Grey, who never had a peasant's manly heart, was taken in the disguise of a peasant; and in the same disguise Monmouth was found in a dirty ditch, half buried under fern and nettles. Upon him were found sufficient proof of his weak and frivolous character. These were papers and books, one of which was a manuscript of spells, charms and conjurations, songs, receipts, prescriptions and prayers, all written with his own hand. Utterly prostrated in body and in mind, he wrote an imploring letter to the unforgiving king, and another to Catherine of Braganza, the widow of Charles II. On the very day of their arrival in the capital, both Monmouth and Grey were carried to Whitehall, and introduced, not both together, but separately, to the king in the apartment of Chiffinch, the minister of Monmouth's father's pleasures and debaucheries. James was attended by no one except Sunderland and Middleton; and the precise particulars of what passed can never be ascertained. The arms of the prisoners were pinioned; and, if we may believe the memoirs drawn up from James's own notes, Monmouth abjectly crawled upon his knees to hug those of his majesty. From the presence of the hard-hearted king, Monmouth was conveyed to the Tower. On his way he implored Lord Dartmouth, who escorted him, to intercede for his life; but that nobleman answered that he had put himself out of the reach of mercy by assuming the royal title. A bill of attainder, which had been hurried through parliament on his first landing, was held to super- | sede the necessity of any kind of trial, and his execution was fixed for the next day but one. On the morrow-the 14th of July-he wrote another mean letter to the king, praying for some short respite. It is said that in this letter he represented "how useful he would and might be if his majesty would be pleased to grant him his life." He could only have been useful to James' by betraying his own friends, or by leading into, some new snares other men that were obnoxious to the tyrant. But the king sternly denied even the respite. According to the king's statement in his memoirs, Monmouth refused to see his wife, the great heiress of Buccleuch, while according to Bishop Burnet and others she positively refused to see him, unless in presence of witnesses. Burnet says that they met and parted very coldly. Dalrymple states that he wrote a third letter to the king, in which he warned his majesty against his intriguing minister Sunderland, and that Colonel Blood, and that bravo's son, who then held some office in the Tower, got possession of the letter before it could be carried to the king, and carried it to Sunderland, who destroyed it. Burnet and several others agree in stating that the wretched captive believed, on VOL. II. the authority of a fortune-teller, that if he outlived the 15th he was destined for great things. For the sake of his legitimate children, who had been clapped up in the Tower, he signed a paper renouncing his pretensions by birth to the crown. As long as he fancied there was any hope of life he was weak and unsettled: but when he was convinced of his inevitable doom, he, according to every account, collected his energies to die like a man. He passed the night of the 14th with Turner, Bishop of Ely, and Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, who, at an early hour on the morning of the fatal 15th, were joined by Dr. Hooper and Dr. Tennison. The two bishops teased and tormented rather than comforted him; nor does it appear that the two doctors were much more considerate of the feelings of a dying man, or more sensible of the monstrosity of the politico-religious dogmas which the church in an evil hour had taken to her bosom. "Certain it is," says Mr. Fox, "that none of these holy men seem to have erred on the side of compassion or complaisance to their illustrious penitent." Besides endeavouring to convince him of the guilt of his connection with his beloved Lady Harriet, of which he could never be brought to a due sense, they seem to have repeatedly teased him with controversy, and to have been far more solicitous to make him profess what they deemed the true creed of the Church of England, than to soften or console his sorrows, or to help him to that composure of mind so necessary for his situation. At ten o'clock, on the morning of the 15th, Monmouth was put into the carriage of the lieutenant of the Tower. The two bishops went in the carriage with him, and one of them told him that their controversy was not yet at an end, and that upon the scaffold he would be expected to make some more satisfactory declarations. They soon arrived at the destined spot on Tower-hill. He descended from the coach and mounted the scaffold with a firm step. The bishops followed him. A loud murmur of sighs and groans went round the assembled multitude, and by degrees sank into an almost breathless silence. He saluted the people, and said that he should speak little; that he came to die, and should die a Protestant of the Church of England. Here he was interrupted by one of the bishops, who told him that, if he was of the Church of England, and true to his profession, he must acknowledge the doctrine of non-resistance to be true: and when they could not prevail upon him to adopt this political article of divinity, they, both of them, baited him with arguments and remonstrances, which, however, had no effect. To silence them on this point, and to defend the reputation of the lady he loved, Monmouth spoke of Lady Harriet 198 Wentworth, calling her a woman of virtue and honour, and insisting that their connection was innocent and honest in the sight of God. Here Gosling, one of the sheriffs, who did not reflect upon the domestic arrangements, not merely of the late, but of the present king, whose mistresses were probably among the spectators, rudely interrupted the duke by asking if he had ever been married to the Lady Harriet. Monmouth was silent: but the bishops again called upon him for particular acknowledgment and confession. He referred them to the paper he had signed in the Tower.' The bishops told him that there was nothing in that paper about resistance, and inhumanly and indecently pressed him to own that doctrine. Worn out by their importunities, he said to one of them, "I am come to die.—Pray, my lord!-I refer to my paper." But their zeal would not be silenced, even by this touching appeal, which the victim was heard to repeat from time to time as they persevered in their inquisitorial office. They were particularly anxious that he should call his late invasion rebellion; and at last he said aloud, "Call it by what name you please; I am sorry for invading the kingdom; I am sorry for the blood that has been shed, and for the souls which have been lost by my means. I am sorry it ever happened." These words were echoed to the people by Vandeput, the other sheriff, and then the divines plied him with fresh exhortations to atone for the mischief he had done by avowing their great principle of faith and government. Monmouth again regretted whatever had been done amiss, adding, "I never was a man that delighted in blood. I was as cautious in that as any man was. The Almighty knows I die with all the joyfulness in the world." And here, if the bishops had any bowels, they would have left their victim to the merciful axe. But instead of so doing, they expressed a doubt whether his repentance were true and valid repentance or not. "If," said Monmouth, "I had not true repentance, I should not so easily have been without the fear of dying. I shall die like a lamb." "Much," rejoined his persecutors, "may come from natural courage." "No," replied Monmouth, "I do not attribute it to my own nature, for I am as fearful as other men are: but I have now no fear, as you may see by my face. There is something within which does it; for I am sure I shall go to God." 'My lord," said they, "be sure upon good grounds! Do you repent of all your sins, known 1 It was in the following words :-"I declare that the title of king was forced upon me; and that it was very much contrary to my opinion, when I was proclaimed. For the satisfaction of the world, I do declare that the late king told me he was never married to my mother. Having declared this, I hope the king who is now will not let my children suffer on this account. And to this I put my hand this 15th day of July, 1685.-MONMOUTH." or unknown, confessed or not confessed-of all the sins which might proceed from error of judgment?" He replied that he repented in general for all, and with all his soul. 'Then," said the bishops, "may almighty God, of his infinite mercy, forgive you! But here are great numbers of spectators; here are the sheriffs who represent the great city, and in speaking to them you speak to the whole city: make some satisfaction by owning your crime before them." Monmouth was silent. Then the churchmen fell to prayers, in which he joined with fervour and devotion. They repeated twice over the versicle in the Liturgy, "O Lord, save the king," to which, after some pause, he said "Amen." Monmouth then began to undress himself. Even during this last sad ceremony the bishops molested him anew. "My lord," said they, "you have been bred a soldier; you will do a generous Christian thing if you please to go to the rail and speak to the soldiers, and say that here you stand, a sad example of rebellion; and entreat them and the people to be loyal and obedient to the king." At this the dying man waxed warm, and he said in a hasty tone, "I have told you I will make no speeches; I will make no speeches; I come to die." But even this was not enough to silence the bishops, who renewed their attack by saying that the speech need not be a long one-that ten words would be enough. Monmouth turned away, gave a token to a servant for Lady Harriet, and spoke with the executioner. As was usual, he gave the headsman some money, and he then begged him to have a care not to treat him so awkwardly as he had done my Lord Russell. The headsman, who might be discomposed by the very warning which the duke had given, and who probably entertained the prevalent notion of the sanctity of royal blood, fell into a fit of trembling, and struck so faint a blow that the victim, but slightly wounded, lifted up his head and looked him in the face. Two other blows were almost equally ineffectual; and then the man threw down his axe in horror, crying out, "I cannot finish this work." But, being brought to himself by the threats of the sheriffs, he took up the axe again, and, with two other strokes, separated the head from the body. And thus perished, in the thirty-sixth year of his age, James, Duke of Monmouth. "He died," says Barillon, "with sufficient firmness, as Englishmen generally do." It was expected by most men that the execution of Lord Grey would closely follow that of Monmouth; but Grey was respited for his natural life. As this was so marked an exception to James's general rule, various reasons have been assigned for it. It is said, for example, that he had been given, as the phrase then went, to my disgust and comment; yet the king, through Lord Sunderland, informed Kirke that he was "very well satisfied with his proceedings;" and, subsequently, this officer declared that his severities fell far short of the orders which he had received. Some allowance might be made for the passions, and habits, and ignorance of the soldiery, but it was soon found that lawyers like Jeffreys could commit far greater atrocities than the military. Lord Rochester, one of the brothers of James's | ceedings, were notorious in London, and excited first wife, and that it was found his estate was so entailed that no forfeiture for treason could prevent its descending to Grey's brother; and that therefore his life was spared, that the grantee Rochester might have the benefit of it. That caitiff, moreover, obeyed the command of James, and wrote in the Tower "a Secret History," or "a Confession," in which he made disclosures, which, under the circumstances, are not entitled to the slightest credit, respecting the Rye House Plot, &c. same manner. The French Lord Feversham, immediately after the battle of Sedgemoor, had hanged up, without any trial, twenty of his prisoners; and Colonel Kirke, upon entering Bridgewater and Taunton, had executed some nineteen in the This Kirke had served for a long time at Tangiers, and, according to Burnet, had become "savage by the neighbourhood of the Moors there." His regiment carried the standard they had borne in the war against the infidels, which had upon it the figure of a lamb-the emblem of Christian meekness; and hence, in sad irony, the people of Somersetshire called his plundering and butchering soldiers "Kirke's lambs." Poetry and tradition have both exaggerated and invented facts, yet the authenticated horrors committed by these "lambs" and their leader were enormous. The chief service in which they were engaged was to search for rebels, as well those that favoured and assisted the combatants at Sedgemoor, as those who had fought there. Their search was directed by mercenary spies and by personal enmities; for any man in the west that wished to ruin another, had but to denounce him to Kirke as a partizan of Monmouth, and the "lambs" did the rest. Feversham was called up to court to receive thanks and honours. Kirke had therefore the field to himself. His love of money, however, somewhat balanced and controlled his love of blood; and, following the example of ministers and magistrates, he sold pardons to many prisoners who were rich enough to buy them at a high price. His summary executions, and all his illegal pro 1 Bishop Burnet says, "He had a great estate that by his death was to go over to his brother: so the court resolved to preserve him till he should be brought to compound for his life. The Earl of Rochester had £16,000 of him: others had smaller shares. He was likewise obliged to tell all he knew, and to be a witness in order to the conviction of others, but with this assurance, that nobody should die upon his evidence." Four other judges-Montague, the chief-baron, Levinz, Watkins, and Wright-were joined in commission with the lord chief-justice, who had recently been raised to the peerage under the title of Baron Jeffreys of Wem. From having 5 James gave it this name to the prince more than once, as is fully shown in his published correspondence. On the 10th of September he says, "I have now but little news to tell you, all things being very quiet at present here, though the Presbyterian and republican party are still very busy, and have Lord chief-justice is as much mind to rebel again as ever. making his campaign in the west, and when the parliament meets, some of the peers which are in custody will be tried." Again, on the 24th of September, after telling the prince that he had been "a fox-hunting on Tuesday last," and "was this day at the same sport, the weather being now very proper for it and "As for news, there is little stag-hunting over," James says, stirring, but that lord chief-justice has almost done his campaign: he has already condemned several hundreds, some of which are He was sarcastically called Earl of Flint.-See Granger, and already executed, more are to be, and the others sent to the planta tions."-Dalrymple, Appendix. Sir Harris Nicholas's Synopsis of the Peerage. 2 Among these the story of Pomfret's well-known poem of Cruelty and Lust, which first appeared in 1699, is now universally classed, though the popular tradition still prevails at Taunton. 3 In other despatches Sunderland censured Kirke for setting some rebels at liberty (alluding perhaps to those who had purchased their lives), but he never censured him for having put others to death. (the other judges were mere ciphers) took the self, praying that, in consideration of her ancient and honourable descent, she might be beheaded instead of being burned alive. A careful search was made for precedents, and the utmost extent of the royal mercy was to sign a warrant for the beheading, which was performed at Winchester on the 2d of September. From Winchester, with a train of guards and prisoners at his heels, Jeffreys proceeded on to Salisbury, and thence (having increased his train) he went to Dorchester, and there hoisted his bloody flag.' The fierce nature of the chief-justice was made fiercer by an agonizing disorder, which was probably brought on and increased by excess of drinking. In writing to Sunderland from Dorchester on the 16th of September, he says, "I this day began with the rebels, and have despatched ninety-eight; but am at this time so tortured with the stone, that I must beg your lordship's intercession to his majesty for the incoherency of what I have adventured to give his majesty the trouble of." But if honours and promotions could have soothed the pangs of disease, Jeffreys was not without those lenitives. On the 5th of September Lord - keeper North departed from life and office together; and three days after that is, between the execution of Mrs. Lisle at Winchester and his arrival at Dorchester--he was raised by his applauding and grateful sovereign to be lord-chancellor. At Dorchester this chancellor and chief-justice, to save time, began to declare that if any of the prisoners would repent and plead guilty, they should find him a merciful judge; but that those who put themselves upon their trial should, if found guilty, be led to immediate execution. In all, eighty persons were hanged at Dorchester in the course of a very few days: the remainder were transported, severely whipped, or imprisoned. Those transported were sold as slaves, and the bodies of those that were executed were quartered and stuck upon gibbets. Jeffreys then proceeded to Exeter, where another red list of 243 prisoners was laid before him. He then went into Somersetshire, the centre of the late insurrection, where, at Taunton and Wells, nearly 1100 prisoners were arraigned for high treason: 1040 confessed themselves guilty, only six ventured to put themselves on their trial, and 239, at the very least,' were executed with astounding rapidity. In order to spread the terror more widely, and to appal the neighbours, friends, and tortured with the stone if I forget to approve myself, my dearest lord, your most faithfully devoted servant, &c." Sunderland, in reply, assured the chief justice that the king approved of all his proceedings. 5 The names of 239 are preserved; but as no judgments were entered, it is not known how many more may have suffered Three persons were executed in the village of Wrington, the birth place of Mr. Locke. relatives of the victims, these executions took place in thirty-six towns and villages. The dripping heads and limbs of the dead were affixed in the most conspicuous places-in the streets, by the highways, over the town-halls, and over the very churches devoted to a merciful God. "All With the evidence of these letters alone, we may confidently reject the dreams of those who pretend that James was unacquainted with his judge's manner of proceeding; and, if other proofs were wanting to show the want of heart and feeling in this wretched prince, they are assuredly to be found in the Gazettes of the day, that report his progresses and amusements. He went to Winchester soon after the iniquitous execution of Mrs. Lisle, and there he remained, diverting himself with horse-races during the hottest part of Jeffreys' campaign. But there is still further an indisputable proof of James's approbation of Jeffreys' proceedings; for when (on the 30th of September) that precious new chancellor returned to court, his promotion was announced in the Gazette with an unusually emphatic panegyric on his person and services; and some months after this, when Jeffreys had brought on a dangerous attack by one of his furious debauches, James expressed great concern, and declared, with perfect truth, that such another man would not easily be found in England. Besides, wherever the king was directly and personally concerned, there was the same unflinching severity. By a warrant signed by the king, Elizabeth Gaunt, of Wapping, was burned alive at Tyburn. The offence with which the poor woman was charged was, having compassed the king's death by favouring the escape into Holland of one Burton, accused of participation in the Rye House Plot, and giving succour to the same Burton after the battle of Sedgemoor; and the principal witness against her was the execrable Burton himself, whose life she had twice saved. THE WHITE HART, TAUNTON, Jeffreys' residence during "the Bloody Assizes." From a sketch by J. W. Archer. the highroads of the country were no longer to be travelled, while the horrors of so many quarters of men, and the offensive stench of them, lasted." Sunderland apprised Jeffreys of the king's pleasure to bestow 1000 of the convicts on several of his courtiers, and 100 or 200 on a favourite of the queen, upon condition that the persons receiving them thus as a gift should find security that the prisoners should be enslaved for ten years in some West India island, where, as James must have known, field-labour was death to Europeans. The chancellor remonstrated with his majesty, directly, against this giving away of the prisoners, who, he said, would be worth £10 or £15 a-piece. In a subsequent letter from Bristol, he yields to the proposed distribution of the convicts, boasts of his victory over that "most factious city," and pledges his life, and that which was dearer to him, his loyalty, "that Taunton and Bristol, and the county of Somerset too, should know their duty, both to God and their king, before he leaves them." 1 Lord Lonsdale's Memoirs. Other writers, who were eyewitnesses, though violent men, and given to exaggeration, have left still more horrible pictures. Shirley, the author of The Bloody Assizes, which was published after the Revolution, says, "Nothing could be liker hell than these parts: cauldrons hissing, carcasses boiling, pitch and tar sparkling and glowing, bloody limbs boiling, and tearing, and mangling." 2 Letter from Jeffreys to the king, dated Taunton, 19th September, from MSS. in State Paper Office, as cited by Mackintosh. In the same letter Jeffreys returns thanks for his majesty's gracious acceptance of his services in the west. In London, as in the west, corruption and bribery were the only checks to infernal cruelty. Thus Prideaux, who was thrown into the Tower by an arbitrary warrant upon mere suspicion, bought himself off with £1500; and Hampden, still in prison for his misdemeanour, put aside the new and capital charge of high treason by paying £6000, to be divided between Jeffreys and Father Petre, the king's confessor and chief adviser. The queen's maids of honour, as pocketmoney, were allowed to take from £50 to £100 from each of the fair damsels of Taunton who had presented Monmouth with flags and a Bible, and who thus were saved. In consequence of the suspicions of the court, and of the disclosures |