Terrified by these examples, many people took the oaths, who had hitherto been sullenly neutral. The more prominent of these were laughed at by the Whig press. ‘Some few days past,’ said the ‘Flying Post,’ ‘one Linnet, curate to the famous Whitechapel Doctor (Welton), after much consideration, deliberation, and premeditation, but at last without any hesitation, took the oaths of allegiance, supremacy, and abjuration, without any mental reservation, before some of his Majesty’s Justices of the Peace for the County of Middlesex.’ Poor Linnet, however, was unable to digest the oath of abjuration which he had taken. This inability and the above critical sarcasm killed the ex-Jacobite in a few days. The reverend gentleman was taken suddenly ill at a house in Mansel Street, where he was used to visit, and where he died (say the press-reporters of that day, with a brevity and lucidity that are not without their merits), ‘of a Twisting of the Guts.’ Other Jacobite parsons who declined to take the oath which had choked Linnet, found safety in withdrawing within the fortifications of the Mint, in Southwark. There they had sanctuary, and might drink to what king they pleased as long as they could pay for the liquor, share it with their landlord, and pay their rent in advance.
Lady Cowper, in her Diary, protests that Linnet took the oaths which secured him in his preferment, much against his will; ‘and they choked him, for he actually died the next day of no other disease but swearing to the Government.’
THE DERWENTWATER LIGHTS.
That day was the last Tuesday in February, when London, just after dark, was attracted by strange flashes of light in the North West. The light was diversely compared to the dawn of day, to that of the moon breaking through the clouds; and a newspaper philosopher cheerfully described it as ‘darting many streams towards all parts of the sky, which looked like smoak.’ Its progress was towards the South-East, and it died out at the witching hour of night. Superstition sharpened or deceived the eyes of beholders in all parts of the country. The London Jacobites hailed this Aurora as a message from Heaven to cheer them after the depression caused by the execution of the sentence on the Jacobite leaders. The London Whigs did not know what to make of it, but men of both parties, whose eyes were made the fools of other senses, agreed in seeing in the field of the sky armies fiercely engaged, giants flying through ether with bright flaming swords, and fire-breathing dragons flaring from swift and wrathful comets. They swore they heard the report of guns; they were quite sure they smelt powder. What one man said he saw, another assented to, and proceeded to see something more monstrous. Whatever din of battle was heard by one group, a thousand echoes of it were heard by another. The journals were not nice in calling such people by rude names. SCIENTIFIC EXPLANATIONS. The scientific critics saw nothing but what was natural, and they schooled the Londoners in this wise:—‘The Sun having been hot for two days past, and particularly that afternoon, by which vapours were exhaled both from the Earth and Water, and the sulphurous Particles mixed with them, taking fire, might occasion that Light, and some coruscations, as is very common upon marshes in fenny places, in Spring and Summer nights.’ The explainer spoke with more confidence as to the intentions of Providence. The Jacobites had taken courage at the eclipse of the preceding year. To them it was a sign that the temporary adumbration of the Sun of Stuart would be followed by triumphant effulgency. The Sun of Stuart had proved to be only a mock Sun. Argal—‘they have,’ writes the philosophic critic, ‘all the reason in the world to believe that this last prodigy, if they will have it so called, portends a due chastisement for their obstinacy in carrying out designs against their King, their Country, and the Protestant Religion.’
Nobody looked on that northern aurora in the way prescribed. Sentiment connected it with an individual. The aurora might not be an omen of good for a party, yet it might be a symbol of grief for an individual, and an assurance that Heaven had taken to its glory what men had destroyed. The sentiment has not quite gone out, even now, in the vicinity of Dilston. The aurora is still popularly called there the ‘Earl of Derwentwater’s Lights!’
LADY COWPER, ON THE AURORA.
Lady Cowper describes the spectacle more simply than scientifically. ‘First appeared a black cloud, from whence smoke and light issued forth at once, on every side, and then the cloud opened and there was a great body of pale fire, that rolled up and down and sent forth all sorts of colours—like the rainbow on every side; but this did not last above two or three minutes. After that it was like pale elementary fire, issuing out on all sides of the Horizon, but most especially at the North and North-West, where it fixed at last. The Motion of it was extremely swift and rapid, like Clouds in their swiftest Rack. Sometimes it discontinued for a While; at other Times it was but as Streaks of Light in the Sky, but moving always with great Swiftness. About one o’Clock this Phenomenon was so strong that the whole Face of the Heavens was entirely covered with it, moving as swiftly as before, but extremely low. It lasted till past four, but decreased till it was quite gone. At one, the Light was so great that I could, out of my Window, see People walking across Lincoln’s Inn Fields, though there was no Moon. Both Parties turned it on their Enemies. The Whigs said it was God’s Judgment on the horrid Rebellion, and the Tories said it came for the Whigs taking off the two Lords that were executed. I could hardly make my Chairmen come home with me, they were so frightened, and I was forced to let my glass down and preach to them as I went along, to comfort them! I am sure anybody that had overheard the Dialogue, would have laughed heartily. All the People were drawn out into the Streets, which were so full One could hardly pass, and all frightened to Death.’
The Rev. Dr. Clarke lost no time in explaining the phenomenon to the Chancellor’s wife; and in a few hours the public were informed that if they wished to know all about it, they had only to repair, on subsequent Friday nights, to hear the Rev. Mr. Whiston lecture on the subject, at Button’s coffee-house; admission one shilling.
REVELRY.
While terror affected some persons, others were given up to gaiety. The Duke of Montague showed his bad taste and lack of feeling by giving (almost while the tragedy on Tower Hill was a-doing) a ball and masquerade of the most splendid description to ‘three hundred people of quality.’ The guests were the duke’s confederates in bad taste and over-affected loyalty.