THE CRISIS.
“May it please your Grace,
“His Majesty’s intimation to me, that he thought my presence would, if occasion required, very much influence his army, I could not take it for less than a command, and accordingly posted to Sarum, where I pressed him, with all imaginable arguments, to call a Parliament, as the most visible way to put a stop to those confusions which threatened the Government; and I left him in a far more inclinable disposition to it than I found him, and engaged several persons near him to second what I had attempted. The next day, which was Friday, I found that several of the troops were commanded towards London, and, waiting upon His Majesty, he told me he would be with me as to-morrow; so that, in order to his reception, I came yesterday from Sarum, which is a long journey of above forty miles, and I now understand that His Majesty comes not this way. This account of myself I thought proper to give your Grace, that I may receive the commands, which shall, with all duty, be obeyed by your son and servant.”[59]
1688.
A spirit of disaffection soon showed itself in the upper ranks. Lord Lovelace had been deeply involved in intrigues preparatory to the Revolution; and in a crypt under his Elizabethan mansion, called Lady-place, at Hurley, so well known to all pilgrims to picturesque spots, on the banks of the Thames, he had held midnight conferences whilst all the Whigs were longing for a Protestant wind. He now quitted his home, at the head of seventy followers, and galloped westward to join the Prince. Colchester, Wharton, Russel, and Abingdon proceeded in the same direction; but, what foreboded more mischief, defection broke out in the ranks of Royalism. Cornbury, eldest son of Lord Clarendon, and nephew of James’ first wife, at the head of three regiments, deserted the camp at Salisbury, and joined the Prince—most of his soldiers, more faithful than himself, deserting him, when they discovered his treachery. Still worse defections followed. Prince George of Denmark—the husband of the Princess Anne, James’ daughter, a person who, with all her weakness of mind, had acquired a reputation for Protestant zeal—went next. In company with the Duke of Ormond, he rode off from Andover, having the previous night supped at his father-in-law’s table. The Churchills—great favourites with James, great supporters of his cause—soon fell into the stream. The destined hero of Blenheim, accompanied by Grafton, pushed on his way to worship the rising sun. A story is told, I do not know on what authority, that William, on seeing these unexpected visitors, exclaimed, “If ye be come peaceably to me to help me, mine heart shall be knit unto you, but if ye be come to betray me to mine enemies (seeing that there is no wrong in my hands), the God of your fathers rebuke it.” One of them replied, “Thine are we, David, and on thy side, thou son of Jesse. Peace, peace be unto thee, and peace be to thy helpers, for thy God helpeth thee.” The Princess Anne, imitating her husband’s example, disappeared from Whitehall, and in a carriage—preceded by Compton, Bishop of London, who wore a purple velvet coat and jack boots, with pistols in his holsters and a sword in his hand[60]—was driving off at the top of her horses’ speed to the town of Nottingham.
THE CRISIS.
The desertions at Salisbury drove James back to London; there the last drop was added to the cup of his domestic sorrow, when he learned that his daughter Anne had abandoned his cause. Further calamities befell him. Rochester, Godolphin, even Jeffreys, meeting their master in Council, recommended the calling of a Parliament; and at the same time Clarendon blamed James for leaving Salisbury without fighting a battle. Eventually, after having bewailed his son Cornbury’s apostacy, the great courtier thought it the safest course to imitate that son’s example.
James was now reduced to extremities, and on the 22nd of November he issued a Proclamation, in which he recalled his revolted subjects to allegiance with the promise of a free and gracious pardon, and tempted the soldiers of the Dutch army to come over to the Royal standard with the promise of liberal entertainment, or of safe dismissal to their own country. On the 30th, appeared another Proclamation, for the speedy calling of a Parliament.[61]
1688.
Matters were proceeding favourably on the other side. Crossing Salisbury Plain, marching past Stonehenge, William and his army, with great military display, took possession of Salisbury, after which the Prince occupied a house in the neighbouring village of Berwick. Clarendon, on reaching the Episcopal city, which had become the head quarters of the Revolution, alighted at the George Inn, where he found the Dutch Ambassador; and the next morning waited on the Prince, who took him into his bedchamber, and talked with him for half an hour, telling him how glad he felt to see him, and how seasonable the accession of his son had proved. The Earl, hearing Burnet was in the house, went to see that important person. “What,” asked the latter, “can be the meaning of the King’s sending these Commissioners?” “To adjust matters for the safe and easy meeting of the Parliament,” replied Clarendon. “How,” rejoined the other, “can a Parliament meet, now the kingdom is in this confusion—all the West being possessed by the Prince’s forces, and all the North being in arms for him?” Clarendon urged that if the design was to settle things, they might hope “for a composure.” The Doctor, with his usual warmth, answered, “It is impossible: there can be no Parliament: there must be no Parliament. It is impossible!”[62]