The ballad was yet being said or sung in London, when on June 1st the metropolis was startled with the news that the ‘late Lord Bolingbroke,’ as the attainted Jacobite peer was called by the Whigs, was about to be pardoned. ‘About!’ shouted a Jacobite paper, in its loudest type, ‘the pardon has already passed the seal.’ But this shout was one of indignation, for the papers of all hues seem to have agreed that my Lord Bolingbroke’s pardon was the consequence of services to King George and the existing Government, with reference to the plot for upsetting both by establishing the Pretender and a Stuart ministry in their place.
Another incident occupied the public mind, namely, the sale of Atterbury’s goods and chattels. Political partisans and votaries of fashion repaired to the episcopal palace at Bromley, and to the deanery at Westminster, as to shrines where both could indulge in their respective sentiments. At the two sales about 5,000l. were realised. ‘There was a remarkable fondness,’ says the ‘London Journal,’ sneeringly, ‘in some sort of people, to buy these goods almost at any rate; but whether from a motive of superstition or party zeal we know not; but many think both.’ It is true that numerous articles fetched four times their value; and the Jacobite journals, as well as the better natured of the opposite faction, acknowledged that the purchasers naturally desired to have some remembrance of their fallen friend.
ATTERBURY LEAVING THE TOWER.
Jacobitism ventured to look up in public, before the bishop went into exile. On the 10th of June, numbers of persons appeared in the streets wearing white roses. It was like displaying a flag of defiance against the Government. Whigs who were really loyal to ‘great Brunswick,’ and who dearly loved a fight, fell upon the white rose wearers, and many a head was broken in expiation of the offence.
On the 17th of the month, Atterbury received company in the Tower for the last time. During the whole day there was no cessation of arrivals of friends of all degrees who came to bid a last and long farewell. On the following morning, Tuesday, June 18th, which was fixed for the bishop’s departure, every avenue to the Tower was closed. The authorities were in fear of a riotous demonstration. The vicinity was densely crowded. The river was covered with boats. As Atterbury passed the window where his old acquaintance, Dr. Freind, sat (under arrest in the old matter of the Plot), the two were allowed to converse together for a quarter of an hour. In a sedan chair, preceded by the deputy-governor, and surrounded by warders, the bishop was conveyed to the King’s Stairs. ‘He was not in a lay habit, as it was reported he would be,’ says one paper, in censuring mood. ‘He was in a lay habit, a suit of grey cloth,’ says another journal. A third confirms the second, but generally adds: ‘He was waited on by two footmen, more episcoporum, in purple liveries.’ Some of the spectators boasted of the sums that had been raised for him. One sympathising lady had subscribed 1000l., and the total was said to reach six times that amount. He had many a tender greeting from sympathising women as he passed. One of the fair enthusiasts went up to his chair and kissed his hand. She manifested a world of affectionate tenacity, and the ex-prelate was only just in time to discover that the pretty, tearful Jenny Diver had quietly drawn a valuable ring off his finger, with her lips. The ring was saved, but Atterbury consigned her to the mob who, as the papers remark, followed the usual custom, on such occasions. They ducked her in the river. Forgiveness would have been a more appropriate act on the prelate’s part.
ATTERBURY ON THE THAMES.
In that same river lay an eight-oared navy barge, on board of which he was conveyed with humane and respectful care. The deputy-governor, and warders, with the Duke of Wharton, two of the bishop’s chaplains, and other Jacobite friends, accompanied him. His servants, baggage, and books, were in a barge which followed. Early in the afternoon the oars were dipped and the barges were steered down stream. A fleet of deeply-laden boats went in the same direction. In Long Reach lay the ‘Aldborough,’ man-of-war. As the bishop was hoisted up the side in a cradle, Captain Laurence was at the gangway, ready to receive him. The boats clustered densely round the ship, and Atterbury with gravity acknowledged the sympathy. As the officials were about to leave he gave ‘a few guineas’ to the warders; justifying the ‘few’ on the ground of the many they had received in fees and douceurs from his visitors during his captivity. He was still in durance, for two messengers had him in charge till he landed at Calais. There, occurred the well-known incident. Atterbury and Bolingbroke crossed each other; and the bishop remarked epigrammatically: ‘We are exchanged!’
POPE AND ATTERBURY.
‘He is gone!’ wrote Pope to Blount (June 27th). ‘He carried away more learning than is left in this nation behind, but he left us more in the noble example of bearing calamity well. It is true, we want literature very much; but, pray God, we do not want patience more, if these precedents’ (Bills of Pains and Penalties) ‘prevail.’ Pope’s impatience was at this time natural. When he took final leave of the Jacobite prelate in the Tower, Atterbury remarked that he would allow his friend to say that the sentence was a just one, if Pope ever found that the bishop ‘had any concerns with that’ (the Stuart) ‘family in his exile.’ Atterbury openly and immediately took service in that very family, where, however, he found little gratitude for his fidelity.
The Duke of Wharton, in his own barge, reached the Tower stairs at midnight. One of his first acts, the next day, was to appoint as his chaplain the Rev. Mr. Moore, who had been one of Atterbury’s chaplains, and who was well-nigh as turbulent a Jacobite as Sacheverel himself.