess his 
 guilt in drawing his sword against the government, 
 and his sorrow in having done so. This Monmouth 
 refused to do. He felt he was in the right, he said ; 
 he wished to deliver the nation from the scourge of 
 Papacy, and restore to the people the unmolested 
 practice of the religion they loved. 
 
 The good bishops then alluded to the crime he 
 had been guilty of in deserting his wife and chil- 
 dren, ane living scandalously with Lady Wentworth. 
 But Monmouth had set up a standard, it would 
 seem, for himself on this occasion. He expatiated 
 on the misery of his conjugal life, and that having 
 been led to marry at a time when he had no judge- 
 ment to guide him in his choice of a wife, by the 
 advice of his father ; nothing but unhappiness had 
 followed, which resulted in a life of unrestrained 
 viciousness, — for, finding his hearthstone destitute of 
 charm, he had sought, in his commerce with the 
 world, the enjoyment which his home could not 
 yield him. With Lady Wentworth he had enjoyed 
 the happiness naturally accruing from the exercise 
 of pure and warm affections ; and he had become 
 since that connection a reformed man. 
 
 The bishops were perfectly astounded at the false 
 ideas he entertained of Grod's holy laws and men's 
 obligations to morality ; and expressed to him fully 
 the errors under which he labored, by explaining 
 his delinquency of conduct in the eyes of Him who 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 103 
 
 seeth not as man seeth. Monmouth listened, but 
 supported his argument by showing that the com- 
 pact had been sanctified by mutual prayer for divine 
 guidance, and that happiness and peace had followed. 
 That she was one of the purest and best of women, 
 and in the sight of God they were bound by ties 
 which, if man condemned, He justified : for he felt 
 their prayers had been answered and blest. 
 
 Under such convictions — for it was evident he 
 was sincere — they recommended him to prayer and 
 supplication for the removal of the veil of error 
 which enveloped him, and urged him to beseech, 
 long, and earnestly, to be enlightened in his darkness, 
 and delivered, while life was yet spared, from its 
 thraldom ; for the sinner's hope remained open to 
 him and every penitent who applied for mercy. 
 
 This he promised, and they then left him, feeling 
 for the depravity he still so obstinately persevered in. 
 
 Monmouth looked upon these bishops as bigots, 
 and without any true Christian feelings. He had 
 heard of Dr. Tennison ; a pious divine, and to him 
 he resolved to have recourse, hoping his views would 
 be not only tolerated but extolled. In this idea he 
 was exceedingly mistaken. Dr. Tennison expressed 
 fully and faithfully his condemnation of the duke's 
 conduct with regard to the rebellion, — declared it to 
 be a crime of the highest order, since it violated 
 that Scripture which saith : " Fear God, and honor 
 the king." And, as to his connection with Lady 
 
104 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 Wentworth, be looked upon it in its true light; he 
 had violated another of God's commandments ; and 
 in his arguments of justification, told him he had 
 acted under a most fatal error. 
 
 Monmouth, notwithstanding, persevered in his 
 own belief in these matters ; and therefore pre- 
 cluded himself from the possibility of that spiritual 
 consolation the doctor came to offer. The duke wish- 
 ed to partake of the Holy Sacrament, while still 
 holding to these delusive opinions, but Tennison re- 
 fused to administer it to one who felt neither peni- 
 tence or remorse for crimes such as he had committed. 
 
 The hours sped their flight, and the time of his 
 execution drew nigh ; and miserable and determin- 
 ed as his wife had felt when she parted with him, 
 her affection prompted another visit to her erring 
 though beloved and suffering husband. She set 
 forth once more, accompanied by her children, to 
 see him, and this time Monmouth received her kind- 
 ly. It was the last time they were to meet on earth. 
 He gazed on his children with despair imprinted on 
 his once eloquent and beaming countenance — then, 
 relaxing for a moment, caressed and bade them fare- 
 well. His duchess was perfectly overwhelmed ; and, 
 forgetful of all the wrongs she had received, her an- 
 guish threatened almost to annihilate her on the spot. 
 Those who beheld it were so much affected at the 
 agon3 r she endured, that the stoutest shed tears. She 
 was conveyed from the Tower more dead than alive, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. |05 
 
 with her weeping children, with no other thought 
 filling her breast than misery at the irrevocable doom 
 that so certainly awaited him. 
 
 "Oh, woman's love, 'tis known to cling 
 Too often round a. worthless thing, 
 And still with fondness to adore 
 A heart whose love has long been o^er; 
 Beholding only in the past, 
 Devotion, too, too great to last ; 
 By cunning women drawn astray, 
 To walk in error's devious way. 
 But truth at bottom sure there lies, 
 And in this thought her tears she dries. 
 Thus woman's love excuses makes, 
 And still to hope herself betakes." 
 
 Monmouth beheld his wife's emotion with per- 
 fect apathy. He shed no tear, made no lamenta- 
 tion ; but bade her farewell in tones of bitter and 
 utter despair. This was about nine o'clock ; and ten 
 was the hour fixed for his execution. The coach to 
 convey him from the Tower was ready, and the 
 wretched man realized the awful n ess of his condi- 
 tion. He asked if Dr, Tennison could not accompany 
 him, and the bishops. The request was answered in 
 the affirmative, and they again urged upon him the 
 necessity of revoking his opinions of his past deeds. 
 But, strange to say, his answers were the same ; he 
 could not be brought to think himself in error, and 
 replied to their importunities with an unshaken be- 
 lief in his own innocence, 
 
 6 
 
106 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 The rebellion, he said, was commenced with the 
 holy and just purpose of delivering the nation from 
 Papacy. And Lady Wentworth had been the guar- 
 dian angel who had saved him from an erring life ; 
 declaring her piety and virtue all that was excellent 
 and lovely in woman, and that these had created 
 in him an attachment that could only terminate 
 with his existence. 
 
 Monmouth had many sympathizers in this his 
 hour of need. London was in a tumult of distress. 
 The idol of thousands of devoted hearts was being 
 led to the scaffold, to die for the Protestant religion. 
 Old and young lamented over the cruel sacrifice. 
 The houses were crowded with anxious and weeping 
 spectators as he passed, and nothing but sobbing and 
 wailing was heard. His mind seemed somewhat 
 cheered at beholding these instances of affection ; for, 
 as he passed the guards, when he reached the place 
 of execution, he smiled and bowed to them, and 
 then mounted the scaffold with a firm and easy sterj. 
 
 The surrounding multitude were in hopes that 
 he would have addressed them ; and there was an 
 intimation to that effect, to which he replied that the 
 solemnity of his situation did not permit his doing 
 so. "I die a Protestant of the Church of England,' ' 
 was all he said. But this was sufficient ; these few 
 words spoke volumes — he was a martyr to his faith ; 
 and again rushed forth the tide of pity and admira- 
 tion for the fate of one so brave and good. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 107 
 
 The divines now, for the last time, asked for a 
 revocation of his sentiments. To which he replied, 
 that he still firmly adhered to all he had said. Then 
 they burst forth, and with angry tones reproved his 
 wickedness, even with death staring him in the face. 
 He turned from what he considered their unfeeling 
 behavior, and addressing himself to the most notori- 
 ous of executioners, the celebrated Jack Ketch, asked 
 him to spare his sufferings as much as possible. 
 " Do not hack me," he cried, " as you did Lord Rus- 
 sel, striking him four or five times before you sever- 
 ed his head from his body. Let me see the axe." 
 Ketch gave it him, and he felt the blade, to assure 
 himself of its keenness. " It is not very sharp," he 
 remarked. " Here are six guineas for you ; and if 
 you do your work quickly, } r ou shall receive more 
 from my servant after I am dead." He then drew 
 off his coat and cravat, and bared his throat. Then, 
 calling his servant, gave him a tooth-pick for Lady 
 Wentworth. He then laid his head on the block, 
 and awaited the stroke of the executioner — the di- 
 vines kneeling at his side, and fervently praying 
 that his imperfect repentance would be accepted by 
 the divine mercy. 
 
 Jack Ketch was much softened by what the duke 
 had said to him, and still more hy the guineas he 
 had received. He tried to deal an effective stroke, 
 but his hands trembled, aud the first blow made but 
 a very slight impression. The duke rose and gazed 
 
108 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 reproachfully at him, while the hearts of the people 
 were agonized at the sight. 
 
 Ketch summoned all his coolness, and was deter- 
 mined to take a better aim this time ; but again he 
 was foiled — it effected nothing. A third and a fourth 
 blow followed, but the work remained incomplete. 
 The body moved, while the head, unsevered, exhi- 
 bited the gashes made in the neck, which so enraged 
 the beholders, that it was with difficulty they could 
 be restrained from rushing forth and tearing the 
 wretched executioner to pieces, for what they consi- 
 dered intentional barbarity, to please the king. Cries 
 of indignation rose from the crowd. " Throw the 
 monster off the rails," was heard on all sides. Ketch 
 was frightened, and flinging down the axe, exclaimed 
 aloud : " My heart fails within me, and I cannot do 
 the deed." He resumed it, however, again, and two 
 more strokes extinguished the last spark of life in 
 the amiable but erring and unfortunate Duke of 
 Monmouth. The head was severed at last by a knife. 
 Jack Ketch now trembled for himself; for the rage 
 of the assembled mob burst forth in groans and 
 hisses, and if they could have got hold of him they 
 would have taken summary vengeance. It was deem- 
 ed necessary, under these circumstances, to appoint 
 him a strong protective guard, when the execution 
 was over, to save his life, as he went from the scaf- 
 fold to his home. 
 
 The martyrdom, as it was called, being ended, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 109 
 
 many ascended the scaffold to dip their handker- 
 chiefs in his blood ; and, the crowd gradually dis- 
 persing, order and peace succeeded. But sadness 
 and melancholy reigned throughout the metropolis 
 for many weeks, and hatred to James increased. 
 
 Monmouth's remains were deposited in a coffin 
 covered with black velvet, then conveyed to St. Pe- 
 ter's Chapel, in the Tower, and buried beneath the 
 communion table, there to remain till the last trump 
 shall sound and the secrets of all hearts be revealed. 
 
CHAPTEE Y 
 
 We have traced the Duke of Monmouth's career 
 from the commencement to its melancholy and 
 wretched close ; and, dropping the tear of pity over 
 the grave of one in whom crime and virtue were so 
 strangely blended, pass on to give the details of what 
 yet remained, consequent to the rash and misguided 
 infatuation of contending for the crown of England, 
 without that strength and organization in a pure and 
 just cause, which is of itself an earnest of success. 
 
 James' unpopularity with the people — his Popish 
 administration, and tyrannical and morose temper — 
 seemed to form just grounds for an invasion of his 
 rights ; and in an evil hour, we find the unfortunate 
 Monmouth made an easy prey to a scheming, dis- 
 contented band, seeking only their own gratification 
 in this high-handed measure. 
 
 The misery it entailed, we have as yet seen only 
 in part ; but once more unrolling the scroll on which 
 are recorded the mighty deeds of the past, we will 
 behold, as through a glass, darkly, things and per- 
 sons which humanity and compassion would fain blot 
 from the mind and memory forever ; but incomplete- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. HI 
 
 ness of our task would be the result. TVe therefore 
 resume the path from which we have momentarily- 
 diverged, and, returning once more to the unfortu- 
 nate rebels languishing in Somersetshire jails and 
 prisons, behold a picture whose revolting cruelty is 
 without a parallel. 
 
 In addition to those hung by Kirke, more than 
 twenty were executed under Feversham's order, with 
 little less barbarity, without trial by either judge or 
 jury; and he would have gone on increasing the 
 number, had not the Bishop of Bath and Wells in- 
 terfered and declared such a summary measure to be 
 wilful murder. The prisoners, he maintained, were 
 entitled to a trial by the laws of their country, and to 
 be allowed, in the extremity of its administration, 
 the privileges it provided, in order to a preparation 
 for another world. 
 
 Feversham laughed to scorn this humane inter- 
 ference, but was obliged to yield to the reasoning of 
 this amiable and excellent divine. Dispatches were 
 therefore forwarded to the king to this effect ; upon 
 which the selection of a judge was determined on. 
 
 Feversham, like Kirke, was distinguished for a 
 cruel recklessness of character ; though they differed 
 greatly in its manifestation. Kirke's nature was 
 coarse and brutal, and he delighted in ferocity of 
 every description. The lowest devices of torture he 
 loved to glut over ; and a tale of misery succeeding 
 
113 BKITISH REBELLION. 
 
 any act of barbarity perpetrated by himself or his 
 soldiers, was sure to elicit roars of laughter. 
 
 In person he was low of stature, short necked, 
 with squat shoulders, while his physiognomy was 
 one which science stamps with the worst characte- 
 ristics of human kind. He had a low forehead, high 
 and protruding cheek-bones, sunken, small, ferret- 
 looking eyes ; short, snub nose, and a receding mouth, 
 with compressed, thin lips. His hair was red and 
 wiry, and a pair of bushy whiskers, descending to the 
 chin, lent to his aspect the crowning point of ugliness, 
 ferocity and ruffianism. A highwayman or a bandit 
 seemed to be the only ideas you would assimilate 
 with a man of his description ; for branded like the 
 brow of Cain was the visage of him whose soul de- 
 lighted in deeds fit only for the chronicles of the 
 prince of darkness. 
 
 His dress consisted of the most grotesque colors, 
 where he could assume them consistently with his 
 regimentals ; which, with his fat and ill-shaped 
 figure, always notwithstanding slovenly attired, 
 completed a whole which, happily for an imitative 
 world, is seldom seen. 
 
 Feversham was a Frenchman, a nephew to Tu- 
 renne, and was in many respects in direct contrast 
 to Kirke. He was tall and finely formed, and his 
 open, high, expansive forehead, acquiline nose, and 
 full round mouth, would have conveyed, but for a 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 113 
 
 pair of small, deep-set, gray and twinkling eyes, an 
 idea of frankness and nobleness of soul. Ambition 
 was his ruling and absorbing passion. Love of dis- 
 play, as a natural consequence, followed ; and bis 
 dress always exhibited the finished toilette of a cour- 
 tier. He was also essentially a man of pleasure, and 
 in city, camp or town, indulged freely in its pursuit. 
 He sought a victory of hearts as well as arms, and 
 where enjoyment of the hour was his only aim, his 
 victims excited no feelings either of pity or commis- 
 seration for betrayed and outraged virtue, or bro 
 ken, sorrowing hearts and desolated homes. 
 
 He sought to cover his vices under the name of 
 pleasure, and refined away their magnitude under 
 the sanction of the usages of war. In the pitiless ex- 
 ecution of the unfortunate rebels, he saw only the 
 gratification of his sovereign, and his own advance- 
 ment in his favor, in consequence. This interference 
 of the bishop cut short the length of the list he had 
 hoped to present ; but he had aided in the victory, 
 and the laurel awaited him, he knew, when he reach- 
 ed London, in the praises he felt his due when he 
 should present himself before the king. He ceased 
 his work, therefore, till the news reached him that 
 Lord Chief Justice Jeffrys was appointed to be the 
 judge in the trials of the prisoners which were to 
 take place, and then set off for London. 
 
 Desolate and wretched as the lot of the poor 
 rebels was, there was yet found one to pity and 
 
 6* 
 
114 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 compassionate their sufferings. One who, like How* 
 ard, went forth on his errand of mercy to minister 
 to their necessities, and pour the balm of consolation 
 into their wounded and depressed souls. Forgetful 
 of the cause in which they fought, as being opposed 
 to the tenets of his own faith, he thought only of 
 suffering humanity, and affording relief to the dis- 
 tressed, and he went forth with the wine and oil of 
 a truly Christian heart, to soothe the sorrowing, and 
 lift the fallen, by pointing them to that rest beyond 
 this world, purchased by the Son of God himself 
 for poor, erring, guilty man. 
 
 And his was not merely an empty form of words; 
 from his own private purse he fee'cl the jailors, so 
 as to induce them to soften their rigorous conduct 
 towards their prisoners, abridged his own limited 
 means, and sacrificed everything he possessed be- 
 yond the barest subsistence to add something to the 
 scanty fare of the prison allowance. 
 
 He was a bishop of the Roman Catholic religion, 
 and although wedded to many errors and supersti- 
 tions, exhibited in his whole life and conversation 
 the purest elements of Christianity in the practice 
 of those virtues so eminently enforced by its Divine 
 founder. Visiting and relieving the sick poor, cloth- 
 ing the naked, exploring the prisons and jails of the 
 surrounding country, and without regard to religion 
 or politics, remembering only that they were fellow- 
 beings who needed succor in their hour of adversity. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 115 
 
 It will be remembered, that on entering Bridge- 
 water the rebels defaced the cathedral, by taking 
 from it all the lead they could find to make bullets ; 
 and even proceeded to demolish the altar, till pre- 
 vented by Lord Grey. This was the beloved edifice 
 of Bishop Ken, who now so kindly ministered to 
 them ; where he preached to his people every Sab- 
 bath, and performed other pastoral rites belonging 
 to his faith. 
 
 But this formed no stumbling-block to the good 
 bishop ; his benevolence of character overcame these 
 objections as they rose in his mind, and, like the 
 rays of the glorious sun, dispelled every shadow of 
 rancor within his heart, as the monarch of the day 
 disperses the shade and gloom which envelopes all 
 things by his presence. 
 
 The rebels blessed his venerable approach to their 
 cells, and the smile of inward peace irradiating his 
 aged countenance, lit up in their disconsolate bosoms 
 many a bright gleam of hope and joy, that earth 
 boasted at least one who cared for the souls and 
 bodies of the unfortunate. He talked to them, 
 prayed with them, and their daily meals they knew 
 were improved by the provision made by this 
 good man. The dew of grateful love watered their 
 desponding hearts, and the hymn of thankfulness 
 and praise arose to Him who had sent one of his 
 servants to their relief in time of greatest need. 
 
 Life abounds in contrasts, and extremes meet on- 
 
110 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 all grounds. As Bishop Ken's character rises in 
 Christian beauty and benevolence before us, that of 
 Jeffrys presents itself in all the hideous deformity of 
 fiendish malignity. He was truly a man after the 
 king's own heart. Merciless, sanguinary, and de- 
 lighting in cruelty, as a glutton his food, James 
 selected him as his chief justice on this occasion, 
 knowing the hardness of his heart and the callous- 
 ness of his nature. The poor prisoners had lan- 
 guished in jail from July, and it was now Septem- 
 ber. The assizes were to commence on Jeffrys' 
 arrival, and cruelties perpetrated which caused the 
 appellation of the "Bloody Assizes" to rest on the 
 time and place of these trials, which have been hand- 
 ed down, and will continue to be so, probably to the 
 end of all things. 
 
 Nature, it would seem, had begun this moral de- 
 formity by giving him a person and voice singularly 
 hideous. When he spoke, from earliest childhood, 
 the sounds produced a strange sensation on the ear. 
 There was a ferocity in his tone, so remarkable that 
 its notice rarely escaped the most careless observer. 
 A horrible grin distinguished his features when he 
 attempted to smile, and his closed teeth the inward 
 passion he indulged whenever anything crossed him. 
 His boyhood was marked by every juvenile de 
 pravity. Robbing birds' nests, and plucking asunder 
 the nestlings while alive ; maiming cats and clogs ; 
 and cruelly misleading old and poor individuals who 
 
BUITISH REBELLION. 117 
 
 might happen to seek any information from the 
 young scapegrace, who thus manifested the germs of 
 his marked and inhuman manhood. 
 
 He was bred to the law, and early distinguished 
 himself in his way. He became established at the 
 
 * 
 
 Old Baily bar, and in this school for morals had an 
 opportunity for displaying the natural bent of his 
 talents. The most degraded and infamous charac- 
 ters were tried under his eye, and to question and 
 cross-question those offenders of public justice de- 
 volved on him. And he was well fitted for such an 
 employment, eliciting by interrogations of the most 
 debased description, the laugh of the court at his 
 ribald wit, but at the same time the degradation, in 
 public and private estimation of the man, to the 
 lowest level of corrupt humanity. Jeffrys cared little 
 for the impression he made on others, provided 
 things went well with himself. To rise in the world 
 was the mark he aimed at, and he cared little by 
 what means, so that the end was attained. His hard- 
 ened nature delighted in the daily task before him, 
 and with the triumph of a fiend he raved at the trem- 
 bling culprits before him, with language which, for 
 coarseness, not even the lowest dens of infamy 
 could surpass. He fairly bullied the witnesses, on 
 all occasions, to allowing every thing or charge he 
 chose to suggest or prefer against the unhappy 
 victims he tried, and committed them by wholesale 
 to the far off shores of the convict, with a feeling 
 
118 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 as exulting as it was revolting to every humane and 
 civilized mind. 
 
 His person was thin and meagre in the extreme, 
 and his hollow cheeks and sharp features gave to 
 his large and glaring eyes an aspect of ferocity in 
 perfect keeping with his character. People shrunk 
 from his gaze, as from the look of a serpent, and re- 
 coiled from the venom of his tongue with terrific 
 horror. His enmity was a fearful thing, so that few 
 dared to excite it by either censure or expostulation. 
 
 Yet, with all these revolting characteristics, he 
 was reckoned a useful member of the profession. 
 "He was a man of great dispatch, and accomplished 
 more than any of his predecessors in the same 
 time. The law was rigorously exercised and vigor- 
 ously maintained, and that was one of the nation's 
 greatest safeguards," was remarked of him. 
 
 Promotion followed these panegyrics, as a mat- 
 ter of course ; and, after a few years' training in his 
 Old Bailey preparatory, we find him elevated to the 
 rank of common sergeant, and from there stepping 
 into the recordership of London; his propensi- 
 ties strengthening under the favor he received, and 
 every form of humanity rooted out of that altar of 
 cruelty, set up in his corrupt heart. Fear has often 
 been said to be the parent of order. If so, the public 
 would have presented one unbroken feature of its 
 power. But rewards for apprehension found victims 
 without number, indicted for the most trivial offen- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 119 
 
 ces; but which, under him, were made to appear 
 crimes of enormous magnitude, and floggings and 
 pillories, in consequence, became almost an every 
 day occurrence. 
 
 Evil passions were therefore the constant and 
 current example, and, like the volcanic eruption of 
 Vesuvius, darkened the horizon by the foul and 
 lurid atmosphere that reigned with such gloomy 
 boding throughout the land. All were affected by 
 it, for favor rested with complacent eye on the man 
 who rose to eminence and wealth, and by a mis- 
 called conception of the term, gave it the name of 
 prospering in all he did. 
 
 To instance one perversion of public sentiment 
 in this matter: a poor woman was brought before 
 him for some trifling offence, and after frightening 
 her with remarks, at which modesty shrunk abashed, 
 in his wanton cruelty he ordered her to be whipped 
 at the cart's end ; and calling the executioner of this 
 revolting sentence, he desired him to " well flog her 
 delicate ladyship, and if she sung a pleasant tune to 
 his capers, to let it quicken his flying motions, and 
 the effect would be charming." Yet such an act 
 brought no censure. 
 
 Then, to commit people to the pillory seemed a 
 darling delight. Oh, how he laughed and clapped 
 his hands when he described the cruelties of that 
 horrid invention of torture and humiliation ! "Eotten 
 eggs are such a dainty pleasure, and will wash thy 
 
120 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 fair face so nicely ! brickbats comb thy sleek head ! " 
 Then the bystanders would break forth in a loud 
 laugh, too plainly indicating the morals of a commu- 
 nity, and the effect that precept and example have 
 upon the multitude, who have no other mode of in- 
 struction than that afforded by those whom station 
 in life has made their superiors. 
 
 Charles the Second professed Protestantism ; and 
 Jeffrys, without one thought beyond the profits to 
 be obtained by being either one thing or another, 
 was, like his sovereign, a professed Protestant of the 
 Church of England. But a dissenter of any kind he 
 loved to treat with his usual summary malignity, 
 whether Catholics or Presbyterians. Torment, in 
 short, was his chief delight ; and, so he had victims 
 on whom to exercise this element of his nature, he 
 cared not from what source. 
 
 His language on such occasions was, that the day 
 was approaching when non-conformists would be 
 served as they ought to be. That Catholic priests 
 might have the satisfaction of knowing that soon 
 they would be quartered alive ; or perhaps more di- 
 vertingly set upon saws and nicely divided — or else 
 warmed by a slow fire from which they had no 
 escape. 
 
 With such presentations he delighted to amuse 
 himself, to see the shrinking of the poor priests, as 
 he sketched their tortures in perspective. 
 
 His private life was such as might naturally be 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 121 
 
 expected from such an outward manifestation of 
 vicious corruption of feeling and principle. He 
 drank to excess ; and the midnight revel constantly 
 followed the enormities of his daily practices. There 
 the low brutishness of his nature wallowed, like the 
 swine, in his filth ; and, in a companionship with 
 men of his own order, he imbibed fresh supplies of 
 the spirit of evil, and increased energy for the exer- 
 cise of his demoniac propensities. 
 
 These boon partakers in these revcllings, how- 
 ever, were persons far below him in point of posi- 
 tion in life ; and, although around the festive board 
 it was "hail fellow, well met," when these orgies were 
 ended, and sleep had recalled reason from her ban- 
 ished throne to resume her dominion, his fury was 
 equal to the drunken love he expressed the previous 
 night, for admitting to his fellowship wretches as 
 low in the grade of society as they were debased in 
 morals and hackneyed in every species of vice ; so 
 that, whenever they approached him in public by 
 day, they were sure to meet a rude and contemptu- 
 ous repulse. The night, however, repaid them for 
 all. The bottle purchased a renewal of their friend- 
 ship and a forgiveness of their wrongs of pride. The 
 wild beast of the sun was the tamed beast of the 
 moon ; and stars rose and set over the dark places of 
 souls who sought that miry slough in which to revel 
 in all the depths of degradation. 
 
 Charles despised this man as he deserved, and 
 
122 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 spoke of liim in terms of great reprobation. But 
 then he was useful, and performed what no other 
 man would who either respected himself or valued 
 the good opinion of others. So that the necessity of 
 the times pleaded in his favor, while every attribute 
 of justice, humanity, and virtue, condemned him to 
 his real and infamous level. 
 
 When James, at the death of his brother, ascend- 
 ed the throne, and Papacy again set up its standard, 
 after a lapse of more than a century, the people of 
 England were thrown into a complete state of mourn- 
 ing. Nearly the whole population were Protestants, 
 and the bigotry which he was known to feel, incited 
 just fears for their future tranquillity. 
 
 The rebellion, as we have seen, grew out of this 
 state of public sentiment. Jeffrys, soon after James' 
 accession, became a peer of the realm, and managed, 
 with his usual dexterous villany, to subjugate all 
 other favorites to his own advantage. Lord Guild- 
 ford, the former favorite of the king, was displaced 
 from his high position, and made to yield in his fa- 
 vor. His summary proceedings towards disaffected 
 whigs, made him valuable as a protector and vindi- 
 cator of the government. 
 
 Algernon Sydney, one of those whose avowed 
 principles did honor to humanity, for the liberal 
 views he sought to disseminate, was executed under 
 Jeffrys' order in a manner so inhuman and so dis- 
 graceful, that even the rankest tories condemned its 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 123 
 
 shameful perpetration. But he gloried in being cen- 
 sured by the people. The sovereign's favor was his 
 only object, and James saw in him the exact person 
 for such like purposes and offices. He was his faith- 
 ful friend and servant, and one in all difficulties to 
 have recourse to. When, therefore, trials of the 
 rebels were suggested to the king, Jeffrys was im- 
 mediately selected to preside, as his nature would 
 here find a congenial task, and the revenge of his 
 sovereign, he knew, would find its highest grati- 
 fication in the utmost cruelty that mind or heart 
 could devise. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It was early in September when, with full instruc- 
 tions on this point, the lord chief justice set out 
 for Somersetshire, and in the administration of his 
 unlimited prerogative, as a hungry lion in his lair, 
 he gloated over the victims of his unheard-of bar- 
 barity, till the most hardened and vicious sickened at 
 the thought of such human monstrosity. 
 
 Jeffrys was accompanied by four other judges ; 
 and about this time Lord Guildford, keeper of the 
 privy seal, was taken ill. Although during his life 
 he had been more conscientious than Jeffrys, yet the 
 near prospect of death now revealed to him the many 
 enormities he had been guilty of in his servile wish 
 to serve an earthly sovereign, in direct ojrposition to 
 the will of his heavenly one. Troubled, and sorrow- 
 ful in mind, he determined on seeing James while 
 strength remained, to plead for mercy for the unfor- 
 tunate rebels, whose fate, he knew, if left entirely to 
 Jeffrys, would be cruel to the last degree. But he 
 pleaded in vain ; the king was invulnerable to all 
 entreaties on this point, and replied to Guildford's 
 supplications by taunting him with a want of loyalty 
 and affection both for his person and interest. Lord 
 
BRITISH REBELLION, 125 
 
 Guildford was too weak for any thing further ; he 
 retired from the royal presence with his conscience 
 lightened by the thought of having done his duty, if 
 he had not achieved his object. His death followed 
 in a few days after ; when a letter was immediately 
 dispatched to Jeffrys, from the king, informing him 
 that the reward of his faithful services icoidd be the 
 great seal — thus intimating his wishes, without ex- 
 pressing them, that mercy for Monmouth's follow- 
 ers would find no favor from him. How fully this 
 tool of power acted out the veiled suggestion of 
 implacable vengeance, will be seen by the revolting 
 recital of the following pages. 
 
 The military power throughout the country were 
 ordered to act in entire obedience to Jeffrys' com- 
 mand, and with every thing to abet his sanguinary 
 power, he arrived at Winchester, in the county of 
 Hampshire, and commenced the work he loved 
 so well. 
 
 This place was some distance from the seat of war, 
 but a number of the rebels having fled thither, he 
 resolved on making this his first resting place ; to 
 find out all he could by means of spies and scouts, 
 and then to perform his mission. 
 
 Two cases at once presented themselves. John 
 Nelthorpe, a lawyer, who had been outlawed for 
 joining in the Eye-house plot, had fought in the rebel 
 army, and immediately after the battle of Sedgemoor 
 had fled to Winchester, in company with John Hicks, 
 
126 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 a non-conformist divine, who had also joined the in- 
 surgent troops. These man on their arrival, fearing 
 to present themselves at an inn, had gone to a house 
 beyond the town, occupied by a widow, and repre- 
 senting themselves as two benighted and tired tra- 
 vellers, the compassionate lady gave them lodgings 
 for the night and fed them at her own table. 
 
 This was the Lady Alice Lisle, now far advanced 
 in years. Her husband had been one of Cromwell's 
 adherents, and had sat in the long parliament ; but 
 she had never shared his political views, always re- 
 taining the high sense of loyalty she had been nur- 
 tured in from her earliest childhood. Their conju- 
 gal happiness, notwithstanding this difference of sen- 
 timent, had suffered no diminution ; she was exem- 
 plary in her conduct both as a wife and mother, and 
 possessed a character for amiability and benevolence 
 which endeared her to the hearts of all who knew 
 her. A tale of sorrow always called forth the tear 
 of sympathy, and a ready redress, so far as laid in 
 her power ; and when these two individuals, worn 
 with fatigue and disappointment, presented them- 
 selves before her, she saw only their distress, kindly 
 took them in, and ministered to their wants. 
 
 This was discovered, and a warrant immediately 
 issued for their apprehension. Her house was sur- 
 rounded by soldiers, under Feversham's orders. The 
 search commenced, Hicks was found in an adjoining 
 malt-house, and Nelthorpe in the chimney. They 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 127 
 
 were taken and conveyed to the jail, to await their 
 trial, and Lady Alice Lisle with them. Dragged, 
 without regard to her venerable age, her Christian 
 character, and those virtues which had made her the 
 admiration of all who knew her, to occupy a loath- 
 some dungeon, for the exercise of that benevolence 
 to suffering humanity which should have excused 
 even a knowledge of the crime of the offenders, of 
 which she was entirely ignorant. 
 
 Lady Alice was brought up for trial first, and her 
 entrance in the court excited a painful sensation 
 throughout. Many ladies of her acquaintance were 
 present, and on seeing one whom they so deeply 
 loved reduced to such suffering, and in a situation 
 so affecting, burst into tears, and their sobbings filled 
 the whole place. The character of Jeffrys was two 
 well known to indulge hope in a single breast ; and 
 as a lamb brought before a lion they regarded their 
 beloved frfend. 
 
 The first witness called to testify against her was 
 named Dunne. He had been present at the arrest of 
 the rebels ; and, on being interrogated, was going to 
 relate the simple facts in such a manner as would 
 entirely exculpate Lady Lisle from all blame, by 
 stating that her receiving these men was like her 
 constant habits to the unfortunate. But Jeffrys inter- 
 fered, and stormed and raved to such a degree that 
 he was frightened almost out of his wits — calling 
 him a liar and snivelling presbyterian villain. " Gen- 
 
128 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 tlemen of the Jury," lie exclaimed, " take notice of 
 the carriage of this fellow; a Turk is a saint to such 
 as he is. O, what a generation of vipers I live 
 amongst." 
 
 Lady Alice sat in the court with her^soul weighed 
 down with woe. "0 religion," she thought, "that un- 
 der its name horrors like these should come forth. 
 O, mockery to its Divine founder !" And her heart 
 sunk within her at the issue she saw so likely to 
 follow this barbarian's conduct. 
 
 Dunne at length said, "I do not know what to 
 do or say, my Lord," so completely bewildered was 
 this well-meaning man by the ferocit}^ of the looks, 
 tones and manners of Jeffrys. " 0, the brazen-faced, 
 impudeut villain," again he burst forth. "Yon, 
 gentlemen of the crown, see that an information of 
 perjury be preferred against this scoundrel." 
 
 When the witnesses had finished all they were 
 able to say, which amounted to very little, as will 
 be seen by the above, being all browbeaten after the 
 same fashion, Lady Alice was called on to give her 
 defence. 
 
 She arose tremblingly, and at once proceeded to 
 say that she had taken in Hicks, from knowing war- 
 rants were out against him for field-preaching; but 
 being a minister of the gospel, had never dreamed of 
 his having been concerned in the rebellion, and taking 
 up arms against the government. " I succoured him," 
 she said with her sweet mild voice, " because I 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 129 
 
 thought he was persecuted while in the service of his 
 Divine Master, but am innocent from any other cause 
 in his behalf." The court could not but regard what 
 she said as exculpating her from all blame, and at 
 once concluded so innocent and gentle a being must 
 be discharged. But in this idea they were greatly mis- 
 taken ; for no sooner had she finished than Jeffrys 
 broke forth with, " A snivelling Presbyterian ! I tell 
 you there is not one of you canting Presbyterians but 
 had a hand in the rebellion — you are all a set of 
 villains. Presbyterianism is only another word for 
 villany of all kinds. They are all knaves, and thou 
 amongst the nutnber. They are the wretches who 
 have disturbed the peace of the kingdom for half a 
 century. They plucked royalty from the throne once, 
 and would do so again. Your husband joined in this 
 league, and received his honors for his traitorous 
 villany. Madam, you know it, and the dangerous 
 principles you have derived from him must be ar- 
 rested in their progress. Gentlemen of the jury, 
 whigs and dissenters have done their work of des- 
 truction, causing more bloodshed and anarchy than 
 any other known element on the face of the earth." 
 
 The jury retired. But his impatience broke forth 
 soon after with words of loud wonder and astonish- 
 ment at the time they were taking in a case that a 
 moment was sufficient to decide. And if they did 
 not at once do so, he would lock them up all night. 
 
 Fear seems to have had an entire influence on all 
 7 
 
130 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 who appeared before him, witnesses and jnry ; and 
 we well know how this can sway and even paralyse 
 the judgment. There certainly was nothing in this 
 amiable woman worthy of death. The simple exer- 
 cise of her benevolent feelings resulted in her being 
 taken up, but her words showed she knew not that 
 these men had clone aught offensive to the govern- 
 ment. For his persecution for preaching she had 
 compassionated Hicks, and the other as his friend. 
 What verdict could a jury award but an acquittal 
 of guilt, from a statement like this ? 
 
 Her gentle manners, her sweet voice, whose sil- 
 very tones penetrated every heart present, and whose 
 amiable and benevolent character filled every tongue 
 with praise, caused an anxiety the most intense ; and 
 when the jury entered, that dense crowd held their 
 breath till the foreman, on being interrogated, gave 
 his answer, and Guilty sounded through the court. 
 * The feeling it produced may be imagined but not 
 described ; and when the prisoner was conducted to 
 her cell, tears of anguish fell from every eye at the 
 thought of such glaring injustice. 
 
 The following morning the barbarian Jeffrys 
 pronounced the sentence, that she should be burnt 
 alive that very day. But the indignation excited 
 against him was so great that he feared to carry it 
 into execution. Many even of the devoted adherents 
 to the crown remonstrated against such cruelty, while 
 the clergy of Winchester Cathedral put in their plea 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 131 
 
 for a mitigation of this cruel doom. Jeffrys was a 
 little afraid of too much bravado towards them, as 
 they were in high repute with the tory party, and 
 conceded five days to the unfortunate prisoner. 
 
 During that time every public effort was made in 
 her favor. But the known cruelty of James' nature 
 prevented much from being anticipated from his 
 clemency to one whom his brother-spirit in blood- 
 thirstiness had condemned. Ladies of high rank 
 were deeply interested, and petitions flowed in from 
 all quarters. Even Clarendon, the brother-in-law of 
 the king, pleaded for her ; but he turned a deaf ear 
 to all their entreaties for her pardon, granting only a 
 commutation of her sentence to being hanged in- 
 stead of being burnt. 
 
 In less than a week she was brought forth from 
 her dungeon to ascend the place of execution in 
 Winchester market. During her confinement she had 
 wasted much, but the serenity of her countenance 
 indicated the inward peace she enjoyed. And amid 
 the bleeding anguished hearts of thousands, she was 
 put to death, leaving behind a testimony of the pow- 
 er of that blessed religion in whose cause she suffered, 
 and another stigma on the character of a monarch 
 who stands alone as a ruler, for that savage implaca- 
 bility which could consign an aged innocent woman 
 to the scaffold, for the exercise of that virtue which 
 is the highest feminine adornment. 
 
 The next came Mrs. Gaunt, another aged widow. 
 
132 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 A lady of high esteem, an anabaptist, but extremely 
 liberal in her religious views, exercising her benefi- 
 cence on all classes and professions of doctrinal be- 
 lief, wherever it was needed. But her being a dis- 
 senter formed a sufficient ground for the uncon- 
 trolled ferocity of Jeffrys. She was brought before 
 him charged with harboring rebels and traitors, so 
 far back as the Eye-house plot. The real nature of 
 her offence now was receiving into her house and 
 concealing one of Monmouth's men. When the man 
 presented himself before her hospitable dwelling, 
 with his clothes torn by hiding from his pursuers in 
 brakes and woods, almost fainting with hunger and 
 thirst ; regardless of the penalties proclaimed for re- 
 ceiving and succoring such, with the kind compas- 
 sion that had always distinguished her, she found for 
 him what she had hoped would prove a safe and se- 
 cure hiding place in an out-house at the outskirts of 
 her estate, used as a shelter from the elements for her 
 cows. First providing him with a change of linen 
 and other necessaries, and with food and water. She 
 knew her danger well, but supported by those scrip- 
 tures which said, " Hide the outcasts, betray not him 
 that wandereth." Isaiah, 16 : 3, 4 verses. " Let 
 my outcasts dwell with thee." Obadiah, 13, 14 ver. 
 " Thou shouldest not have given him up that escap- 
 ed in the day of distress," &c. — she turned not away 
 when he sought a refuge and succor at her hands. 
 When she was brought into court, her appearance 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 133 
 
 indicated the perfect composure of her mind. She 
 had been imprisoned some weeks, but her confine- 
 ment had not wrought its usual Avork. Her bearing- 
 was erect and fearless, and she had not wasted, but 
 her feelings may be better imagined than described 
 when the witness first called up against her was the 
 very man whom she had so humanely befriended. 
 
 " And now, fellow," began Jeffrys, " what have 
 you to say about this woman ? speak out freely, she 
 belongs to the race of dissenters, and they are all 
 rogues." 
 
 It seems scarcely credible that this man could 
 turn against a benefactress who had periled her life 
 for him in the hour of his great extremity ; but it 
 is nevertheless true. To gain the reward and the 
 indemnity from punishment proclaimed to all who 
 should bring evidence against persons harboring 
 rebels, had induced this poor wretch to violate the 
 most sacred and touching of all earthly obligations ; 
 for what can equal that of staking a life for the re- 
 lief Qf another, and that other an utter stranger, 
 whose poor and suffering situation alone pleaded for 
 compassion ? 
 
 When interrogated thus by the judge, he gave 
 the particulars of the case as they really were. The 
 thought of his own exemption from the doom of so 
 many of his unfortunate associates, seemingly blind- 
 ing his judgment to all considerations beyond. But 
 his eye studiously avoided that of Mrs. Gaunt. She 
 
134 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 fixed her gaze of consternation on his face, while 
 giving his testimony to the exulting Jeffrys, but 
 said nothing in return to such monstrous ingratitude. 
 When the man had finished, he broke forth with 
 " Good ! you are an honest Peter Lumpkin, you are. 
 And I hope your example of showing up these be- 
 nevolent ladyships, who are so zealous in acting 
 against their king, will effectually put a stop to such 
 doings for the future." He then pronounced the 
 sentence upon the prisoner, in the fiendish tones 
 which distinguished his voice at all times, but height- 
 ened considerably in malignity when giving full 
 scope to his cruel nature on such occasions. Turn- 
 ing to Mrs. Gaunt, he vociferated, " You are to be 
 taken at once to the place of execution, madam, on 
 a hurdle, and then your body is to be burned until 
 you are dead." She heard this horrible doom pro- 
 nounced with a composure which surprised all who 
 beheld her, and was led forth by the guard to the 
 place appointed, unresistingly and uncomplaining. 
 Her heroism penetrated the heart of every beholder, 
 and almost every eye shed tears at her fate, regard- 
 ing her as a martyr for the Christian fortitude she 
 displayed and the principles from which she acted. 
 The straw and wood, which was so soon to con- 
 sume jLer, was piled on by busy hands. On reaching 
 it, she stooped down and put the straw in such a 
 manner that it would soonest ignite the whole. Then 
 addressing the assembled multitude, she said : " You 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 135 
 
 know the offence which is attributed to me : I plead 
 guilty to the charge. In obedience to my Lord's 
 command, I took the stranger in, clothed and fed the 
 hungry, and sheltered the outcast. For this I am to 
 be put to a cruel death. My Saviour suffered an ex- 
 cruciating death ; and shall I complain and shrink 
 from it ? No. And in his name, and with his exam- 
 ple before me, I pray for my murderers. Father," 
 lifting her eyes towards Heaven, and clasping her 
 hands, " forgive them, they know not what they do." 
 
 William Penn, the Quaker, was one who wit- 
 nessed her being tied to the stake, where she was 
 consumed ; and declared to a friend after, that he 
 had never heard or read of anything that so truly 
 breathed the spirit of Christ, as the patience and 
 meekness with which she bore this unjust and un- 
 feeling expiation of the law's most cruel decree. 
 This was the last female who suffered in England 
 for political crimes. 
 
 Hicks' and ISTelthorpe's execution followed soon 
 after. Nelthorpe was hanged, but Hicks was burnt. 
 He was a Presbyterian divine, and had often preach- 
 ed in the open fields to hundreds of hearers, who, 
 knowing James' zeal for the Catholic religion, loved 
 to rally round the Protestant banner wherever it was 
 unfurled, and to drink in the doctrines most dear to 
 their hearts. Jeffrys belonged to the Church of 
 England, and hated Popery as much as he did non- 
 conformity ; but then the great seal was in view, and 
 
136 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 to please his sovereign, both interest and nature con- 
 curred to the commission of cruelties which will 
 render the autumn of 1685 one to be remembered 
 as long as our language shall last and memory exist. 
 
 When Jeffrys had finished his work in Hamp- 
 shire, he proceeded to Dorsetshire, and in the prin- 
 cipal town took up his quarters. Then, with a 
 bravado of character natural to one lost not only to 
 humanity, but all sense of shame, he ordered the 
 court-room to be gorgeously hung with scarlet or 
 crimson velvet — and, previously to entering on his 
 work of death, attended church. 
 
 The edifice was one of rare and picturesque 
 beauty, and stood within an enclosure surround- 
 ed with yew and cypress trees, where vaults and 
 grave-stones studded the verdant sod. It was al- 
 most entirely covered with ivy, apt companion of 
 decay. In a flaunting equipage Jeffrys drove up 
 to the gate, and with a red, bloated face, pushed into 
 the door, — the peaceful inhabitants shrinking from 
 his gaze, as from some monstrous reptile ; for well 
 they knew the merciless cruelties that were so soon 
 to follow on the poor prisoners languishing in the 
 jails and prisons of the surrounding country. All 
 through Dorsetshire, Monmouth's memory was cher- 
 ished with almost idolatrous fondness. Here the 
 brightest hopes had been indulged for his success ; 
 and here now languished thousands of once happy 
 families, in misery and gloom, not only for the fate 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 137 
 
 of their beloved leader, but for their own dear fa- 
 thers, brothers, and husbands, who were so soon to 
 be butchered by this most inhuman judge. Gloom 
 and sorrow pervaded every soul, and their prayer to 
 Heaven was to soften the stony and relentless heart 
 of him in whom was placed the power to dispose as 
 he willed, so many to an ignominious death. 
 
 The amiable divine who officiated on this occa- 
 sion, urged upon his hearers the virtue of mercy, 
 charging those who refused to listen to its dictates, 
 that a day of reckoning would surely come, when 
 they who showed none, for their obduracy, would 
 receive none in return from the final Judge of all 
 the earth. 
 
 Jeffrys seemed wretched while the discourse pro- 
 ceeded ; he knit his brows and clenched his teeth ; 
 then grinned his horrible and terrific grin. When 
 the service was over, which was evidently a great 
 relief, he hurried out of the pew, jumped into his 
 carriage, and, giving orders to his coachman, the 
 horses galloped off at full speed. Jeffrys, like Kirke, 
 mingled with his cruelty an inordinate love of mo- 
 ney ; and the number of prisoners who were to be 
 tried by him, seemed to present another prospect of 
 reward beside the possession of the great seal. Thus, 
 while he would cause the most horrifying cruelties, 
 in revenge for their disloyalty to their sovereign, to 
 reach the king's ears, he could still, in a private 
 way, through the medium of their purse-strings, be 
 
 7* 
 
138 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 a little compassionate to those who -had the good for- 
 tune to have anything available. 
 
 The poorer portion of the rebels were, therefore, 
 selected as the first victims, and death promised to 
 hundreds a happy release from their sufferings. 
 
 From the close of the battle many had lain in 
 loathsome dungeons, with their wounds undressed ; 
 vermin had bred in them, and rendered their ago- 
 nies almost intolerable. The hand of charity and 
 piety had relieved some, but by far the greater part 
 remained unthought of and uncared for. When, 
 therefore, they were conducted from their prisons to 
 the court, an end of their suffering was a consoling 
 reflection. They were, for the most part, reduced to 
 mere skeletons, their eyes glaring from sunken sock- 
 ets, and their cheek-bones almost cutting through 
 their skins. 
 
 Then, when brought, one by one, before their fe- 
 rocious judge, trembling with weakness and sinking 
 with fear, Jeffrys would commence his brow-beating 
 and harrowing language, conjuring up visions of the 
 figure they were so soon to cut as they hung at the 
 cross-roads, swinging in the breeze, and their irons 
 yielding sweet music to the merry milk-maids as they 
 passed along ; while their wives and children would 
 admire the pretty picture hung up there for them to 
 gaze at. Then he would laugh, joke, and shout, from 
 the exhilaration produced by liberal potations of 
 brandy, and proceed to his delightful task. 
 
BRITTSH REBELLION. 139 
 
 To lighten his labors, as he termed them, and 
 lessen time as much as possible, he told the prisoners 
 that the surest path to mercy was to plead guilty. 
 And the poor creatures catching at the idea, as a 
 drowning man at a straw, eagerly obeyed the sug- 
 gestion, and were rewarded for their credulity by 
 their immediate condemnation ; and were ordered to 
 be hung up as soon as the utterance of the law per- 
 mitted. Thus two hundred and ninety-two were 
 disposed of in Dorsetshire, and the face of that beau- 
 tiful country was rendered horrible by sights at 
 which the heart grew sick. 
 
 On every village green, where the sports of the 
 happy peasants had often made the air resound with 
 merriment, a gibbet, with its victim decaying, exhi- 
 bited its fearful spectacle and impregnated the at- 
 mosphere with its loathsome impurity. Superstition 
 added to the horrors of the scene, and tales of ghosts 
 dancing in the midnight, when the moonlight ren- 
 dered visible every object that surrounded the peace- 
 ful but sorrowing dwellings of the rustics, were cir- 
 culated and listened to with the awful solemnity the 
 mournful state of the times so readily excited. 
 
 At every place, also, where two roads met, a re- 
 bel was suspended, to increase, if that were possible, 
 the terror that pervaded all ranks and grades of so- 
 ciety. Scarcely a being ventured out after sunset, 
 shapes of ghostly horror, of every form and color, be- 
 ing said to walk at large in high- ways and by-ways, 
 
U BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 and in lanes and avenues, where nature's garniture 
 of leaves and flowers decked all things with loveli- 
 ness; and the calm beauty of the declining year shed 
 a halo, as it were, of love and peace on every thing 
 around ; and were believed to hold their court 
 nightly that they might prepare Jeffrys' evil spirit 
 for the cruelties of the morrow. 
 
 Now followed the consideration of bribes. A 
 committee was therefore formed to negotiate with 
 the richer rebels, and a secret understanding given, 
 that pardon, even in their extreme case, could be pur- 
 chased. This was no sooner made known than hope 
 began to spring up in many a forlorn heart. Many 
 a widow, sorrowing in long perspective, rejoiced, 
 even though at the prospect of losing the accumu- 
 lations of years of toil. Many a youthful pair, com- 
 mencing life with no possession but health and love 
 for each other, had worked hard, with the reward 
 in view of one day obtaining a portion of land and 
 a cottage which they might call their own. And a 
 home where clustering olive branches crowned their 
 happy and contented board had been attained by 
 many a hardy son of the soil ; together with little 
 farms, with cows for the supply of their dairy, and 
 horses for the plough and the team. Many of these 
 possessions, (leaving their once comfortable owners 
 utterly destitute,) passed into the hands of the insa- 
 tiate Jeffrys, as the purchase of their pardon and re- 
 turn to their stripped, yet rejoicing families. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 141 
 
 There was one case which was considered ex- 
 tremely and cruelly brutal, even in those barbarous 
 days ; a case where age and gray hairs should have 
 spared the lash, at least, of the scorpion's tongue. 
 An old man of some four score years, reduced to 
 the maintenance of parish-pay, was accused of wish- 
 ing success to Monmouth's cause, being a Presby- 
 terian, and zealously attached to the Protestant reli- 
 gion. He had been imprisoned since Jeffrys' arrival, 
 and was brought into court tottering beneath the 
 weight of years, his gray hair flowing over his bent 
 shoulders, and his dimmed sight scarcely allowing 
 him to grope his way without being guided at every 
 step ; this poor old man presented to every humane 
 heart an object of so pitiable a nature, that few could 
 behold him unmoved. As he entered, Jeffrys began 
 with — " 0, you old wretch ! a Presbyterian, aint 
 you? I can smell one of your tribe forty miles 
 off. O, the misery you have brought upon the 
 nation ! The halter is very nearly round thy neck, 
 thou barefaced rascal — thou impudent old rebel 
 against thy sovereign. I'll teach thee to be more 
 loyal for the future. I'll prevent thee from doing 
 any more mischief." Many of the most bitter tories, 
 pitying the condition of one so full of years and sor- 
 rows, interposed and said: " Beside his age and in- 
 firmities he is on the parish, my lord." 
 
 "Then the parish shall be quickly relieved," he 
 replied, " of such a wicked burden." 
 
142 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 Tears coursed silently down the prisoner's fur- 
 rowed cheeks, but he answered not a word ; and he 
 left the court with the sentence of death upon hi in, 
 which was to take place that evening. 
 
 Jeffrys delighted to show his power as well as 
 his fearlessness of public opinion. Many of the sur- 
 rounding noblemen had greatly censured his atro- 
 cious conduct for butchering, robbing, and bullying 
 their poor neighbors, which reaching Jeffrys' ears, 
 caused him to resolve on vengeance. At the gate 
 of the Earl of Stowell he ordered the corpse of a 
 rebel to be suspended; at the church door, where 
 another was in the habit of worshipping, he ordered 
 one to be hung, and to remain. This dreadful sight 
 the poor villagers were compelled to witness during 
 their devotions, and to behold their acquaintance 
 and kinsman deprived even of the decent interment 
 of his mouldering frame. The nobleman whom it 
 was intended to punish, refrained from his usual 
 attendance at the sanctuary ; and his family, not 
 being able to endure the revolting sight of such a 
 desecration of public and private feelings, also ab- 
 sented themselves from their attendance on the in- 
 struction of their spiritual leader. These enormities, 
 however, still proceeded, and as Jeffrys enriched 
 himself with spoils, the poverty of the peasants in 
 creased to a frightful extent. The confusion that 
 reigned everywhere rendered employment scarce, and 
 the country was flooded with beggars ; men, women, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 143 
 
 and children, having no other resource. Their once 
 thriving, and in many instances lovely cottages, 
 where the rose had been taught to climb around the 
 shaded porch, redolent with bloom and perfume, 
 had been yielded to the rapacity of this cruel man. 
 But life was precious ; wives and children possessed 
 a husband and a father whom they had long con- 
 sidered lost, and heaven, they trusted, would give 
 them bread, and their water was sure. Whole fami- 
 lies, homeless, penniless wanderers, were compelled 
 to seek from their richer neighbors the only means of 
 existence ; and mothers and babes thus exposed to 
 the elements, in many instances met with untimely 
 deaths. And if any of the pardoned were known to 
 have secreted anything, or to have obtained gifts of 
 any value, it was scented out, and agents officially 
 collected a basket of eggs, a piece of bacon, or a bag 
 of corn from persons in the last stage of povertjr and 
 starvation. 
 
 Monmouth's defeature and cruel death, when in 
 the act of struggling for the ascendancy of the Pro- 
 testant religion, greatly tended to deepen the re- 
 ligious feelings of the times. A sincere and fervent 
 piety, therefore, prevailed throughout the counties 
 where his popularity was greatest. Most of these 
 were dissenters, and held their meetings for prayer 
 and supplication to the Almighty, for a deliverance 
 from the scourge that then swept his people from the 
 earth. And it is a remarkable feature of that period, 
 
144 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 that tempests raged with exceeding violence, both on 
 sea and land, doing much, damage. And those re- 
 ligious bands, when they met, with a sad satisfaction 
 talked over those disasters, and seemed to derive a 
 melancholy comfort from the thought, that God had 
 sent forth his judgments to show his people that his 
 just indignation was kindled against those evil doers 
 who despoiled the earth with their barbarity, and 
 spread misery and gloom, like a panoply, over a 
 country flowing with milk and honey ; for the year 
 had been exceedingly abundant in crops of all kinds. 
 Jeffrys knew how the various religious sects 
 regarded his doings ; whenever, therefore, a culprit 
 of more than ordinary reputation for piety was 
 brought before him, his rage knew no bounds. And 
 when he would question them on their wickedness, 
 in rebelling against their rightful sovereign, their 
 replies in many instances were firm and unflinching. 
 They would acknowledge no compunction, own no 
 error in what they had done. They were servants 
 of Christ, and had fought in his cause. Even on the 
 scaffold they refused to listen to the exhortations of 
 the clergymen who besought them to express their 
 sorrow and repentance for what they had done. 
 With hymns and praises on their tongues, they 
 yielded up their lives to Him who, they doubted not, 
 would arise and dispel the mists of ignorance which 
 blinded the wicked hearts and minds of the ene- 
 mies of their Lord. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 145 
 
 A pious officer, who had belonged to the Par- 
 liamentary army of Cromwell, whose age almost 
 precluded him from service, had joined Monmouth, 
 and fought in the battle of Seclgemoor. He was 
 zealously opposed to monarchy, in all its forms, 
 owning no king but his Creator. Fearless and un- 
 daunted he stood in the court harranguing Jeffrys 
 for his cruelty, for putting so many martyrs to 
 death, describing the doom of such in the theological 
 phraseology of Cromwell's time, and concluding by 
 saying, he was in his Master's hand, who, if he saw 
 good to remove him to his presence, through his in- 
 strumentality, he was willing to go. Jeffrys fiercely 
 replied: Sirrah, thou hast anticipated the reward 
 of thy disloyalty. He was sentenced to be hanged ; 
 but the horses being frightened by some means 
 in conveying him to execution, he thought and 
 said that the Lord had placed an angel in the 
 way, as he did before Balaam's ass, and though 
 invisible to those who accompanied him, was 
 plainly seen by the poor animals, who thus refused 
 to proceed. 
 
 When he arrived at the scaffold he addressed 
 the assembled multitude in the language of his fer- 
 vent and sincere piety. Said he was going to join 
 his fellow-martyrs before the throne of the Eedeemer. 
 A sacred enthusiasm lit up his countenance, and 
 lifting his eyes to heaven, cried with a loud voice 
 to the Almighty ruler of heaven and earth, to 
 
146 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 avenge his cause, and scatter his enemies like chaff 
 before the wind. The halter being placed around 
 his neck, he was soon launched into that world 
 where it was evident his best affections had long 
 been garnered up. 
 
 The chronicles of that period have preserved the 
 sayings and writings left by these devoted Chris- 
 tians, and they were besides preserved in the hearts 
 and memories of thousands, as the mementos of 
 martyrs to their faith; attesting by their blood the 
 power of that religion which they loved and cher- 
 ished so deeply, with every degradation and suffer- 
 ing which mortality could endure before their eyes 
 — with a courage that no human torture could daunt 
 or destroy, lessen or corrupt. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 But all these barbarous executions caused the 
 more exultation to Jeffrys. lie triumphed in the 
 lengthened and still lengthening list of his victims ; 
 and boasted the number he had hung, over every re- 
 curring midnight and besotted revel. The rebels' 
 religious belief and support, under their dreadful 
 doom, formed a fruitful theme of merriment around 
 his festive board ; and the misery everywhere visible 
 in the surrounding country was hiccupped forth by 
 him and his boon companions in tones and shouts 
 more in keeping with the howls of a company of 
 Bedlamites, than human beings still in the possession 
 and enjoyment of reason. The sparkling glass, the 
 ribald song, circulated at those unhallowed seasons, 
 until the maddened brain reeled beneath its burden, 
 and, like hogs, they fell beneath the tables, and lay 
 stretched and dead upon the floors, till the fumes 
 evaporated through their drenched pores, and reliev- 
 ed the density of an accumulation on those delicate 
 fibres, which, without such an outlet, must have de- 
 stroyed them for ever. 
 
 The number hanged and burnt during the 
 "bloody assizes" exceeded three hundred, and is 
 without a parallel in any case of a like nature upon 
 
148 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 record. Although in previous instances of a rebel- 
 lion being rjut down, no one thought of ascribing 
 clemency to the crown ; still on no former occasion 
 was a judge found who could sink every attribute of 
 humanity to such a degree as Jeffrys did. Cruel and 
 avaricious by nature, ambition formed yet another 
 strong ingredient in a character that required no spur 
 to the indulgences of his blood-thirsty propensities. 
 
 Every refined and elevating attribute of soul he 
 loved to crush and subdue, without regard to sex or 
 age. A most painful instance of this nature occurred 
 at the close of the Dorsetshire trials. A young gen- 
 tleman, the only son of parents who ranked high 
 with the gentry of the country, had been brought up 
 and educated with great care for the bar. His per- 
 sonal attractions were great, and his manners were 
 polished and elegant ; he also possessed a goodness 
 of disposition and a fame for acquirements which 
 caused him to be distinguished far above most others 
 of his class. Unfortunately for him, he became one 
 of Monmouth's partizans, and used his influence, 
 wherever he could command it, in augmenting the 
 number of those whom he trusted one day would 
 obtain for the nation a Protestant monarch. 
 
 Previously to this he had won the affections of 
 a lovely girl, who was greatly distinguished for her 
 feminine graces and accomplishments. She eagerly 
 joined in the enthusiasm of her lover ; and their 
 subsequent meetings, after Monmouth's proclama- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 149 
 
 tion at Lyme, were occupied by the all-engrossing 
 subject. 
 
 Their conversation in the shadowed grove, or be- 
 side the rippling beach, or with their assembled 
 friends, amid the genial delights of the drawing-room, 
 was tempered with the pleasures in perspective, of 
 a change of sovereigns, from that of the morose and 
 Popish James, to the idol of so many hearts, the 
 fascinating and amiable Monmouth. This devoted 
 pair were betrothed, and the bridal favors ordered 
 for the happy occasion which was to unite for ever 
 two loving and congenial spirits. It was to take 
 place the day after Monmouth's victory, which at 
 this period, with the sanguine hopes and expecta- 
 tions of youth, they assured themselves, was near. 
 The sentiments of the gallant young man were well 
 known, and he became a mark for both civil and 
 military tories. When, therefore, the battle of Sedge- 
 moor decided in favor of James, he was suddenly 
 laid hold of and lodged in prison, where, to the un- 
 speakable anguish of his fond parents, and her to 
 whom he was dearer than life, he languished till 
 Jeffrys had almost emptied the jails and prisons, and 
 was then brought out to take his trial. Brutal as he 
 had always been, it seemed he could excel even him- 
 self on this occasion. The young man's affianced 
 bride, in her deep devotion, determined to be present 
 at his trial ; but when she heard the coarse and bul- 
 lying language of Jeffrys addressed to one whose 
 
150 
 
 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 education and refinement of character had won for 
 him the love and admiration of her young and dot- 
 ing heart, her agony so completely overcame her 
 that she fainted, and was borne senseless from the 
 court. 
 
 The prisoner was not wealthy, and a small bribe 
 was not enough, in a case like his, to purchase a par- 
 don ; and besides, the position of the parties would 
 have entailed an odium on Jeffiws, of so public a na- 
 ture, that policy, even in one so shameless, forbade 
 his resorting to it. He was sentenced to be exe- 
 cuted the next day. 
 
 When this was known to the parents and the un- 
 fortunate girl, it is impossible to convey any idea of 
 their wretchedness and extreme misery. In her wild 
 enthusiasm, she determined to throw herself at the 
 feet of Jeffrys and beseech her lover's life, believ- 
 ing no heart could be steeled against grief like hers. 
 Early on the following morning, therefore, in all the 
 charms of beauty, in the_, bloom and loveliness of 
 youth, she appeared before the judge, in whose hands 
 lay the issues of the fate of him, around whom every 
 hope of happiness in this world was entwined. 
 
 As she fell at Jeffrys' feet, her agony melted 
 every heart present but his, and tears flowed copious- 
 ly ; but he indulged in a fiendish laugh, and, adding 
 insult to cruelty, told her to bind her flowing tresses 
 and go and see the gallows erecting, for that her lover 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 151 
 
 would be strung up within the hour ; concluding 
 with a joke so coarse, that the blood mounted to her 
 cheeks, but again fell back with such violence on 
 the sinking heart so soon to be petrified in the em- 
 brace of death, that her blanched cheeks, as she 
 turned her saddened gaze on the inhuman monster, 
 seemed more like a piece of Parian marble than a 
 living being ; her dark and heavy eyelashes in such 
 strong contrast to its snowy whiteness, and her lux- 
 uriant hair imparting the last touch of extreme 
 loveliness to her shrinking and trembling form. 
 
 Tottering forth from his dreadful presence, she 
 determined to witness the final scene ; and, looking 
 round as she reached the door, she inquired the spot 
 of one of the bystanders. The wildness of her tones, 
 and the bewilderment of her eyes, conveyed an idea 
 that reason was fast receding from her throne ; and 
 the wind being high, as she flew towards the place of 
 execution, her hair streaming in the breeze, and her 
 robe taking the current of air, she looked, in truth, 
 like a frightened maniac fleeing from her pursuers. 
 
 Many persons had already congregated around 
 the suspended gibbet ; and with breathless agony 
 she watched the preparation making for her no- 
 ble-hearted lover. At length the hammering ceased, 
 and a dreadful moment intervened. Then came forth 
 the guards and took their stand, and then followed 
 the doomed man. She strained her eyes to catch a 
 
152 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 last look. Oh, how changed was the form from what 
 it was when she beheld him last ! So pale, so woe- 
 begone, so attenuated ! She heard him breathe forth 
 the pious resignation of his soul into his Maker's 
 hands, with an upraised and listening look. She saw 
 the halter placed round his neck, the drop fall, the 
 last struggle ; and then, closing her eyes, without a 
 word or movement of a muscle, she sank into the 
 arms of William Penn, who stood by her, and ex- 
 pired immediately, — ossification of the heart having 
 taken place. 
 
 Penn seems to have had an extraordinary pen- 
 chant for witnessing executions ; and in this instance 
 it was fortunate. He conveyed the poor girl to her 
 parents, whose grief almost exceeded that of the 
 Psalmist, for all their earthly hopes had been cen- 
 tred in this their only child ; and in the bitterness 
 of their sorrow they ^exclaimed, over and over again, 
 as they gazed on the lovely form now resting so 
 calmly and quietly in death : " Oh, we cannot, can- 
 not live, now our Mary is gone ! Oh, what she has 
 suffered ! Oh, what a fate was hers ! Oh, why did we 
 not follow her ; why did we let her go out of our 
 sight ! Oh, let us die with her ! Oh, to live is im- 
 possible !" 
 
 The survivors, during these dreadful times, were 
 often indeed more objects of compassion than the 
 victims themselves; for the tragedy they outlived 
 rested on their lacerated memories while life re- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 153 
 
 mained. And though time, the great healer, softened 
 the poignancy of the stroke, a portion of its bitter- 
 ness haunted them ever after, and cast a shadow 
 over every bright and buoyant hope that sought to 
 lighten their earthly paths. 
 
 Mary Argrave was borne to her grave in the 
 churchyard of Lyme, three days after her death, by 
 eight young ladies dressed in white. The coffin was 
 also white, indicative of her youth and virgin inno- 
 cence ; and on its lid fair hands had placed clusters 
 of white rosebuds. Thousands attended her funeral 
 in token of their love and admiration for one whose 
 life had been passed in the endearing exercise of 
 every feminine virtue. 
 
 The cypress waves its branches in consecrated 
 ground over her silent tomb, weeping love followed 
 her to her last resting place, and heavenly hopes 
 were offered by God's messenger to the bereaved * 
 but Christopher Battiscombe, her unfortunate lover, 
 was taken from the gallows and buried at the first 
 cross-road leading from Lyme. Sorrow has many 
 forms ; but his weeping friends' grief far exceeded 
 that of Mary Argrave's, for it seemed to them with- 
 out a parallel. A Christian burial in sacred ground 
 would have been a solace, but the grave of a mur- 
 derer was too harrowing to natures such as theirs. 
 A few short months consigned, first his mother, and 
 then his father, to the church-yard where Mary Ar- 
 grave was borne ; and, like her, they were attended 
 
 8 
 
154 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 by thousands, who, beholding their fate, wept at the 
 infatuation of the multitude who so eagerly joined 
 the standard of the unfortunate Monmouth ; -and, 
 contrasting the enthusiasm connected with his land- 
 ing, with its tragical and eventful close and conse- 
 quences, sorrowed over the short-sightedness of hu- 
 man vision, which permitted experience to be the 
 only teacher and expounder of the mysterious and 
 hidden future. Could the result have been foreseen, 
 how much suffering would have been prevented. 
 But the limit had not yet been set. The tyrant still 
 occupied his throne of power, beneath which no 
 footstool of mercy rested, nor no persuasive angel 
 voice whispered, " stay thy murderous purpose, or 
 revoke thy stern decree. 
 
 The Dorsetshire trials being ended, Jeffrys pro- 
 ceeded to Exeter, but there were few offenders there, 
 Monmouth's popularity not being very great in that 
 part of the country. But he entered on his work in 
 the same spirit as before, unsoftened in ferocity, and 
 unchecked by the whisperings or the reproaches of 
 conscience. The slightest offences were, therefore, 
 still punished with the utmost rigor, without regard 
 to sex or age. 
 
 One poor woman who had been overheard to ut- 
 ter some rebukeful remarks on the cruelty of the 
 judge and the papacy of the king, was brought be- 
 fore Jeffrys with a charge of high treason. She 
 declared her innocence in the most piteous terms, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 155 
 
 her eyes streaming with, tears, her hands lifted up in 
 supplication of mercy, and her voice broken by sobs. 
 " Ah, }*ou jade," he replied, " this is the way you 
 traduce }*our betters, is it ? You wanted a new king, 
 eh ? you were tired of old friends and Avanted new," 
 he continued, banteringly : " For fear you should 
 forget them altogether, you shall have a constant 
 remembrance. You shall be whipped through every 
 market town in the county, my lady ; you shall tra- 
 vel, you shall," grinning as he spoke, to see her 
 writhing agony as she heard him utter this cruel, 
 this barbarous sentence. 
 
 " Oh, my lord," she cried, falling on her knees ; 
 " oh, my lord, in pity to my children, spare their 
 poor, poor mother from such a dreadful doom. Oh, 
 my lord, let me be hanged, — let me be burnt — anv 
 thing but this." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! You would choose, would ye ? 
 Remove the woman," he vociferated, in a loud and 
 surly voice. She was accordingly borne from the 
 court-room to the jail, with the thoughts of this 
 dreadful punishment before her, which must take 
 many months in its execution. A scourging, to take 
 place once a week, would render it full half a 3*ear at 
 least. 
 
 She was the wife of a worthy peasant who had 
 fought at Sedgemoor, in Monmouth's ranks. He had 
 been hung, and hence the bitterness of her feelings 
 towards the king and Jeffrys, which she had ex- 
 
156 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 pressed, little supposing her words would be carried 
 and brought in evidence against her ; and that she 
 would be torn from her five small children, who de- 
 pended solely on the labor of her hands for their 
 daily bread — cast into prison, and sentenced to a 
 punishment which covered her face with shame and 
 harrowed her soul with agonizing torture, at the bare 
 thought of the lash. Her children, meanwhile, what 
 would become of them ? Poor things, they were ta- 
 ken to the poor-house, till this cruel doom should be 
 fulfilled, to experience the tender mercies of a tory 
 work-house governor, who hated the rebels, because 
 they were Protestants, and had been defeated. In 
 his province he was as great a tyrant as Jeffrys, and 
 bullied and browbeat, wherever his power extended, 
 with the most relentless cruelty. 
 
 But misery of all kinds was the order of the day, 
 and people were accustomed to tales of every descrip- 
 tion of horror and terror. Every newspaper was filled 
 from day to day, and week to week, with the most 
 frightful details of public and private suffering ; so 
 that nothing surprised, nothing startled, as Jeffrys 
 was considered capable of every enormity conceiv- 
 able by either men or devils. 
 
 Two brothers' fate, however, seemed beyond even 
 this order of things. They were sons of an opulent 
 merchant in London, } T oung, handsome, intelligent, 
 and highly connected. They had not joined Mon- 
 mouth's army, but were known to be dissenters, and 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 157 
 
 favorable to his cause. Their grandfather, named 
 Giffin, in particular, had expressed sentiments ex- 
 tremely hostile to the government, andwas a Baptist. 
 Dissenting offenders always made Jeffrys furious. 
 These young men were]called Benjamin and William 
 Hewling, one nineteen, the other twenty-one years 
 old — their age forming to the general view strong 
 cause for the exercise of lenity and mercy. But not 
 to Jeffrys. "When William was brought into court, 
 his appearance commanded the admiration of every 
 beholder ; and the conclusion was, that the air of up- 
 rightness which rested so distinctly on his youthful 
 and ingenuous countenance, would plead so elo- 
 quently in his behalf, that he could not be convicted. 
 In this idea, however, they were greatly mistaken ; 
 for, with his characteristic ferocity, he commenced 
 with, " Ah, thy grandfather ought to have been 
 hung long ago; and he will yet. He'll share thy 
 doom ; such wickedness cannot go for ever unpun- 
 ished, the rascally old villain. O, these dissenters, 
 they ought, all of them, to be burned in one heap. I 
 want to consume the whole pack." 
 
 The poor youth answered not a word. He had, 
 with a fortitude surprising to one of his years, pre- 
 pared himself for the worst, from knowing Jeffrys' 
 character, and had resigned himself to the fate he 
 felt certain would be his. In all the buoyancy of 
 youthful happiness, he saw that death was his inevi- 
 table doom, and calmly and meekly awaited the sen- 
 
158 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 tence. There was scarcely a dry eye in all the vast 
 assembled crowd. Jeffrys ordered that he should be 
 hung next day. He heard it without any visible 
 change ; but the wailing and sobbing around him, as 
 he was reconducted to the prison, visibly affected 
 him. On the following morning he was executed, 
 preserving to the last that gentle meekness of de- 
 meanor which melted the hardest heart. 1 Even those 
 veterans, to whom such sights had become familiar, 
 were penetrated with grief at seeing such heroism 
 and fortitude in one so young ; and, could their feel- 
 ings have spoken and acted, Jeffrys would have been 
 torn to pieces. 
 
 Benjamin expected the same fate, though many 
 encouraged hopes that he would be pardoned. The 
 offence had been so slight, that surely one victim 
 from a family so highly esteemed and respected 
 would be enough. Jeffrys even pretended to feel 
 merciful ; and people began to augur a change in 
 that adamantine heart. But those who thought thus 
 were greatly at fault. His avarice was the medium 
 whence flowed this little stream of apparent lenity. 
 A rich kinsman, from whom he had large expecta- 
 tions, interceded for the youth. So the trial was 
 suspended until a petition for his life should be pre- 
 sented to the king. 
 
 This, Hewling's sister undertook to do in person, 
 a young and beautiful girl of seventeen. Several of 
 James' most devoted courtiers aided her in her en- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 159 
 
 deavor ; and Churchill in particular, obtained"an au- 
 dience, cautioning her, ere she entered the royal pre- 
 sence, against expecting too much. They stood in 
 the antechamber, awaiting the king's entrance, and 
 the elegance and loveliness of the fair petitioner 
 greatly impressed him, " But James' heart, my dear 
 lady," he observed, in answer to her sanguine hopes 
 that her brother would be pardoned, "is as hard as 
 this marble," laying his hand on the mantlepiece near 
 which he stood. " So expect nothing, I pray you." 
 
 The sister's love, however, rose above her fears, 
 and on entering the king's presence she threw her- 
 self at his feet, and in tones that would have melted 
 the hardest heart, with her lovely face bathed in tears, 
 she besought pardon for her brother. Stating his 
 tender years and his innocence of intention towards 
 his sovereign. 
 
 James heard her with the cruel stoicism for 
 which he was remarkable ; and refused her petition 
 without one softening palliative for the rejection of 
 her suit. " He is a rebel, and must suffer the penal- 
 ty due to such offenders ;" he replied coolly. 
 
 The poor girl left his inexorable presence more 
 dead than alive, and in a few days her beloved bro- 
 ther shared the fate of William, dying, like him, with 
 a meekness and submission which has been embalm- 
 ed in the hearts of thousands to the honor of that re- 
 ligion, whose supporting power deprived, in this 
 
160 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 cruel extremity, not only death of its sting, but 
 smoothed their passage to an ignominious grave. 
 
 No place manifested greater enthusiasm at Mon- 
 mouth's reception than Taunton. Old and young 
 echoed but one wish. The spirit of Cromwell was 
 revived by his presence, and the most fervent devo- 
 tion was felt for a cause that all so deeply loved. As 
 it will be remembered, several young ladies formed 
 a procession, in order to present him with a standard 
 and a Bible. They were young schoolgirls, and were 
 headed by their school-mistress, who carried the sa- 
 cred volume at the head of her ranks, and with her 
 own hands gave it to Monmouth with the banner. 
 His graceful acknowledgment of the gift was trea- 
 sured with delight in the hearts and memories of 
 these amiable girls, and they trusted in the fulness of 
 their souls that they would soon own as their sove- 
 reign, and the nation a king, a man whom the people 
 delighted to honor. Poor girls ! a sad fate awaited 
 this simple expression of their regard. They were 
 ferreted out by the minions of power, most of them 
 without one compassionate feeling for their age and 
 sex, and cast into prisons, where they languished till 
 Jeffrys summoned them before him. O. it was a pi- 
 teous sight to behold those young ladies, daughters, 
 many of them, of wealth and station ; educated and 
 refined by the highest cultivation ; the ornaments of 
 their homes and the delight of doting parents, brought 
 before the dreaded monster, and there in crowded 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 161 
 
 courts addressed in the coarse and brutal language 
 so natural to liis depraved tongue, and so delightful 
 to a heart deadened and hardened to every humane 
 and tender emotion. One of them had died ere the 
 trial could take place, having been thrown into a jail 
 where a fever was raging in its worst and most viru- 
 lent state. Her constitution had been always deli- 
 cate, and with the cruel doom of death before hi3 
 daughter, her father had to see his child dragged like 
 a felon to the cell, to take an infection from which 
 none ever escaped. The nature of a parents feelings 
 under circumstances like these can be more easily 
 conceived than described. Willingly would he have 
 gone in her stead ; but, alas, he was helpless in his 
 sore and bitter agony. And, clasping her in a long 
 last embrace, she entered what proved her last home 
 on earth, took the infection and died in three days. 
 
 The intensity of the father's grief, however, had 
 one mitigating reflection ; she was saved the doom 
 of the gallows, which others had suffered so heroi- 
 cally and so meekly. But the misery occasioned by 
 the thought that no kindred hand slaked the burning 
 thirst, attendant on the disease, haunted him for 
 years like a shadow, and poisoned by its remem- 
 brance every happy hour of his remaining existence. 
 
 Another of the victims, a high spirited, noble- 
 hearted girl, determined when she was brought into 
 court to go up to Jeffrys and plead for her life, and 
 
 to this end framed a touching address to move the 
 
 8* 
 
162 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 pity of one who knew nothing of its gentle influences. 
 Her words fell like music on the ears of all present, 
 and hope fired many an anxious breast. But like 
 the early dew and the morning cloud, it soon passed 
 away, leaving only gloom and bitterness in its stead; 
 for his only answer was addressed to the jailor an- 
 grily, desiring him to take her away. Her upraised 
 hopeful countenance fell, and was in a moment suf- 
 fused with tears, in which all present joined. The 
 next morning she was executed, leaving parents and 
 sisters to mourn her hard and untimely fate. 
 
 Some escaped punishment on the ground of ex- 
 treme youth, many of them being at the time under 
 ten years of age, but these were reserved and marked 
 for future operations ; for even royalty was plotting 
 for spoils in these awful times, and when enormities 
 of one kind ceased, others equally heinous com- 
 menced, and gave to the annals of this period a 
 blackness unequalled by those of any passed, and, 
 'tis to be hoped, future age. 
 
 Jeifrys had still work, as he called it, to do ; but 
 hardened as his nature was, he wished it over. Not 
 for any pangs of conscience he experienced, or any 
 painful sensations on the score of humanity. On 
 the contrary, he never felt better or happier, or en- 
 tered with more zest into the festivities of the social 
 or convivial hour. Balls and parties shared his pre- 
 sence, where he strutted in all the pride and pomp 
 of a favorite of his tovereism; and received the smiles 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 163 
 
 and homage of youth and beauty, though regarded 
 in their hearts, and associated in their minds, as a 
 monster, like their childhood's horror — Bluebeard. 
 
 But the exhilarating dance proceeded notwith- 
 standing, and the sparkling glass succeeded the day's 
 miseries, and the finale revel dissipated all remem- 
 brance or care of the past, while the brilliant future 
 he looked forward to, was a possession which made 
 his heart dilate with delight. What to such a man 
 were the groans and tears of the heartbroken homes 
 and hearthstones of the srurounding country ? He 
 heard them not, nor cared if he did. Gain was the 
 principle which alone actuated him, and he had a 
 victim in view, from whom he determined to wring 
 something worth while. 
 
 A most beautiful country seat stood a few miles 
 from Exeter, surrounded by an extensive and valu- 
 able estate. This was owned by a gentleman to 
 whom it had descended from his father, a wealthy 
 member of the bar, whose name was Prideaux. He 
 was known to entertain whig principles, but no other 
 complaint could be lodged against him, as he had 
 not joined Monmouth, or made himself in any way 
 conspicuous as his partizan. But Jeffiys, who had 
 already made a fortune by his ample trading in par- 
 dons, thought this a fine victim to pounce upon. He 
 accordingly had him arrested for high treason, and 
 thrown into prison. Prideaux had no redress farther 
 than the employment of counsel to prove his inno- 
 
164 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 cence of the charge when his trial should take place. 
 Jeffrys was also on the alert against that time, as 
 nothing of a definite nature could be found against 
 him so far. Bribery was therefore put in action, and 
 evidence extorted from men as the purchase of their 
 lives when the halter was nearly around their necks. 
 In such extremities, unhappily, persons can be found 
 for such a purpose too often. Allegations were 
 therefore made against this unoffending gentleman 
 of the falsest kind, and witnesses were ready to be 
 present at the day of trial, to prove all that Jeffrys 
 required. All that the prisoner's counsel averred, 
 therefore, availed nothing, and no alternative re- 
 mained but to offer the judge a sum of money to ob- 
 tain Prideaux's liberation. 
 
 He languished many tedious months in confine- 
 ment, unwilling to make the sacrifice on which his 
 liberation was offered, the extortion being so shame- 
 ful that he felt perfectly outraged by the proposition. 
 But fifteen thousand iwunds was just the sum neces- 
 sary to purchase an estate Jeffrys had set his heart 
 upon, and Prideaux being a wealthy man, he deter- 
 mined'on making him pay it. And at length, worn 
 out in mind and body from his close incarceration 
 for so many months, the friends of the prisoner per- 
 suaded him to yield, and complying reluctantly with 
 their wishes, he gave a check for the amount, and 
 once more enjoyed the privileges of life in the bosom 
 of his happy family, who thought the purchase 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 165 
 
 cheap, as with the fears so naturally engendered by 
 the times in which they lived, their despair rose far 
 above their hopes. Jeffrys rubbed his hands with 
 glee at this triumph of his manoeuvring, and bought 
 the estate with the money so unjustly and so 
 wickedly obtained. Its price was that of innocent 
 blood, and it was named accordingly by the people, 
 Aceldama, a living record of his unhallowed doings. 
 During a period so hostile to mental quiet, it is 
 scarcely conceivable that literary pursuits could have 
 found any one sufficiently abstracted to enjoy its 
 calm and gentle pleasures. But intensity of feeling, 
 with persons of a poetic temperament, often finds its 
 best interpreter in song, and in the impassioned 
 strain of verse, an outlet for high-wrought sensi- 
 bilities, otherwise painfully oppressive to the over- 
 burdened soul. A young man by the name of Tut- 
 chin was one of this class; and in gentle, poetic 
 effusions, expressed the depression that characterized 
 the once happy and blooming loveliness which sur- 
 rounded the peaceful dwellers of this smiling 
 country. He was known as the " Poet," and much 
 beloved for the sweetness of his disposition and the 
 amiability of his manners. A Protestant, and much 
 attached to his religion, he had in his heart deeply 
 espoused the cause of Monmouth, and watched with 
 eager interest his fluctuations betwixt hope and fear, 
 till the fatal battle of Sedgemoor exterminated all 
 chance of seeing him obtain the crown, aud Catholi- 
 
160 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 cism routed from its throne of power. With all this 
 devotion of feeling, however, he had abstained from 
 every act prejudicial to the government, and con- 
 tented himself with wishing success to the enthusias- 
 tic rebels, whose manly daring was the theme of 
 many an outpouring of his spirit, in poetic strains, 
 mirroring the state of his mind in so palpable a 
 manner as left no doubt of his sentiments, and 
 entirely set aside the shield of neutrality, beneath 
 which he fancied himself hid. 
 
 Jeffrys had often noticed these effusions, but their 
 being anonymous had shielded the youthful author 
 for a long time from the doom to which he had been 
 condemned. A watch was set to discover the re- 
 bellious writer, and a price put upon his apprehen- 
 sion, which soon led to his capture. 
 
 He was quite a youth, the only son of a widow, 
 who delighted in her gentle boy, and proudly be- 
 held the talents he possessed and the appreciation 
 they obtained throughout the country. He was 
 also her sole support, through a little property he 
 possessed, and brought to his aged parent's hearth 
 those joys of heart and soul which strewed her path- 
 way to the grave with the roses of happiness and 
 hope. But the shadow of evil hovered over their 
 peaceful though humble dwelling, and the wailings 
 of despair were soon to follow the placid tenor of 
 their uneventful but hitherto contented lives. 
 
 The spies employed to find out this innocent 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 167 
 
 offender were but too successful in their endeavors. 
 They traced him from the office of publication to 
 the cottage of his mother, where innocently em- 
 ployed in working in his garden, his fell pursuers 
 pounced upon their prey, and bore him to prison on 
 the charge of high treason. 
 
 Mrs. Tutchin could not be persuaded that aught 
 could be found against her son, and therefore con- 
 soled herself with the vain hope that he would soon 
 be set at liberty. " For," reasoned the old lady, " he 
 never joined with the rebels, though he loved the 
 good Duke of Monmouth so well ; and surely, for 
 writing a few harmless verses, they could do nothing 
 against him. No, no, that aint actionable, I know. 
 With such reasoning the poor woman fed her hopes 
 for her son's liberation, but, like the bubbles on the 
 ocean, or records traced on sand, they were to pass 
 away, leaving only a wreck, a desolation behind. 
 
 Tatchin hoped too, "For," thought he, "lam 
 not rich like Prideaux ; and my confinement cannot 
 eventuate in a ransom, for I have no possessions to 
 form an inducement for my incarceration. My being 
 also the only support of my dear old mother will, 
 even with such a monster as Jeffrys, plead for my 
 liberation." Poor youth ! he did not know that any 
 additional victim increased the favor of James 
 towards his faithful servant, and that to substantiate 
 even imaginary offences, was considered a triumph 
 of skill and dexterity, and lent new glories to his 
 
163 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 heartless proceedings with every added name to the 
 already lengthened list of executions and enormities. 
 
 When he was brought into court to take his trial, 
 Jeffrys, as usual, commenced his browbeating. 
 
 Tutchin attempted to make his defence by stating 
 his innocence of any thing offensive to the govern- 
 ment or the king. 
 
 " Thou art an arrant knave," replied Jeffrys, " thy 
 seditious and scurrilous verses are floating all over 
 the country, and have incited many a villain to take 
 up arms against their sovereign. Thy crime is great, 
 and I'll take good care that thy versemaking shall 
 have an end." He then sentenced him to seven years 
 imprisonment, and during that period to be flogged 
 through every market town in Dorsetshire every 
 year. 
 
 When he concluded every woman in the galleries 
 burst into tears, crying aloud in the anguish of their 
 hearts, for the youthful poet was much beloved. The 
 clerk of the arraigns was unable to forbear, he stood 
 up, and addressing Jeffrys, reminded him that there 
 were many market towns in Dorsetshire, and that 
 such a sentence would subject him to being flogged 
 once a fortnight during the period of his imprison- 
 ment, and with much feeling pleaded the youth of 
 the unfortunate prisoner, the unoffending nature of 
 his character, and in the expression of his sentiments, 
 guiltless of any meaning to offend. 
 
 Jeffrys refused to mitigate or withdraw the sen- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 169 
 
 tence, declaring him, if young in years, to be an old 
 rogue ; and turning to the ladies, told them they did 
 not know him as he did, and that his punishment 
 was a vast deal too mild for his offences. " That all 
 the interest which England could commend should 
 not alter it." 
 
 The wretched prisoner petitioned to be hanged, 
 but he was unheard. He was remanded back to pri- 
 son, where the agitation of his mind brought on him 
 that most loathsome disease, the small-pox. He lan- 
 guished long in his miserable dungeon, hoping death 
 would end his earthly sufferings by his kind inter- 
 position. But wishes in this way often defeat the 
 object, the nervous system pleasantly acting on the 
 physical, both are benefitted through a medium so 
 strangely at variance with the law of nature, that 
 action the most contrary to desires thus formed 
 usually take place. 
 
 During this crisis of affairs, the lord chief justice 
 was applied to, to remit or commute the sentence; 
 and imagining, from the virulence of the disease, lit- 
 tle probability of his recovery, consented to pardon 
 him on condition that he gave up his small paternal 
 inheritance, the only thing he possessed on earth, 
 and where he had dwelt with his mother ever since 
 he was born. 
 
 This proposition was made to Tutchin. He heard 
 it with an agony of feeling I have no words to dis- 
 cribe. If he consented to buy a pardon by this sa- 
 
170 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 crifice, both his mother and himself would be re- 
 duced to indigence. On the other hand, his condition 
 was too wretched to be thought of for a moment. 
 His home, humble though it was, was dearer to his 
 heart than the richest diadem, for his mother's sake. 
 But there was no alternative, and his aged parent in 
 welcoming her son to her arms, blessed Providence 
 that they possessed any thing to satisfy the monster's 
 maw, with all the poverty it promised. 
 
 Tutchin felt very differently. His whole soul was 
 filled with a desire for revenge for the torture he 
 had undergone and the misery that remained. De- 
 prived of his little all, the labor of his hands to sup- 
 port himself and parent secured only a perspective 
 of hopeless and unmitigated toil. In future years he 
 was known to be one of the most bitter and deter- 
 mined enemies of the tory party and the House of 
 Stuart ; his character so changing under the circum- 
 stances to which he was reduced, as scarcely seemed 
 possible to one whose early youth had been marked 
 for so much that was truly estimable; although a 
 somewhat hasty temper, to a close observer, might 
 have indicated the result which followed any great 
 adverse change in his life. 
 
 With all his application, his constant and untir- 
 ing zeal in his work, Jeffrys exhibited no signs of 
 weariness or fatigue. On the contrary, his counte- 
 nance had become more florid, and his form more 
 rotund since the commencement of the bloody as- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 171 
 
 sizes. What he termed his successes every day, was 
 celebrated by a revel every night ; and his boon 
 companions vied with each other round the festal 
 board, in encomiums on the grandeur of that intel- 
 lect which could mould all things to its sovereign 
 will, and, as it were, carry all before it. Like all 
 men of his class, Jeffrys loved flattery. The internal 
 evidence of an approving conscience lent no ray of 
 sunshine to his soul — shed no cheering and sustain- 
 ing beams of its mild radiance over his adamantine 
 heart; and the darkness might have become so in- 
 tolerable as at length to lead him to repentance, had 
 not these parasites supplied with their false tongues 
 the aliment of approbation which even the hardest 
 nature, in some form or other, demands. Still the 
 ferocity of his appearance had increased. The coun- 
 tenance, as it always will do, had followed the mind, 
 
 "And set its seal of fiendish malice there, 
 " Till all beside, of great, or good, or fair, 
 " Had sadly vanished." 
 
 The work of death had at length ceased, the last 
 victim been sacrificed, and the lock turned on the 
 treasures he could no longer augment through par- 
 dons from the gallows in the west. But another 
 way opened for small profits. 
 
 Transportations of prisoners had amounted to 
 eight hundred and forty-one, to each of "whom either 
 the axe or the gibbet would have been an exercise 
 
172 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 of mercy. They were distributed or formed into 
 gangs, and presented as a mark of favor to those 
 who held high rank at court, with this proviso, that 
 they were conveyed to distant shores, sold as slaves, 
 and to continue in bondage for the space of ten 
 years. 
 
 The place selected by Jeffrys was the West In- 
 dies, with an ingenuity of cruelty for which he was 
 so remarkable. As in a country like that their Pro- 
 testant principles would of themselves form the 
 ground of dislike ; and where a native of the tempe- 
 rate zone would suffer most from the effects of a 
 tropical climate and the lacerating influences of the 
 burning and constant heat that existed and tried 
 even the natives themselves often with its incessant 
 drought. 
 
 Their sufferings on their voyage exceeded even 
 that of the negroes abducted on the coast of Africa. 
 The holds were stowed closer, and many 'of them 
 still bearing about them the wounds received in the 
 battle of Sedgemoor, were unable to lie down, .ex- 
 cept by alternating with their miserable companions. 
 Even a draft of fresh air was forbidden them, the 
 hatchway being always guarded to prevent their 
 coming on deck. Light was also forbidden ; and in 
 their wretched dungeon, where darkness and filth 
 only reigned, the result was that numbers died, and 
 those who survived were so reduced by disease that 
 there seemed every prospect that, before they reach- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 173 
 
 ed their destination, death would end the almost 
 unheard-of cruelty practised towards them. Their 
 provisions were both scanty and coarse ; a few hard 
 biscuits per day, with a small allowance of brackish 
 water, was all they had to live on for weeks, so that 
 when they landed in Jamaica their number was con- 
 siderably reduced by death, and the survivors look- 
 ed more like living skeletons than human beings. 
 They therefore seemed to promise little to their pos- 
 sessors and employers in the shape of profit ; yet, 
 such was the value of slaves at that time, that they 
 actually brought an excellent price. 
 
 This had been foreseen, and many of the tories 
 had really been clamorous for grants ; some in the 
 west contending they were entitled to them for their 
 loyalty and devotion to the king, and felt they ought 
 to share in these unhallowed gains with the favorites 
 of Whitehall. But James' minions prevailed, and 
 they had to yield. 
 
 Jeffrys reaped a small harvest here too. The law 
 appointed, that all property held by a person con- 
 victed of treason, was forfeited. The unfortunate 
 victims transported had, several of them, small es- 
 tates, which they had hoped, by strict secrecy, to be 
 able to retain against the term of their bondage had 
 expired ; and, after their time of suffering captivity 
 should have ceased, to be able to return and enjoy 
 them, if they lived, with their families. This was 
 suspected, and persons set on foot to discover every 
 
174 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 thing relative to tlieir actual possessions, soon ob- 
 tained the desired information, and the sufferers' all 
 were thus wrenched from, them ; and a return from 
 captivity would find them stripped of every thing, 
 and consigned to poverty the remainder of their 
 days. 
 
 Jeffrys and his colleagues eagerly devoured the 
 discovered treasures, and appropriated, without mer- 
 cy or compunction, the hard-earned gains of those 
 suffering sons of toil ; and deprived the bereaved 
 wives and innocent helpless babes of their only 
 subsistence. 
 
 The history of those fearful times exhibits on its 
 surface a depravity almost unimaginable in its ex- 
 tent, and certainly unsurpassed in its character in 
 the same individuals. In Jeffrys, we have beheld a 
 monster from first to last ; but that he should find 
 imitators in the softer sex, seems almost beyond belief. 
 Yet, incredible as it may seem, the queen and her la- 
 dies made themselves pre-eminently conspicuous in 
 rapacity and hard-heartedness in this horrible traffic. 
 Hearing of Jeffrys' gains in this way; they all be- 
 came suddenly determined to profit by his example. 
 The queen seemed most delighted with the idea, and 
 sent a request to the lord chief justice, that a hun- 
 dred of those transported might be given to her. 
 
 A woman's intercession in their behalf would 
 have been the most natural suggestion of a feminine 
 heart, in order to their being restored to their fami- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 175 
 
 lies ; instead of which, we behold the consort of roy- 
 alty calculating, first, on the profits of their sale as 
 slaves, and then listening to the details of their suf- 
 ferings and consequent loss on the voyage, with the 
 business-like air of a shrewd bargainer — and then 
 receiving the net proceeds of sale, which was a thou- 
 sand guineas to her part, with an exultation that 
 would do credit to the commonest huckster, or the 
 veriest Yankee pedlar, over a shaving operation. 
 
 Her majesty's maids of honor now began to 
 devise plans for their spoils; and their scheming 
 and plotting ended in employing spies to find out 
 those who were in any way conspicuous in aid- 
 ing the rebellion. And having obtained the queen's 
 permission, they sent an order that every one of the 
 little girls, whom Jeffrys had spared, who followed 
 in Monmouth's procession at Taunton, to present 
 him with a banner and a Bible, should be im- 
 prisoned, knowing many of the parents' to be 
 wealthy, and therefore anticipating rich ransoms for 
 their children's liberation. A Sir Francis Warre, a 
 tory member for Bridgewater ; was selected for this 
 office; but tory as he was, he rejected with scorn the 
 inhuman and unwomanly orders he received, sanc- 
 tioned, as they were, by the queen's authority of 
 signature and seal. A father himself, he was 
 shocked that avarice could stoop to anything so 
 base as imprisoning innocent children, who had been 
 led to this open demonstration of their feelings by 
 
176 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 their preceptors, whose zeal his principles led him to 
 deprecate, but saw only in these guileless young 
 creatures a desire to emulate and obey their in- 
 structress in an act they never once thought of 
 being of any further moment than the appearance 
 imported, that of presenting a beautiful standard to 
 the handsome duke, and the Bible, so beautifully 
 bound, for him to read and defend. 
 
 They then had recourse to William Penn ; and 
 strange to say, he accepted the commission. Charac- 
 ters often present the most incomprehensible contra- 
 dictions. Penn would not descend to violate his ideas 
 of the equality of man by taking off his hat in 
 the presence of royalty, yet he could, without even 
 a show of reluctance, so far depart from the law of 
 love, which is the insignia of his order, as to become 
 an agent for one of the most shameful extortions 
 upon record. Consistency is in itself a virtue, as by 
 it we test the sincerity of sects and individuals. Our 
 actions are supposed to be a transcript of the prin- 
 ciples which we have imbibed of right or wrong, 
 and engrave themselves upon the minds of others, as 
 the standard for virtue or vice, by which we must be 
 judged. Some have ascribed deep political motives 
 to his compliance with the request of the queen's 
 maids of honor, and that it had its foundation in the 
 desire to benefit his suffering and oppressed people. 
 Kesolving on accepting so unwelcome a mission, to 
 temper, as much as possible, measures so harsh, with 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 177 
 
 a lenity and mercy, no other perhaps similarly situ- 
 ated would do, and to abstain from participating in 
 any part of the gain thus obtained. 
 
 Seven thousand pounds was the sum set down 
 as the ransom for the young ladies, but a third only 
 was realized by his fair employers, which they 
 greedily appropriated to the purchase of jewels and 
 gew-gaws for the adornment of their persons. But 
 Penn's services did not end here. A wealthy mer- 
 chant, residing in Bridgewater, was discovered to 
 have contributed largely in the way of clothing for 
 the rebels. This was a fine field for those female 
 extortioners. Penn was ordered to use the utmost 
 severity in exacting a proper sum for his disloyalty. 
 Eoger Hoare was a plain but excellent man, re- 
 markable for his benevolence and liberality. As a 
 Protestant, he disliked James' character and prin- 
 ciples, and wished success most fervently to the 
 cause of Monmouth, though he carefully guarded 
 the expression of his feelings, and contented himself 
 merely by assisting with a good supply of clothes 
 for the rebel army, whose worn and shabby appear- 
 ance appealed at once to his benevolence, and de- 
 sires to assist privately in a cau e so dear to his 
 heart. 
 
 The merchant had imagined all knowledge of 
 the circumstance was hidden, or had passed away 
 from the remembrance of every one, till Penn's pre- 
 sence, one fine morning, as he stood in his ware- 
 
 9 
 
178 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 house, reminded him of his offence to the existing 
 sovereign. Mr. Hoare, when questioned, attempted 
 no denial of the charge, but calmly averred the 
 assistance he had been induced to render the unfor- 
 tunate in their day of necessity, hoping to find a 
 coincidence in a member of the Friends for this 
 plain Christian act. But the Quaker gave no re- 
 sponse to this amiable avowal; on the contrary, he 
 demanded a penalty for the enormity of his offence. 
 In vain he pleaded the liberty enjoyed in all ages of 
 ministering to the distressed, and the Divine com- 
 mand of giving to him who needed. The orders 
 Penn had received were absolute, and the good Sa- 
 maritan was forced to yield a thousand pounds 
 to save himself from the horrors of a prison, and a 
 separation from the bosom of his family, for that 
 was the only alternative of his refusal. 
 
 The queen, like her husband, -was no favorite with 
 the people. An austere Catholic, like James, she 
 desired above all things to convert the whole Eng- 
 lish nation to Romanism. Her feelings, like his, 
 seemed entirely to be concentrated to this one point, 
 and the wishes so signally manifested in favor of 
 Monmouth and the Protestant religion, while it 
 proved their disloyalty, also displayed, in a forceable 
 light, a determination of resistance to their wishes, 
 which rankled deep in hearts whose ambition for 
 power was the ruling passion of their lives ; so that 
 when the hour of revenge came, it fell with all the 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 179 
 
 rancour and malice the most inveterate natures 
 could suggest. Both the king and his consort might 
 be said to revel in the scenes of butchery described 
 so exultingly by Jeffiys, and a lesson of future sub • 
 mission to their august rulers they trusted would be 
 taught. 
 
 With their cruelty, too, was blended an avarice 
 of the most detestable and debased nature. Their 
 most darling aims could be set aside where interest 
 led the way. James spared neither age or sex to 
 the pleadings of affection, kindred, or power. But 
 money could purchase what feeling could not buy. 
 The poor peasants had been ruthlessly slaughtered 
 and transported. Not a single ray of mercy had 
 shone on their dreadful doom ; while others, far 
 more at fault than they — their guides and leaders — 
 had escaped, because they bought for themselves a 
 pardon, which could be granted on no other terms. 
 Lord Grey was certainly more deserving of death 
 than the illiterate but faithful rustics, who followed 
 so zealously the commands of their leader ; yet he 
 escaped. But he was the fortunate possessor of an 
 estate whose value rested on his life alone. Being 
 strictly entailed, it fell at his death into the hands of 
 the next heir ; so that no gain whatever could accrue 
 from his execution, — but much from granting con- 
 ditional pardon. 
 
 The terms were forty thousand pounds, which 
 Grey was but too glad to yield to his extortioners, 
 
180 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 for many shared in the ransom, though the greater 
 part was paid into the hands of the lord treasurer, 
 for the royal benefit. 
 
 Then there was a Sir John Cochrane, who led the 
 Scotch rebels in the same manner as Lord Grey. He 
 too was made a captive ; and the universal opinion 
 was, that he would share the same fate as Argyle 
 and Monmouth. But his friends thought of the key 
 that unlocked the king's heart. They were rich, 
 and bribed the priests of the royal household in five 
 thousand pounds. This obtained his pardon, and he 
 was set at liberty. 
 
 Comment is unnecessary. Justice and humanity 
 were terms of no import in the vocabulary of those 
 times. Might, not right, ruled, and all things fell un- 
 der the dominion of avarice and cruelty. To be poor 
 and penniless was to be, indeed, unfortunate ; for 
 nothing could be obtained without some end in view. 
 
 A man by the name of Storey was one of those per- 
 sons who delight in public speaking ; and preceded 
 Monmouth through the towns of Somersetshire, for 
 the purpose of addressing the people on the subject 
 and cause of the rebellion, — using the most exciting 
 language, and presenting the most glowing pictures 
 to their imaginations, relative to the result. These 
 addresses had a most powerful effect, and tended to a 
 constant increase of the rebel forces. He would have 
 shared the common fate, but for the intervention of 
 interest. When Jeffrys wanted information in the 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 181 
 
 case of Prideaux, no witness could be found so valu- 
 able as Storey ; and through his testimony alone the 
 fifteen thousand pounds were obtained. By this means 
 he received an unconditional pardon. 
 
 " Mercy shone, through clouds of gold, 
 "For the young or for the old: 
 "If you could her favor buy, 
 "Terror in all forms would fly." 
 
 Such was the spirit of the age. 
 
CHAPTEE VIII, 
 
 There were three who, after the battle of Sedge- 
 moor, escaped to the coast — Goodenough, Ferguson, 
 and Wade. But a frigate, unfortunately, was cruis- 
 ing around the place where they had hoped to em- 
 bark. They were not all together. Ferguson managed 
 to escape, but the other two were taken and brought 
 up to London, with every prospect to themselves and 
 others of being executed, like Monmouth. Fortu- 
 nately for them, they could give information that no 
 one else could, relative to some poor wretches for 
 whom the king entertained an inveterate hatred ; 
 and by which means he was enabled to glut his cruel 
 nature by slaughter and plunder, no other persons 
 being able to implicate them in any actual crime. 
 Wade and Goodenough had been deeply engaged 
 in the Rye-house Plot, and were most conspicuous in 
 Monmouth's rebellion, but gained a pardon for all 
 from James, for the opportunity thus given for his 
 revenge. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 183 
 
 Ferguson was undoubtedly one of the most active 
 instruments in promoting the rebellion, from first to 
 last. Possessing a great knowledge of human nature, 
 he employed the subtle reasoning for which he was 
 remarkable in achieving, he had hoped, the downfall 
 of James. To this end, he inflated the desires of Mon- 
 mouth, by flattering the weak sides of his character, 
 and assailing him on his most vulnerable points. 
 
 Monmouth might almost be said to be a complete 
 tool in his hands ; and but too readily adopted the 
 measures he suggested. The proclamation at Lyme, 
 written by him, was one of the most atrocious nature, 
 ascribing to the king crimes of the blackest and most 
 fearful description, which, coming as it did, to all ap- 
 pearance, from Monmouth, laid the foundation of that 
 merciless rigor which distinguished James' behavior 
 towards the unfortunate and misguided duke. Yet 
 with all these things against him, many supposed that 
 Ferguson had received a pardon from the king with- 
 out even paying for it. There is no real authority to 
 support this supposition ; and his escape from punish- 
 ment is only ascribable to the cunning and foresight 
 which at all times marked his character. The king 
 had no motive for pardoning him, and James was not 
 the man to extend mercy causelessly to an open and 
 professed enemy, when lamentations and petitions 
 for the lives of two innocent women, Lady Alice 
 Lisle, and Mrs. Gaunt, were poured in vain into his 
 cruel and callous ears. 
 
184 BRITISH RDliElLIOS. 
 
 Speculation was on the alert, but nothing positive 
 could be known respecting Ferguson's whereabouts, 
 the arch-traitor, as he was called ; who, while excit- 
 ing his fellow-plotters, by his inventive genius for 
 mischief, in the early stages of the rebellion, was 
 known to send such reports of the various conspira- 
 tors to Whitehall, as protected him from all the con- 
 sequences of a rebel subject. He was therefore held 
 in great abhorrence by many who had once been his 
 friends, and his capture would have been hailed with 
 delight. How he managed, therefore, was never 
 known ; and surmise, though actively engaged, ar- 
 rived at no positive conclusion : though it at length 
 became a settled fact, that he was living comforta- 
 bly on the continent. 
 
 Meanwhile, Jeffrys having finished his career in 
 the west, had returned to London to receive the pro- 
 mised reward for his faithful services. He was 
 received with every demonstration of joy by his 
 sovereign, and at Windsor the great seal of England 
 was presented to him, in token of James' heartfelt 
 approbation of the cruelty and heartlessness he had 
 practiced towards the suffering and wretched victims 
 of the rebellion, the relation of whose tortures fell 
 like manna in the wilderness on the heart of that 
 merciless and sanguinary monarch. Their meeting 
 was a source of much jollity and feasting, and the 
 bloated face of the favorite judge assumed a yet 
 deeper shade of exulting ferocity, if that were possi- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 185 
 
 ble, as he quaffed the rich drafts of flattery and 
 commendation from his sovereign's lips. In those 
 days of brightness, sunshine and prosperity, these 
 two banding panegyrists little expected that a season 
 was fast approaching when the well turned compli- 
 ment and the ready speech to each other's praise 
 would be turned into the gall and bitterness of re- 
 proof and reproach ; each one throwing on the other 
 the odium of cruelty, and censure for his hardheart- 
 edness. James, deprived of his power, and languish- 
 ing in exile at St. Germain's, would have gladly 
 screened himself at the expense of his servant ; and 
 Jeffrys, a captive in the tower, protested that all the 
 rigorous acts ascribed to him were done at the ex- 
 press commands of the king. These attempts at 
 exculpation were received with the contempt they 
 so justly merited; for proofs too glaring, in the cri- 
 mination of both, were in existence, comdemning 
 them to the malediction of the good and virtuous in 
 all ages, and branding their characters with a black- 
 ness which is without a parallel in the chronicles of 
 any Christian country. 
 
 Somersetshire, and the neighboring county, was 
 at length freed from the awful presence of Jeffrys, 
 though the cypress still waved mournfully over the 
 smiling land; for poverty, want, and its concomitant, 
 disease, flooded every section of that beautiful coun- 
 try, and hearts made desolate were the only topics 
 of the times. Death, in his most horrid aspect, had 
 
 9* 
 
186 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 visited their once happy borders, and peopled their 
 minds and memories with the most terrible objects. 
 Superstition caused even an addition to their real 
 horrors, by supplying ghostly visitations of unquiet 
 spirits, whose untimely fate had sent them unpre- 
 pared into the realms of an unending eternity. 
 
 With Jeffrys' arrival in London commenced the 
 troubles of the whig merchants of the city. In pos- 
 session of the seal, his spirits required no spur, no 
 further invigoration to resume the employment his 
 heart and energies had so long been devoted to. 
 The work of death and torture were the delights 
 of his life, and he commenced ferretting out every 
 shadow of a case that presented itself, in the hope 
 of splendid spoils. 
 
 He was not so fortunate as he expected, for, al- 
 though in Charles' reign men who stood highest in 
 commercial riches and grandeur were numbered 
 among the opposite party ; yet during Monmouth's 
 career they had carefully abstained from every ex- 
 pression hostile to James, while in their hearts desir- 
 ing nothing so much as the duke's success. Hating 
 Popery, they desired above all things a Protestant 
 king, but they, had done nothing towards its accom- 
 plishment, as they feared the result. The wealth of 
 a merchant is always attainable, being, unlike that 
 of noblemen and many country gentlemen, fre- 
 quently entailed to prevent its being forfeited. In 
 the case of Lord Grey, nothing could be gained by 
 
liRITIBH REBELLION. 187 
 
 depriving him of life or liberty, as his estates would 
 pass at once into the hands of the succeeding heir, 
 from having been thus secured. Merchants, thought 
 Jeffrys, can be made profitable, whether hanged or 
 spared. By sufficient proof, if executed, their posses- 
 sions can be confiscated; and in the other event, 
 they can purchase a pardon by a suitable bonus. 
 And now to work. 
 
 The first object that presented itself was a gen- 
 tleman by the name of Cornish. He had been 
 elected alderman of the city, under the old charter, 
 and "had filled the office of sheriff when the ques- 
 tion of the Exclusion Bill had occupied the public 
 mind." In his religious principles he was a Protes- 
 tant, and much attached to the Presbyterian form of 
 worship. He bore a high character for integrity, 
 and always preserved a cautious reserve in the 
 expression of his opinions. No one had therefore 
 ever ascribed to him anything like treasonable sen- 
 timents, yet on this man Jeffrys had set his eye. 
 When the Rye-house Plot was discovered, there was 
 a strong wish to implicate Cornish, and Rumsey, 
 one of the conspirators, would very readily have 
 witnessed anything against him, but more than one 
 witness was necessary, and at that time none other 
 could be found. * 
 
 Groodenough, during the period of his being 
 sheriff, had been nominated to fill the office of de- 
 puty, but Cornish, who knew him to be a man 
 
188 BRITISH RKBELLiuJ, 
 
 utterly destitute of principle, refused to employ him 
 in that capacity. Two years had elapsed since then, 
 and Goodenough came very near forfeiting his life. 
 One of the conditions of bis pardon was giving the 
 necessary information for the full conviction of Cor- 
 nish, which as well as to gratify a feeling of revenge 
 for his rejection of him to fill an office he had 
 much desired, he used his utmost to effect. By 
 Cornish himself the remembrance had entirely pass- 
 ed away. Not so his malicious enemies. At Jef- 
 frys' orders he was arrested, one day, while transact- 
 ing his usual business at the Exchange, and carried 
 off to jail. He was confined three daj~s, and then 
 without any preparation, and scarcely knowing the 
 nature of the offence he was charged with, he was 
 brought up to the Old Bailey to be tried by three 
 of the judges who had accompanied Jeffrys during 
 all the trials in the west. He was accused of trea- 
 son, under the united testimony of Eumsey and 
 Goodenough, who acknowledged themselves his ac- 
 complices. Much depended on his conviction ; and 
 hope and fear alternated in their bosoms all through 
 the trial. If they failed to substantiate their charges 
 their own lives would in all probability be the for- 
 feit, as on this ground merely had their liberty and 
 exemption from death been granted. There were 
 great discrepancies in their accounts. In that of 
 Kumsey in particular. The story he had formerly 
 told when appearing a witness against Lord Bus- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 189 
 
 sel, was very different to the one now given. This 
 point was argued in favor of the prisoner, but his 
 accusers triumphed, and those judges with ferocity 
 in their looks and tones, emulating their leader in 
 brutality and coarseness, addressed this excellent 
 man in language too revolting for repetition, till 
 hope entirely expired beneath their peltirigs, and a 
 jury ended all conjecture on a subject so palpably 
 unjust, yet so powerfully subjugated to the will of 
 his enemies, by rendering a verdict of guilty. 
 
 Ten days after he was executed, and the people 
 of London had to 'behold an outrage on justice and 
 humanity which sickened their very souls. Their 
 murmurings and distress at the fate of this good 
 man filled the public prints, and mourning dwelt in 
 every heart. He died with many pious expressions 
 on his lips, though his feelings towards his enemies 
 could not be suppressed ; and he uttered many bit- 
 ter things against those who had conspired so cruelly 
 against him. This greatly enraged Bumsey and 
 Goodenough, who spread a report that his senses 
 had left him, or that he was drunk. 
 
 William Penn, whom we again find mingling 
 with the crowd around the gallows, refuted this 
 malignant assertion, by declaring "that there was 
 nothing in his manner and deportment but the 
 natural feelings of humanity, at a sentence so bar- 
 borous and unmerited, sanctioned by forms of law, 
 while wholly unsupported by truth and justice." 
 
190 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 Cornish was evidently the victim of secret malice, 
 for only by false swearing could anything be found 
 against him. But a deep enmity had to be gratified, 
 and even in compassing his death, everything which 
 could augment his agony was ingeniously devised. 
 The jibbet was paraded through the most public 
 streets, and erected in front of his own house, where 
 he had dwelt for years in the esteem and respect of 
 all who knew him ; opposite to the Exchange, where 
 his mercantile transactions had secured to him a 
 credit of the highest standing ; and very near Guild 
 Hall, where his talents had greatly distinguished 
 him with those parties who had elected him on most 
 occasions as their leader. Here his head was cruelly 
 and maliciously exposed after death. His widow 
 and family were beyond the reach of sympathy, 
 their despair being completely overwhelming. His 
 life had been so blameless, so marked by every pri- 
 vate and public virtue, that at home and abroad the 
 name of Henry Cornish was always coupled with 
 praise. And one like him to be arraigned and con- 
 victed of treason, established an idea so diabolical, 
 that it seemed even to exceed the wickedness of the 
 Spanish Inquisition. 
 
 But while these things were going forward with- 
 out, within Whitehall all was exultation and delight. 
 Power triumphed, and bigotry, cruelty, and hate 
 gloated over her victims with feelings of unmingled 
 satisfaction. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 191 
 
 Goodenough's anxiety for his life was not yet 
 over, he had yet more work to do. Trembling for 
 his fate, he had watched with fearful and anxious 
 interest the trial of Cornish, and when all was over, 
 congratulated himself on being able to effect some- 
 thing to ground his claim of pardon upon, by a ful- 
 filment of one of the conditions on which he was to 
 receive it. Goodenough, however, was only one of 
 many in this respect. Others like him were kept for 
 the same purpose, so that they had but to pounce 
 on a victim and devour him. The order of the day 
 seemed the excitement produced by cruelty, and, 
 like the Spanish bull-fights, to form the great amuse- 
 ment of the times. The king and his minions de- 
 lighted to ferret out everything like the shadow of 
 offensive principles in the past as well as present, 
 so that no one thought themselves safe. James 
 hated his subjects on a ground where his spirit was 
 most goaded. He had desired, above all things, to 
 establish Papacy, and subjugate the nation to his 
 own peculiar views. Their resistance had excited 
 his worst feelings, and the desire for revenge caused 
 him to treasure up everything he had ever heard 
 against persons who, at any time, had had the mis- 
 fortune to express views in opposition to himself. 
 Implacable, revengeful, cruel, and ambitious of 
 power, the softer elements of humanity were entirely 
 crushed and destroyed, and on his Protestant sub- 
 jects, for their resistance to his will, he loved to 
 
192 BHITIBH REBELLION. 
 
 wreak all the fiendish malignity of his dark and 
 baffled passions. 
 
 So far back as 1681, the commencement of our 
 narrative, when the Earl of Shaftsbury was one of 
 the conspirators in Monmouth's clique, during his 
 imprisonment, requiring medical advice, he had sent 
 for a surgeon by the name of Bateman, who was 
 known to entertain exclusive principles, and sup- 
 posed by many to have known and favored the Rye- 
 house Plot. This, however, was merely conjecture. 
 He was indicted at the time for the offence, but the 
 proofs adduced were of too unsubstantial a nature 
 to convict him, and he was cleared. But the remem- 
 brance of these charges rankled deep in the hearts 
 of his enemies. And the wicked policy adopted of 
 keeping unpardoned traitors for the purpose of plac- 
 ing their own lives at their own option, by giving 
 testimony or withholding it, rendered every wish 
 for vengeance comparatively easy. 
 
 Several of these men, with Goodenough, were 
 now required to give evidence against this unoffend- 
 ing surgeon. At the time of his arrest, to render 
 the act still more revolting, he was confined to a 
 bed of sickness, from which he was mercilessly 
 dragged by the officers, and thrown into a damp 
 and unwholesome cell, notwithstanding the prayers, 
 tears, and intreaties of his afflicted wife and family, 
 who besought only to keep him till he should be 
 even sufficiently recovered to walk. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 193 
 
 They were deaf to all this pleading. He was re- 
 moved on a charge of high treason, though in reality 
 for the exercise of that humane disposition which 
 was his great characteristic. 
 
 The real nature of his offence was dressing the 
 wounds of Oates, in Newgate-prison, after his flog- 
 ging. Though he was arrested on the charge of join- 
 ing in the plot for the murder of the royal brothers ; 
 and being privy, through Shaftesbury, to the rebel- 
 lion set on foot by Monmouth, previous to Charles' 
 death, to prevent James' accession. Under cover of 
 these charges, he was in reality hanged and quartered 
 for his professional aid to Oates, leaving a beloved 
 and amiable family plunged in the deepest grief. 
 
 His son and daughter read notes for him at the 
 bar, as he was unable to stand, from weakness, to 
 make any defence himself. These efforts served them 
 of little purpose, as those poor wretches, waiting for 
 pardons, but too readily swore away every evidence 
 of a truthful nature, by the enormous and overbear- 
 ing; relation of the most atrocious falsehoods, which 
 they sanctioned and confirmed by oaths. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 But a great revolution was at hand. James' days 
 were numbering fast, and the handwriting on the 
 wall was soon to blazen forth the irrevocable doom, 
 " thy kingdom is rent from thee." Misery's reign 
 was nearly at its close ; but, ere the flame was en- 
 tirely extinguished, its flickering extended where 
 the insignia of its sacred order should have shielded 
 its quiet and unoffending victims from the most 
 merciless and cruel of monarch's malignity. 
 
 The solemnity of the times had induced a re- 
 ligious feeling throughout the land, of more than 
 usual earnestness. Prayer meetings were constantly 
 held, to which people flocked to receive the only 
 consolation that remained to them. But even this 
 was denied. Spies were stationed everywhere, con- 
 venticles watched, and congregations interrupted in 
 their worship by magisterial warrants. All office- 
 holders were in league with the king for the sup- 
 pression of what was termed Puritanism. Jeffrys 
 was an Episcopalian, and hated non-conformists as 
 much as James disliked Protestantism. The dis- 
 
BRITI8H REBELLION. 195 
 
 senters, therefore, were held in hourly and daily 
 fear ; yet their ardor remained unabated. Their faith 
 and zeal increased with every added difficulty, and 
 their minds being constantly occupied by the one 
 desire which pervaded their hearts, this opposition 
 tended to strengthen rather than depress the delight 
 with which their stolen meetings were obtained. 
 Contrivance was constantly on the alert ; and though 
 often baffled, they continued to devise means for that 
 exercise of conscientious freedom which is the un- 
 alienable right of every human being. 
 
 The evening hour found many a faithful band 
 assembled beneath some friendly roof; and, with 
 their hymn-books in their hands, singing with muf- 
 fled voices the praises of Jehovah. 
 
 Dissenting ministers fared worse than all others 
 at this time, being afraid to walk the streets ; as 
 whenever they were seen, insults from the lowest 
 rabble were not only permitted but encouraged. 
 Several, of great fame, had been taken and impri- 
 soned, among whom was Eichard Baxter. Thus 
 gloom pervaded the land in all forms, and lent an 
 aspect to the period of James' administration, a dark- 
 ness which shadowed every feature of England's 
 greatness and glory in one mass of melancholy ruin. 
 
 The horrors of the rebellion having ceased, and 
 given place to this new persecution, Monmouth's 
 name in London was fading fast away from the men- 
 tion, if not the remembrances of the people. Not so 
 
196 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 in the country. Throughout Somersetshire, there 
 were hundreds who believed him still alive ; and 
 this idea was so dearly cherished, and so absolutely 
 and entirely believed in, that it formed the theme of 
 every happy interval around their firesides and 
 boards. Often, during the year's decline, when the 
 horrors of the bloody assizes had ceased to scourge 
 the land ; when evening closed on the labors of the 
 day, and its quiet invited repose, would peasants 
 and farmers congregate into groups, to talk over the 
 defeature of the good duke ; and expatiating on his 
 bravery and kindheartedness, excite themselves into 
 a belief that he could not be dead. " O, how he 
 fought at Sedgemoor," was echoed from mouth to 
 mouth. " No, it's my belief," they would simulta- 
 neously add, " that he is yet alive, and will one day, 
 with stronger forces, cut his way to the throne, and 
 God speed the day." 
 
 Such was the state of feeling existing in places 
 where suffering, sorrow, and defeature had only fol- 
 lowed the steps of Monmouth — and such the popu- 
 lar belief of his actual existence — that ballads were 
 written and sung all through England, declaring it 
 to be the case, accompanied by many prophetic de- 
 scriptions of the success which was ultimately to 
 crown his endeavors. The supposition at present 
 was, that he vv r as absent, and would return after the 
 lapse of four years, fully equipped for his victorious 
 cause. Several of these songs are still preserved in 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 197 
 
 the Pepsj^an collection. Two verses, which we here 
 quote, will serve to explain the prevailing sentiment 
 of the people. They are as follows : 
 
 " Though this is a dismal story 
 
 Of the fall of my design, 
 Yet I'll come again in glory, 
 
 If I live till eighty-nine : 
 For I'll have a stronger army, 
 
 And of ammunition more. 
 
 "Then shall Monmouth, in his glories, 
 
 To his English friends appear, 
 And will stifle ail such stories 
 
 As are blended every where. 
 They'll see it was not so degraded 
 
 To be taken gathering pease, 
 Or in a cock of hay fast braided ; — 
 
 What strange stories now are these !" 
 
 Strange as it may seem, though so many had 
 actually witnessed his death, this idea gained a most 
 extensive credence ; and people looked forward with 
 certainty to the fulfilment of the prediction contain- 
 ed in the ballad. Old and young delighted to talk 
 about it, and filled their minds with visions of his 
 future elevation above the heads of those enemies 
 who had vainly sought to compass his ruin. Mon- 
 mouth, though dead, might truly be said to be their 
 living idol ; for their hearts were full of admiration 
 and love for one, who, whatever faults he might pos- 
 sess as a man, his glory as a hero, to these devoted 
 beings, remained untarnished and irrevocable. 
 
198 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 As years rolled along, and the time specified 
 drew near, the hearts of the peasantry began to an- 
 ticipate his presence among them, and a knavish fel- 
 low, calling himself the Duke of Monmouth, ob- 
 tained money in several villages, even near London, 
 on the ground of raising troops and commencing his 
 victorious war. He was soon, however, apprehend- 
 ed, and sentenced to be flogged from Newgate to 
 Tyburn, a punishment which he actually underwent. 
 In 1698 the fraud was again repeated, although the 
 people of England were in the enjoyment of that 
 constitutional freedom for which they had long 
 sighed. The Prince of Orange was firmly seated on 
 the British throne, and the tyrant James an exile 
 from the land over which he had ruled so arbitrarily. 
 Yet, such a spell did the name of Monmouth possess, 
 that the son of an innkeeper in Sussex, bearing a 
 strong resemblance to the unfortunate duke, resolved 
 to personate him, and represent himself to the people 
 throughout Somersetshire as having come again to 
 war against the ruling powers, and reign as their 
 sovereign. 
 
 This acted like an electric shock, and spread like 
 wildfire throughout the land ; and every demon- 
 stration of affection was eagerly showered on the 
 man whom they believed to be their beloved Mon- 
 mouth. Five hundred pounds were readily col- 
 lected for him, a handsome horse presented, while 
 
BRITISH RBBELLIOK. 109 
 
 the farmers' wives and daughters outvied each other 
 in presents and favors to their favorite. 
 
 For a long time he luxuriated on the bounties 
 of these simple and loving people ; but his doings 
 getting wind, he was committed to prison as an im- 
 postor ; yet, so strong was their belief in his identity, 
 that they even then continued to supply him with 
 every luxury their farms yielded, and to persevere 
 in their conviction that he was truly the veritable 
 Monmouth who fought in the battle of Sedgemoor. 
 
 When his trial came on at the Horsham assizes, 
 they came in a body to establish his claims, and con- 
 tradict, from their personal knowledge of the duke, 
 the base idea of his being an impostor. He was 
 liberated, but the lesson he had learned during his 
 incarceration effectually put a stop to all further 
 attempts of enriching himself on such dangerous 
 grounds. Much to the people's discomfiture, he re- 
 tired from the field, and sunk into his former ob- 
 scurity, congratulating himself on escaping so well. 
 
 But the delusion still continued to exist, and the 
 warm-hearted yeomanry and peasantry hoped yet to 
 see the day when he would with greater confidence 
 and boldness assert his cause, and under more pros- 
 perous circumstances fearlessly prosecute his claims 
 to the crown of England, and his idolizing subjects 
 see their Monmouth on the throne. 
 
 Few earthly monarchs have ever possessed the 
 affections of their people to the extent that Mon- 
 
200 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 mouth did. With nations generally they are easily 
 led according to the phases of prosperity, or the 
 general bearing of their sovereign's character. A 
 single act has been known to produce marvellous 
 results in this respect. But unshaken constancy was 
 the undoubted characteristic of one portion of Mon- 
 mouth's followers. On his second attempt at rebel- 
 lion, the gentry, actuated by a prudential policy, 
 had seceded from their former promised allegiance. 
 Not so the farmers and the tillers of the soil, they 
 evidenced on his second coining the same devotion 
 as at the first ; and unshaken in their fidelity when 
 defeated, and plunging the country in wretchedness 
 in consequence, suing with unmanly tears and false 
 protestations by his letters from Eingwood for mercy, 
 and by abject humiliation at the feet of his uncle 
 for pardon, in London, he was still in their mind's 
 eye their idolized Duke of Monmouth, still living, 
 though believed dead, and reigning in their hearts 
 king of their fealty and deepest affection. 
 
 A fearful instance of the strength of their at- 
 tachment was given in the hatred it occasioned to 
 the woman and her family which followed her in- 
 formation of Monmouth's hiding-place, when fleeing 
 from his pursuers. From that hour they were a 
 marked and doomed race. No one employed, no 
 one associated with her or her family ; and depen- 
 dant as they were upon the labor of their hands, for 
 their support, their subsistence became at last so pre- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 201 
 
 carious, that they were obliged to beg their bread. 
 The cottage they once owned fell into decay ; and 
 insulted wherever they were, hated and despised, 
 their lives ever after became a burden and a curse, 
 which generation after generation inherited, in which 
 both father and son were made but too deeply to par- 
 ticipate. So late as the reign of George the Third 
 the belief that Monmouth had escaped the hands 
 of the executioner was most pertinaciously perse- 
 vered in. A formal refutation of the idea, published 
 in the Gazette of France, by Voltaire, is said to have 
 silenced it ; though it is far more likely, in our esti- 
 mation, that time alone consigned him to the dust, 
 when his threescore years and ten had laid waste 
 the energies that once glowed so brightly in their 
 eyes, and stilled a heart which they believed beat 
 only for the good of others. 
 
 The Duchess of Monmouth long mourned her 
 husband, but her grief eventually subsided, and 
 happiness beamed once more from her sparkling 
 eyes. The cause of years of anxiety and sorrow 
 had been removed, and although deprived of the 
 husband of her youth, she had not now to feel that 
 it was love to another which caused her desolation. 
 He was dead, and her children were fatherless, but 
 hopes of his heavenly joy softened the anguish of 
 their separation. A few months after saw her cheer- 
 ful and partaking life's innocent pleasures, with all 
 the enjoyment natural to her age, and apparently 
 10 
 
202 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 rejoicing in that great political change which deli- 
 vered England from the rule of the tyrant James, 
 and avenged the wrongs of thousands whose hearts 
 he had caused to bleed with hopeless anguish. 
 
 But leaving the courts of royalty for awhile be- 
 hind, we will glance for a short time towards the 
 seat of Sir Thomas Wentworth Toddington, Bed- 
 fordshire. Monmouth's imprisonment had caused 
 the immediate return of Lady Wentworth to Eng- 
 land, and her fond parents, with forgiveness in their 
 hearts, had welcomed her to their arms and to their 
 house, as the father had done to the prodigal son, 
 in Holy Writ, and killed the fatted calf in token of 
 the joy they experienced of seeing her once more 
 safe beneath their roof. The past was forgotten, and 
 the future they trusted would yet atone for all the 
 anguish her erring life had cost them. Beautifu lin 
 her anguish and apparent repentance, throwing her- 
 self at her parents' feet, she promised everything. 
 After Monmouth's execution his servant brought 
 the tooth-pick which his master bequeathed, in his 
 last moments, to her who evidently shared his last 
 affections. She received it from his hands, pressed 
 it wildly to her bosom, and from that hour declined 
 rapidly away. 
 
 In vain were the lessons of duty poured into her 
 ear, of yielding to feelings evidently so sinful and 
 displeasing in the sight of God; nothing could rouse 
 her from the melancholy into which she sank ; often 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 203 
 
 weeping and exclaiming in the anguish of an up- 
 braiding conscience, that it was all her doing ; that 
 but for her entreaties he never would have joined 
 in the rebellion a second time ; or bartered peace in 
 endeavors to gain a throne but for the ambitious 
 wishes she had expressed of seeing him king, and 
 sharing his royal honors with him. Her constant 
 self-reproaches and her grief at length did their 
 work. Consumption laid her chilly grasp on that 
 once blooming and lovely form, and ere the spring- 
 blossoms had burst forth, and the early foliage deck- 
 ed the groves with their promised beauty, one who 
 might have been an ornament to her sex was borne 
 to her tomb, followed by her still idolizing but 
 heart-broken parents, who were now childless, and 
 whose desolate halls could no more echo back the 
 sounds of that voice whose music had constituted 
 the sole joy of their lives. She was buried in the 
 transept of the village church of Toddington, the 
 ancient burial-place of the Wentworths. Her pa- 
 rents erected a costly monument over her remains, 
 which stood for years a melancholy memento of the 
 past. But in the stately park of Sir Thomas, a tree 
 bearing her name carved on its bark by the hand of 
 him she loved " not wisely, but too well," while on a 
 visit — wandering through its ample grounds — formed 
 a memorial, over which many a sad heart wept and 
 mourned the fate of two so gifted, so beloved, so mis- 
 gidedand so unfortunate. The characters were dis- 
 
204 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 cernable till within a few years past, and the noble 
 trees till waves in loveliness and strength over the 
 place on which stood these once young, happy, and 
 hopeful beings. 
 
 We might write volumes on the retribution 
 which certainly follows crime. But to the good and 
 virtuous it is unnecessary, and to those in whose 
 minds the angel voice of principle is hushed and 
 still, it would be a vain and superfluous task. The 
 lessons we daily and hourly receive are fraught 
 with meaning, and convince us that God's ways are 
 just. 
 
 As Lady "Wentworth's dust mingled with her 
 ancestors, that of Monmouth mouldered beside 
 many illustrious personages, and many who, like 
 himself, were borne to their last resting-place for real 
 or imputed crimes. Such as leaders of parties, whom 
 their talents had raised to the highest senatorial dis- 
 tinctions, and made them the favorites of courts and 
 the chosen friends of kings. For these very gifts 
 enmity had plotted and effected their ruin ; and the 
 axe of the executioner cut short the glittering path 
 of fame. 
 
 St. Peter's Chapel is a spot which every reflect- 
 ing mind regards with fearful and almost awful in- 
 terest. Beneath its costly monuments lie so many 
 whose fate recalls the melancholy history of the past, 
 so much of sorrow and suffering, so much of the 
 abuse of power, and the dark deeds of insatiable 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 205 
 
 ambition, that the heart sickens 'neath a calendar 
 where every feeling sacred to humanity has been 
 outraged, social and religious ties rudely sundered, 
 and all the sweetest charities of our nature trampled 
 in the dust. 
 
 The Tower of London will always carry with 
 it associations of horror, for instinctively with its 
 name arises thoughts of the cruelties which have 
 been perpetrated there. Here the two young princes 
 were murdered, here noblemen have been dragged, 
 without one real offence to either their country or 
 their fellow-man. Here the meek and pious Lady 
 Jane Grey was importuned by the prelates of Pope- 
 ry, and witnessed from her window the bleeding 
 body of her husband, as the rough hands of the 
 jailers consigned him to the Tower Chapel. Edward 
 Seymour, Duke of Somerset, Protector of the Eealm, 
 reposes in his last sleep beside the brother whom he 
 so relentlessly murdered. Here also lie two queens, 
 who were the victims of the jealous Henry, and the 
 gentle victim of others' ambition, Lady Jane Grey, 
 sleeps beside them. Essex, the favorite of royalty, 
 distinguished for talents, learning, beauty, and ac- 
 complishments, was consigned to an ignominious 
 tomb, guiltless of any real crime, a sad sacrifice to 
 woman's petulance and exacting humor. And be- 
 side those already enumerated, the grave of many 
 a nobleman and statesman lie thick around, reading 
 their silent but eloquent lessons to the hearts of be- 
 
206 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 holders, on the fragile tenure of all earthly distinc- 
 tion, and the uncertainty of the favors and gifts of 
 kings, whose promises pass like the hour, and 
 whose favoritism, like the roses reign in summer, 
 oft fade with every breath of change, leaving in its 
 stead the thorns of malice, hatred and implacable 
 revenge for real or fancied wrongs. Beside these 
 Monmouth lies, adding his melancholy fate to those 
 who had gone before him ; another dark page to the 
 history of the past, and another fearful comment on 
 the times in which he lived, when power was sub- 
 verted to the vilest of purjDoses, the spread of mise- 
 ry, discontent, and crime. 
 
 The place where Monmouth was found, when 
 taken in the enclosure in Somersetshire, has been 
 visited by thousands ; and to this day it is shown to 
 people visiting that part of the country, with a feel- 
 ing of interest that no time or circumstance have 
 been able to lessen. His amiable bearing, and devo- 
 tion to what was believed the sole good of the peo- 
 ple, constituted a sacrifice becoming the hero they so 
 long sincerely and deeply mourned. The estate 
 where this enclosure stands, belongs to the present 
 Earl of Shaftesbury, a relative of one of Monmouth's 
 early confederates, whose servant, in pointing out its 
 locality, never fails to pour forth his eulogium on 
 the unfortunate duke, and to cite the love and admi- 
 ration with which his name is coupled by the coun- 
 try people around ; and to relate the almost romantic 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 207 
 
 and idolatrous fondness with which, his memory was 
 cherished throughout. 
 
 After the battle of Sedgemoor, the relics of some 
 portions of his apparel were found by the farmers of 
 that time ; and, though merely consisting of a rib- 
 bon, a shoe-buckle, or a button, they were treasured 
 by their owners with a fondness scarcely credible 
 while living, and when they died, their last request 
 was frequently to have them placed beside them in 
 their coffins. One was preserved from this fate, and 
 is still kept as a most precious possession by a woman 
 residing in a house which overlooked the battle-field 
 of Sedgemoor. It consisted of a gold thread button, 
 which descended to the present owner by her father, 
 who fought with the good duke to the very last, as 
 he is emphatically called in those districts, where 
 every cottage has its tale to tell of that memorable 
 time ; and where the eye becomes dilated with de- 
 light, and the tongue most eloquent, as it describes 
 his heartfelt devotion to his country's good, which 
 they believed, and still continue to believe, was the 
 sole motive of all his actions. Rarely has it ever 
 fallen to the lot of mortal to be so 
 
 " Beloved in life, 
 
 "So lamented in death 1 ' 
 
 as the Duke of Monmouth ; and, though the discri- 
 minating historian places his virtues and vices in 
 their true light, all who have read his history will 
 
208 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 deplore the tco amiable docility of his character, 
 which, while it secured to him the affection of a 
 people unprecedented and unequalled in any of the 
 annals of a former or after generation, also hurried 
 him into a measure which sealed not only his own 
 destruction, but that of others, whose only fault was 
 a blind devotion to the hero of their brightest 
 dreams and highest aspirations. 
 
CHAPTEK X 
 
 Having narrated the eventful history of the Eng- 
 lish Rebellion, we will turn to the Scottish Insurrec- 
 tion of the same period, under the command of the 
 Earl of Argyle, as James' principles and religion 
 produced the same dissatisfaction in both nations. 
 The Scots had been rendered desperate under the 
 extortions of Charles ; and now they were still more 
 to be oppressed by the brother, who would not only 
 carry out the measures of the late monarch, but add 
 to them the whims and caprices of an unfeeling and 
 bigotted tyrant. But the Scots had too much pride 
 to identify themselves in their grievances with an 
 English leader ; and, selecting MacCullum More, 
 Earl of Argyle, proceeded to organize their forces 
 for the invasion of Scotland. 
 
 Many Scotch fugitives had taken refuge on the 
 Continent during the reign of Charles the Second, 
 having been driven thither by the intemperate zeal 
 of religious and political reformers ; whose excesses 
 had been excited by the oppressive nature of the 
 government and the restraint to which it subjected 
 them. 
 
 10* 
 
210 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 When Charles died, and James ascended the 
 throne, they met; and, in conjunction with Mon- 
 mouth, determined to commence hostilities in Scot- 
 land. Amsterdam was the place of general assem- 
 blage for both Scotch and English ; and here their 
 plans were formed for ultimate action. At first, a 
 general feeling prevailed, that, as hatred of James 
 formed the leading feature of discontent among them 
 all, they would unite in one common cause to deprive 
 him of the throne. But Argyle's pride took offence 
 at once, when Monmouth's high claims were set 
 forth ; and he determined to individualize his own 
 cause and pretensions, as the leader of his country- 
 men and the avenger and deliverer of his country. 
 
 Archibald, Earl of Argyle, was the son of the 
 Marquis of Argyle, one of the leaders of the Scotch 
 Covenanters in the reign of Charles the First, to 
 whose ruin he is said to have greatly contributed. 
 By the royalists, therefore, he was hated, and though 
 he acknowledged Charles the Second as king, and 
 consented to his inhabiting Holyrood house as his 
 prison, the remembrance of the past still lingered on 
 the minds of the royal family ; and, when Charles 
 was quietly seated on the throne of England, both 
 prudence and revenge caused him to be put to death; 
 by which means the title of marquis was cut off, and 
 his son only permitted to inherit the earldom of his 
 ancestors. Still he was one of the first of Scottish 
 noblemen, and held a high rank among his country- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 211 
 
 men ; though by many he was thought to have taken 
 his father's death in too quiescent a spirit, as during 
 the first twenty years of Charles the Second's reign, 
 not a single murmur at the administration had been 
 suffered to escape him, whatever his feelings might 
 have been. But he had looked on, and seen the af- 
 flictions and oppressions of his beloved country, and 
 would gladly have rushed to the rescue, but his fa- 
 ther's fate withheld him from offering anything but 
 conciliatory advice. This precautionary spirit greatly 
 displeased the Presbyterians, as it had been carried 
 even into the church ; and, when their religious pri- 
 vilegesVere abridged, and their most sacred feelings 
 violated, Argyle was still the dull looker-on, the still 
 indifferent spectator to all the oppressions that were 
 heaped upon them. Their astonishment was still 
 more excited, when the Covenanters, for whom his 
 father so bravely fought, being at length persecuted 
 into an open rebellion, he summoned all the forces 
 lie could command, of his own people, to assist the 
 government in subduing it. 
 
 This conduct of Argyle led the king and his bro- 
 ther James, the Duke of York, to imagine he could 
 easily be led to espouse any measure they might 
 choose to propose. To this end the duke was sent 
 to Edinburgh, bearing the king's authority, in order 
 to the entire subjugation of the Scotch Presbyterians 
 to Episcopacy ; as, notwithstanding Charles' careless 
 and forgiving temper, the remembrance of the insults 
 
212 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 he had once received at their hands, now that a way 
 was opened, he determined, with their chief assist- 
 ance, to pursue, to gratify the revengeful feelings he 
 still entertained towards his old enemies. But he 
 had reckoned too surely on Argyle. Cautious as he 
 had hitherto been, and in the last instance publicly 
 avowing his devotion to the government ; when this 
 wholesale measure was proposed, he rejected it with 
 a bravery and sincerity becoming a man, and utterly 
 refused to aid the Duke of York in a measure so un- 
 just and so causelessly oppressive. This resistance 
 nearly cost him his life. His opposition to the wishes 
 of his sovereign was at once followed by an indict- 
 ment; and a resolution formed, that if he continued 
 to do so, he should be sentenced to death. Argyle 
 was firm. A trial was, therefore, instituted, and on 
 grounds which had no antecedent for frivolity, he 
 was condemned for treason, and sentenced to be ex- 
 ecuted. 
 
 This shameful conduct towards the unoffending 
 earl excited the highest disgust, and several noble- 
 men declared against it in no measured terms. But 
 the sentence received no revoke ; and without either 
 suing for mercy, or offering any of his broad lands 
 in payment of pardon, which some time after was 
 shown would have been but too gladly received, 
 Argyle managed to escape to England, disguised as 
 a peasant, from which he embarked for Friesland, 
 where his father had purchased a small estate for the 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 213 
 
 purpose of a place of refuge for his family, in case of 
 emergency, from those civil dissensions which had 
 marked his own time. 
 
 The purchase of an estate in that secluded pro- 
 vince, was owing to a circumstance connected with 
 the superstitious feeling which is so deeply inwoven 
 with the Scottish character. Every highland chief 
 in those days had his seer attached to his ancestral 
 domain; one who, gifted with second sight, could 
 behold in visions the future joys and sorrows of his 
 ancient house. To the Marquis of Argyle there was 
 a prophecy given, that his son would, after he was 
 dead, be obliged to fly from Scotland, and the home 
 of his fathers, from those who sought his life. 
 
 "Whether his political sagacity saw into the state of 
 the future, and thus provided himself against it, or 
 whether he was influenced by the vision of the seer 
 in this purchase, is not distinctly known. But this is 
 certain, that the Marquis' son found in Friesland the 
 hiding-place he needed, and escaped the death to which 
 his enemies had devoted him. Here he lived quietly 
 for some time, corresponding with his friends in 
 Great Britain, and entering into a conspiracy with 
 the chiefs of the whig party for invading his country ; 
 looked with confidence towards an event which he 
 trusted would atone for the injustice he had received 
 at the hands of Charles. 
 
 The discovery of the Eye-house Plot ended all the 
 plans he and others had formed for a while, but when 
 
214 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 the king died another invasion was planned, and 
 hopes for Scotland and revenge filled Argyle's heart. 
 Archibald Argyle's character was one which few 
 understood. To observers generally he appeared 
 calm and dispassionate, with little of that enthusiasm 
 which marks bold and energetic minds. Every 
 thought and action seemed the result of forethought 
 and reflection, and every ready and fearless impulse 
 to be schooled into the complete subjection of a cool 
 and mature judgment. Argyle's actions on all occa- 
 sions strengthened this popular belief, and up to the 
 time of his joining the government in arms against 
 the Puritans, the respect and veneration with which 
 he was regarded was greater than that of any other 
 nobleman in Scotland. His retainers were nume- 
 rous, and his domain, surrounding his highland 
 castle, stretched far and wide over the wild and rug- 
 ged grandeur of towering mountains and headlong 
 torrents, rock and glen, forest and waterfall. While 
 fields made rich by the careful husbandman's thrifty 
 toils, secured to his barns and granaries all the abun- 
 dance of a lord of the soil, and imparted a patriarchal 
 influence to his position which extended far beyond 
 the immediate precincts of his own demesne. By 
 the laws of the crown he was now deprived of his 
 possessions by the attainder; yet, such was his 
 popularity, such the deep interest with which all 
 ranks regarded him, that at any time, by his pre- 
 sence alone, he could command a powerful army, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 215 
 
 and raise a civil war among a people whose fierce 
 impulsive natures had been subdued into admiration 
 for those very opposite features he possessed to such 
 perfection in their eyes. Added to these were a 
 handsome and prepossessing exterior, a noble, manly 
 form, and a countenance, bearing on its fine linea- 
 ments a high cast of thought, yet often blent with a 
 sad and pensive meaning which never vented itself 
 in words, yet, to the hearts of those who beheld him, 
 carried the conviction of a soul alive to the tenderest 
 emotions of our natures, springing, as they knew it 
 did, from the grief which the memory of his father's 
 death had enshrined there. 
 
 To this circumstance they felt was owing all the 
 prudence and caution which had marked his life, 
 and they honored him for the motive while they 
 condemned the act. He was now in exile from his 
 country and his people, but one shout echoing from 
 the mountain passes, and reverberating through the 
 dells, that he approached their borders, would be 
 answered by thousands of enthusiastic hearts, ready, 
 if needs be, to die in his cause, and follow whither- 
 soever he led. 
 
 While in exile Argyle had devoted himself to a 
 careful retrospection of his past life. His father's 
 life was a forfeit to his attachment to the Puritans. 
 Their religion was Presbyterian, but he had sum- 
 moned his forces in aid of Episcopacy. He con- 
 stantly reproached himself for doing this, and yield- 
 
216 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 ing to fear what his judgment had so entirely con- 
 demned. He strictly examined himself, and in the 
 sincerity of his conscience resolved, should an oppor- 
 tunity offer, to vindicate the true nature of his feel- 
 ings by an active zeal and a constant persevering 
 aim in removing the burden from his countrymen, 
 and the stigma which this one unsanctified act had 
 attached to his character. In solitude our moods 
 are always in extremes. With nothing to keep up 
 a uniform exercise of the various faculties of the 
 mind; one idea, incessantly dwelt on, produces a sort 
 of monomania, and often assumes dictatorship of all 
 its other attributes, coloring future events with those 
 deep day-dreams of soul and spirit, on which are 
 concentrated all the hope and energy which despair 
 calls to her wretched rescue. Argyle turned from 
 fighting against the Puritans to supporting them, to 
 the exclusion of all other sects. A determination at 
 once bigoted, intolerant, and absurd. 
 
 His fellow-exiles, now that Charles was dead, 
 turned at once towards the man, of all others, they 
 chose for a leader, with a few exceptions ; and even 
 these few acknowledged and wished to avail them- 
 selves of the power they knew him to possess, with- 
 out owning him as their head. These malcontents 
 formed themselves into a distinct band, under the 
 auspices^of Patrick Hume, of Polwarth, in Berwick- 
 shire, a lowland gentleman who had participated in 
 the whig plot, and narrowly escaped with his life. 
 
BRTTISH REBELLION. 217 
 
 Brooding over his fate, like Argyle, had led him 
 also to the adoption of measures, if an opportunity 
 offered, where he would avenge himself upon his 
 enemies, but not like him, from those pure and con- 
 scientious motives which had religion for its basis 
 and end. Ambition and revenge spurred Hume on 
 in his wild determination of resisting the claims of 
 Argyle. Meetings were therefore constantly held, 
 when he rallied around him men who listened to his 
 schemes, and his long and almost endless speeches, 
 fall of obscurity to them, and without one clear idea ; 
 but judging him by the past, for he had been sin- 
 cere, they yielded a quiescent belief that all was right. 
 There was another who sided with him, of precisely 
 similar views, Sir John Cochrane ; but Argyle's well 
 known integrity of character, and justness of princi- 
 ple, prevailed over the false gloss with which Hume 
 and his confederate tried to invest their claims in 
 the eyes of the Scottish people. 
 
 Hume and Cochrane's example was followed by 
 yet another burning for the lustre of distinction, as 
 the deliverance of his country from the pangs of op- 
 pression and tyranny. This was Andrew Fletcher 
 of Saltown. A man who ranked high for his intel- 
 lectual attainments, his generous and intrepid spirit, 
 his love of liberty, his wide and diffusive philan- 
 thropy, his extended views for the amelioration of 
 the miseries of his species, and the promotion of uni- 
 versal happiness. His oratory, when addressing the 
 
218 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 people, embodying such sentiments, therefore ren- 
 dered him an object of general admiration and 
 interest. He advocated true republican principles, 
 without possessing a shadow of the spirit of demo- 
 cracy. Disgusted, like Milton, Sidney, and many 
 others of his contemporaries, with the characters of 
 those whom power and accident of birth had made 
 rulers, he advocated that plans of high trust should 
 be awarded to men only whose talents, learning, and 
 virtue fitted them for such important offices. He 
 was opposed to monarchy in all its forms, and yet in 
 his writings he proved himself one of the veriest of 
 despots, actually publishing a work in which he pro- 
 posed a plan for reducing the majority of the Scot- 
 tish peasantry to slavery and degradation, his free- 
 born countrymen to a state of bondage which sub- 
 jected them to the scourge of the overseer and the 
 hammer of the auctioneer. 
 
 His ideas of government, while they deprecated 
 sovereign power in its generally received sense, up- 
 held an arbitrary state of things, far more oppressive 
 and inimical to the public good than any monarchy 
 could or had ever yet been. Superiority of mind and 
 intellect were the only attributes that should claim 
 or dispense power, in his estimation ; and, like the 
 Romans, who presided in the senate, he argued that 
 the multitude, in their ignorance, were unable to be 
 ruled by any other means than the lash and the 
 stocks, and preserved in a state of tranquillity only 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 219 
 
 by fear of their superiors. His theory at present was 
 free from these unpopular and odious views, and 
 only aimed at striking for freedom from oppression 
 and the rule of kings. Such sentiments, as was na- 
 tural, gained him much favor with a people so deeply 
 galled by the fetters of monarchy ; but, tempting 
 as was the bait thus offered to their hungry maws, 
 they paused ere they swallowed it, and, while doing 
 so, saw the shadow of the glittering hook through 
 what appeared the tempting morsel, but which, in 
 reality, contained the weapon of death. They re- 
 flected still more, yet, without deciding; but the 
 balance of power being on Argyle's side, it was at 
 length agreed upon, that he should be nominated 
 their leader, under certain subjections and conditions, 
 which, in their short-sightedness, caused the destruc- 
 tion of all the wishes they indulged, and all the plans 
 they had formed. 
 
 Where so many contended for the post of honor, 
 and thought their claims on an equal, it was difficult 
 to yield all to one, whom, they considered, boasted 
 no superiority in point of either generalship or intel- 
 lect. His influence was the ground of his prefer- 
 ment ; in this no other man could in any way ap- 
 proach him. He could at any day command more 
 than five thousand men accustomed to arms, who, in 
 the use of the target and sword, could defy superi- 
 ority ; and whose brave, athletic forms and fearless 
 spirits would bound at their leader's call, and rush to 
 
220 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 the struggle for victory with all the energetic glow 
 of their chivalrous and devoted hearts. 
 
 The hazardous cause which they all concurred 
 in being necessary, thoughts such as these, we would 
 have supposed, would at once have secured to Argyle 
 the uncontrolled power which a leader should always 
 possess. Not one of Monmouth's followers hesitated 
 to invest him with this attribute of his position ; but 
 the Scots, hating and envying Argyle's elevation 
 above themselves, resolved to check, by every means 
 in their power, this delegation of trust, which they 
 determined should extend no farther than actual be- 
 nefit to themselves should warrant, and where no- 
 thing to himself, under any circumstances, should be 
 obtained. As their tool, in the form of their leader, 
 he was to bring all that his own individual merit had 
 gained for him, to benefit the sordid interests of men 
 whose claims his trusty followers would have des- 
 pised, as much as they loved and admired the single- 
 heartedness, unsullied integrity of principle, and 
 shining virtues of MacCullum More — the idol of his 
 clan, and the hero of thousands of devoted Highland 
 hearts beyond it. 
 
 To this arrangement Argyle was forced to sub- 
 mit ; and a committee was formed to check any 
 measure which they might not approve, — also, to 
 superintend all the movements of the army, its ex- 
 penditures, points of location, and scenes of action. 
 Unrestrained and individual power, therefore, was 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 221 
 
 out of the question ; and a leader, in such circum- 
 stances, might not unaptly be compared to an eagle 
 bounding forward in his bold and upward flight 
 towards the sun, his eye undimmed by its bright- 
 ness, and undazzled by its lustrous beams, joyously 
 and eagerly performing its journey, till in its soar- 
 ings higher and higher, with its glorious object in 
 view, quickening his energies and exciting his glow- 
 ing ardor, he suddenly feels his fetters ; feels his 
 course is limited, and his way bounded, and with 
 hopes so rudely checked, and prospects of attaining 
 his object so entirely cut off, he sinks lower and 
 lower, till with paralysed energies his efforts fail, 
 and all ambition fails. 
 
 A leader should have his bright object in view ; 
 the sun illumining his mental and moral vision to 
 which he aims to reach ; to which his steps unfetter- 
 ed climb and soar, while the mountain steep and 
 the headlong torrent form no barrier to the strong 
 and bounding spirit within, no impediment to the 
 glorious object seen in all its glowing brightness be- 
 yond. So Napoleon felt. 
 
 Every preliminary being at length settled, Ar- 
 gyle's position being, as they deemed, satisfactorily 
 agreed upon, and the check-strings bound sufficiently 
 strong, it was resolved that a descent should be made 
 upon Scotland without delay. 
 
 Preparations were at once, therefore, made for 
 the departure of the exiles, and three vessels equipped 
 
222 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 with arms, ammunition, and provisions, were soon in 
 readiness. The British minister took no notice of 
 these doings further than to send to the magistrates 
 of Amsterdam to ask what those ships were doing 
 in the Zuyder Zee ? The answer was a conclusive 
 evidence that either they were swayed by indiffe- 
 rence, or partiality to Argyle. They merely replied 
 that the Zuyder Zee was out of their jurisdiction, 
 and that interrogatories would be better applied to 
 a higher power, naming the government. This care- 
 lessness, from whatever cause it proceeded, favored 
 Argyle's departure ; and one thing was clearly ex- 
 pressed by it, that no wish existed to frustrate any 
 designs he might have formed. The three vessels 
 containing the Scotch exiles sailed quietly out of 
 port, although Argyle suffered tortures, as he beheld 
 near his fleet a Dutch man-of-war, whose broad- 
 side could at a moment, if fired, have destroyed 
 them all. A boat with spies on board, he thought, 
 rowed round and round them ; but notwithstanding 
 these appearances, no efforts were made to arrest 
 their progress, and on the 2d of May, 1685, their 
 little fleet was scudding before a favorable breeze on 
 the open sea, much to Argyle's relief, on the way to 
 Scotland. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Two Englishmen were appointed to accompany 
 Argyle as his immediate advisers and counsellors. 
 Eumbold and Ayloffe, who were, like himself, pro- 
 scribed whigs. John Ayloffe was a lawyer, distantly 
 connected with James. He had made himself con- 
 spicuous by a singular freak, and had in consequence 
 been an object of dislike to the government. When 
 the Count of Versailles had gained an unlooked for 
 and unexpected triumph, Ayloffe, to signify his ideas 
 on the subject, had a wooden shoe made and placed in 
 the speaker's chair of the House of Commons, indicat- 
 ing by that significant symbol the eventual power and 
 tyranny of the French over the English. This simple 
 but expressive act greatly displeased the govern- 
 ment, and rendered Ayloffe by that means an active 
 and determined enemy ever after. Eichard Eumbold 
 was one of the most conspicuous in forwarding the 
 Eye-house Plot for the murder of the royal brothers. 
 In this plot Ayloffe had engaged heart and hand, 
 and at its discovery, glad to escape with life, he, with 
 the others, fled to the Continent, and lived in seclu- 
 
224 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 sion up to Charles' death, when the plan of a rebel- 
 lion was gladly and eagerly seized upon by him to 
 attain, if possible not only liberty and safety in his 
 native land, but revenge on those for whom he had 
 suffered so much already; while his country de- 
 manded the exertion of every honest man in her 
 behalf, to aid in the fall of James and popery. 
 
 Andrew Fletcher was to accompany Monmouth, 
 but though he would have been glad of a nomination 
 as leader in the invasion of Scotland, he received his 
 appointment to go with the duke in a very unsatis- 
 factory and sullen mood. With all the natural en- 
 thusiasm of his character, he listened to the plans 
 formed with a gloomy and distrustful spirit. Disap- 
 pointed ambition at not being appointed to fill Ar- 
 gyle's place, was the cause of this change of feeling. 
 Others saw it very plainly, though he himself ima- 
 gined it completely hid within his own breast, and 
 there he only half acknowledged its existence. 
 
 Monmouth and Argyle sailed towards their des- 
 tinations with lively hopes of success. The latter, 
 whenever his spirits flagged and failed, was borne up 
 by Ayloffe's and Rumbold's encouraging arguments 
 till the mountains of his father-land pierced the hori- 
 zon, and silently welcomed to their shores one whose 
 project hovered in the future between two extremes 
 of incalculable moment — victory or death. 
 
 The place selected by Argyle for disembarking 
 was Kirkwall, where he allowed two of his followers 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 225 
 
 to go on snore immediately to see what were the 
 feelings of the inhabitants towards his project. 
 
 E-umors of an invasion had been floating about 
 for several weeks, but the people had rejected any 
 belief in the report. Argyle's sudden appearance 
 there, therefore, with his little fleet, and. those men 
 declaring the intentions of their leader, created quite 
 a sensation among them. The bishoj) of the dio- 
 cese resided at Kirkwall, and on hearing the sedi- 
 tious intentions of Argyle, determined to take 
 active measures in behalf of the king to prevent 
 it, and had the two men arrested and thrown into 
 prison. 
 
 This summary proceeding greatly damped the 
 ardor of the refugees, and holding a council among 
 themselves, on board one of their ships off the coast, 
 they came to the resolution of acting with a high and 
 fearless hand in the matter, to show the good bishop 
 that they were not to be frightened by the authority 
 he had assumed, and the loyalty he had thought pro- 
 per to express against their exterprisc As is gene- 
 rally the case, however, among a number of persons, 
 there was a great division of opinion among them; 
 and the debate was carried on with that spirit and 
 energy which is a characteristic of the Scotch. They 
 may be tame and irresolute in action, languid, indif- 
 ferent, and undecided in their movements ; but in 
 argument and controversy all the enthusiasm of their 
 characters shine forth. Spirit, soul, and energy are 
 
 11 
 
226 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 here displayed, their whole sonl is in their words, 
 and the poetic temperament which their mountain 
 homes so emphatically engenders, on occasions like 
 this, burst forth with an eloquence at all times im- 
 pressible, if not convincing. 
 
 Some were in favor of commencing an attack on 
 Kirkwall, others were for proceeding to Argyleshire, 
 leaving the prisoners in durance. Argyle decided 
 the point by proposing to arrest some of the best 
 inhabitants, and holding them in custody till his two 
 followers were given up. There was a general and 
 unanimous agreement to this proposal, and the next 
 day a band proceeding to the shore, took four influ- 
 ential persons, residing near the coast, which they 
 confined on board their ships until the two men 
 should be given up. This movement produced the 
 desired effect. Argyle's men were made free, the 
 gentlemen whom he had imprisoned were set at li- 
 berty, and in three days from their entering Kirk- 
 wall, Argyle and his fleet were on their way to ano- 
 ther port, within his own province. 
 
 This delay, small as it was, was very unfavorable 
 for them. The news of a rebel force having an- 
 chored at the Orkneys, reached Edinburgh very 
 soon, through the Bishop of Kirkwall ; and the royal 
 troops were called out to make preparations for a 
 defence. 
 
 The English government had also been made 
 acquainted with the steps which had been taken, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 227 
 
 though not the particulars. James had not once 
 thought that Monmouth would join in an invasion 
 of England, but that Argyle should rise in arms 
 against him in Scotland gave him no surprise. And 
 knowing his popularity among his clansmen, he 
 looked upon him as a most formidable enemy. Im- 
 mediate action was necessary ; a proclamation was 
 therefore made, to the effect that Scotland should be 
 put in readiness for defending itself against the in- 
 cursions of these outlaws. All the Highland and 
 Lowland clans who were hostile to the dreaded 
 name of MacCullum More, received orders to display 
 their loyal duty to their king by assuming arms 
 against the rebel chief. The Marquis of Athol was 
 commanded to muster his forces to defend Argyle- 
 shire, and station himself with his army at the castle 
 of Inverary. Several who were known to be at- 
 tached to Argyle, without having acted in any way 
 offensive to the government, were taken up and cast 
 into prison. Ships of war were also seen cruising 
 about the coast, near the Isle of Bute, and appear- 
 ances everywhere seemed to threaten a coming 
 storm. 
 
 Meanwhile Argyle had reached Argyleshire, and 
 great was his consternation to find a spirit of resis- 
 tance organized, under the command of the Marquis 
 of Athol, awaited him. He had counted much on 
 the attachment manifested towards him while a 
 dweller amongst his people, but these warlike prepa- 
 
228 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 rations against him boded no good he thought. He 
 was unprepared for, and disconcerted at finding 
 these evidences of loyalty to a sovereign whom, in 
 heart lie knew they despised. But the object which 
 he had before him was dear to his soul, and McCul- 
 lum More resolved to find out, as speedily as 
 possible, how his strength lay with those around 
 him. Before he landed himself, he despatched his 
 son Charles on shore to summon the Campbells to 
 his standard, and to take up arms against James. 
 Charles acted on his father's orders, but met with a 
 far different reception to the one Argyle had so 
 sanguinely expected. They refused to join the rebel 
 army, and declared their loyalty to their king in terms 
 at once decisive and clear ; leaving McCullum More 
 both astonished and mortified at a resistance and op- 
 position he so little expected. 
 
 The Highland herdsmen of Dunstaffenage, whose 
 hearts still beat with delight at the name of McCul- 
 lum More, were ready to enrol themselves at any 
 time as his followers ; and the fishermen, in their 
 honest zeal and unchanged feelings, were ready to do 
 the same. But some of their chiefs had been among 
 those suspected of disloyalty, and had been thrown 
 into prison; the others were dead. The farmers 
 who remained at home quietly pursued their daily 
 duties, and whatever their real sentiments may have 
 been, took especial care that nothing should escape 
 them savoring of disloyalty. Prudent and thought- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 229 
 
 fal, and enjoying all the comforts of life, they 
 dreaded the ferment of war; and in the possession of 
 that domestic happiness, which their pure family 
 government, under the sweet influences of re- 
 ligion, shed around their contented and blooming 
 firesides, they determined to have nothing to do 
 with the movement Argyle had set on foot. So 
 that when his son Charles called to see them at 
 their farm-houses, they one and all refused to see 
 him. 
 
 Finding that nothing encouraging could be ob- 
 tained at Dunstaffnage, they set out for Campbell- 
 town, situated on the southern extremity of Kyn- 
 tyre, and though greatly disappointed Argyle was 
 not cast down. Eumbold and AylofFe kept up his 
 spirits by their sanguine arguments, and consulting 
 together, they came to the conclusion of putting 
 forth a manifesto, which had been drawn up in Hol- 
 land under the direction of the Managing Com- 
 mittee, among whom were Hume and Cochrane, set- 
 ting forth, in the strongest terms, the many grie- 
 vances under which Scotland groaned, and the yet 
 further wretchedness to which they, as a people, 
 were condemned, if James was still permitted to be 
 their king. Accusing him of having poisoned his 
 brother, and then holding up the horrors attendant 
 on a Papal administration, and a call on Protestants 
 to come forward and join Argyle in endeavoring to 
 expel him from the throne, and establish that form 
 
230 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 of religion so dear to the souls and homes of every 
 Scottish heart. Our beloved country, and the God 
 of our fathers, it concluded, call us to action, let us 
 then go forth and fight valiantly in so glorious 
 a cause. 
 
CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 Like Monmouth, Argyle professed himself to be 
 in arms for the establishment of the Protestant re- 
 ligion, and the extirpation of Popery. Yet, his own 
 practices might truly be said to combine both Pagan 
 and Catholic. He resolved to summon the Camp- 
 bells to his standard, and ordering a goat to be 
 brought before him, had it killed, and then drpping 
 a cross of yew tree in its blood, gave it into the 
 hands of his followers, whom he despatched with 
 this warlike symbol, with commands to his clan, of 
 all ages, from sixteen to sixty, to join him. 
 
 The place selected for the gathering was the 
 isthmus of Larhet, where they collected to meet 
 their chief, who regarded their number with a sad- 
 dened spirit, it was so much reduced to what it had 
 been; still his force was on the whole inspiring, 
 amounting altogether to about eighteen hundred 
 men. Their stalwart forms indicating their great 
 physical power, and their hardy faces and flashing 
 eyes the energy and bravery of their hearts. Argyle, 
 as he surveyed his bold mountaineers, felt a mo- 
 
232 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 mentary glow of pride and security, and dividing 
 them into three regiments, appointed officers as he 
 thought suitable to command them. 
 
 But this excited a most unlooked-for scene of 
 strife, and here was one of the many instances to 
 prove the importance of investing a leader with un- 
 limited control and unbounded power. The earl 
 had nominated such of his kinsmen as he considered 
 most fitted for the command of a regiment, and his 
 patriarchal character entitled him to select. The 
 committee insisted on interfering, and before all the 
 assemblage altered his decisions, and named others- 
 whom they deemed more capable to act as officers, 
 Argyle's anger rose with this impertinent assumption 
 of power against himself; but he wisely restrained 
 its expression ; though he saw their motives. They 
 wished to lessen the influence he possessed in the 
 Highlands, and to appear to be sharers in the lustre 
 which the name of MacCullum More alone boasted. 
 More mischievous still, they carried on a secret cor- 
 respondence with the Lowlanders, without either the 
 sanction or knowledge of Argyle. 
 
 The earl deeply felt every outward manifestation 
 of their want of confidence and regard, and it acted 
 as such things always will do, while mind acts upon 
 mind. It clipped his energies and saddened his 
 feelings, while, on the contrary, to quicken his aspi- 
 rations and incite his bravery and daring in such an 
 undertaking, should have been their only aim. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 233 
 
 Hume superintended the provisions and stores of 
 their army, and with his disappointed ambition still 
 rankling in his heart, he evidenced a carelessness the 
 most reprehensible that could be imagined under the 
 circumstances. The arms he allowed to rust ; and was 
 not only wasteful and extravagant of the provisions, 
 but indulged in the most sumptuous manner himself, 
 and invited hy his example others to do the same, 
 when the exigencies of the case, and the uncertainties 
 they were involved in, should have influenced a 
 course in diametrical opposition to the one he pursued. 
 
 Everything being arranged, and feeling no time 
 was to be lost, Argyle now consulted with the com- 
 . mittee as to the most eligible place for the scene of 
 action, and suggested the Highlands, as his own 
 people dwelt there. But Hume and Cochrane, with 
 their own peculiar ends in view, declared for the 
 Lowlands. By their correspondence with some of 
 the leading men in the low countries, they had done 
 everything to lessen Argyle's influence, and create 
 for themselves an estimation which they ill deserved. 
 They hated Argyle for the position he occupied, and 
 success with him as a leader gave to their jealous 
 minds no pleasure, and formed therefore no incentive 
 to action. The chief of a numerous clan, they knew 
 how great was the power he possessed ; for the dwel- 
 lers among his towering mountains and flowing riv- 
 ers, glowed with but one feeling towards Argyle. 
 Their hearts, their souls, their energies were his. So 
 
 11* 
 
234 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 that their opposition would soon be borne down, if 
 they openly manifested any ; and rallying to his # 
 standard, their power would be wholly withdrawn, 
 and his increased to the absolute control which they 
 had so far kept him from possessing. Under the 
 influence of feelings such as these, their demeanor 
 evidenced the discontent which filled their minds ; 
 while praise of the bravery and faithfulness of the 
 Lowlanders was constantly on their tongues. A 
 consultation then followed these remarks, and it was 
 agreed upon that they should, with a portion of the 
 army, go to < the Lowlands, and commence an in- 
 vasion there. 
 
 This decision was entirely satisfactory, and they 
 sat out with joyful hearts in pursuit of the glory 
 for which their spirits pined ; leaving Argyle and 
 his faithful adviser, Rumbold, to commence their 
 siege in the Highlands. Eumbold had greatly assisted 
 the earl through all his difficulties with these men, 
 and though regretting their force was so divided, 
 thought that Argyle at the head of an army com- 
 posed chiefly of his own tribe, and freed from the 
 annoying cavilling of these wilful aspirants for a 
 rank to which neither had any claim, might look 
 forward with something like a certainty to the ful- 
 fillment of his dearest hopes. The Campbell's to a 
 man were devoted to him; far more, Hume and 
 Cochrane had said, " than to their God." 
 
 The Earl now first determined to commence with 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 235 
 
 Inverary, by driving out all the invading clans who 
 had stationed themselves there, and to take posses- 
 sion of the castle which had belonged to his family 
 for ages, and by consequence had descended to him. 
 By this measure, five thousand claymores would be 
 added to his force ; and all that wild and picturesque 
 country, so dear to his heart as the home of his fa- 
 thers, would be well defended, and in a condition to 
 resist any power that might seek to molest or oppose 
 them. In all he did or planned, Argyle found Kum- 
 bold an excellent and clear-headed assistant, and on 
 him he always felt he could rely with full confidence 
 in his sincerity and affection. 
 
 Hume and Cochran e's unhappy dispositions af- 
 forded very little chance for the attainment of their 
 high aims and pretensions. The same spirit which 
 had actuated their conduct towards Argyle, was now 
 excited towards each other, and both contended for 
 the mastery. They proceeded with their army when 
 they sat out, for Ayrshire ; but on arriving there, 
 much to their discomfiture, they found the coast 
 guarded by English frigates. They were therefore 
 obliged to turn in another direction. Greenock was 
 not far distant, a then small and beautiful village, 
 whose quiet and simple inhabitants maintained them- 
 selves by fishing in the Clyde. Its appearance then, 
 and at the present time, forms a great contrast. Its 
 small, thatched, uneven built cottages, have given 
 place to a fine flourishing commercial port, its cus- 
 
236 BRITISH REBELLION, 
 
 toms yielding to the government more than all the 
 revenue of Scotland amounted to, in those days. 
 
 Greenock was also defended, but on a smaller 
 scale they found, than Ayrshire. A company of 
 militia had been stationed there, so they discovered, 
 and Hume suggested that they might as well go far- 
 ther ; and when they did land, a place wholly unde- 
 fended would be the best. To this reasoning Coch- 
 rane turned a deaf ear. He was resolved, he said, 
 to enter Greenock. They wanted provisions and' 
 there they could be obtained. Hume declared against 
 it, and a violent altercation ensued ; which resulted 
 in each being resolved to oppose the other. They 
 sailed up an estuary of the beautiful river Clyde, its 
 surface smooth and bright as a mirror, though a 
 fresh breeze wafted them briskly onward to the vil- 
 lage whose poor miserable dwellings presented little, 
 one would think, to cause dissension with two such 
 grasping, ambitious spirits as Hume and Cochrane. 
 Both, meanwhile continued in high dudgeon with each 
 other; but Cochrane, as they neared the shore, assum- 
 ed dictatorship by ordering Elphinstone, one of their 
 officers, to take a boat and twenty men with him, 
 and land at Greenock. But the example they had 
 themselves led was followed by their subordinates, 
 Elphinstone at once declared he should do no such 
 thing ; that there was no reason at all in such a re- 
 quest, and that others might obey such orders, but 
 he should not. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 237 
 
 This spirit pervaded all their ranks ; opinions 
 "were openly expressed, and as openly contradicted, 
 and angry disputants saluted the ear on all sides. 
 
 At this juncture of affairs, Major Fullarton, ano- 
 ther officer much attached to Argyle, and hoping 
 ultimate success would crown the efforts for freedom 
 from religious restraint, his brave chief's enterprise, 
 offered to go on shore with only twelve men. 
 
 The militia were stationed off the coast, and as 
 they neared the land a heavy fire rent the air. They 
 landed unhurt, however, and an engagement follow- 
 ed; but the militia were driven off, and entering 
 Greenock, much to Cochrane's satisfaction, they pro- 
 cured provisions, but of a very inferior order. Meal 
 was the only thing which could be obtained, in that 
 way, so he had to be content with that only reward 
 for his pains. As the people were averse to doing 
 anything against the government, and were actuated 
 by prudential motives, being too poor to run risks, 
 and fearing any change would be for the worse. The 
 Clyde washed their now peaceful shores, and the 
 fish they caught there supplied to them the necessi- 
 ties of life. They possessed nothing beyond that 
 which their daily labor yielded, and deprived of 
 this, they must perish. The interruption, therefore, 
 which a war must invariably produce, filled them 
 with just reasons for anxiety and alarm, and they 
 turned from its mention with horror, as they looked 
 on their innocent and helpless children gambolling 
 
238 
 
 BRITISH REBELLION* 
 
 around their doors, and felt their daily bread de- 
 pended solely on their exertions. 
 
 Not that they were happy or contented, they 
 loved the religion of their forefathers, and read 
 
 "The big ha Bible" 
 
 with pious and reverential fear, hating James and 
 Popery with all the honest zeal of their single and 
 devoted hearts. But fighting involved too great a 
 stake. It was not merely life and death, it was 
 misery and starvation, almost under any circum- 
 stances. The present could not be sacrificed to the 
 most beneficent future, as its brightness would be 
 wholly obscured by the intervening shadows that 
 lay around their paths. 
 
 And the general feeling throughout Scotland 
 was unfavorable to Argyle's undertaking ; the peo- 
 ple felt themselves aggrieved and oppressed; and 
 they hated James and the Catholic religion ; but 
 how they were to rid themselves of those mountains 
 of dislike, they knew not. They wished to live in 
 peace, and in the enjoyment of their privileges as a 
 Protestant nation ; but the King's known bigotry 
 filled them with apprehensions for the future ; and 
 Argyle himself had at one time summoned his clan 
 in defence of prelacy, though now fighting against 
 it. This inconsistency was tenaciously treasured up 
 in their minds, and it operated in the Lowlands, es- 
 pecially, much against him. There is a marked 
 difference of character in the Highlanders and Low- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 239 
 
 landers. That of the former is wild, imaginative, 
 impulsive, chivalrous, and unreflecting. For war 
 and the glory of their chief they are always ready 
 to fight; but the latter, governed more by reason 
 and reflection, are on the other extreme ; weighing 
 all things in the narrow scales of their own circum- 
 scribed vision. A deeply religious people too, they 
 considered that every action should have God for 
 its end and aim. Argyle's men they regarded as 
 slaves, looking to him in their blindness, instead of 
 that Higher power to whom all their actions should 
 be referred. In a word, religion was in all they said 
 and did ; their daily dialect was mixed up with quo- 
 tations from Scripture, mingled with the cant phra- 
 ses of the wildest fanaticism. Arg}'le, in their esti- 
 mation, was a wicked, worldly-minded man ; and 
 the manifesto he had sent forth, setting up his claims 
 in defiance of the ruling powers, was a vile and evil 
 document, and utterly unworthy of the notice of 
 good men ; as the name of the Lord was not once in- 
 voked in it. 
 
 ' ' As bigoted as James himself, they wanted that 
 all things should subserve their form of religion. 
 None but Covenanters were of the true faith, and 
 none but them, in their austere views, should be 
 tolerated. MacCullum More had once been in arms 
 against that body, and the pure spirit of Christianity, 
 under any other form, was to them an abomination. 
 As sectarians, they would have deluged the earth 
 
240 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 ■with blood to set up their own peculiar doctrines, 
 and made the word covenant the only password, to 
 Heaven. Among such zealots, Cochrane and Hume 
 found they had little chance of success ; for the key 
 that alone could unlock and enlist the energies of 
 those fanatics, they had neither the will, the know- 
 ledge, or the Ivypocrisy to use, and, in a short time, 
 discouraged by the strong current of feeling that 
 opposed them, they again sought Argyle in the Isle 
 of Bute. 
 
 The earl gladly welcomed them back, as his forces 
 would be greatly augmented by the addition they 
 had brought with them ; and with it, his first thought 
 was the castle of Inverary. An attack was therefore 
 planned ; but he had reckoned too surely on the in- 
 crease of strength which Hume and Cochrane had 
 brought with them ; and, when his intention was de- 
 clared, a fierce opposition was set up against it, first 
 by Hume and Cochrane, and then by those who had 
 accompanied them into the Lowlands. His own clan 
 as resolutely declared for their chief. Party feeling 
 ran high between the followers of the rival com- 
 manders, and a battle was seriously apprehended. 
 Argyle dreaded such an outbreak, and proposed a 
 meeting in order to the adoption of some conciliatory 
 measures, which resulted in the selection of the an- 
 cient castle of Ealan Ghierg, instead of Inverary, as 
 the place for the chief seat of arms ; and to this end 
 the stores and provisions were at once taken and 
 deposited there. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 241 
 
 The situation of Ealan Ghierg was well adapted 
 for such a purpose. It stood at the mouth of the 
 river Loch Kidan, surrounded by rocks and shallows, 
 at the foot of a lofty range of mountains, towering 
 in picturesque beauty and sublimity above the 
 gloomy turreted edifice it frowned in grandeur and 
 strength upon. Gulls, screamed around its solitude, 
 and the plash of the rippling waters were the only 
 sounds that broke the profound stillness that reigned 
 around. 
 
 The fleet was stationed close to its walls, its 
 rocky coast protecting it, it was thought, effectually 
 from the enemy's advances. A battery was then 
 formed by guns taken from the ships, and its com- 
 mand given to Elphinstone, a man most injudiciously 
 selected, as his quarrelsome disposition continued to 
 spread a spirit of disobedience and disunion among 
 the troops. 
 
 Argyle felt the difficulties of his position more and 
 more every day, as Hume and Cochrane increased 
 their assumption ; and, but for the support of Kum- 
 bold, would have felt wholly discouraged. He at all 
 times listened to his plans with that respectful consi- 
 deration for his judgment and position, which, to a 
 leader, at any time, is always so calculated to deve- 
 lope his best energies. Taking some troops, he laid 
 siege on the castle of Ardlingglass, and was success- 
 ful. This infused new life among their ranks ; and 
 Argyle, still bent on taking Inverary, attacked 
 
242 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 Athol's men, and gained upon them. He was then 
 about to advance upon the castle, when news reached 
 him of the most alarming character. 
 
 The frigates of the enemy had almost reached the 
 very walls of Ealan Ghierg, thus putting to flight the 
 vain idea Argyle had rested on so securely, that it was 
 utterly impossible to do so. It was truly appalling. 
 Something must be done immediately to avoid it, as 
 their little army, and still smaller fleet, could not face 
 this formidable squadron. A consultation was held, 
 and a march proposed further into the Highlands. But 
 this, the Lowland portion of their forces peremptorily 
 refused to do. Argyle lost no time in coming back 
 to Ealan Ghierg ; when it instantly occurred to him 
 to make an attack on the frigates. A great number 
 of his clan were fishermen, and by that means thirty 
 boats could surround them, well manned with armed, 
 brave and devoted Highlanders. Argyle proposed 
 this with an enthusiastic confidence in being at once 
 supported in his plan, and readily seconded and 
 obeyed. But Hume and Cochrane, with their usual 
 spirit of opposition, refused their sanction to the 
 measure, and declared, in the hearing of all, that it 
 would be sheer madness to attempt such a thing. 
 And, the more effectually to prevent Argyle from 
 acting in the manner he had proposed, they pro- 
 voked the sailors to quarrel among themselves, 
 which at once set an end to all ideas and hopes, for 
 that time, of attacking the frigates which lay at 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 243 
 
 anchor quietly and proudly beneath the very castle 
 it was known Argyle and his party occupied ; with 
 their three ships, — like theirs, resting on the quiet 
 waters, waiting for action. 
 
 Argyle's courage and spirits entirely failed him ; 
 there was, he feared, nothing to hope. Hume and 
 Cochrane he saw, with heartfelt sorrow and deep 
 misery, were determined to check every wish and 
 command which he might express. His authority, 
 he felt, was at an end ; and gloom and despair filled 
 his soul. Added to all this, Hume's management of 
 the provisions had been so wasteful, that the troops 
 were scarcely half fed ; and the stores were nearly 
 exhausted. These brave men loved their leader, and 
 would have followed him uncomplaining through 
 every hardship ; but seeing how things were, that 
 others set up their claims against him, wholly dis- 
 couraged men accustomed for years to obey no voice 
 but his, and almost to regard their chief in the light 
 of a king. They, like Argyle, lost all heart, and 
 fled by hundreds from a scene in which, they had 
 hoped, with their gallant leader, to retire from, bear- 
 ing trophies of victory, only to lay them with joyful 
 hearts at their chief's feet. 
 
 Hume and Cochrane had all along desired, because 
 it was in opposition to the wishes of Argyle, to have 
 the seat of war in the Lowlands. In the Highlands 
 they were nothing ; and the earl was every thing. 
 They had both interest and influence in the low 
 
244 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 countries ; and there they had, from the first, desired 
 to go. At the present juncture of affairs, those of 
 the Lowlands, who had joined their ranks, absolutely 
 refused going farther into the Highlands ; and Ar- 
 gyle, feeling his individual power gone, yielded to 
 the general wish, though with a sad foreboding mind, 
 to march into the Lowlands. 
 
CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 Gathering up the fragments of his little army, 
 therefore, Argyle commenced what he termed his 
 retreat, into the Lowlands. Energy he had none, 
 and spirits brightened by hope were entirely gone. 
 He felt like one lead, instead of leading, and whither 
 he knew not. The prospect of victory no longer 
 gladdened his mental vision, and the alternative so 
 fearful in contemplation haunted him continually. 
 Files of the enemy, as a natural consequence, he felt 
 would be stationed in every part of the country, and 
 surprises greet them at every turn ; and with his 
 now weakened force, how soon they would become 
 prisoners it did not seem very difficult to tell. To 
 Argyle their prospects were melancholy indeed. 
 Kumbold sought by every means in his power to 
 comfort the earl, and to that faithful heart alone 
 Argyle turned for consolation. Major Fullarton 
 also shared his confidence, and that brave man was 
 as devoted as Kumbold to his noble chief. 
 
 Their destination for the present was Loch Long, 
 which they reached towards evening, then taking 
 
246 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 advantage of the night, they crossed that inlet in 
 boats, on their way to Dumbartonshire, where they 
 landed in safety towards day-break. Their spirits 
 had too in a measure risen, from having proceeded 
 so far without any impediment. But a damper was 
 at hand. They had scarcely passed the shore when 
 news was sent to the earl, by Elphinston, who had 
 charge of the castle of Ealan Ghierg, that the king's 
 frigates had forced a passage and taken all their 
 ships, and that iu a panic of fear, without one show 
 of resistance, he had fled to save his life, leaving the 
 enemy in complete possession of every thing within 
 its walls, but too glad to escape the wretched fate of 
 being taken prisoner. 
 
 This was stunning intelligence to Argyle, and 
 greatly deepened the despondency he experienced. 
 All they could do now he felt afforded them little 
 chance of victory ; but Hume and Cochrane were in 
 no way depressed. Their jealous feelings were in- 
 deed gratified, if anything, at Argyle's manifest dis- 
 comfiture ; they had conquered and gained their 
 desire of having the decision made in the Lo^ lands, 
 and that sufficed for them. Now, if victory should 
 crown their efforts, the laurel would not alone grace 
 the brow of Argyle, they would also share it. And 
 with such ideas, these men of small minds, in the 
 present extremities of their condition, amused and 
 congratulated themselves with. 
 
 But some immediate plan was necessary; the in- 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 247 
 
 vasion of the Lowlands was now clearly their way, 
 and no time was to be lost. 
 
 Argyle expressed his determination to go at once 
 to Glasgow and besiege the town ; and this, like all 
 his other propositions, was received with opposition. 
 No, they would not go there ; even those who had 
 been most for leaving the Highlands argued against 
 the measure, and resolved to abandon the earl and 
 his mad-brained enterprise, as they now called it, 
 altogether. They even formed a secret scheme to 
 seize all the boats for that purpose, but were dis- 
 covered, and compelled to share, to the last, the 
 risks and results of their last venture in the cause 
 they had espoused. 
 
 This last stroke almost crushed the noble Argyle. 
 It was evident that his words and wishes were to 
 have no weight. Before all his brave followers his 
 plans were always received with almost open con- 
 tempt, and every proposal set aside to give place to 
 more energetic and bold resolves. He was mortified 
 to the very soul, and his spirit became darker and 
 darker as he brooded on the wretched position he 
 occupied, and the visible hatred which met him at 
 every turc It had already almost caused their ruin; 
 forjtheir troops were reduced to a most meagre number, 
 in consequence of that withdrawal of his authority, 
 in which his brave clansmen had for years delighted. 
 Again Argyle, Hume and Cochrane consulted, and 
 orders were given to proceed to Loch Lomond. 
 
248 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 The march therefore commenced, but they were con- 
 stantly impeded by parties of militia, and skirmishes 
 took place. The earl was often, however, success- 
 ful, but the troops he repelled only fell back to re- 
 organize in a stronger force. Soon after he had 
 crossed the river Leven, he found a strong body had 
 mustered, and were prepared for action. 
 
 Argyle seeing this, communicated his views to 
 Hume and Cochrane, which were, to give battle. 
 Ayloffe seconded the measure, but Hume, as was his 
 wont, opposed it, and this time with good reason. 
 There was a regiment of Red-coats, and more might 
 be lying in ambush, which seemed very probable. 
 With their now diminished forces, such a step was 
 absolute madness. His suggestion was to remain 
 quiet till night closed in, and then to steal a march 
 upon them. 
 
 A quarrel ensued, and high, offensive words 
 passed between the earl and Hume. Rumbold inter- 
 fered, and by the intervention of his quiescent spirit, 
 peace was restored. But Argyle's heart's- wounds again 
 bled afresh, and agony of mind seemed almost to de- 
 vour his brave and generous soul. Again his wish 
 had been overruled ; again insult had been offered 
 to his authority, before his troops ; and the voice of 
 his open and avowed enemy had gained the mastery. 
 
 The two armies encamped on the same ground, 
 within gun-shot distance of each other, each busied 
 in preparations, but neither advancing. Evening 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 249 
 
 closed around their operations, without anything 
 decisive appearing ; and, as the night deepened 
 around them, the earl, with a timid voice, proposed 
 attacking the king's forces. This again was opposed. 
 And Argyle sunk into despair. 
 
 Hume's suggestion of slipping slyly away, seemed 
 their best move ; and collecting about midnight, they 
 set forth, with the hope that, by this means, they 
 would be able both to gain upon and evade the 
 enemy. 
 
 The watch-fires gleamed in the distance, as they 
 went forward $ and trusting to guides to bring them 
 safely to Glasgow, over heaths and morasses, they 
 gave no thought themselves to the road they tra- 
 velled. 
 
 This was a sad mistake. The night was so ex- 
 ceedingly dark — not a star even lighting the horizon 
 — that the guides could not see the track, and took 
 them quite in another direction, into ground so wet 
 and boggy, that, in attempting to cross it, they lost 
 their footing, and were obliged, covered with mud, 
 to recede as quickly as possible. Oaths and impre- 
 cations followed this disastrous mishap ; for, already 
 tired and disheartened, the soldiers felt they little 
 needed this addition to their misery. 
 
 The darkness was so intense that the guides 
 
 did not know where they were; and, wet up to 
 
 the knees, hungry, and without hope to cheer them 
 
 on their miserable way, it was no wonder they 
 
 12 
 
250 BRITISH rebellion'." 1 
 
 evidenced their dissatisfaction in no very measur- 
 ed terms. 
 
 Fear, too, filled their hearts ; and every sound 
 they heard was turned into the approach of the ene- 
 my, who, they but too well knew, would show no 
 mercy ; and their numbers, being so far greater than 
 their own, the result would be horrible. Argyle real- 
 ized all the wretchedness of their position, and a quiet 
 despair painfully marked his demeanor ; while Hume 
 and Cochrane possessed the same determined aspect 
 that had at all times distinguished them. Eumbold 
 felt more for the earl than for himself, and with 
 Ayloffe assisted the noble chief as much as possible. 
 But all their efforts were vain. Argyle saw that 
 everything went against them. This last mischance 
 had a terrible effect on him ; the army continued to 
 advance, but the soil, wherever they turned, was of 
 the same boggy description. The soldiers and officers 
 became louder and louder in their complaints. Their 
 fears also increasing with every step they took, con- 
 fusion reigned throughout the troops, to such an ex- 
 tent, that they could only be compared to an excited 
 mob. All command was at an end ; many fled with- 
 out saying anything to any one, undiscovered from 
 the darkness of the night. Several brave men wan- 
 dered out of the way, among whom was Eumbold ; 
 and, though they were within hearing of the main 
 body, were unable to join them. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 251 
 
 The day at length dawned ; but the light re- 
 vealed a melancholy sight. Only five hundred of 
 their army remained, who, dispirited and worn out 
 with fatigue and hunger, assembled at Kilpatrick to 
 consult about their future plans. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Their energies were now completely paralized, 
 and the enterprise commenced with such sanguine 
 hopes of success, all felt must be given up. But 
 with this conclusion came those fears for their safety 
 which a little time sufficed to show were but too 
 well founded. To escape with their lives was their 
 great and now only concern. Hume at once started 
 for the Continent, which he reached safely. Coch- 
 rane would have fled there also, but having taken a 
 different road to Hume, was taken by one of the 
 king's scouts, and sent to London, where he was im- 
 mediately confined in the tower. Argyle had formed 
 no definite plan, but conceived it best till he did so 
 to seek out the residence of an old and tried servant 
 residing near Kilpatrick, and secreet himself there 
 for a time. In order to accomplish this purpose he 
 disguised himself as a peasant, and with a slouched 
 hat, and staff in hand, sat out, accompanied by his 
 attached friend, Major Fullarton, to whom he acted 
 as guide. 
 
 To describe Argyle's state of mind would be a 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 253 
 
 vain and futile task. Every hope in life seemed 
 to have forsaken him, and the world and its con- 
 cerns to have lost all interest in his crushed and 
 broken heart. The images of his beloved wife and 
 children, in their grief at his disappointed and fruit- 
 less attempt, filled his soul with a still deeper sorrow, 
 and he wandered on in the dusk of the evening, 
 giving utterance occasionally to the feelings that 
 oppressed him, to one whose sympathy was as sin- 
 cere as his character was brave and faithful. 
 
 They proceeded through Eenfrewshire, as far as 
 McBinnan, where two streams, named the Black and 
 White Cart (then flowing through moorlands and 
 pasture-grounds, on their way to the Clyde, but, 
 which now turn the wheels of prosperous manufac- 
 tories, and blend with their flow the hum of busy 
 life,) seemed to offer a chance of fording to the oppo- 
 site shore, unperceived by those whom they knew 
 were keenly looking out for their capture. But in 
 this hope they were mistaken. A party of militia 
 had been already stationed there, and took them 
 quite by surprise as they came up to the banks of 
 the streams. Argyle thought of his peasant dress, 
 and trusted it would shield him from recognition. 
 Major Fullarton thought only of the Earl ; and 
 could he escape, cared little for himself. Questions, 
 as they approached, were immediately asked by 
 the soldiers. The major answered promptly, but 
 the pretended guide keeping silence, suspicions 
 
254 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 were excited, and they advanced and laid hands on 
 Argyle. He sprung from them at a bound, and 
 plunged into the water. They followed immediately 
 after, five in number, but the energy of desperation 
 enabled the earl for some time to baffle their efforts 
 to overtake him, and remembering his pocket- 
 pistols, he presented one, but, alas, the water had 
 got into the powder, and it would not go off. By 
 this time they had come so near that one of them 
 struck him a blow with a sword, which so stunned 
 him that he was taken without the least difficulty, 
 and brought to the shore a prisoner. 
 
 "Who are you?" they demanded, when Argyle 
 came to himself. 
 
 "I am the Earl of Argyle," he answered, hoping 
 by this frank avowal to soften their hearts and 
 command the respect his presence had always in- 
 sured heretofore. But now the case was altered. 
 A price had been set upon his person; and his 
 countrymen's love for the great name of MacCul- 
 lum More was not proof against their worldly- 
 mi ndedness. However, by letting him go they 
 endangered their own lives. They wept, as they 
 beheld their noble Captain, but held him fast the 
 while. Though some of them felt so much at seeing 
 the earl so utterly cast down, that they would have 
 yielded at last to the pleadings of pity in his hehalf, 
 had not one of them, by the name of Eiddell, stre- 
 nuously opposed it. Argyle was therefore conveyed 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 255 
 
 to Renfrew, and put into prison there. Meanwhile 
 Major Fullarton had escaped ; though he would 
 gladly have laid down his own life to save that of 
 his beloved chief. 
 
 From this time the name of Riddell was marked, 
 and for more than a century after, not one of their 
 race dared to show their faces at fairs or other merry- 
 makings for fear of the vengeance of the Campbells, 
 whose whole tribe, whenever they met a Riddell, 
 never failed to bestow a summary remembrancer on 
 the person of any one bearing that hated name. 
 
 On this aceount they rarely ventured to ap- 
 proach Argylshire ; or if any special occasion de- 
 manded their presence there, they always took the 
 precaution of assuming an alias. 
 
 "When Argyle found himself within the walls of 
 a prison, after the first burst of grief was over, he 
 commenced reviewing the past ; and, as he did so, 
 he felt that no possibility of success could have fol- 
 lowed his enterprise in connection with such men 
 as Hume and Cochrane. Their jealousy of his posi- 
 tion had led to all their misfortunes. He felt how 
 wrong he had acted from the outset, and that he 
 should have advocated the necessity of a leader's 
 having uncontrolled power before taking one step 
 in his daring and perilous undertaking. 
 
 Why — he asked himself as he paced the narrow 
 cell in which he was confined — why did I not leave 
 Holland single-handed ; and, trusting to my brave 
 
256 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 clansmen, have sought my native mountains, and 
 summoned all, to whom the name of Argyle was 
 dear, to my standard ? Ah ! had I acted thus, all 
 would have been well, and victory been mine. 
 
 Thus soliloquized MacCullum More, the noble 
 chief of a brave tribe, and his reasoning was just. 
 Cochrane and Hume had effected the destruction 
 they preferred, to success with Argyle at the head ; 
 and Scotland, with all her grievances, was left to her 
 fate, without a single hope of redress while James 
 occupied the throne of England. 
 
 Captures of the insurgents now followed quickly, 
 among whom were the brave Rumbold and Ayloffe. 
 The Scottish people were in great grief for Ar- 
 gyle's failure, the peasantry especially. They loved 
 the Calvinistic religion; and had hoped the good 
 earl would have succeeded in his bold enterprise 
 for its sake. This overthrow of their fond antici- 
 pations was met by tears and lamentations both for 
 Argyle and themselves, while the thought of the 
 possibility of his losing his life for the cause filled 
 the greater part of the nation with gloom and 
 mourning, which prevailed among all ranks and 
 grades. 
 
 Argyle's amiability of character ill fitted him for 
 the office he had undertaken, but in the solitude of 
 his prison it formed a picture of heroism rarely to 
 be found. His true greatness of mind here exempli- 
 fied itself. Manly and resigned, the mildness of his 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 257 
 
 deportment filled the jailers with admiration and 
 awe. They seemed to regard him as something 
 above even the highest mould of humanity, and 
 were often moved to tears as they beheld his sub- 
 dued, yet majestic form, like the forest oak bending, 
 but not crushed by the storm. 
 
 His noble lineage here asserted itself, and his 
 clear, deep intellect shone with a lustre as bright as 
 it was commanding. Every insult which heartless- 
 ness could suggest was offered to him by his merci- 
 less conquerors, but he received it in the spirit of 
 meekness, supported by that inward consciousness 
 of greatness which no outward humiliation could 
 subdue. 
 
 The day arrived when he was to be led forth 
 from his prison, and be paraded through the 
 High-street of Edinburg, to glut the vengeance of 
 his conquerors. It was a needless display of tri- 
 umph, but one which they thought best calculated 
 to lacerate the feelings of the earl, whose pride of 
 ancestry and lordly pretensions they knew so well. 
 
 A procession was formed to proceed up the street 
 leading from Holyrood-house to the castle, among 
 whom was the hangman, bearing the horrible in- 
 signia of his order, the quartering-block. Argyle 
 followed next him on foot, with his head uncovered, 
 with a countenance, on which was impressed a 
 patience and a pathos so touching, that scarcely a 
 dry eye, in the immense crowd gathered to see him, 
 
 12* 
 
258 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 was to be seen. Even his enemies felt its influence, 
 though in their rancorous plan, the fate of Montrose, 
 thirty-five years before, had decided this procession 
 should take place, and in the same direction in 
 which he was taken when leading to his doom. Since 
 that period the houses of Graham and Campbell had 
 been at deadly feud. 
 
 The day was brightly beautiful, and the sun's 
 rays fell with scalding heat on the bare head of 
 Argyle, but he heeded it not ; all unconscious too of 
 the multitude that gazed at him, he followed on till 
 he reached the castle, when his legs were heavily 
 ironed. The noble captive submitted to this in- 
 dignity with the same composure which had charac- 
 terized all his other actions. No word escaped him, 
 not a sigh nor a murmur was heard. Like his Divine 
 Master, he yielded himself to his persecutors without 
 hope, yet without despair. His thoughts were all 
 heavenward, and to his God he yielded himself, in 
 this his hour of extremity, without fear or reserve. 
 
 James' commands were, that he should have no 
 trial ; a decision which even the most hardened of 
 his enemies protested against, but in vain, while his 
 friends indulged in anathemas against its injustice, as 
 being without a parallel in the annals of any country. 
 
 Argyle's fortitude and resignation, under his 
 trying circumstances, were beyond description. He 
 heard this cruel decision without one expression of 
 dissatisfaction — without one word of expostulation. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 259 
 
 But a still greater trial awaited him. The privy 
 council sent him a paper of interrogatories, relative 
 to his friends and confederates, to gain every possible 
 intelligence, in order to having them all arrested and 
 executed. He replied to each question, but warily 
 and sparingly, not wishing that any should suffer 
 for his sake. 
 
 When his answers were taken back they were 
 extremely displeased, as nothing satisfactory was 
 divulged. " Go, therefore," they said to the messen- 
 gers, " and tell the earl, that if he is not more ex- 
 plicit, the torture must be employed to bring out 
 what remains yet within." 
 
 To this menace he mildly returned, "that he had 
 nothing more to say." Confined amid the gloom of 
 the castle, allowed no intercourse with his beloved 
 family, with the prospect of death before his eyes, 
 and very possibly the torture, Argyle yet preserved 
 his heavenly mindedness, his tranquil and spiritual 
 state undisturbed, it would seem, by one earthly 
 thought. 
 
 " My poor clansmen," he would sometimes mur- 
 mur, " may you be spared if I am not." He wrote 
 to his wife and children after the day of execution 
 was fixed, saying, "I must die on Monday, and 
 previously to that I am to be put to the torture, if I 
 do not implicate my unfortunate followers, by re- 
 vealing all I know upon oath. Through all this I 
 trust God will support me." 
 
2G0 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 With all this in view his aspect was still the 
 same ; calm and composed he passed his days and 
 most of his nights in devotion, and it is probable 
 such a touching picture of resignation and submis- 
 sion to his hard destiny, had the effect of softening 
 his enemies, as nothing was heard of the torture 
 afterwards. His treatment too was far less rigorous 
 than it had previously been, for which he blessed 
 God, "whose good spirit," he said " had melted their 
 hearts in his favor." 
 
 Many less magnanimous than Argyle would 
 have endeavored to soften his captors in his favor 
 by betraying his clansmen ; but the noble chief was 
 incapable of such perfidy, and up to the last pre- 
 served his integrity towards them, thanking God 
 that he had been supported through all to do so. 
 "None have I named disadvantageously," he said, 
 " truly has my God helped me." 
 
 He also wrote to a lady in Holland, who had 
 advanced him a large sum of money for his enter- 
 prise, stating how disasterously everything had 
 turned out, and dwelling at some length on the con- 
 stant and ill-advised jealousy of Hume and Coch- 
 rane, "to whom," he added, "all nry misfortunes 
 are owing." 
 
 This explanation he judged due to the amiable 
 lady, who, from the pure motives of private friend- 
 ship, had impoverished herself to assist him, trusting 
 in much confidence in his success. But as his last 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 2G1 
 
 hours drew near, lie feared he had been too severe 
 towards his enemies, and consulted with a friend 
 whether he thought him too harsh in his judgment, 
 as, if he had been, he would suppress what he had 
 said. "Though certainly," he mildly added, "they 
 would not be governed." 
 
 It was the day before his death that the evening 
 shadows and the midnight hour found Argyle in 
 prayer. He had composed too his own epitaph. A 
 simple but touching composition, expressive of his 
 situation, and his feelings at being torn from his 
 beloved wife and family, and lastly, his reliance and 
 firm trust in the mercy of his God, and his hopes of 
 heaven through a Eedeemer's love. 
 
 As his last hours came nearer and nearer, he la- 
 mented with great bitterness the inconsistencies of his 
 past life. "I was not fit, 7 ' he would say, with great 
 feeling, "to be the deliverer of the church or my coun- 
 try." But while saying this, as if a light suddenly 
 darted into his mind, " the time is coming when deli- 
 verance will come and the Lord's cause be triumphant. 
 I pretend not to prophecy, but this will surely come 
 to pass." This, at the time, was implicitly believed in 
 by some zealous Presbyterians present, who treasur- 
 ed it up in their hearts ; and, at a later day, when 
 this dark period had given place to a brighter and 
 better state of things, ascribed to the earl the spirit 
 of prophecy, which had thus enabled him to foretell 
 
262 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 tlie future prosperity of that religion and country to 
 which he was so much devoted. 
 
 The last morning of his life beamed brightly 
 through the windows of his cell. The sight of the 
 glorious sun rejoiced his soul ; and a sweet smile 
 played upon his features. He ate his meals with a 
 good appetite, and conversed cheerfully with his 
 friends. After his dinner, as was his custom, he laid 
 down to sleep, in order to be prepared with necessary 
 strength to ascend the scaffold. 
 
 One of the lords of the council, who had been 
 bred a Presbyterian, had, through bribery, been se- 
 duced into joining the king's party against the 
 church, was despatched with a message to Argyle. 
 When he arrived at the castle, he demanded admit- 
 tance to the earl. The answer given was that he 
 was fast asleep, and that it would be a pity to dis- 
 turb him. 
 
 This was thought merely an excuse, and he in- 
 sisted on seeing him, declaring that his business 
 was urgent. 
 
 Finding it impossible to evade the privy coun- 
 cilor's determination to see their noble prisoner, the 
 door was softly opened ; and there, stretched on his 
 pallet, in irons, lay Argyle, sleeping as sweetly as an 
 infant. 
 
 The conscience-stricken man started at sight of 
 such composure, in the near view of death. What a 
 lesson of peace with God did it not read to his heart. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 2G3 
 
 He turned pale as death ; for he felt how different 
 the case was with him. Argyle continued in his 
 profound sleep ; and, unable to bear the sight, he 
 fled from the castle, never stopping a moment until 
 he had reached his own dwelling, where, throwing 
 himself upon a sofa, shame, self-reproach and remorse 
 so overcame him, that he groaned aloud. His wife 
 came into the parlor to see what was the matter, on 
 hearing so unusual a sound. " Oh," she exclaimed, 
 on witnessing his agony, " what has happened to 
 you ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing," said he, " to me, surely." "You 
 are ill, my love," she tenderly returned ; " let me 
 give you a cup of usquebaugh." " No," he said with 
 quickness, " that cannot cure a soul sick with itself." 
 
 " Strange words," she observed : " Oh, something 
 must be wrong ;" and beseeching him with all the 
 eloquence of a spirit strong in the power of affection, 
 at last he was induced to tell her : 
 
 "I have been, my love," he said, " to see Argyle, 
 in the castle ; and what do you think ? though but 
 one hour to remain on earth, I found him as calmly 
 sleeping as a new-born t babe. O, Annie, how could 
 I have felt under such circumstances ?" 
 
 His wife said nothing. Well she knew and deeply 
 had she mourned his apostacy to the church ; but, 
 with true woman's pity, she pressed his hand within 
 her own, and, lifting her soul to God, prayed that he 
 might repent and be forgiven. 
 
264 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 The earl, meanwhile, had awoke, and risen from 
 his bed to prepare for the final scene ; and, sitting 
 down, wrote a farewell letter to his beloved wife ; 
 employing the tenderest epithets to express his affec- 
 tion and his sense of the goodness of God ; earnestly 
 commending her and his children to his beneficent 
 care. " Forgive me all my faults, dear heart," he 
 continued, " as I know you will ; and when I am 
 gone, comfort yourself in the Lord, in whom all true 
 comfort lies. May he bless and keep thee until we 
 meet in Heaven. Adieu, dearest of wives and chil- 
 dren. A. Argyle." 
 
 The time had arrived when the lords were to leave 
 the council house, and Argyle to be conducted from 
 his cell to the scaffold. Ministers of the Church of 
 England were appointed to attend him ; and not 
 those of his own persuasion. But this did not move 
 Argyle ; they were Protestants, and that sufficed. 
 
 He meekly and reverentially responded to their 
 exhortations, and then besought them to be zealous 
 in cautioning their flocks against admitting those 
 doctrines into their hearts which were the destruction 
 of Protestantism. Then, mounting the scaffold, the 
 "rude old gullotine," used in Scotland, and called, 
 for some incomprehensible cause, " the maiden," he 
 addressed the assembled multitude in the Scottish 
 phraseology of the deepest piety. Most of his hear- 
 ers shed tears at beholding his perfect resignation 
 and unruffled calmness in an hour when even the 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 265 
 
 stoutest heart has been known to fail. " He hoped," 
 he said, " God would forgive his enemies, as he had 
 forgiven them." But one bitter expression escaped 
 him. 
 
 " My lord dies a Protestant," one of the Episco- 
 pal clergymen announced to the people. 
 
 "Yes," returned Argyle, in a loud and clear 
 voice, " and not only a Protestant, but with a hatred 
 of Popery and prelacy, in all its forms, with all its 
 priest-craft, cruelty, and superstitions." Then turning 
 to his friends, he embraced them affectionately, and 
 putting some tokens of remembrance into their 
 hands, to be given to his wife and children, after a 
 brief prayer gave the signal to the executioner. 
 
 Thus ended the life of one whose virtues are en- 
 graved on the memory of thousands, who, in reading 
 his history, cannot but lament that excess of amia- 
 bility which made him, with the finest abilities for a 
 governor, the dupe and tool of two men, alike desti- 
 tute of principle, feeling, and judgment, but whose 
 jealousy prevented their yielding to another, a place 
 they were wholly unfitted to fill themselves. 
 
 His head was fixed on the Tolbooth, where the 
 head of Montrose had more than thirty years before 
 been placed, and kept till it decayed. 
 
 Eumbold had already shared the same fate, and 
 his head was placed, after his execution, on the West- 
 port of Edinburgh. Eumbold was a brave man and 
 a good soldier. Throughout the whole campaign 
 
266 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 his consistency of conduct was remarkable. Allured 
 neither by the cowardice of one party, nor the inso- 
 lence of another, his attachment to Argyle continued 
 unabated to the last. When he lost his way, and in 
 the darkness of the night wandered away from the 
 army, he had still hopes of regaining them when the 
 daylight broke. But the following morning found 
 their troops dispersed, and all thoughts of prosecut- 
 ing the war ended. 
 
 Under these circumstances, Eumbold's first care 
 was the preservation of his life. He therefore sought 
 the most retired spots through woods and morasses, 
 where the solitude that surrounded him seemed a 
 protection from the king's troops. But in this idea 
 he was mistaken. A party of militia found him out, 
 and pursued him furiously. His horse kept them at 
 bay for some time, but coming up they fell upon him 
 with unsparing energy. He fought long and vigo- 
 rously, and would have cut his way through, not- 
 withstanding their numbers, had they not ham- 
 stringed his trusty steed. He was conveyed to 
 Edinburgh covered with wounds, to all appearance 
 mortal. 
 
 Eumbold was considered an old offender. In his 
 house the Eye-house Plot had been formed, and the 
 project of assassinating the royal brothers received its 
 sanction. His capture therefore was a sweet morsel 
 to the king and the royalists, and they desired above 
 all things to have him executed in England. This, 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 267 
 
 however, it was very evident could not be the case. 
 His sufferings from the wounds he had received had 
 brought him very low, and if he were not hung at 
 once he could not be hung at all alive, and this 
 pleasure his conquerors could not forego, while the 
 insolence he endured from them the most cruel of 
 our own day would shrink from with disgust. But 
 his magnanimity under all the provications almost 
 equalled that of Argyle. Patient, calm, and un- 
 ruffled, he replied to all their cruel tauntings with 
 piety and meekness, avowing his trust in the mercy 
 of God, and his peace through a Eedeemer. 
 
 He was more favored than Argyle had been in 
 one respect. He had a trial. Short, to be sure, but 
 a trial, nevertheless, wherein he was convicted of 
 high-treason, sentenced to be hung and quartered. 
 
 The day fixed for his execution found him so 
 weak that he was unable to stand without support. 
 He was conveyed to the scaffold, and feeble as he 
 was, lifted up his hands towards the assembled mul- 
 titude, and poured forth his soul in a loud voice 
 against Popery. The drums were ordered to strike 
 up while he was speaking, so that the people should 
 not hear. But he went on, and adverted to the evils 
 of an absolute monarchy. "Providence," he said, 
 " never intended that one man should govern the 
 wills of millions by his own. I would," he con- 
 tinued, "magnify God's holy name. I die in defence 
 of pure and undefiled religion, against Popery and 
 
268 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 all its horrors, and had I a thousand lives, freely 
 would I yield them all in such a cause." 
 
 The lords of the council taunted him with the 
 guilt of assassination lying on his conscience, but 
 this he denied in toto. " This crime," he replied, "I 
 know has been attributed to me, but I never, on the 
 faith of a dying man, harbored such a thought for an 
 instant. 
 
 " Persons," he continued, " have taken a wrong 
 view of that subject ; I have ever regarded assassi- 
 nation with horror, and my religion has taught me 
 its criminality too deeply to embue my conscience 
 with so heinous a deed." 
 
 Eumbold deluded himself, it is to be feared, like 
 many others, into a belief in this instance, that the 
 end proposed fully justified the means. A zealous 
 Protestant, he thought the removal of one likely to 
 endeavor to subvert the whole nation to Popery was 
 a Christian act, and according to the usages of war, 
 any means of surprising the enemy, were fair. It was 
 true that Charles was also one of the intended vic- 
 tims, but as a sovereign he possessed little of the 
 esteem and affections of his people. In a word, 
 those concerned in the "Eye-house Plot" wanted 
 another king, and that one was Monmouth. 
 
 James regarded Rumbold in the light of a mur- 
 derer, whose object was his own life, and his re- 
 vengeful feelings heard with delight of his capture 
 and execution. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 269 
 
 He was executed a few hours before Argyle, who 
 warmly lauded his character in his last moments, de- 
 claring Eumbold to be one of the bravest soldiers 
 and best of men. 
 
 James' view of Eumbold's crime was perfectly 
 unjustifiable by any kind of reasoning. Yet, a short 
 time after we find him attempting to justify himself 
 in a similar way for the self same thing. He em- 
 ployed persons of his own persuasion to waylay and 
 surprise the Prince of Orange, William the Third, 
 after the revolution, and take his life by cutting 
 his throat, on a journey from Eichmond to Ken- 
 sington. 
 
 And yet, in his own view, he was guilty of no 
 crime. A system of Jesuitical reasoning paved away 
 all criminality in an act of the vilest nature, and 
 justified its necessity by the circumstances of the case. 
 
 Eumbold died as became a Christian and a brave 
 man; and his conduct, save in this one instance, 
 seems to have been irreproachable. 
 
 "With his companion, Ayloffe, it was far different. 
 No piety cheered the gloomy period of his imprison- 
 ment or execution. He had joined the standard of 
 the Protestants against Catholicism, but from no re- 
 ligious feelings. Ambition and a thirst for glory had 
 drawn him towards them, rather than a nation's 
 good. The heroes of the olden time were the idols 
 of his imagination, and the spur which lent energy 
 to all his aspirations and actions. 
 
270 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 When arrested, he was taken to Glasgow. Dur- 
 ing his imprisonment he made an attempt to commit 
 suicide, by letting blood with a penknife ; and other- 
 wise wounding himself. He could not, however, by 
 any means, effect his purpose. When discovered, 
 the^ knife was taken from him, and he was taken 
 from prison and conveyed to London, where, being 
 brought before the privy council, they commenced 
 interrogatories relative to his confederates. An in- 
 terview is also said to have taken place between him 
 and the king, for this purpose ; but to all, Ayloffe's 
 mouth was sullenly closed. 
 
 He hated James and his party, and preserved, 
 even in his extremity, the bold and fearless spirit 
 that had always distinguished him. A promise of 
 pardon was proffered him, if he confessed all he knew 
 of the remaining insurgents : " So come, Mr. Ayloffe, 
 be frank with us," the king cunningly added. 
 
 But Ayloffe knew his man, — knew him to be as 
 crafty as he was cruel, and whose meanness and du- 
 plicity would lead him to stoop to any thing to ac- 
 complish the sanguinary vengeance of his disposition ; 
 — and he replied, "If it is in your power to pardon 
 me, it is not in your nature." James said no more ; 
 but, grinding his teeth ; ordered him from his presence. 
 
 He was tried, convicted, and executed, under his 
 former treasonable offences, which made him an 
 outlaw. 
 
 He preserved his stoicism to the last, ascended 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 271 
 
 the scaffold, erected at the gate of the temple, with 
 an air of determined defiance ; surveyed the multitude 
 which always hang about such places, with a sullen 
 silence ; laid his head upon the block, and in a few 
 minutes Ayloffe was no more. 
 
 Then followed the vengeance of the strong upon 
 the weak. Argyle's followers were hunted down 
 like wild beasts, and brought to the slaughter with- 
 out mercy, and without one pitying thought for 
 either themselves or their suffering families, left, in 
 so many instances, in utter destitution. The Duke 
 of Athol's enmity to the Campbells vented itself in 
 the most cruel and heartless manner. Those of them 
 who were taken, he caused to be hung, without trial 
 by judge or jury ; and without even time for com- 
 mendation of their souls to God. The whole race 
 he longed to destroy ; and, had he not been withheld 
 by the intervention of the privy council, would have 
 adopted measures for a consummation he so devoutly 
 wished. 
 
 Throughout Inverary, a country rich and abound- 
 ing in nature's gifts; and rendered still more produc- 
 tive by the labors of the husbandman, waste and de- 
 solation now only reigned. The inhabitants, for thirty 
 miles around, were Argyle's tenants, and were de- 
 voted to him to a man. They had all turned out to 
 follow their noble chief; and the disastrous issue of 
 his enterprise had caused them to fall into the hands 
 of their merciless conquerors. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 The homes of those brave peasants were burned ; 
 their mills broken down and destroyed. Flourishing 
 orchards and fruit gardens were set fire to, and even 
 the roots burnt. Many were fishermen, and gained 
 a livelihood by fishing on the coast ; these had their 
 boats and nets destroj-ed. But this was not the 
 worst. Those who were not hung had a still more 
 cruel lot ; being transported to the Colonies. Many 
 were mutilated, being sentenced to have their ears 
 cut off before they left ; the hangman, it is said, cut- 
 ting off, in one day, the ears of thirty-five indivi- 
 duals. Even women shared in the cruelty of the 
 times; and several, previous to being sent off, were 
 branded on the cheek with a red hot iron, leaving 
 children, young and helpless, in a state of utter des- 
 titution, to the tender mercies of these monsters in 
 human form.* 
 
 But Athol's ireful feelings were unsated yet. As 
 the old adage saith, " like master like man ;" so this 
 minion, seeking royal favor, to show a fair account 
 of his deeds to James, followed out every suggestion 
 of his ambitious and cruel heart in the most wanton 
 displays of atrocity. His last attempt of malicious 
 cruelty, was endeavoring to obtain an act of parlia- 
 ment, permitting the name of Campbell to be pro- 
 scribed ; but in this he did not succeed. 
 
 * Woodrow gives an accurate detail of the names of those 
 prisoners who were branded, transported, and mutilated. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 273 
 
 Thus was Scotia mourning her misery and sub- 
 jection to a wretched bigot, with hope crushed be- 
 neath the impervious gloom which hung over a land 
 cherished by thousands of brave hearts, who wit- 
 nessed, helplessly, and desparingly the shadows 
 which enveloped her. 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 The rebellion quelled in both England and Scot- 
 land, James breathed freely, happily, and exultingly 
 over his thousands slain, and his tens of thousands 
 awed into the most abject submission to his will. 
 The name of rebellion, he thought, laid aside for 
 ever, and his throne of power established on pillars, 
 whose firm foundation no earthly power could shake 
 or remove. 
 
 The queen imagined, in her bigotry, that she saw 
 the hand of God in the cruel and bloody measures 
 which had filled both nations with broken, bleeding 
 hearts ; and that the pure Catholic faith was vindi- 
 cated by the humane delights of torture which in 
 every form afflicted the poor misguided people who 
 fell powerless into the hands of conquerors, destitute 
 alike of feeling or principle. Tales of devastation and 
 horror they gloated over with feelings of gratulation 
 more in keeping with the wild Indian, whose savage 
 nature neither law or civilization had subdued or 
 improved, than beings in whom refinement, it would 
 naturally be supposed, would have had its highest 
 representatives. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 275 
 
 The whigs beheld, with sorrowful emotions, the 
 heartless and bold triumph of the conquerors ; and 
 their very name carried misery and defeature on its 
 face. Every one avoided so fatal an appellation, 
 one which branded with reproach : no bright future 
 promised a resumption of its former glory, or coupled 
 it, as they once did, with hopes of England's deli- 
 verance from hands steeped in oppressions of every 
 name and order. 
 
 As the olive waved its new-born foliage over 
 England, and industry and art by slow degrees re- 
 sumed their energies beneath its refreshing shadow, 
 the revenues of the king swelled to a most nn- 
 looked for extent; and with them the proud and 
 stony heart of James. He beheld his power in- 
 creasing on every side, while his Parliament became 
 more and more devoted to him. In ecclesiastical 
 favor he stood higher than ever ; while his minions 
 on all sides fluttered around him with flatteries of 
 his greatness, his triumph, his strength, and his 
 goodness. Prosperity on all sides surrounded him ; 
 and it did its work. In the days of his abject fear, 
 lest his kingdom should be reft from him, he had 
 solicited aid from his son-in-law, the Prince of 
 Orange, in terms of the most unprecedented humi- 
 lity for a monarch ; and, when a compliance of his 
 request was granted, it was received with tears of 
 gratitude as a favor he had feared too great to 
 anticipate. 
 
276 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 Forgetful of a period so fearful and so gloomy, 
 his spirit, like the frog in the fable, was fast increas- 
 ing its proportions. He was fast getting beyond 
 himself, and in the visions he daily wove of future 
 greatness was speedily becoming, in his mind's eye, 
 the umpire of the world, beginning, however, with 
 Europe first. 
 
 He had extended a promise to the United Pro- 
 vinces, that when all should be calm in England he 
 would evince his intentions to the world, and show 
 how he would bid defiance to France ; and as early 
 as a month after the battle of Sedgemoor, we find 
 him concluding a treaty with the States General, 
 couched in the most unmistakeable manner and 
 spirit of the Triple Alliance ; in which he was joined 
 by ministers who, previous to that period, had de- 
 precated every thing tending to French ascendancy ; 
 but, in the true courtier view of following the 
 strongest party, now that all chance was over of 
 destroying James, fawned on his every wish, and 
 became the puppets of his will. 
 
 Lord Halifax was one of Monmouth's chief 
 abettors in the early stages of the rebellion. He 
 was now the chief adviser of the king. The darling 
 object of James still occupied his mind, however, 
 above all others, that of making England a Catholic 
 nation. But there was one great check to the ar- 
 dent zeal with which he prosecuted his plans, which 
 was, that in the event of his death, his daughter 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 277 
 
 Mary, Princess of Orange, and the prince, who were 
 Protestants, would undo all that he might do before. 
 "Well James knew the favor with which the Prince 
 of Orange was regarded, on that account, by the 
 people of England ; but that knowledge did not 
 prevent his taking every possible measure to ad- 
 vance Catholicism. And so glaring and misplaced 
 was his ardor in its behalf, that on his determining, 
 through the counsels of the queen, to introduce 
 papists into the army and navy ; and offering indul- 
 gence to Roman Catholics, inclusive of all dissen- 
 ters ; the bishops themselves became alarmed at his 
 inconsistent zeal, and waited on him to present a 
 remonstrance against such an intemperate step; 
 which so enraged the king that he ordered them to 
 be committed to the Tower. They were afterwards 
 brought to trial ; but the sympathies of both high 
 and low being in their favor, it eventuated in their 
 acquittal, much to the discomfiture and mortification 
 of James. 
 
 The king's whole thoughts now turned into an 
 entirely new channel. " Oh, if I had a son," was his 
 constant exclamation. For the succession of the Pro- 
 testant Prince of Orange filled his mind with the 
 wildest despair. At the height of this despondency, 
 the queen promised to be a mother ; and, with joy, 
 he hailed an event which he trusted would realize 
 his fondest wishes. 
 
 Should his prosperity receive this last crowning 
 
 13* 
 
278 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 point to his desires, his happiness would be com- 
 plete ; Poperj would be perpetuated, through its 
 medium, and England's throne be filled still with a 
 Catholic monarch. 
 
 But James' entire occupancy of himself and his 
 wishes prevented his seeing and knowing that the 
 secret desires of his people were sapping, to its very 
 foundations, the superstructure he was raising to per- 
 petuate his future glory with such bold confidence 
 and hopes in its fulfilment. The prospect of an heir 
 to the throne filled all England with dismay. With 
 James' death, they looked forward to a successor who 
 would again restore to them the peaceful joys and 
 happy privileges of the Protestant religion ; but if 
 the king had a son, Popery and all its horrors would 
 be again entailed on them, it might be, for centuries. 
 This consideration drove them almost to madness ; 
 and in secret their measures were taken, if the ex- 
 pected child should prove a son. 
 
 What they dreaded happened ; a son was born 
 to James, June 10th, 1688. And then followed prompt 
 measures to secure to the nation another sovereign, in 
 the person of William of Nassau, Prince of Orange. 
 
 Meetings were once more held in London, ex- 
 pressive of the people's disgust at the present Popish 
 administration, and its promise of perpetuation, which 
 ended in concerted measures for James' dethrone- 
 ment, and his son-in-law's being called by the uni- 
 versal voice to take his place, as their king. 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 279 
 
 During his domestic joy at the fulfilment of his 
 ardent desires, and the new field it seemed to open 
 for the achievement of his future schemes, the king 
 saw and heard nothing of the discontent of the peo- 
 ple. He felt he stood secure. Strong on the right 
 and the left, his eye penetrating beyond the vistas of 
 his son's minority, he beheld his cherished desire of 
 subverting the kingdom to Catholicism, in full blaze, 
 and his enemies subdued and crouching to the tri- 
 umphal car of glory and power, on which his son sat. 
 
 The queen's heart also dilated with delight at 
 those bright visions of her husband ; but their extatic 
 emotions were short-lived indeed. 
 
 Two short months after the birth of his son, a 
 letter was put into the king's hand, from his ministry 
 at the Hague, informing him of the communications 
 which had passed between his people and the Prince 
 of Orange, on the subject of an invasion, owing to 
 the general discontent experienced by the English 
 people ; and their determination, if possible, to have 
 another monarch, and that other was the Prince of 
 Orange. 
 
 James was completely taken aback by this infor- 
 mation ; the letter dropped from his hands, and he fell 
 back in his chair completely stunned. When, how- 
 ever, consciousness returned, his first thought was to 
 retract some of his most recent arbitrary measures. 
 But he had gone too far. His people at once saw 
 through the craven fear that actuated him. He was 
 
280 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 beginning to appear in his true light, even to those 
 who had resolutely stood by him through all the 
 fluctuations of the past. As a monster and a bigot 
 they regarded him now, desiring only to gratify the 
 selfish desires of his depraved nature ; caring neither 
 for the feelings of his subjects or the prosperity of 
 the nation. But in the distance a mild and radiant 
 star beamed upon long suffering England, and be- 
 neath its kindling lustre they beheld a halo sweetly 
 gleaming above its head, while the wings of hope 
 expanded as it came nearer, as an earnest, they trust- 
 ed, that superstition and fanaticism would soon pass 
 away under the cheering influence of a monarch 
 whose healthful tone of mind would restore, not only 
 tranquillity, but that energetic industry which is a 
 nation's truest glory, under the genial smile of the 
 religion they loved ; where, in the sanctuary, or be- 
 neath their own fig-trees, they could worship the 
 God of their fathers as their consciences dictated, free 
 from the fetters of fear or the dread of punishment. 
 The disastrous termination of Monmouth's in- 
 vasion caused some doubts as to the result ; but the 
 whole heart of England was enlisted in its success ; 
 and so well were their measures taken, and the voice 
 so general, that James felt opposition would be a 
 vain and futile thing. Even the Jesuits, his warm 
 and faithful friends, advised him to abandon the 
 country. The queen had the good sense to join her 
 advice to theirs ; and thus led by fear and shame, he 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 281 
 
 prepared to fly, without a single effort to preserve 
 his position or his throne. 
 
 The time of retribution had arrived ; driven to 
 leave the scene of his late exultation and cruelty by 
 stealth, to seek refuge at the hands of strangers, as a 
 wanderer and a homeless exile, his punishment was 
 complete ; while conscience whispered its tale beneath 
 his ear, and brought with it its remorseful sting. 
 
 The queen and his infant son he sent away pri- 
 vately ; and a few days after, on the 12 th of Decem- 
 ber, he himself left London in the middle of the night, 
 and joined her on board a ship bound for France. 
 
 In the morning the palace was found vacated of 
 its sovereign, and the news quickly spreading, Lon- 
 don was soon up in arms. A mob arose who seemed 
 to consider themselves masters of everything, and 
 with the usual spirit of mobism, began to take sum- 
 mary measures on those whose sanguinary proceed- 
 ings of the past had wrung with torture every feeling 
 and humane mind. The horrors of the rebellion 
 fired their souls with a thirst for revenge on every 
 one concerned in it. 
 
 In a terror-stricken state of mind, Jeffrys,. dis- 
 guised, and intending to fly, emerged from his 
 dwelling; but discovering who he was, they fell 
 upon him, and beat and kicked him so unmercifully 
 that he died in the street like a dog. A fitting end 
 for such a miscreant. The next move was to tear 
 down all the mass-houses and destroy all the Catho- 
 
282 BRITISH REBELLION. 
 
 lie images of the virgin and saints they could find. 
 Confusion and uproar was at its height in Lon- 
 don, all business was at a stand, but delight and 
 exultation filled every heart. A Protestant king 
 was once more coming among them ; and they were 
 delivered from the oppressors fangs. "Long live 
 King William !" rent the air, as they moved along 
 in triumphal masses ; and " perish the tyrant who 
 has so long scourged the land !" and weaving their 
 sentiments into a rude rhyme, sung : — 
 
 " Jeffry's lies dead, 
 
 " The butcher of men ; 
 " And the tyrant his master 
 
 " Has ceased his dread reign." 
 
 A mob is a fearful spectacle at any time ; but 
 Lord Feversham, commander of the king's forces, to 
 increase the general disorder, disbanded them with- 
 out paying their wages, and sent them armed 
 through the country ; where with the lawless reck- 
 lessness of soldiers' morals they committed all man- 
 ner of depredations. 
 
 Such was the state of things, when, calling a 
 meeting of the bishops and peers of the realm, a 
 letter was despatched to the Prince of Orange invit- 
 ing him to come over and fill the vacant throne of 
 England ; a call which he promptly obeyed, and, 
 without one dissenting voice, assumed the regal 
 title. This was a time of much rejoicing ; all classes 
 
BRITISH REBELLION. 283 
 
 joined in celebrating the auspicious event. Illu- 
 minations and bonfires blazed through town and 
 country ; triumphal arches graced the mansion of 
 the peer and adorned the cottage of the peasant. 
 Effigies of James and his queen were burned ; and 
 every species of exultation, in fireworks, balls, and 
 shows, marked that grateful epoch of English history. 
 
 James and his queen reached Feversham in 
 safety ; but here he was discovered and brought 
 back to London. He was filled with alarm; but 
 his daughter had extorted from her husband a pro- 
 mise of protection from all violence for her father. 
 William, therefore, acting in fulfilment of it, not only 
 refused to take cognizance of the circumstance, but 
 secretly aided his second escape. And, reaching 
 France, he sought refuge at the hands of the French 
 monarch, Louis IV. who, to his praise be it spoken, 
 received him with sympathy and kindness. 
 
 Hope was now kindled throughout all England. 
 The dark clouds which had so long enveloped the 
 nation were dispersed ; and the bright rays of one 
 unclouded sun promised to gild their future paths 
 with happiness and peace, under the reign of Wil- 
 liam and Mary, who were subsequently crowned 
 king and queen of Great Britain. 
 
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