However, previous to the flight of the unhappy James from his throne and realm of fair England, he resolved in the first instance to provide for the escape of his queen consort, and his son, the infant Prince of Wales. King James was so surrounded by spies and informers, that the very greatest circumspection was absolutely necessary to shun the hundred eyes of Argus which environed him; for, as but too often is the unhappy case with kings, that almost literally he knew not whom to trust. While flatterers and sycophants surround and blockade a throne, it must not be expected that truth, sincerity, or friendship, can there be found;—no! they are quite unknown within the stately precincts of a court! But still there was one found, and one worthy of the royal trust—the Count de Lauzun, a noble, brave, and generous Frenchman; and to this nobleman the king intrusted his queen and infant son, to assist them in conducting them in safety to France, aloof from all the enemies of the royal James.
The plan of proceeding, and all the consecutive details, were accordingly secretly arranged, and the greatest and most scrupulous care and caution were duly taken to keep these determinations a profound secret, lest the flight of the queen and infant prince being known or suspected, the measure might be wholly frustrated by the intervention of the emissaries of the Prince of Orange.
The solemn hour of midnight was selected as the safest time for the flight of the royal fugitives. The young prince, to escape suspicion, was placed in bed at his accustomed hour; and shortly after the king and queen, having duly dismissed all their attendants, retired seemingly to repose, but not to rest!
When the eyes of all in the palace were closed, save the waking, watching, unwearied eye-lids of the royal sufferers, the king and queen arose from their couch, and cautiously opened the private door leading to the royal closet, where in readiness awaited the noble and faithful Count de Lauzun. The queen raised the infant prince from his cradle, wrapped him in a swathe of flannel to keep the infant warm; indeed no unnecessary precaution, for cold and bitter was the winter weather in which the royal child was thus in silent secrecy of night taken away from the princely hall of his royal progenitors.
King James affectionately embraced them both, as sad and sorrowful he bade them a mournful farewell; and wept most bitterly at this parting scene, in which affliction his royal consort fully participated. His Majesty then intrusted them both to the loyal charge of the noble and faithful count, who taking the royal infant under one arm, while he assisted the queen with the other, they set forth from the palace to pursue their perilous and melancholy journey.
Stormy and tempestuous was the night, the wind blew with violence, and rain impetuously descended in torrents. They now approached the banks of the Thames, in order to procure a boat to cross over to Lambeth. At this point of time Count de Lauzun had previously engaged a boat to be ready in attendance, thence to escape down the river to Gravesend, to come up with the vessel which he had hired, and there awaited to convey them to France. But unluckily it happened that so pitchy dark and stormy was the night, the boat, when hailed, was not to be found. In total despair for some moments he remained; but again, more loud and stoutly once more he hailed the boat: the signal was heard, and obeyed. They descended down the Whitehall stairs and embarked; and finding a great swell in the river the count resolved not to proceed by water to Gravesend, but to land at Lambeth, and thence proceed by land. They arrived in safety at the Lambeth stairs, and landed, when the count surrendered to the queen the royal charge to hold, while he went forth to obtain a coach from the nearest adjoining inn.
Meanwhile the hapless queen—queen of the greatest realm in Europe, arrayed in disguised habiliments, stood trembling under the shelter of the ruined walls of a church, shivering in the blast, and dripping with rain, wistfully listening to every sound, and piteously raising her eyes to heaven. Oh, what a fearful lesson was here! a few days ago she might have proclaimed to all the world—"This is my throne, let kings come bow to it!" And this awful night she might envy the poorest cottier in her dominions. However, after long suspense, suffering, and delay, the count returned, having procured a carriage; and he lost no time in placing the trembling queen and shivering infant in the vehicle.
Without any accident whatever the royal fugitives reached Gravesend in perfect safety. Here, trembling with fear, and nearly overpowered by sorrow, the queen alighted on the quay, where the boat, (which was an open one,) belonging to the brig destined for Calais, awaited their coming. The count, without a moment's delay, placed the queen and prince in the boat, and flinging around them the boatman's cloak, he sat down by them, and bade him to row on. He told the boatman that the persons he bore away were his wife and child; and thus no suspicions were awakened in the mind of the boatman of the great personages he thus bore off amid the shades of night.
"Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark, Wherever blows the welcome wind; It cannot lead to scenes more dark, More sad, than those we leave behind!"