William had set sail from Holland on the 16th of October, with a flag floating over the quaint, high-built frigate, bearing an inscription, of which the first three words formed the motto of the House of Orange, “I will maintain—the liberties of England and the Protestant religion.” As it fluttered on the staff, the wind changed, the fleet had to put back; but the Declaration of the 10th, sent before him, announced his coming, and people, as they awaited the visitation, looked out to sea, and prayed for a “Protestant east wind” to waft over the desired Deliverer. Whilst James was talking to the Bishops on the 2nd of November, the ship had left Helvoetsluys, and after sailing northward, had tacked about a second time, and with a fair wind was making for the British Channel.
THE CRISIS.
In the fleet with the Prince was Frederic, Count of Schomberg, who, though he had been in the service of Louis XIV., remained a staunch member of the Reformed Church, and entered heartily into the design of the Protestant Champion, whom he attended in the capacity of Lieutenant. Another distinguished officer was Isaac Dumont de Bostaquet—a Huguenot soldier who had suffered for his religion, and had been driven from his paternal chateau of La Fontelaye, in France, by the intolerant policy of his infatuated Sovereign. Narrowly escaping with his life, after a number of romantic adventures, he found refuge in Holland, and now placed his sword at the command of the Prince, with all the zeal which could be kindled in the cause of liberty by memories of tyranny and oppression. In William’s dragoon regiments of red and blue were fifty French officers, all more or less inspired by similar feelings. Two companies of French infantry were commanded by Captains de Chauvernay and Rapin-Thoyras, afterwards the historian of England. Perhaps the equipment of these soldiers—dusty, worn, and tattered—appeared to disadvantage when compared with the brilliant uniforms of the Dutch, the German, the Swedes, the Swiss, and the English, who crowded within the wooden walls; but they deserve more notice than they have received, and more gratitude than was ever paid them.[41] Whilst England afforded a sanctuary to the Huguenots oppressed by Popery, in their own country,—Huguenots helped England to keep off the yoke of a like oppression. There were other noteworthy men amongst William’s followers.
Gilbert Burnet was there, full of Dutch memories, full of English hopes, picking up knowledge from the sailors, and musing upon the issue of his patron’s enterprise, not without side glances at his own fortunes. Not far off stood Carstairs, a catholic-spirited Scotch Presbyterian, who had manifested the utmost fortitude under torture, and who, when his own cause rose to the ascendant, did what is rare, for he signally manifested the virtue of moderation. Beside him was a different character, Robert Ferguson, implicated in the Rye-house Plot, and a ringleader in Monmouth’s rebellion.
The fleet presented a magnificent spectacle. “Nothing could be more beautiful,” says Dumont de Bostaquet, “than the evolution of the immense flotilla which now took place under a glorious sky;”[42] and Rapin, recording his own impressions of the moment, observes, “What a glorious show the fleet made! Five or six hundred ships in so narrow a channel, and both the English and French shores covered with numberless spectators is no common sight. For my part, who was then on board the fleet, it struck me extremely.”
1688.
Such a fleet, known to be conveying an army to the coast, watched on its way with imperfect information and with mingled fear and hope, must have been to Englishmen a spectacle full of excitement, to which history records scarcely a parallel.
The 4th of November being Sunday, and also the Prince’s birthday, he spent in devotion. Intending to land at Torbay, he found himself carried beyond his destination by the violence of the wind, or the unskilfulness of the pilot; and some measure of agitation,—such as thrilled the multitudes straining their eyes on the Dover Cliffs, whilst the quaintly-built vessels passed by,—must have moved the inhabitants of the towns and villages on both sides the sweep of water at the mouth of the Ex: as we imagine, on the red sand hills, groups gathered here and there, peering through windy weather in search of the ships about to rest under the headland of Devonshire Tor. The next day, the Dutch reached the desired spot, and “the forces were landed with such diligence and tranquillity, that the whole army was on shore before night.”[43]
THE CRISIS.
The associations of the year and the day were propitious. Just a century before, God had scattered the Spanish Armada; and on the 5th of November, 1605, the three Estates of England had been delivered from the Gunpowder Plot. The Calvinist William took the Arminian Burnet by the hand, asking, “Will you not believe in predestination?” “I will never forget,” the chaplain cautiously replied, “that providence of God which has appeared so signally on this occasion.” Public worship followed the landing. Carstairs was the first, “Scotsman and Presbyterian as he was,” to call down the blessings of Heaven on the expedition; and after his prayer, “the troops all along the beach, at his instance, joined in the 118th Psalm,” and this act of devotion produced a sensible effect on the troops.[44] The Prince for awhile seemed elated, yet soon relapsed into his habitual gravity; but Burnet only interpreted the general feeling of the moment when he says, “We saw new and unthought-of characters of a favourable providence of God watching over us.”[45]