The prince's orders were carried into effect with scarcely any opposition except from the Irish soldiers who had been in garrison at Tilbury. One of these men snapped a pistol at Grafton. It missed fire, and the assassin was instantly shot dead by an Englishman. About two hundred of the unfortunate strangers made a gallant attempt to return to their own country. They seized a richlyladen East Indiaman which had just arrived in the Thames, and tried to procure pilots by force at Gravesend. No pilot, however, was to be found, and they were under the necessity of trusting to their own skill in navigation. They soon ran their ship aground, and, after some bloodshed, were compelled to lay down their arms.*

William had now been five weeks on English ground, and during the whole of that time his good fortune had been uninterrupted. His own prudence and firmness had been conspicuously displayed, and yet had done less for him than the folly and pusillanimity of others. And now, at the moment when it seemed that his plans were about to be crowned with entire success, they were disconcerted by one of those strange incidents which so often confound the most exquisite devices of human policy.

On the morning of the thirteenth of December, the people of London, not yet fully recovered from the agitation of the Irish night, were surprised by a rumor that the king had been detained, and was still in the island. The report gathered strength during the day, and was fully confirmed before the evening.

James had traveled fast with relays of coach horses along the southern shore of the Thames, and on the morning of the twelfth had reached Emley Ferry, near the isl and of Sheerness. There lay the hoy in which he was to sail. He went on board; but the wind blew fresh, and the master would not venture to put to sea without more ballast. A tide was thus lost. Midnight was approaching before the vessel began to float. By that time the news that the king had disappeared, that the country

Citters, Dec. 14, 1688; Luttrell's Diary.

was without a government, and that London was in confusion, had traveled fast down the Thames, and wherever it had spread had produced outrage and misrule. The rude fishermen of the Kentish coast eyed the hoy with suspicion and with cupidity. It was whispered that some persons in the garb of gentlemen had gone on board of her in great haste. Perhaps they were Jesuits; perhaps they were rich. Fifty or sixty boatmen, animated at once by hatred of popery and by love of plunder, boarded the hoy just as she was about to make sail. The passengers were told that they must go on shore and be examined by a magistrate. The king's appearance excited suspicion. "It is Father Petre," cried one ruffian; "I know him by his lean jaws." "Search the hatchet-faced old Jesuit," became the general cry. He was rudely pulled and pushed about. His money and watch were taken from him. He had about him his coronation ring, and some other trinkets of great value; but these escaped the search of the robbers, who, indeed, were so ignorant of jewelry that they took his diamond buckles for bits of glass.

At length the prisoners were put on shore and carried to an inn. A crowd had assembled there to see them; and James, though disguised by a wig of different shape and color from that which he usually wore, was at once recognized. For a moment the rabble seemed to be overawed; but the exhortations of their chiefs revived their courage; and the sight of Hales, whom they well knew and bitterly hated, inflamed their fury. His park was in the neighborhood; and at that very moment a band of rioters was employed in pillaging the house and shooting the deer. The multitude assured the king that they would not hurt him; but they refused to let him depart. It chanced that the Earl of Winchelsea, a Protestant, but a zealous Royalist, head of the Finch family, and first cousin of Nottingham, was then at Canterbury. As soon as he learned what had happened he hastened to the coast, accompanied by some Kentish gentlemen. By their intervention the king was removed to a more convenient lodg

ing; but he was still a prisoner. The mob kept constant watch round the house to which he had been carried, and some of the ring-leaders lay at the door of his bed-room. His demeanor, meantime, was that of a man, all the nerves of whose mind had been broken by the load of misfortunes. Sometimes he spoke so haughtily that the rustics who had charge of him were provoked into making insolent replies. Then he betook himself to supplication. "Let me go," he cried; "get me a boat. The Prince of Orange is hunting for my life. If you do not let me fly now, it will be too late. My blood will be on your heads. He that is not with me is against me." On this last text he preached a sermon half an hour long. He harangued on a strange variety of subjects, on the disobedience of the fellows of Magdalene College, on the miracles wrought by Saint Winifred's well, on the disloyalty of the black coats, and on the virtues of a piece of the true cross which he had unfortunately lost. "What have I done?" he demanded of the Kentish squires who attended him. "Tell me the truth. What error have I committed ?" Those to whom he put these questions were too humane to return the answer which must have risen to their lips, and listened to his wild talk in pitying silence.*

When the news that he had been stopped, insulted, roughly handled, and plundered, and that he was still a prisoner in the hands of rude churls, reached the capital, many various passions were roused. Rigid Churchmen, who had, a few hours before, begun to think that they were freed from their allegiance to him, now felt misgiv ings. He had not quitted his kingdom. He had not consummated his abdication. If he should resume his regal office, could they, on their principles, refuse to pay him obedience? Enlightened statesmen foresaw with concern that all the disputes which the flight of the tyrant had set at rest would be revived and exasperated by his return. Some of the common people, though still smarting from

* Clarke's Life of James, ii., 251, Orig. Mem.; Letter printed in Tindal's Continuation of Rapin. This curious letter is in the Harl. MSS., 6852.

recent wrongs, were touched with compassion for a great prince outraged by ruffians, and were willing to entertain a hope, more honorable to their good nature than to their discernment, that he might even now repent of the errors which had brought on him so terrible a punishment.

From the moment when it was known that the king was still in England, Sancroft, who had hitherto acted as chief of the provisional government, absented himself from the sittings of the peers. Halifax, who had just returned from the Dutch head-quarters, was placed in the chair. His sentiments had undergone a great change in a few hours. Both public and private feelings now impelled him to join the Whigs. Those who candidly examine the evidence which has come down to us will be of opinion that he accepted the office of royal commissioner in the sincere hope of effecting an accommodation between the king and the prince on fair terms. The negotiation had commenced prosperously; the prince had offered terms which the king could not but acknowledge to be fair; the eloquent and ingenious Trimmer might flatter himself that he should be able to mediate between infuriated factions, to dictate a compromise between extreme opinions, to secure the lib. erties and religion of his country, without exposing her to the risks inseparable from a change of dynasty and a disputed succession. While he was pleasing himself with thoughts so agreeable to his temper, he learned that he had been deceived, and had been used as an instrument for deceiving the nation. His mission to Hungerford had been a fool's errand. The king had never meant to abide by the terms which he had instructed his commissioners to propose. He had charged them to declare that he was willing to submit all the questions in dispute to the Parliament which he had summoned; and, while they were delivering his message, he had burned the writs, made away with the seal, let loose the army, suspended the administration of justice, dissolved the government, and fled from the capital. Halifax saw that an amicable arrangement was no longer possible. He also felt, it may be sus

pected, the vexation natural to a man widely renowned for wisdom, who finds that he has been duped by an understanding immeasurably inferior to his own, and the vexation natural to a great master of ridicule, who finds himself placed in a ridiculous situation. His judgment and his resentment alike induced him to relinquish the schemes of reconciliation on which he had hitherto been intent, and to place himself at the head of those who were bent on raising William to the throne.*

A journal of what passed in the council of Lords while Halifax presided is still extant in his own hand-writing.† No precaution, which seemed necessary for the prevention of outrage and robbery, was omitted. The peers took on themselves the responsibility of giving orders that, if the rabble rose again, the soldiers should fire with bullets. Jeffreys was brought to Whitehall and interrogated as to what had become of the great seal and the writs. At his own earnest request he was remanded to the Tower, as the only place where his life could be safe; and he retired thanking and blessing those who had given him the protection of a prison. A Whig nobleman moved that Oates should be set at liberty, but this motion was overruled.‡

The business of the day was nearly over, and Halifax was about to rise, when he was informed that a messenger from Sheerness was in attendance. No occurrence could be more perplexing or annoying. To do any thing, to do nothing, was to incur a grave responsibility. Halifax, wishing probably to obtain time for communication with the prince, would have adjourned the meeting; but Mulgrave begged the Lords to keep their seats, and in

Reresby was told, by a lady whom he does not name, that the king had no intention of withdrawing till he received a letter from Halifax, who was then at Hungerford. The letter, she said, informed his majesty that, if he stayed, his life would be in danger. This is certainly a mere romance. The king, before the commissioners left London, had told Barillon that their embassy was a mere feint, and had expressed a full resolution to leave the country. It is clear, from Reresby's own narrative, that Halifax thought himself shamefully used. † Harl. MS., 255.