Reign on James II page 5

It was reported that the soldiers were left, by the reckless incapacity of the general, to drink cider and observe little watch; and Monmouth, who saw that they lay in a very unconnected condition, conceived that by a skilful night attack he could easily surprise them. The gormandising incapacity, of Louis Duras, now lord Feversham, a foreigner who had been advanced by Charles if., was notorious, and the transcendant military talents of Churchill, who was in subordinate command, were yet little known. Preparations were therefore instantly made for the surprise. Scouts were sent out to reconnoitre the ground, who reported that two deep ditches full of mud and water lay betwixt them and the hostile camp, which would have to be passed. At eleven o'clock at night the troops, with "Soho" for their watchword, marched out of Bridgewater in profound silence, taking a circuitous route, which would make the march about six miles. It was a moonlight night, but the moor lay enveloped in a thick fog, and about one in the morning the troops of Monmouth approached the royal camp. Their guides conducted the soldiers by a causeway over each of the two ditches, and Monmouth drew up his men for the attack, but by accident a pistol went off; the sentinels of the division of the army, the foot guards, which lay in front of them were alarmed, and, listening, became aware of the trampling of the rebels as they were forming in rank. They fired their carbines and flew to rouse the camp.

There was an instant galloping and running in all directions. Feversham and the chief officers were aroused, and drums beat to arms, and the men ran to get into rank. No time was to be lost, and Monmouth ordered Grey to dash forward with the cavalry, but he was suddenly brought to a halt by a third dyke, of which they had no information. The foot guards on the other side of the dyke demanded who was there, and on the cry of "King Monmouth!" they discharged a volley of musketry with such effect, that the untrained horses of Grey's cavalry became at once unmanageable; the men were thrown into confusion, seized with panic, and fled wherever they could find a way or their horses chose to carry them. Grey, as usual, was in the van of the fugitives. But, on the other hand, Monmouth came now rushing forward with his infantry, and, in his turn, finding himself stopped by the muddy dyke, he fired across it at the enemy, and a fierce fight took place, which was maintained for three-quarters of an hour. Nothing could be more brave and determined than Monmouth and his peasant soldiers. But day was now breaking, the cavalry of Feversham, and the infantry of Churchill, were bearing down on their flanks from different quarters, and Monmouth, then seeing that his defeat was inevitable, forgot the hero and rode off to save his life, leaving his brave, misguided followers to their fate. If anything could have added to the base ignominy of Monmouth's desertion of his followers, it was the undaunted courage which they showed even when abandoned. They stood boldly to their charge; they cut down the horsemen with their scythes, or knocked them from their saddles with the butt end of their guns; they repulsed the vigorous attack of Oglethorpe, and left Sarsfield for dead on the field. But unfortunately their powder failed, and they cried out for fresh supplies in vain. The men with the ammunition wagons had followed the flight of the cavalry, and driven far away from the field. Still the brave peasantry and soldiers fought desperately with their scythes and gunstocks, till the cannon was brought to bear on them, and mowed them down in heaps. As they began to give way the royal cavalry charged upon them from the flank, the infantry poured across the ditch, the stout men, worthy of a better fate and leader, were overwhelmed and broke, but not before a thousand of them lay dead on the moor, or before they had killed or wounded more than three hundred of the king's troops.

The unfortunate rebels were pursued with fury, and hunted through the day out of the neighbouring villages, whither they had flown for concealment. The road towards Bridgewater was crowded with flying men and infuriated troopers following and cutting them down. Many of those who rushed frantically into the streets of Bridgewater, fell and died there of their wounds, for the soldiers, who were treated by the farmers to hogsheads of cider, were drunk with drinking, with blood and fury. A vast number of prisoners was secured, for they were a profitable article of merchandise in the plantations; five hundred were crowded into the single church of Weston Zoyland, and the battle and pursuit being over, the conqueror commenced that exhibition of vengeance which was always so dear to James. Gibbets were erected by the wayside, leading from the battle-field to Bridgewater, and no less than, twenty of the prisoners were hanging on them. The peasantry were compelled to bury the slain, and those most suspected of favouring the rebels were set to quarter the victims who were to be suspended in chains.

Meantime Monmouth, Grey, and Buyse, the Brandenburger, were flying for their lives. They took the north road, hoping to effect their escape into Wales. At Chedzoy he drew up a moment to hide his George and procure a fresh horse. From the summit of a hill they turned and saw the final defeat and slaughter of their deluded followers. They pushed forward for the Mendip Hills, and then directed their course towards the New Forest, hoping to obtain some vessel on that coast to convey them to the continent. On Cranbourne Chase their horses were completely exhausted, they therefore turned them loose, hid their saddles and bridles, and proceeded on foot. But the news of the defeat of the rebels had travelled as fast as they, and in the neighbourhood of Kingwood and Pool parties of cavalry were out scouring the country, in hopes of the reward of five thousand pounds for Monmouth. Lord Lumley and Sir William Portman, the commanders, agreed to divide the sum among their parties if successful, and early on the morning of the 7th, Grey and the guide were taken at the junction of the two cross roads. This gave proof that the more important prize was not far off. The officers inclosed a wide circle of land, within which they imagined Monmouth and Buyse must yet be concealed; and at five the next morning the Brandenburger was discovered. He confessed that he had parted from Monmouth only four hours before, and the search was renewed with redoubled eagerness. The place was a network of small inclosures, partly cultivated and covered with growing crops of pease, beans, and corn, partly overrun with fern and brambles. The crops and thickets were trodden and beaten down systematically in the search, and at seven o'clock Monmouth himself was discovered in a ditch covered with fern.

The once gay and graceful Monmouth could scarcely be recognised. He was clad in the dress of a peasant, with whom he had exchanged his clothes; fear and starvation had made him haggard, he trembled and could not speak. He had been endeavouring to abate his hunger by eating raw pease, some of which, with his purse and watch, were found in his pocket. With these also were his George, and a couple of manuscript little volumes, one of them a treatise on fortification, with a calculation of the annual cost of the army and navy of England; the other a collection of songs, charms, conjurations, recipes, and prayers. He was conveyed under a strong guard to Kingwood, the George was dispatched to London with the news of his capture, and two days after the prisoners were conducted thither themselves, where they arrived on the 13th of July.

Monmouth, though mild and agreeable in his manners, had, never displayed any high moral qualities. Indeed, if we bear in mind the frivolous and debauched character of the court in which he had grown up, whether it were the court of the exile or of the restored king, it would have been wonderful if he had. He was handsome, gay, goodnatured, but dissolute and unprincipled. He was ready to conspire against his father or his uncle, to profess the utmost contrition when defeated, and to forget it as soon as forgiven. He has been properly described as the Absalom of modern times. If he merely deserted his miserable followers on the battle-field, he now more meanly deserted his own dignity. He continued, from the moment of his capture to that when he ascended the scaffold, prostrating himself in the dust of abasement, and begging for his life in the most unmanly terms. He wrote to James instantly from Kingwood, so that his humble and agonised entreaties for forgiveness, would arrive with the news of his arrest. He threw all the blame of his folly and wickedness on the persuasions of horrid people who had abused his easy belief. He heaped shame and remorse on his own head in unmeasured terms, and he entreated earnestly a private interview with his uncle, because he could impart to him a secret, which, if concealed, would endanger the throne. He wrote also to the queen and to Rochester, imploring their intercession for him. On the journey his conduct was of the same unmanly character, whilst that of Grey, who was so cowardly in the field, was firm and calm. Grey declared that he was glad that he knew the worst, for that from the hour that they landed in England he had not had one quiet night, or one comfortable meal. Portman and Lumley kept alternate watch over their prize till they saw Monmouth safely delivered at Whitehall into the custody of the king.

James admitted the crawling supplicant to the desired interview, but it was in the hope of the promised word of wondrous revelation, not with any intention of pardoning him. Such a weakness never entered the heart of James Stuart. It has been said, that to see his nephew - the favourite son of his late brother, who had firmly protected him and his interests against all assailants - and not to pardon him, was the act of a barbarian. But James was a barbarian who delighted in the contemplation of agonies which would have unnerved any other man. He had shown that in Scotland in the iron boot and thumbscrews, which made the stoutest ruffians blench to witness. That he would spare the life of Monmouth when he had proclaimed him an assassin, a cut throat, and a fratricide poisoner, was not to be expected, but then the secret word must be obtained if possible. Monmouth had no such magic word to utter. He was led in pinioned by a silken cord, and threw himself abjectly at James's feet, and continued to confess all his guilt and to implore pardon for the sake of his father. He declared that all the calumnies put forth against his majesty were the work of that "bloody villain Ferguson," and he offered, he, the champion of protestantism, to embrace popery on condition that he was forgiven. James got him to sign a declaration that his father had assured him that he was never married to his motherland then coolly told him that his crime was of too grave a dye to be forgiven. The queen, who was the only person present besides James and the two secretaries of state, Sunderland and Middleton, is said to have insulted him in a most merciless and unwomanly manner. When, therefore, Monmouth saw that nothing but his death would satisfy the king and queen, he appeared to resume his courage and fortitude, and rising with an air of dignity, he was taken away. But his apparent firmness lasted only till he was out of their presence. On his way to the Tower he entreated lord Dartmouth to intercede for him, - "I know, my lord," he said, " that you loved my father; for his sake, for God's sake, endeavour to obtain mercy for me." But Dartmouth replied that there could be no pardon for one who had assumed the royal title. Grey continued to display a much more manly behaviour. In the presence of the king he admitted his guilt, but did not even ask forgiveness.

As Monmouth was under attainder, no trial was deemed necessary, and it was determined that he should be executed on Wednesday morning, the next day but one. His wife, the heiress of Buccleuch, desired to see him, not from any affection, for he had never cared for her, and had for two years wholly deserted her for lady Wentworth, but to draw from him a clearance of herself from any knowledge or participation in his designs on the throne, in order to save her estate for her children. James, in his "Memoirs," says that Monmouth was unwilling to see her, but she went to the Tower with lord Clarendon, the lord privy seal. Monmouth received her coldly, and thought more of seizing the opportunity to persuade Clarendon to intercede for his pardon, than of listening to his wife. Clarendon replied as Dartmouth had done, that pardon was hopeless; once he had been pardoned for rebellion, such a thing could never happen twice. He still continued to press the point, but his wife interrupted him to demand whether she had received any intelligence of his late designs, or had been made acquainted with his political views for some years. He testified that she had not. She then asked him whether she had given him any cause of displeasure in any way, except by reproaching him with his attachment to other women, and his disobedience to the king. He replied that he had always found her a loving and dutiful wife, and an excellent mother, and had been frequently advised by her to show more obedience to the wishes of his late father.

That evening, Monday, Turner, bishop of Ely, and Ken, bishop of Bath and Wells, came from the king with the message that he must die on Wednesday morning, and offering him their spiritual services. At the announcement he turned deadly pale, and remained some time unable to speak. He wrote to the king three times during the short interval left him of life, still imploring pardon, or at least a respite for better preparation. James remained inexorable, and Dalrymple says that in his third letter he warned the king of the intrigues of the hollow-hearted Sunderland, but that colonel Blood, or the son of that ruffian, then holding office in the Tower, carried the letter to Sunderland, who destroyed it. In consequence of having offered to embrace Catholicism on condition of pärdon, James sent some catholic priests to him, but he let them know that without a pardon he did not want their services. According to Burnet and others, amongst his papers of charms and prognostications, was one by a fortune teller, in which he had firm faith, which was, that if he lived over the 15th he was destined for great things; but he consented to sign a paper renouncing his pretensions to the crown, for the sake of his children.

The bishops Ken and Turner laboured hard with him to convince him of his heinous sin in abandoning "the badge of the Anglican church," - the doctrine of non-resistance; but now convinced that he could not move the inexorable James, he began to show a firmness that surprised them. He would not admit the doctrine, and as little would he admit that he had committed any great sin in forsaking his wife, and attaching himself to Henrietta Wentworth. And in this respect the voice of nature spoke in him more convincingly than the ministers of a state religion could venture to admit, and which courts, kings, and others would do well to reflect upon. He contended that his marriage with the heiress of Buccleuch was a mere political marriage, a marriage without any regard to the affections or fitness of the parties, but merely with regard to royal purposes; that in the sight of God it was no marriage at all; that he never could get up an attachment to the duchess; that his affections were unconcerned, his home was cold and unattractive, and that in consequence he had sought in idle and vicious amours an interest that he did not feel elsewhere that from this wicked career lady Wentworth drew him, and led him to adopt a life of domestic order; that lady Wentworth was a woman of virtue and honour, and that he had been strictly constant to her; that they were united by mutual and ardent affection, and had prayed to God to be guided in the matter by him; that so far from feeling any condemnation his affection had increased, and that had satisfied him that this was the true marriage in the sight of heaven, and that nothing would ever persuade him to the contrary. They who condemn the reasoning of Monmouth should be careful not to force their children into a like false position. They who are expected not to sin should not be sinned against.