Some few towns and corporations presented addresses of thanks to the King for the Declaration, and amongst them one from the “Old Dissenting officers and soldiers of the County of Lincoln;”[225] but the most numerous, as well as the most respectable of the Nonconformists, objected to such a course, and Baxter publicly in his pulpit extolled the Bishops. “The whole Church,” says the Papal Nuncio in his correspondence, “espouses the cause of the Bishops. There is no reasonable expectation of a division among the Anglicans, and our hopes from the Nonconformists are vanished.”[226]
THE SEVEN BISHOPS.
On the 15th of June, Sancroft and his brethren were brought from the Tower to the Court of King’s Bench; as their barge floated along the Thames, they were greeted with applauses and with prayers, and on their reaching Westminster, noblemen and gentlemen accompanied them into Court. Of the immense concourse of people who received them on the bank of the river and followed them to the bar, the greater part fell upon their knees, wishing them happiness and asking their blessing; and as the Archbishop laid his hands on the heads of those that were nearest, telling them to be firm in their faith, the people cried out that all should kneel, and tears were seen to flow from the eyes of many.[227] Westminster Hall has raised its huge form many a time, like an old rock out of the bosom of the sea, as crowds of excited people have gathered under its shadow: on this occasion the ocean of heads was more immense than ever, whilst surges of indignant and sympathetic feeling rose and rolled and broke every moment. All London seemed to be on the spot, and the spirit of the nation seemed to be there concentrated. Upon the prelates being desired to plead, the Archbishop was permitted to read a short paper, claiming sufficient time for preparing an answer; but the plea was rejected as a device for delay. The accused pleaded “Not guilty,” in the usual form, and the trial was fixed for that day fortnight. When the prisoners were admitted to bail on their own recognizance, the people took the circumstance as a triumph, and set no bounds to their boisterous joy. Huzzas rent the air, the Abbey bells rung, and people thronged the way the Bishops went, lighting bonfires, maltreating Roman Catholics, and execrating the other prelates who yielded to the Royal will.
On the 29th of June the trial took place in Westminster Hall. One of the most worthless men that ever sat on the bench, Lord Chief Justice Wright, the protégé of the infamous Jeffreys, presided, and with him were associated three puisne Judges—Holloway, Powell, and Allybone, a Roman Catholic. Strangely enough, Sawyer and Finch, two lawyers who had been State prosecutors under Charles II., and had conducted the proceedings against Lord William Russell, now appeared on the side of the prosecuted; whilst Williams, a Whig, now Solicitor-General, with Powys, the Attorney-General, conducted the prosecution. This confusion of parties led to attacks and recriminations which afforded such amusement to bystanders and so provoked their raillery, that the Court with difficulty suppressed demonstrations of censure or applause. Numerous noblemen sat by the Judges, scrutinizing their acts, and the Chief Justice looked, we are told, as “if all the peers present had halters in their pockets.”
1688.
The information having been read, the first thing was to prove the handwriting of the Bishops, a point not to be established without considerable difficulty. The Counsel for the defence raised the question,—Had the paper been signed in the County of Middlesex, where the venue had been laid? This could not be proved, inasmuch as Sancroft, during the whole business, had remained in his Palace at Lambeth. The case, so far, legally broke down, when the Crown lawyers changed their ground, contending, that the libel, if not written, had been published in Middlesex, by the delivery of it into the King’s hands,—a circumstance proved by the testimony of Sunderland, Lord President of the Council. It now remained for the advocates of the Bishops to defend the document. This they proceeded to do, by representing that, whereas their right reverend clients stood accused of having published a “false, malicious, and seditious libel” against the King, nothing could be further from deserving such epithets than the paper which they had presented, it being couched in the most respectful terms, and presented in the most private manner. It merely asked relief from compliance with a demand which distressed their consciences. Every subject had the right of petition, and Bishops ought not to be deprived of this common privilege, they being principally charged with the care and execution of laws concerning the Church’s welfare; but the main stress of the defence rested on the illegality of dispensing with penal laws.[228]
THE SEVEN BISHOPS.
The managers of the prosecution urged, that the King was entitled to the prerogative which he claimed; that what took place in the years 1662 and 1672 did not amount to any authoritative decision on the subject, but merely expressed the opinion of Parliament, to which His Majesty, under the circumstances, gave way, without a permanent surrender of his regal power. The libel of the Bishops was malicious and full of sedition, casting the greatest reflection on the Government. The tendency of their conduct was to inflame the public mind, and, though they had the right of petition, it could be no excuse for publishing a reproachful and scandalous attack upon the King’s Majesty. The Chief Justice, in summing up, pronounced the petition to be libellous; Justice Allybone took the same view; but the other two, Holloway and Powell, dissented from such a judgment,—an act of independence which cost them their seats on the Bench as soon as the term was over.[229] Evening had come, when the exhausted Jury retired to consider their verdict. They remained closeted all night without fire or candle, but basins of water and towels were furnished for their use. At about three o’clock in the morning, so it is reported, they were overheard in vehement debate with one another; and, at six, they sent word they had come to a conclusion, upon which, the prisoners being brought into Court, the foreman pronounced the verdict—“Not Guilty.” The effect was electric, the joy of the multitude burst out in a triumphant shout; “one would have thought,” said the Earl of Clarendon, who was present, “the Hall had cracked.” Now, as before, the people on their knees made a lane from the King’s Bench to beg a blessing as the Bishops passed; the crowd shook hands with the Jurymen, crying, “God bless you, and prosper your families, you have saved us all to-day;” noblemen flung money out of their coach windows for the mob to drink the health of the King, the Bishops, and the Jury; churches were crowded with people to pour forth their gratitude to God, for the delivery of His servants; and the prelates themselves, immediately after their acquittal, went to Whitehall Chapel, and thence proceeded to their respective homes, followed by the acclamations of delighted multitudes. An illumination succeeded in the evening, seven candles,—the middle one longer than the others, representing the Primate,—gleamed in thousands of windows; bells rang, bonfires blazed, rockets and squibs burst in all directions, the populace burnt an effigy of the Pope dressed in pontificals, as he appears in his chair at St. Peter’s, and Protestant demonstrations of various kinds continued all that night, until the church bells on Sunday morning called the people to worship and to rest. The joy of London repeated itself in the provinces, and vainly did the authorities forbid the outburst of gladness which rolled from shore to shore.
1688.
James was at Hounslow, reviewing the troops, when, on hearing a great noise, he asked what was the matter: “Nothing but the soldiers shouting for the acquittal of the Bishops.” “Call you that nothing,” he might well ask, and then insanely added, “but so much the worse for them.” It certainly proved so much the worse for him.