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The Great Events by Famous Historians, Volume 12 by Editor-In-Chief Rossiter Johnson

Part 4 out of 8

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their Louis XIV speculation, had invaded Preussen this time, and were doing
sad havoc there. It was in the dead of winter--Christmas, 1678--more than
four hundred miles off; and the Swedes, to say nothing of their own havoc,
were in a case to take Koenigsberg, and ruin Prussia altogether, if not
prevented. Friedrich Wilhelm starts from Berlin, with the opening Year, on
his long march; the Horse-troops first, Foot to follow at their swiftest;
he himself (his Wife, his ever-true "Louisa," accompanying, as her wont
was) travels toward the end, at the rate of "sixty miles a day." He gets in
still in time; finds Koenigsberg unscathed; nay, it is even said the Swedes
are extensively falling sick, having after a long famine found infinite
"pigs near Insterburg," in those remote regions, and indulged in the fresh
pork overmuch.

I will not describe the subsequent manoeuvres, which would interest nobody;
enough if I say that on January 16, 1679, it had become of the highest
moment for Friedrich Wilhelm to get from Carwe (Village near Elbing), on
the shore of the _Frische Haf_, where he was, through Koenigsberg, to
Gilge on the _Curische Haf_, where the Swedes are, in a minimum of time.
Distance, as the crow flies, is about a hundred miles; road, which skirts
the two _Hafs_ (wide shallow _Washes_, as we should name them), is of rough
quality and naturally circuitous. It is ringing frost to-day, and for days
back. Friedrich Wilhelm hastily gathers all the sledges, all the horses of
the district; mounts Four thousand men in sledges; starts with speed of
light, in that fashion; scours along all day, and after the intervening bit
of land, again along, awakening the ice-bound silences. Gloomy _Frische
Haf_, wrapped in its Winter cloud-coverlids, with its wastes of tumbled
sand, its poor frost-bound fishing-hamlets, pine hillocks--desolate-
looking, stern as Greenland, or more so, says Busching, who travelled
there in winter-time--hears unexpected human voices, and huge grinding and
trampling; the Four thousand, in long fleet of sledges, scouring across it
in that manner. All day they rush along--out of the rimy hazes of morning
into the olive-colored clouds of evening again--with huge, loud-grinding
rumble, and do arrive in time at Gilge. A notable streak of things,
shooting across those frozen solitudes in the New Year, 1679; little short
of Karl Gustav's feat, which we heard of in the other or Danish end of the
Baltic, twenty years ago, when he took islands without ships.

This Second Exploit--suggested or not by that prior one of Karl Gustav on
the ice--is still a thing to be remembered by Hohenzollerns and Prussians.
The Swedes were beaten here on Friedrich Wilhelm's rapid arrival; were
driven into disastrous, rapid retreat Northward, which they executed in
hunger and cold, fighting continually, like Northern bears, under the grim
sky, Friedrich Wilhelm sticking to their skirts, holding by their tail,
like an angry bear-ward with steel whip in his hand; a thing which, on the
small scale, reminds one of Napoleon's experiences. Not till Napoleon's
huge fighting-flight, a Hundred and thirty-four years after, did I read of
such a transaction in those parts. The Swedish invasion of Preussen has
gone utterly to ruin.

And this, then, is the end of Sweden, and its bad neighborhood on these
shores, where it has tyrannously sat on our skirts so long? Swedish
Pommern; the Elector already had: last year, coming toward it ever since
the Exploit of Fehrbellin, he had invaded Swedish Pommern; had besieged
and taken Stettin, nay Stralsund too, where Wallenstein had failed;
cleared Pommern altogether of its Swedish guests, who had tried next in
Preussen, with what luck we see. Of Swedish Pommern the Elector might now
say, "Surely it is mine; again mine, as it long was; well won a second
time, since the first would not do." But no; Louis XIV proved a gentleman
to his Swedes. Louis, now that the Peace of Nimwegen had come, and only
the Elector of Brandenburg was still in harness, said steadily, though
anxious enough to keep well with the Elector, "They are my allies, these
Swedes; it was on my bidding they invaded you: can I leave them in such a
pass? It must not be." So Pommern had to be given back: a miss which was
infinitely grievous to Friedrich Wilhelm. The most victorious Elector
cannot hit always, were his right never so good.

Another miss which he had to put up with, in spite of his rights and his
good services, was that of the Silesian Duchies. The Heritage-Fraternity
with Liegnitz had at length, in 1675, come to fruit. The last Duke
of Liegnitz was dead: Duchies of Liegnitz, of Brieg, Wohlau, are
Brandenburg's, if there were right done; but Kaiser Leopold in the scarlet
stockings will not hear of Heritage-Fraternity. "Nonsense!" answers Kaiser
Leopold: "a thing suppressed at once, ages ago by Imperial power; flat
_zero_ of a thing at this time; and you, I again bid you, return me your
Papers upon it." This latter act of duty Friedrich Wilhelm would not do,
but continued insisting: "Jagerndorf, at least, O Kaiser of the world,"
said he, "Jagerndorf, there is no color for your keeping that!" To which
the Kaiser again answers, "Nonsense!" and even falls upon astonishing
schemes about it, as we shall see, but gives nothing. Ducal Preussen
is sovereign, Cleve is at peace, Hinter-Pommern ours; this Elector has
conquered much, but Silesia, and Vor-Pommern, and some other things he will
have to do without. Louis XIV, it is thought, once offered to get him made
King, but that he declined for the present.

His married and domestic life is very fine and human, especially with that
Oranien-Nassau Princess, who was his first Wife (1646-1667) Princess Louisa
of Nassau-Orange, Aunt to our own Dutch William, King William III, in time
coming: an excellent, wise Princess, from whom came the Orange Heritages,
which afterward proved difficult to settle. Orange was at last exchanged
for the small Principality of Neufchatel in Switzerland, which is Prussia's
ever since. "Oranienburg (_Orange-Burg)_" a Royal Country-house, still
standing, some Twenty miles northward from Berlin, was this Louisa's place:
she had trimmed it up into a little jewel of the Dutch type--pot-herb
gardens, training-schools for girls, and the like--a favorite abode of hers
when she was at liberty for recreation. But her life was busy and earnest;
she was helpmate, not in name only, to an ever-busy man. They were married
young, a marriage of love withal. Young Friedrich Wilhelm's courtship,
wedding in Holland; the honest trustful walk and conversation of the two
Sovereign Spouses, their journeyings together, their mutual hopes, fears,
and manifold vicissitudes, till Death, with stern beauty, shut it in: all
is human, true, and wholesome in it; interesting to look upon, and rare
among sovereign persons.

Not but that he had his troubles with his womankind. Even with this his
first Wife, whom he loved truly, and who truly loved him, there were
scenes--the Lady having a judgment of her own about everything that passed,
and the man being choleric withal. Sometimes, I have heard, "he would dash
his hat at her feet," saying symbolically, "Govern you, then, Madam! Not
the Kurfuerst Hat; a Coif is my wear, it seems!" Yet her judgment was good,
and he liked to have it on the weightiest things, though her powers of
silence might halt now and then. He has been known, on occasions, to
run from his Privy Council to her apartment, while a complex matter was
debating, to ask her opinion, hers, too, before it was decided. Excellent
Louisa, Princess full of beautiful piety, good sense, and affection--a
touch of the Nassau-Heroic in her. At the moment of her death, it is said,
when speech had fled, he felt from her hand which lay in his, three slight,
slight pressures: "Farewell!" thrice mutely spoken in that manner, not easy
to forget in this world.

His second Wife, Dorothea, who planted the Lindens in Berlin, and did other
husbandries, fell far short of Louisa in many things, but not in tendency
to advise, to remonstrate, and plaintively reflect on the finished and
unalterable. Dreadfully thrifty lady, moreover; did much in dairy produce,
farming of town-rates, provision-taxes, not to speak again of that Tavern
she was thought to have in Berlin, and to draw custom to it in an oblique
manner! "Ah! I have not my Louisa now; to whom now shall I run for advice
or help?" would the poor Kurfuerst at times exclaim.

He had some trouble, considerable trouble, now and then, with mutinous
spirits in Preussen; men standing on antique Prussian franchises and
parchments, refusing to see that the same were now antiquated incompatible,
nor to say impossible, as the new Sovereign alleged, and carrying
themselves very stiffly at times. But the Hohenzollerns had been used
to such things; a Hohenzollern like this one would evidently take his
measures, soft but strong, and even stronger to the needful pitch, with
mutinous spirits. One Buergermeister of Koenigsberg, after much stroking
on the back, was at length seized in open Hall by Electoral writ, soldiers
having first gently barricaded the principal streets, and brought cannon to
bear upon them. This Buergermeister, seized in such brief way, lay prisoner
for life, refusing to ask his liberty, though it was thought he might have
had it on asking.

Another gentleman, a Baron von Kalkstein, of old Teutsch-Ritter kin, of
very high ways, in the Provincial Estates _(Staende)_ and elsewhere, got
into lofty, almost solitary, opposition, and at length, into mutiny proper,
against the new "Non-Polish" Sovereign, and flatly refused to do homage at
his accession--refused, Kalkstein did, for his share; fled to Warsaw; and
very fiercely, in a loud manner, carried out his mutinies in the Diets and
Court Conclaves there, his plea being, or plea for the time, "Poland is our
liege lord" (which it was not always), "and we cannot be transferred to
you except by our consent asked and given," which, too, had been a little
neglected on the former occasion of transfer; so that the Great Elector
knew not what to do with Kalkstein, and at length (as the case was
pressing) had him kidnapped by his Embassador at Warsaw; had him "rolled in
a carpet" there, and carried swiftly in the Embassador's coach, in the
form of luggage, over the frontier, into his native Province, there to be
judged, and, in the end (since nothing else would serve him), to have the
sentence executed, and his head cut off; for the case was pressing. These
things, especially this of Kalkstein, with a boisterous Polish Diet and
parliamentary eloquence in the rear of him, gave rise to criticisms, and
required management on the part of the Great Elector.

Of all his ancestors, our little Fritz, when he grew big, admired this
one--a man made like himself in many points. He seems really to have loved
and honored this one. In the year 1750 there had been a new Cathedral got
finished at Berlin; the ancestral bones had to be shifted over from the
vaults of the old one--the burying-place ever since Joachim II, that
Joachim who drew his sword on Alba. King Friedrich, with some attendants,
witnessed the operation, January, 1750. When the Great Kurfuerst's coffin
came, he bade them open it; gazed in silence on the features for some time,
which were perfectly recognizable; laid his hand on the hand long dead, and
said, "_Messieurs, celui ci a fait de grandes choses_!" ("This one did a
grand work").



A.D. 1681


Although European settlers had occupied portions of the present State of
Pennsylvania for fifty years before William Penn arrived in that territory,
the real foundation of the great commonwealth named after him is justly
dated from his time.

Penn was an English "Friend," or Quaker, and was descended from a long line
of sailors. He was born in London in 1644, his father being Admiral
Sir William Penn of the English navy. The son was educated at Oxford
University, and became a preacher of the Society of Friends. This calling
brought him into collision with the authorities. He was several times
arrested, and for a while was imprisoned in the Tower for "urging the cause
of freedom with importunity."

Through the influence of his family and the growing weight of his own
character, he escaped the heavier penalties inflicted upon some of his
coreligionists, and, by the shrewdness and tact which he united with
spiritual fervor, he rapidly advanced in public position.

In 1675 Penn became part proprietor of West New Jersey, where a colony of
English Friends was settled. Five years later, through his influence at
court and the aid of wealthy persons, he was enabled to purchase a large
tract in East New Jersey, where he designed to establish a similar colony
on a larger plan. But this project was soon superseded by a much greater
one, of which the execution is here related.

The interest of William Penn having been engaged for some time in the
colonization of an American province, and the idea having become familiar
to his mind of establishing there a Christian home as a refuge for Friends,
and the scene for a fair trial of their principles, he availed himself of
many favorable circumstances to become a proprietary himself. In various
negotiations concerning New Jersey he had had a conspicuous share, and the
information which his inquiring mind gathered from the adventures in the
New World gave him all the knowledge which was requisite for his further
proceedings. Though he had personal enemies in high places, and the project
which he designed crossed the interests of the Duke of York[1] and of Lord
Baltimore, yet his court influence was extensive, and he knew how to use

[Footnote 1: Afterward James II. He was proprietor of New York, and Lord
Baltimore of Maryland.]

The favor of Charles II and of his brother the Duke of York had been sought
by Penn's dying father for his son, and freely promised. But William Penn
had a claim more substantial than a royal promise of those days. The
crown was indebted to the estate of Admiral Penn for services, loans, and
interest, to the amount of sixteen thousand pounds. The exchequer, under
the convenient management of Shaftesbury, would not meet the claim. Penn,
who was engaged in settling the estate of his father, petitioned the King,
in June, 1680, for a grant of land in America as a payment for all these

The request was laid before the privy council, and then before the
committee of trade and plantations. Penn's success must have been owing
to great interest made on his behalf; for both the Duke of York, by his
attorney, and Lord Baltimore opposed him. As proprietors of territory
bounding on the tract which he asked for, and as having been already
annoyed by the conflict of charters granted in the New World, they were
naturally unfairly biassed. The application made to the King succeeded
after much debate. The provisions in the charter of Lord Baltimore were
adopted by Penn with slight alterations. Sir William Jones objected to one
of the provisions, which allowed a freedom from taxation, and the Bishop of
London, as the ecclesiastical supervisor of plantations, proposed another
provision, to prevent too great liberty in religious matters. Chief Justice
North having reduced the patent to a satisfactory form, to guard the King's
prerogative and the powers of Parliament, it was signed by writ of privy
seal at Westminster, March 4, 1681. It made Penn the owner of about forty
thousand square miles of territory.

This charter is given at length by Proud and other writers. The preamble
states that the design of William Penn was to enlarge the British empire
and to civilize and convert the savages. The first section avers that his
petition was granted on account of the good purposes of the son and the
merits and services of the father. The bounds of the territory are thus
defined: "All that tract or part of land, in America, with the islands
therein contained, as the same is bounded on the east by Delaware River,
from twelve miles distance northward of New Castle town, unto the
three-and-fortieth degree of northern latitude, if the said river doth
extend so far northward; but if the said river shall not extend so far
northward, then, by the said river, so far as it doth extend; and from
the head of the said river, the eastern bounds are to be determined by a
meridian line to be drawn from the head of the said river, unto the said
forty-third degree. The said land to extend westward five degrees in
longitude to be computed from the said eastern bounds; and the said lands
to be bounded on the north by the beginning of the three-and-fortieth
degree of northern latitude, and on the south by a circle drawn at twelve
miles' distance from New Castle, northward and westward, unto the beginning
of the fortieth degree of northern latitude; and then by a straight line
westward to the limits of longitude above mentioned."

Though these boundaries appear to be given with definiteness and precision,
a controversy, notwithstanding, arose at once between Penn and Lord
Baltimore, which outlasted the lives of both of them, and, being continued
by their representatives, was not in fact closed until the Revolutionary

The charter vested the perpetual proprietaryship of this territory in
William Penn and his heirs, on the fealty of the annual payment of two
beaver-skins; it authorized him to make and execute laws not repugnant
to those of England, to appoint judges, to receive those who wished to
transport themselves, _to establish a military force_, to constitute
municipalities, and to carry on a free commerce. It required that an agent
of the proprietor should reside in or near London, and provided for the
rights of the Church of England. The charter also disclaimed all taxation,
except through the proprietor, the governor, the assembly, or Parliament,
and covenanted that if any question of arms or conditions should arise
it should be decided in favor of the proprietor. By a declaration to
the inhabitants and planters of Pennsylvania, dated April 2d, the King
confirmed the charter, to ratify it for all who might intend to emigrate
under it, and to require compliance from all whom it concerned.

By a letter from Penn to his friend Robert Turner, written upon the day on
which the charter was signed, we learn that the proprietor designed to call
his territory "New Wales"; but the under-secretary, a Welshman, opposed it.
Penn then suggested "Sylvania," as applicable to the forest region; but the
secretary, acting under instructions, prefixed "Penn" to this title. The
modest and humble Quaker offered the official twenty guineas as a bribe
to leave off his name. Failing again, he went to the King and stated his
objection; but the King said he would take the naming upon himself, and
insisted upon it as doing honor to the old admiral.

Penn now resigned the charge of West New Jersey, and devoted himself to the
preliminary tasks which should make his province available to himself and
others. He sent over, in May, his cousin and secretary, Colonel William
Markham, then only twenty-one years old, to make such arrangements for
his own coming as might be necessary. This gentleman, who acted as Penn's
deputy, carried over from him a letter, dated London, April 8, 1681,
addressed "For the Inhabitants of Pennsylvania; to be read by my Deputy."
This was a courteous announcement of his proprietaryship and intentions
to the Dutch, Swedes, and English, who, to the number, probably, of about
three thousand, were then living within his patent.

Penn's object being to obtain adventurers and settlers at once, he
published _Some Account of the Province of Pennsylvania, in America, lately
granted, under the Great Seal of England, to William Penn_. This was
accompanied by a copy of the charter and a statement of the terms on which
the land was to be sold, with judicious advice addressed to those who were
disposed to transport themselves, warning them against mere fancy dreams,
or the desertion of friends, and encouraging them by all reasonable
expectations of success.

The terms of sale were, for a hundred acres of land, forty shillings
purchase money, and one shilling as an annual quit-rent. This latter
stipulation, made in perfect fairness, not unreasonable in itself, and
ratified by all who of their own accord acceded to it, was, as we shall
see, an immediate cause of disaffection, and has ever since been the
basis of a calumny against the honored and most estimable founder of

Under date of July 11, 1681, Penn published _Certain Conditions or
Concessions to be agreed upon by William Penn, Proprietary and Governor
of the Province of Pennsylvania, and those who may become Adventurers and
Purchasers in the same Province_. These conditions relate to dividing,
planting, and building upon the land, saving mulberry-and oak-trees, and
dealing with the Indians. These documents were circulated, and imparted
sufficient knowledge of the country and its produce, so that purchasers at
once appeared, and Penn went to Bristol to organize there a company called
"The Free Society of Traders in Pennsylvania," who purchased twenty
thousand acres of land, and prepared to establish various trades in the

Yet further to mature his plans, and to begin with a fair understanding
among all who might be concerned in the enterprise, Penn drew up and
submitted a sketch of the frame of government, providing for alterations,
with a preamble for liberty of conscience. On the basis of contracts and
agreements thus made and mutually ratified, three passenger ships, two from
London and one from Bristol, sailed for Pennsylvania in September, 1681.
One of them made an expeditious passage; another was frozen up in the
Delaware; and the third, driven to the West Indies, was long delayed. They
took over some of the ornamental work of a house for the proprietor.

The Governor also sent over three commissioners, whose instructions we
learn from the original document addressed to them by Penn, dated September
30, 1681. These commissioners were William Crispin, John Bezar, and
Nathaniel Allen. Their duty was that of "settling the colony." Penn refers
them to his cousin Markham, "now on the spot." He instructs them to take
good care of the people; to guard them from extortionate prices for
commodities from the earlier inhabitants; to select a site by the river,
and there to lay out a town; to have his letter to the Indians read to them
in their own tongue; to make them presents from him--adding, "Be grave;
they love not to be smiled upon"--and to enter into a league of amity with
them. Penn also instructs the commissioners to select a site for his own
occupancy, and closes with some good advice in behalf of order and virtue.

These commissioners probably did not sail until the latter part of October,
as they took with them the letter to the Indians, to which Penn refers.
This letter, bearing the date October 18, 1681, is a beautiful expression
of feeling on the part of the proprietor. He does not address the Indians
as heathen, but as his brethren, the children of the one Father. He
announces to them his accession, as far as a royal title could legitimate
it, to a government in their country; he distinguishes between himself and
those who had ill treated the Indians, and pledges his love and service.

About this time William Penn was elected a fellow of the Royal Society in
London, probably by nomination of his friend, Dr. John Wallis, one of its
founders, and with the hope that his connection with the New World would
enable him to advance its objects.

With a caution, which the experience of former purchases rendered
essential, Penn obtained of the Duke of York a release of all his claims
within the patent. His royal highness executed a quitclaim to William
Penn and his heirs on August 21, 1682. The Duke had executed, in March,
a ratification of his two former grants of East Jersey. But a certain
fatality seemed to attend upon these transfers of ducal possessions. After
various conflicts and controversies long continued, we may add, though by
anticipation, that the proprietaryship of both the Jerseys was abandoned,
and they were surrendered to the crown under Queen Anne, in April, 1702.

Penn also obtained of the Duke of York another tract of land adjoining his
patent. This region, afterward called the "Territories," and the three
"Lower Counties," now Delaware, had been successively held by the Swedes
and Dutch, and by the English at New York. The Duke confirmed it to William
Penn, by two deeds, dated August 24, 1682.

The last care on the mind of William Penn, before his embarkation, was to
prepare proper counsel and instruction for his wife and children. This he
did in the form of a letter written at Worminghurst, August 4, 1682. He
knew not that he should ever see them again, and his heart poured forth to
them the most touching utterances of affection. But it was not the heart
alone which indited the epistle. It expressed the wisest counsels of
prudence and discretion. All the important letters written by Penn contain
a singular union of spiritual and worldly wisdom. Indeed, he thought these
two ingredients to be but one element. He urged economy, filial love,
purity, and industry, as well as piety, upon his children. He favored,
though he did not insist upon, their receiving his religious views. We may
express a passing regret that he who could give such advice to his children
should not have had the joy to leave behind him anyone who could meet the
not inordinate wish of his heart.

In the mean while his deputy, Markham, acting by his instructions, was
providing him a new home by purchasing for him, of the Indians, a piece
of land, the deed of which is dated July 15th, and endorsed with a
confirmation, August 1st, and by commencing upon it the erection which was
afterward known as Pennsbury Manor.

All his arrangements being completed, William Penn, at the age of
thirty-eight, well, strong, and hopeful of the best results, embarked
for his colony, on board the ship Welcome, of three hundred tons, Robert
Greenaway master, on the last of August, 1682. While in the Downs he wrote
a _Farewell Letter to Friends, the Unfaithful and Inquiring_, in his native
land, dated August 30th, and probably many private letters. He had about
one hundred fellow-passengers, mostly Friends from his own neighborhood in
Sussex. The vessel sailed about September 1st, and almost immediately the
small-pox, that desolating scourge of the passenger-ships of those days,
appeared among the passengers, and thirty fell victims to it. The trials
of that voyage, told to illustrate the Christian spirit which submissively
encountered them, were long repeated from father to son and from mother to

In about six weeks the ship entered the Delaware River. The old inhabitants
along the shores, which had been settled by the whites for about half a
century, received Penn with equal respect and joy. He arrived at New Castle
on October 27th. The day was not commemorated by annual observances until
the year 1824, when a meeting for that purpose was held at an inn, in
Laetitia court, where Penn had resided. While the ship and its company went
up the river, the proprietor, on the next day, called the inhabitants,
who were principally Dutch and Swedes, to the court-house, where, after
addressing them, he assumed and received the formal possession of the
country. He renewed the commissions of the old magistrates, who urged him
to unite the Territories to his government.

After a visit of ceremony to the authorities at New York and Long Island,
with a passing token to his friends in New Jersey, Penn went to Upland to
hold the first Assembly, which opened on December 4th. Nicholas Moore, an
English lawyer, and president of the Free Society of Traders, was made
speaker. After three days' peaceful debate, the Assembly ratified, with
modifications, the laws made in England, with about a score of new ones of
a local, moral, or religious character, in which not only the drinking of
healths, but the talking of scandal, was forbidden. By suggestion of his
friend and fellow-voyager, Pearson, who came from Chester, in England, Penn
substituted that name for Upland. By an act of union, passed on December
7th, the three Lower Counties, or the Territories, were joined in the
government, and the foreigners were naturalized at their own request.

On his arrival Penn had sent two messengers to Charles Calvert, Lord
Baltimore, to propose a meeting and conference with him about their
boundaries. On December 19th they met at West River with courtesy and
kindness; but after three days they concluded to wait for the more
propitious weather of the coming year. Penn, on his way back, attended a
religious meeting at a private house, and afterward an official meeting at
Choptank, on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake, and reached Chester again
by December 29th, where much business engaged him. About twenty-three ships
had arrived by the close of the year; none of them met with disaster,
and all had fair passages. The new-comers found a comparatively easy
sustenance. Provisions were obtained at a cheap rate of the Indians and of
the older settlers. But great hardships were endured by some, and special
providences are commemorated. Many found their first shelter in caves
scooped out in the steep bank of the river. When these caves were deserted
by their first occupants, the poor or the vicious made them a refuge; and
one of the earliest signs both of prosperity and of corruption, in the
colony, is disclosed in the mention that these rude coverts of the first
devoted emigrants soon became tippling-houses and nuisances in the misuse
of the depraved.

There has been much discussion of late years concerning the far-famed
Treaty of Penn with the Indians. A circumstance, which has all the interest
both of fact and of poetry, was confirmed by such unbroken testimony of
tradition that history seemed to have innumerable records of it in the
hearts and memories of each generation. But as there appears no document
or parchment of such _criteria_ as to satisfy all inquiries, historical
scepticism has ventured upon the absurd length of calling in question
the fact of the treaty. The Historical Society of Pennsylvania, with
commendable zeal, has bestowed much labor upon the questions connected with
the treaty, and the results which have been attained can scarcely fail to
satisfy a candid inquirer. All claim to a peculiar distinction for William
Penn, on account of the singularity of his just proceedings in this matter
is candidly waived, because the Swedes, the Dutch, and the English had
previously dealt thus justly with the natives. It is in comparison with
Pizarro and Cortes that the colonists of all other nations in America
appear to an advantage; but the fame of William Penn stands, and ever will
stand, preeminent for unexceptionable justice and peace in his relations
with the natives.

Penn had several meetings for conference and treaties with the Indians,
besides those which he held for the purchase of lands. But unbroken and
reverently cherished tradition, beyond all possibility of contradiction,
has designated one great treaty held under a large elm-tree, at Shackamaxon
(now Kensington), a treaty which Voltaire justly characterizes as "never
sworn to, and never broken." In Penn's _Letter to the Free Society of
Traders,_ dated August 16, 1683, he refers to his conferences with the
Indians. Two deeds, conveying land to him, are on record, both of which
bear an earlier date than this letter; namely, June 23d and July 14th of
the same year. He had designed to make a purchase in May; but having been
called off to a conference with Lord Baltimore, he postponed the business
till June. The "Great Treaty" was doubtless unconnected with the purchase
of land, and was simply a treaty of amity and friendship, in confirmation
of one previously held, by Penn's direction, by Markham, on the same spot;
that being a place which the Indians were wont to use for this purpose. It
is probable that the treaty was held on the last of November, 1682; that
the Delawares, the Mingos, and other Susquehanna tribes formed a large
assembly on the occasion; that written minutes of the conference were made,
and were in possession of Governor Gordon, who states nine conditions as
belonging to them in 1728, but are now lost; and that the substance of the
treaty is given in Penn's _Letter to the Free Traders_. These results
are satisfactory, and are sufficiently corroborated by known facts and
documents. The Great Treaty, being distinct from a land purchase, is
significantly distinguished in history and tradition.

The inventions of romance and imagination could scarcely gather round this
engaging incident attractions surpassing in its own simple and impressive
interest. Doubtless Clarkson has given a fair representation of it, if we
merely disconnect from his account the statement that the Indians were
armed, and all that confounds the treaty of friendship with the purchase
of lands. Penn wore a sky-blue sash of silk around his waist, as the most
simple badge. The pledges there given were to hold their sanctity "while
the creeks and rivers run, and while the sun, moon, and stars endure."

While the whites preserved in written records the memory of such covenants,
the Indians had their methods for perpetuating in safe channels their
own relations. They cherished in grateful regard, they repeated to their
children and to the whites, the terms of the Great Treaty. The Delawares
called William Penn _Miquon_, in their own language, though they seem to
have adopted the name given him by the Iroquois, _Onas_; both which terms
signify a quill or pen. Benjamin West's picture of the treaty is too
imaginative for a historical piece. He makes Penn of a figure and aspect
which would become twice the years that had passed over his head. The
elm-tree was spared in the war of the American Revolution, when there
was distress for firewood, the British officer, Simcoe, having placed a
sentinel beneath it for protection. It was prostrated by the wind on the
night of Saturday, March 3, 1810. It was of gigantic size, and the circles
around its heart indicated an age of nearly three centuries. A piece of
it was sent to the Penn mansion at Stoke Poges, in England, where it is
properly commemorated. A marble monument, with suitable inscriptions, was
"placed by the Penn Society, A.D. 1827, to mark the site of the Great Elm
Tree." Long may it stand!

Penn then made a visit to his manor of Pennsbury, up the Delaware. Under
Markham's care, the grounds had been arranged, and a stately edifice of
brick was in process of completion. The place had many natural beauties,
and is said to have been arranged and decorated in consistency both with
the office and the simple manners of the proprietor. There was a hall
of audience for Indian embassies within, and luxurious gardens without.
Hospitality had here a wide range, and Penn evidently designed it for a
permanent abode.

With the help of his surveyor, Thomas Holme, he laid out the plan of his
now beautiful city, and gave it its name of Christian signification, that
brotherly love might pervade its dwellings. He purchased the land, where
the city stands, of the Swedes who already occupied it, and who purchased
it of the Indians, though it would seem that a subsequent purchase was made
of the natives of the same site with adjacent territory some time afterward
by Thomas Holme, acting as president of the council, while Penn was in
England. The Schuylkill and the Delaware rivers gave to the site eminent
attractions. The plan was very simple, the streets running north and south
being designated by numbers, those running east and west by the names of
trees. Provision was made for large squares to be left open, and for common
water privileges. The building was commenced at once, and was carried on
with great zeal and continued success.



A.D. 1683


After the defeat of the Turks at Lepanto, in 1571, the Ottoman power in
Europe slowly declined. But under the Sultan Mahomet IV the old Moslem
ambition for European conquest reawoke, as if for a final effort. And such
it proved to be. By the disaster before Vienna, in which John Sobieski,
King of Poland, once more saved Europe from their incursions, the Turks
were driven back within their own confines, where they have since, for the
most part, remained, making many wars, but no successful inroads, upon
European powers.

In 1682 the Hungarian magnates, who were resisting the oppression and
persecution of their people by the Austrian Government, called upon the
Turks for assistance. Listening to the proposals of Tekeli, the Hungarian
leader, who had secured the aid of Louis XIV of France, Mahomet IV decided
to break the truce he had made with Austria in 1665. In vain the Emperor
Leopold I sent an embassy to Constantinople to dissuade the Sultan from his

Early in the spring of 1683 Sultan Mahomet marched forth from his capital
with a large army, which at Belgrad he transferred to the command of the
Grand Vizier Kara Mustapha. Tekeli formed a junction with the Turks at
Essek. In vain did Ibrahim, the experienced Pacha of Buda, endeavor to
persuade Kara Mustapha first of all to subdue the surrounding country, and
to postpone until the following year the attack upon Vienna; his advice was
scornfully rejected, and, indeed, the audacity of the Grand Vizier seemed
justified by the scant resistance he had met with. He talked of renewing
the conquests of Solyman: he assembled, it is said, seven hundred thousand
men, one hundred thousand horses, and one thousand two hundred guns--an
army more powerful than any the Turks had set on foot since the capture of
Constantinople. All of which may be reduced to one hundred fifty thousand
barbarian troops without discipline, the last conquering army which the
degenerate race of the Osmanlis produced wherewith to invade Hungary.

Hostilities commenced in March, 1683; for the Turks, who had not been
accustomed to enter upon a campaign before the summer season, had begun
their march that year before the end of winter. Some prompt and easy
successes exalted the ambition of Kara Mustapha; and in spite of the
contrary advice of Tekeli, Ibrahim Pacha, and several other personages,
he determined to besiege Vienna. He accordingly advanced direct upon that
capital and encamped under its walls on July 14th. It was just at the
moment that Louis XIV had captured Strasburg, and at which his army
appeared ready to cross the Rhine: all Europe was in alarm, believing that
an agreement existed between France and the Porte for the conquest and
dismemberment of Germany. But it was not so. The Turks, without giving
France any previous warning, had of themselves made their invasion of
Hungary; Louis XIV was delighted at their success, but nevertheless
disposed, if it went too far, to check them, in order to play the part of
saviour of Christendom.

It was fortunate for the Emperor Leopold that he had upon the frontiers of
Poland an ally of indomitable courage in King John Sobieski, and that he
found the German princes loyal and prompt on this occasion, contrary to
their custom, in sending him succor. Moreover, in Duke Charles of Lorraine
he met with a skilful general to lead his army. Consternation and confusion
prevailed, however, in Vienna, while the Emperor with his court fled to
Linz. Many of the inhabitants followed him; but the rest, when the
first moments of terror had passed, prepared for the defence, and the
dilatoriness of the Turks, who amused themselves with pillaging the
environs and neighboring _châteaux_, allowed the Duke of Lorraine to throw
twelve thousand men as a garrison into the city; then, as he was unable
with his slender force to bar the approach of the Turkish army, he kept
aloof and waited for the King of Poland.

Leopold solicited succor on all sides, and the Pope made an appeal to the
piety of the King of France. Louis XIV, on the contrary, was intriguing
throughout Europe in order that the Christian princes should not quit their
attitude of repose, and he only offered to the Diet of Ratisbon the aid
of his arms on condition that it should recognize the recent usurpations
decreed by the famous Chambers of Reunion,[1] and that it should elect his
son king of the Romans. He reckoned, if it should accept his offers, to
determine the Turks to retreat and to effect a peace which, by bringing
the imperial crown into his house, would have been the death-stroke for
Austria. All these combinations miscarried through the devotedness of the

[Footnote 1: The Chambers of Reunion were special courts established in
France by Louis XIV (1680). These courts declared for the annexation to
France of various territories along the eastern frontier.--ED.]

When Leopold supplicated Sobieski to come to his aid, Louis XIV tried to
divert him from it; he reassured him upon the projects of the Turks by
a letter of the Sultan, he made him see his real enemies in Austria,
Brandenburg, and that power of the North, which the Dutch gazettes had
begun to call "His Russian Majesty"; he reminded him, in fine, that the
house of Austria, saved by the French on the day of St. Gothard, had
testified its gratitude to them by allowing the victors to die of hunger
and by envenoming their difference with the Porte. But it was all useless;
hatred of the infidels prevailed, and the Polish squadrons hurried to the
deliverance of Vienna.

Count Rudiger de Starhemberg was made commandant of the city, and showed
himself alike bold and energetic in everything that could contribute to its
defence. The Turkish camp encircled Vienna and its suburbs, spreading over
the country all round to the distance of six leagues. Two days afterward,
Kara Mustapha opened the trenches, and his artillery battered the walls
in order to make a breach. Great efforts, moreover, were made in digging
mines, with the design of blowing up bastions or portions of the wall, so
that the city might be carried by assault, wherein the Turks hoped to find
an immense booty. But the besieged made an obstinate defence, and repaired
during the night the damage done on the previous day. During sixty days
forty mines and ten counter-mines were exploded; the Turks delivered
eighteen assaults, the besieged made twenty-four sorties. Each inch of
ground was only obtained by dint of a hard and long struggle, in which an
equal stubbornness both in attack and defence was exhibited.

The hottest fighting took place at the "Label" bastion, around which there
was not a foot of ground that had not been steeped in the blood of friend
or foe. However, by degrees the Turks gained a few paces; at the end of
August they were lodged in the ditches of the city; and on September 4th
they sprung a mine under the "Bourg" bastion; one-half of the city was
shaken thereby, and a breach was rent in the bastion wide enough for an
assault to be delivered, but the enemy was repulsed. Next day the Turks
attacked it with renewed courage, but the valor of the besieged baffled
the assailants. On September 10th another mine was sprung under the same
bastion, and the breach was so wide that a battalion might have entered
it abreast. The danger was extreme, for the garrison was exhausted
by fighting, sickness, and incessant labor. The Count de Starhemberg
despatched courier after courier to the Duke of Lorraine for succor: "There
is not a moment to be lost, Monseigneur," he wrote, "not a moment;" and
Vienna, exhausted, saw not yet her liberators arrive. At length, on the
14th, when the whole city was in a stupor in the immediate expectation of
an attack, a movement was observed in the enemy's camp which announced that
succor was at hand. At five o'clock in the afternoon the Christian army was
descried surmounting the Hill of Kahlen, and it made its presence known by
a salvo of artillery. John Sobieski had arrived at the head of a valiant
army. The Electors of Saxony and of Bavaria with many princes, dukes,
and margraves of Germany had brought with them fresh troops. Charles of
Lorraine might then dare to march against the Moslems, although he had yet
only forty-six thousand men.

The army of Sobieski reached Klosterenburg, Koenigstetten, St. André,
the Valley of Hagen and Kirling, where it effected its junction with the
Austrians and the Saxons who had arrived there in passing by Hoeflin. On
Sunday, September 15th, in the earliest rays of a fine autumnal day, the
holy priest Marco d'Aviano celebrated mass in the chapel of Kahlenberg, and
the King of Poland served him during the sacrifice. Afterward, Sobieski
made his son kneel down and dubbed him a knight in remembrance of the great
occasion on which he was going to be present; then, turning toward his
officers, he reminded them of the victory of Choczim, adding that the
triumph they were about to achieve under the walls of Vienna would not only
save a city, but Christendom. Next morning the Christian army descended the
Hill of Kahlen in order of battle. A salvo of five cannon-shot gave the
signal for the fight. Sobieski commanded the right wing, the Duke of
Lorraine the left, under whose orders served Prince Eugene of Savoy, then
aged nineteen. The Elector of Bavaria was in the centre. The village of
Naussdorf, situated upon the Danube, was attacked by the Saxon and
imperial troops which formed the left wing, and carried after an obstinate
resistance. Toward noon the King of Poland, having descended into the
plain with the right wing, at the head of his Polish cavalry, attacked the
innumerable squadrons of Turkish horse. Flinging himself upon the enemy's
centre with all the fury of a hurricane, he spread confusion in their
ranks; but his courage carried him too far; he was surrounded and was on
the point of being overwhelmed by numbers. Then, shouting for aid, the
German cavalry, which had followed him, charged the enemy at full gallop,
delivered the King, and soon put the Turks to flight on all sides. The
right wing had decided the victory; by seven o'clock in the evening the
deliverance of Vienna was achieved. The bodies of more than ten thousand
infidels strewed the field of battle.

But all those combats were mere preludes to the great battle which must
decide the fortune of the war. For the Turkish camp, with its thousands of
tents, could still be seen spreading around as far as the eye could
reach, and its artillery continued to play upon the city. The victorious
commander-in-chief was holding a council of war to decide whether to give
battle again on that same day, or wait till the morrow to give his troops
an interval of rest, when a messenger came with the announcement that the
enemy appeared to be in full flight; and it proved to be the fact. A panic
had seized the Turks, who fled in disorder, abandoning their camp and
baggage; and soon even those who were attacking the city were seen in full
flight with the rest of the army.

The booty found in the Turkish camp was immense: three hundred pieces of
heavy artillery, five thousand tents, that of the Grand Vizier with all the
military chests and the chancery. The treasures amounted to fifteen million
crowns; the tent of the Vizier alone yielded four hundred thousand crowns.
Two millions also were found in the military chest; arms studded with
precious stones, the equipments of Kara Mustapha, fell into the hands of
the victors. In their flight the Mussulmans threw away arms, baggage, and
banners, with the exception of the holy standard of the Prophet, which,
nevertheless, the imperials pretended to have seized. The King of Poland
received for his share four million florins; and in a letter to his
wife--the sole delight of his soul, his dear and well-beloved Mariette--he
speaks of that booty and of the happiness of having delivered Vienna. "All
the enemy's camp," he wrote, "with the whole of his artillery and all his
enormous riches, have fallen into our hands. We are driving before us a
host of camels, mules, and Turkish prisoners."

Count Starhemberg received the King of Poland in the magnificent tent
of the Grand Vizier and greeted him as a deliverer. Next day Sobieski,
accompanied by the Elector of Bavaria and the different commanders,
traversed the city on horseback, preceded by a great banner of cloth of
gold and two tall gilded staves bearing the horse-tails which had been
planted in front of the Grand Vizier's tent, as a symbol of supreme
command. In the Loretto chapel of the Augustins the hero threw himself upon
his face before the altar and chanted the _Te Deum_. Vienna was delivered;
the flood of Ottomans, that had beaten against its walls one hundred
fifty-four years previously, had returned more furiously, more menacing
still, against that dignified protectress of European civilization, but
this time it had been repelled never to return.

Thus vanished the insane hopes of the Grand Vizier. If Demetrius Cantemir
may be believed, Kara Mustapha had desired to capture Vienna to appropriate
it to himself and found in the West an empire of which he would have been
the sovereign. "That subject," says the historian, "who only held his power
from the Sultan, despised in his heart the Sultan himself; and as he found
himself at the head of all the disciplined troops of the empire, he looked
upon his master as a shadow denuded of strength and substance, who, being
very inferior in courage to him, could never oppose to him an army like
that which was under his command. For all that concerned the Emperor of
Germany, he appeared still less to be feared: being a prince bare and
despoiled so soon as he should have lost Vienna. It was thus that Kara
Mustapha reasoned within himself.

"Already he casts his eyes over the treasures which he has in his
possession; with the money of the Sultan he has also brought his own; all
that of the German princes is going to be his; for he believes that it is
amassed in the city he is besieging. If he needs support, he reckons upon
the different governors of Hungary as devoted to his interests; these are
his creatures, whom he has put into their posts during the seven years of
his vizierate; not one of those functionaries dare offer an obstacle to the
elevation of his benefactor. Ibrahim Pacha, Beylerbey of Buda, keeps him in
suspense by reason of the influence that his fame gives him over the army
and over Hungary; he must be won over before all else, as well as the chief
officers of the janizaries and the spahis. Ibrahim shall be made King of
Hungary. The different provinces comprised in that kingdom shall be divided
into _timars_ for appanage of the spahis, and all the rest of the soldiery
shall have establishments in the towns, as so many new colonies; to them
shall be assigned the lands of the old inhabitants, who will be driven out
or reduced to slavery. He reserves for himself the title of Sultan,
his share shall be all Germany as far as the frontiers of France, with
Transylvania and Poland, which he intends to render subject or at least
make tributary the year following." Such are the projects that Cantemir
attributes to Kara Mustapha; the intervention of Sobieski caused these
chimerical plans quickly to vanish.

The Emperor Leopold, who returned to Vienna on September 16th, instead of
expressing his thanks and gratitude to the commanders who had rescued his
capital, received them with the haughty and repulsive coldness prescribed
by the etiquette of the imperial court. Sobieski nevertheless continued
his services by pursuing the retreating Turks. Awakened from his dream of
self-exaltation, the Grand Vizier retook the road toward Turkey, directing
his steps to the Raab, where he rallied the remnants of his army. Thence he
marched toward Buda, and attacked by the way the Styrian town of Lilenfeld;
he was repulsed by the prelate Matthias Kalweis, and avenged himself for
that fresh check by devastating Lower Styria. He crossed the Danube by a
bridge of boats at Parkany; but the Poles vigorously disputed the passage
with him, and he again lost more than eight thousand men taken or slain by
the Christians. Shortly after, the fortress of Gran opened its gates to
Kara Mustapha. The Grand Vizier barbarously put to death the officers who
had signed the capitulation; he threw upon his generals the responsibility
of his reverses, and thought to stifle in blood the murmurs of his
accusers. The army marched in disorder as though struck with a panic
terror. Kara Mustapha wished that a Jew whom he despatched to Belgrad
should be escorted by a troop of horsemen. "I have no need of an escort,"
replied the Jew: "I have only to wear my cap in the German fashion, and not
a Turk will touch me."

The enemies of the Grand Vizier, however, conspired to effect his ruin at
Constantinople; and the results of the campaign justified the predictions
of the party of peace. Mahomet IV, enraged at these disasters, sent his
grand chamberlain to Belgrad with orders to bring back the head of the
Vizier (1683): it was, in fact, brought to the Sultan in a silver dish.


A.D. 1685


James II was scarcely seated on the English throne in 1685 when serious
disturbances began in his realm. The King had inherited the peculiar traits
of the Stuarts. His first purpose was to overcome the Parliamentary power
and make himself absolute ruler. He was likewise a Roman Catholic, and one
of his objects was the suppression of English Protestantism.

During the first days of his reign the Protestant peasants in the west of
England rose in revolt. They supported the claims of James Fitzroy, Duke
of Monmouth, to the throne. Monmouth was the (reputed) illegitimate son of
Charles II and Lucy Walters. With other exiled malcontents, English and
Scotch, he had taken refuge in Holland. One of those exiled was the Earl of
Argyle, whose father had figured prominently on the side of the Scottish
Presbyterians against Charles I.

Owing to national jealousy, the English and Scotch in Holland could not act
in unison, but all were determined to strike against James. Two expeditions
were planned--one under Argyle, who expected to find forces awaiting him in
Scotland; the other under Monmouth, whose adherents were to join him in the
west of England.

Argyle's attempt miscarried through disagreement among the leaders, and the
Earl was taken and beheaded, June 30, 1685. What befell the enterprise of
Monmouth is told by Bishop Burnet, a contemporary historian. Monmouth was
executed July 15, 1685, and in the trials known as the "Bloody Assizes,"
presided over by the brutal George Jeffreys, some three hundred of the
Duke's followers were condemned to death, and more than a thousand
otherwise punished.

As soon as Lord Argyle sailed for Scotland, Monmouth set about his design
with as much haste as possible. Arms were brought and a ship was freighted
for Bilbao in Spain. He pawned all his jewels, but these could not raise
much, and no money was sent to him out of England. So he was hurried into
an ill-designed invasion. The whole company consisted but of eighty-two
persons. They were all faithful to one another. But some spies whom
Shelton, the new envoy, set on work, sent him the notice of a suspected
ship sailing out of Amsterdam with arms.

Shelton neither understood the laws of Holland nor advised with those who
did; otherwise he would have carried with him an order from the admiralty
of Holland, that sat at The Hague, to be made use of as the occasion should
require. When he came to Amsterdam, and applied himself to the magistrates
there, desiring them to stop and search the ship that he named, they found
the ship was already sailed out of their port and their jurisdiction went
no further. So he was forced to send to the admiralty at The Hague. But
those on board, hearing what he was come for, made all possible haste. And,
the wind favoring them, they got out of the Texel before the order desired
could be brought from The Hague. After a prosperous course, the Duke landed
at Lyme in Dorsetshire (June 11, 1685); and he with his small company came
ashore with some order, but with too much daylight, which discovered how
few they were.

The alarm was brought hot to London, where, upon the general report and
belief of the thing, an act of attainder passed both Houses in one day;
some small opposition being made by the Earl of Anglesey, because the
evidence did not seem clear enough for so severe a sentence, which was
grounded on the notoriety of the thing. The sum of five thousand pounds was
set on his head. And with that the session of Parliament ended; which was
no small happiness to the nation, such a body of men being dismissed
with doing so little hurt. The Duke of Monmouth's manifesto was long and
ill-penned--full of much black and dull malice.

It charged the King with the burning of London, the popish plot, Godfrey's
murder, and the Earl of Essex's death; and to crown all, it was pretended
that the late King was poisoned by his orders: it was set forth that the
King's religion made him incapable of the crown; that three subsequent
houses of commons had voted his exclusion: the taking away of the old
charters, and all the hard things done in the last reign, were laid to his
charge: the elections of the present parliament were also set forth very
odiously, with great indecency of style; the nation was also appealed to,
when met in a free parliament, to judge of the Duke's own pretensions;[1]
and all sort of liberty, both in temporals and spirituals, was promised to
persons of all persuasions.

[Footnote 1: He asserted that his mother had been the lawful wife of his

Upon the Duke of Monmouth's landing, many of the country people came in to
join him, but very few of the gentry. He had quickly men enough about
him to use all his arms. The Duke of Albemarle, as lord lieutenant of
Devonshire, was sent down to raise the militia, and with them to make head
against him. But their ill-affection appeared very evident; many deserted,
and all were cold in the service. The Duke of Monmouth had the whole
country open to him for almost a fortnight, during which time he was very
diligent in training and animating his men. His own behavior was so
gentle and obliging that he was master of all their hearts as much as
was possible. But he quickly found what it was to be at the head of
undisciplined men, that knew nothing of war, and that were not to be used
with rigor. Soon after their landing, Lord Grey was sent out with a small
party. He saw a few of the militia, and he ran for it; but his men stood,
and the militia ran from them. Lord Grey brought a false alarm, that was
soon found to be so, for the men whom their leader had abandoned came back
in good order. The Duke of Monmouth was struck with this when he found that
the person on whom he depended most, and for whom he designed the command
of the horse, had already made himself infamous by his cowardice. He
intended to join Fletcher with him in that command. But an unhappy accident
made it not convenient to keep him longer about him. He sent him out on
another party, and he, not being yet furnished with a horse, took the horse
of one who had brought in a great body of men from Taunton. He was not in
the way, so Fletcher not seeing him to ask his leave, thought that all
things were to be in common among them that could advance the service.

After Fletcher had ridden about as he was ordered, as he returned, the
owner of the horse he rode on--who was a rough and ill-bred man--reproached
him in very injurious terms for taking out his horse without his leave.
Fletcher bore this longer than could have been expected from one of his
impetuous temper. But the other persisted in giving him foul language, and
offered a switch or a cudgel, upon which he discharged his pistol at him
and shot him dead. He went and gave the Duke of Monmouth an account of
this, who saw it was impossible to keep him longer about him without
disgusting and losing the country people who were coming in a body to
demand justice. So he advised him to go aboard the ship and to sail on to
Spain whither she was bound. By this means he was preserved for that time.

Ferguson ran among the people with all the fury of an enraged man that
affected to pass for an enthusiast, though all his performances that way
were forced and dry. The Duke of Monmouth's great error was that he did not
in the first heat venture on some hardy action and then march either to
Exeter or Bristol; where as he would have found much wealth, so he would
have gained some reputation by it. But he lingered in exercising his men
and stayed too long in the neighborhood of Lyme.

By this means the King had time both to bring troops out of Scotland,
after Argyle was taken, and to send to Holland for the English and Scotch
regiments that were in the service of the states; which the Prince sent
over very readily and offered his own person, and a greater force, if
it were necessary. The King received this with great expressions of
acknowledgment and kindness. It was very visible that he was much
distracted in his thoughts, and that, what appearance of courage soever he
might put on, he was inwardly full of apprehensions and fears. He dare not
accept of the offer of assistance that the French made him; for by that he
would have lost the hearts of the English nation, and he had no mind to be
so much obliged to the Prince of Orange or to let him into his counsels or
affairs. Prince George committed a great error in not asking the command of
the army; for the command, how much soever he might have been bound to the
counsels of others, would have given him some lustre; whereas his staying
at home in such times of danger brought him under much neglect.

The King could not choose worse than he did when he gave the command to
the Earl of Feversham, who was a Frenchman by birth--and nephew to M. de
Turenne. Both his brothers changing religion--though he continued still
a Protestant--made that his religion was not much trusted to. He was an
honest, brave, and good-natured man, but weak to a degree not easy to be
conceived. And he conducted matters so ill that every step he made was like
to prove fatal to the King's service. He had no parties abroad. He got no
intelligence, and was almost surprised and like to be defeated, when he
seemed to be under no apprehension, but was abed without any care or order.
So that if the Duke of Monmouth had got but a very small number of good
soldiers about him, the King's affairs would have fallen into great

The Duke of Monmouth had almost surprised Lord Feversham and all about him
while they were abed. He got in between two bodies, into which the army lay
divided. He now saw his error in lingering so long. He began to want bread,
and to be so straitened that there was a necessity of pushing for a speedy
decision. He was so misled in his march that he lost an hour's time, and
when he came near the army there was an inconsiderable ditch, in the
passing which he lost so much more time that the officers had leisure to
rise and be dressed, now they had the alarm. And they put themselves in
order. Yet the Duke of Monmouth's foot stood longer and fought better than
could have been expected; especially, when the small body of horse they
had, ran upon the first charge, the blame of which was cast on Lord Grey.

The foot being thus forsaken and galled by the cannon, did run at last.
About a thousand of them were killed on the spot, and fifteen hundred were
taken prisoners. Their numbers, when fullest, were between five and six

The Duke of Monmouth left the field[1] too soon for a man of courage who
had such high pretensions; for a few days before he had suffered himself to
be called king, which did him no service, even among those that followed
him. He rode toward Dorsetshire; and when his horse could carry him no
further he changed clothes with a shepherd and went as far as his legs
could carry him, being accompanied only by a German whom he had brought
over with him. At last, when he could go no farther, they lay down in a
field where there was hay and straw, with which they covered themselves,
so that they hoped to lie there unseen till night. Parties went out on all
hands to take prisoners. The shepherd was found by Lord Lumley in the Duke
of Monmouth's clothes. So this put them on his track, and having some dogs
with them, they followed the scent, and came to the place where the German
was first discovered. And he immediately pointed to the place where the
Duke of Monmouth lay. So he was taken in a very indecent dress and posture.

[Footnote 1: This engagement took place at Ledgemoor, Somerset, July 6,

His body was quite sunk with fatigue, and his mind was now so low that he
begged his life in a manner that agreed ill with the courage of the former
parts of it. He called for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote to the Earl of
Feversham, and both to the Queen and the Queen dowager, to intercede with
the King for his life. The King's temper, as well as his interest, made it
so impossible to hope for that, that it showed a great meanness in him
to ask it in such terms as he used in his letters. He was carried up to
Whitehall, where the King examined him in person, which was thought very
indecent, since he was resolved not to pardon him.[1] He made new and
unbecoming submissions, and insinuated a readiness to change his religion;
for, he said, the King knew what his first education was in religion. There
were no discoveries to be got from him; for the attempt was too rash to be
well concerted, or to be so deep laid that many were involved in the guilt
of it. He was examined on Monday, and orders were given for his execution
on Wednesday.

[Footnote 1: The Duke of Monmouth pressed extremely that the King would see
him, whence the King concluded he had something to say to him that he
would tell to nobody else; but when he found it ended in nothing but lower
submission than he either expected or desired, he told him plainly he had
put it out of his power to pardon him by having proclaimed himself king.
Thus may the most innocent actions of a man's life be sometimes turned to
his disadvantage.--ED.]

Turner and Ken, the Bishops of Ely and of Bath and Wells, were ordered
to wait on him. But he called for Dr. Tennison. The bishops studied to
convince him of the sin of rebellion. He answered, he was sorry for the
blood that was shed in it, but he did not seem to repent of the design. Yet
he confessed that his father had often told him that there was no truth in
the reports of his having married his mother. This he set under his hand,
probably for his children's sake, who were then prisoners in the Tower,
that so they might not be ill-used on his account. He showed a great
neglect of his duchess. And her resentments for his course of life with
Lady Wentworth wrought so much on her that she seemed not to have any of
that tenderness left that became her sex and his present circumstances, for
when he desired to speak privately with her she would have witnesses to
hear all that passed, to justify herself, and to preserve her family.
They parted very coldly. He only recommended to her the rearing of their
children in the Protestant religion.

The bishops continued still to press on him a deep sense of the sin of
rebellion; at which he grew so uneasy that he desired them to speak to him
of other matters. They next charged him with the sin of living with Lady
Wentworth, as he had done. In that he justified himself; he had married his
duchess too young to give a true consent; he said that lady was a pious
worthy woman, and that he had never lived so well, in all respects, as
since his engagements with her. All the pains they took to convince him of
the unlawfulness of that course of life had no effect. They did certainly
very well in discharging their consciences and speaking so plainly to him.
But they did very ill to talk so much of this matter and to make it so
public, as they did, for divines ought not to repeat what they say to dying
penitents no more than what the penitents say to them. By this means the
Duke of Monmouth had little satisfaction in them and they had as little in

He was much better pleased with Dr. Tennison, who did very plainly speak to
him with relation to his public actings and to his course of life; but he
did it in a softer and less peremptory manner. And having said all that he
thought proper, he left those points, in which he saw he could not convince
him, to his own conscience, and turned to other things fit to be laid
before a dying man. The Duke begged one day more of life with such repeated
earnestness that as the King was much blamed for denying so small a favor,
so it gave occasion to others to believe that he had some hope from
astrologers that if he outlived that day he might have a better fate. As
long as he fancied there was any hope, he was too much unsettled in his
mind to be capable of anything.

But when he saw all was to no purpose and that he must die he complained a
little that his death was hurried on so fast. But all on a sudden he came
into a composure of mind that surprised those that saw it. There was no
affectation in it. His whole behavior was easy and calm, not without a
decent cheerfulness. He prayed God to forgive all his sins, unknown as well
as known. He seemed confident of the mercies of God, and that he was going
to be happy with him. And he went to the place of execution on Tower Hill
with an air of undisturbed courage that was grave and composed. He said
little there, only that he was sorry for the blood that was shed, but he
had ever meant well to the nation. When he saw the axe he touched it and
said it was not sharp enough. He gave the hangman but half the reward he
intended, and said if he cut off his head cleverly, and not so butcherly as
he did the Lord Russel's, his man would give him the rest.

The executioner was in great disorder, trembling all over; so he gave him
two or three strokes without being able to finish the matter and then flung
the axe out of his hand. But the sheriff forced him to take it up; and at
three or four more strokes he severed his head from his body and both were
presently buried in the chapel of the Tower. Thus lived and died this
unfortunate young man. He had several good qualities in him, and some that
were as bad. He was soft and gentle even to excess and too easy to those
who had credit with him. He was both sincere and good-natured, and
understood war well. But he was too much given to pleasure and to


A.D. 1685


It was one of the glories of Henry of Navarre to end the religious wars of
France by publishing the Edict of Nantes (1598), which placed Catholics and
Protestants on a practically equal footing as subjects. By the revocation
of that edict, in 1685, Louis XIV opened the way for fresh persecution of
the Huguenots. Of the hundreds of thousands whom the King and his agents
then caused to flee the country and seek civil and religious liberty in
other lands, many crossed the sea and settled in the colonies of North
America, especially in South Carolina.

By revoking the Edict of Nantes Louis XIV arrayed against himself all the
Protestant countries of Europe. By seizures of territory he also offended
Catholic states. In 1686 the League of Augsburg combined the greater part
of Europe for resisting his encroachments.

This period of the "Huguenots of the Dispersion" was marked by complicated
strifes in politics, religion, and philosophy. It was one of the most
reactionary epochs in French history. No writer has better depicted the
time, with the severities, atrocities, and effects of the revocation of the
great edict, than Martin, the celebrated historian of his country.

For many years the government of Louis XIV had been acting toward the
Reformation as toward a victim entangled in a noose which is drawn tighter
and tighter till it strangles its prey. In 1683 the oppressed had finally
lost patience, and their partial attempts at resistance, disavowed by the
most distinguished of their brethren, had been stifled in blood. After
the truce of Ratisbon, declarations and decrees hostile to Protestantism
succeeded each other with frightful rapidity; nothing else was seen in the
official gazette. Protestant ministers were prohibited from officiating
longer than three years in the same church (August, 1684); Protestant
individuals were forbidden to give asylum to their sick coreligionists; the
sick who were not treated at home were required to go to the hospitals,
where they were put in the hands of churchmen. A beautiful and touching
request, written by Pastor Claude, was in vain presented to the King
in January, 1685. Each day beheld some Protestant church closed for
contraventions either imaginary or fraudulently fabricated by persecutors.
It was enough that the child of a "convert" or a bastard (all bastards were
reputed Catholic) should enter a Protestant church for the exercise of
worship, to be interdicted there.

If this state of things had continued long, not a single Protestant church
would have been left. The Protestant academy or university of Saumur,
which had formed so many eminent theologians and orators, was closed; the
ministers were subjected to the villein tax for their real estate (January,
1685). The quinquennial assembly of the clergy, held in May, presented to
the King a multitude of new demands against the heretics; among others, for
the establishment of penalties against the "converts" who did not fulfil
their duties as Catholics. The penalty of death, which had been decreed
against emigrants, was commuted into perpetual confinement in the galleys,
by the request of the clergy. The first penalty had been little more than
a threat; the second, which confounded with the vilest miscreants,
unfortunates guilty of having desired to flee from persecution, was to be
applied in the sternest reality! It was extended to Protestants living in
France who should authorize their children to marry foreigners. It was
interdicted to Reformers to follow the occupation of printer or bookseller.
It was forbidden to confer on them degrees in arts, law, or medicine.
Protestant orphans could have only Catholic guardians. Half of the goods
of emigrants was promised to informers. It was forbidden to Reformers to
preach or write against Catholicism (July, August, 1685).

A multitude of Protestant churches had been demolished, and the inhabitants
of places where worship had been suppressed were prohibited from going
to churches in places where it was still permitted. Grave difficulties
resulted with respect to the principal acts of civil life, which, among
Protestants as among Catholics, owed their authenticity only to the
intervention of ministers of religion. A decree in council of September 15,
1685, enacted that, in places deprived of the exercise of worship, a pastor
chosen by the intendant of the generality should celebrate, in the presence
of relatives only, the marriages of Reformers; that their bans should be
published to the congregations, and the registries of their marriages
entered on the rolls of the local court. Similar decrees had been issued
concerning baptisms and burials. Hitherto Protestantism had been struck
right and left with all kinds of weapons, without any very definite method:
these decrees seemed to indicate a definite plan; that is, the suppression
of external worship, with a certain tolerance, at least provisionally, for
conscience, and a kind of civil state separately constituted for obstinate

This plan had, in fact, been debated in council. "The King," wrote Madame
de Maintenon, August 13, 1684, "has it in mind to work for the _entire_
conversion of heretics; he has frequent conferences for this purpose with
M. le Tellier and M. de Chateauneuf (the secretary of state charged with
the affairs of the so-called Reformed religion), in which they wish to
persuade me to take part. M. de Chateauneuf has proposed means that are
unsuitable. Things must not be hastened. _It is necessary to convert, not
to persecute_. M. de Louvois prefers mild measures which do not accord with
his nature and his eagerness to see things ended."

The means proposed by Chateauneuf was apparently the immediate revocation
of the Edict of Nantes, which was judged premature. As to the "mildness" of
Louvois, it was soon seen in operation. Louvois pretended to be moderate,
lest the King, through scruples of humanity, should hesitate to confer on
him the management of the affair. He had his plan ready: it was to recur to
the "salutary constraint" already tried in 1681 by the instrumentality
of soldiers to the Dragonade. Colbert was no longer at hand to interpose
obstacles to this.

Louvois had persuaded the King that in the moral situation of Protestant
communities it would be enough "to show them the troops," to compel them to
abjure. The troops had been "shown," therefore, to the Reformers of Béarn;
the intendant of that province, Foucault, had come to Paris to concert with
the minister the management of the enterprise; Louvois could not have found
a fitter instrument than this pitiless and indefatigable man, who had the
soul of an inquisitor under the garb of a pliant courtier. On his return
from Paris, Foucault, seconded by the Parliament of Pau and the clergy,
began by the demolition, on account of "contraventions," of fifteen out of
twenty Protestant churches that remained in Béarn, and the "conversion" of
eleven hundred persons in two months (February-April, 1685). He then called
for the assistance of the army to complete the work, promising "to keep a
tight rein over the soldiers, so that they should do no violence." This
was for the purpose of allaying the scruples of the King. The troops were
therefore concentrated in the cities and villages filled with Reformers;
the five remaining Protestant churches shared the fate of the rest, and
the pastors were banished, some to a distance of six leagues from their
demolished churches, others beyond the jurisdiction of the Parliament of

Terror flew before the soldiers; as soon as the scarlet uniforms and the
high caps of the dragoons were descried, corporations, whole cities, sent
their submission to the intendant. An almost universal panic chilled all
hearts. The mass of Reformers signed or verbally accepted a confession of
the Catholic faith, suffered themselves to be led to the church, bowed
their heads to the benediction of the bishop or the missionary, and cannon
and bonfires celebrated the "happy reconciliation." Protestants who had
hoped to find a refuge in liberty of conscience without external worship
saw this hope vanish. Foucault paid no attention to the decrees in council
that regulated the baptisms, marriages, and burials of Protestants,
because, he said in a despatch to the minister, "in the present disposition
to general and speedy conversion, this would expose those who waver, and
harden the obstinate." The council issued a new order confirmatory of the
preceding ones, and specially for Béarn. Foucault, according to his
own words, "did not judge proper to execute it." This insolence went
unpunished. Success justified everything. Before the end of August the
twenty-two thousand Protestants of Béarn were "converted," save a few
hundred. Foucault, in his _Memoirs_, in which he exhibits his triumphs with
cynicism, does not, however, avow all the means. Although he confesses that
"the distribution of money drew many souls to the Church," he does not
say how he kept his promise of preventing the "soldiers from doing any
violence." He does not recount the brutalities, the devastations, the
tortures resorted to against the refractory, the outrages to women, nor
how these soldiers took turns from hour to hour to hinder their hosts from
sleeping during entire weeks till these unfortunates, stupefied, delirious,
signed an abjuration.

The King saw only the result. The resolution was taken to send everywhere
these "booted missionaries" who had succeeded so well in Béarn. Louvois
sent, on the part of the King, July 31st, a command to the Marquis de
Boufflers, their general, to lead them into Guienne, and "to quarter them
all on the Reformers"; "observing to endeavor to diminish the number of
Reformers in such a manner that in each community the Catholics shall be
twice or three times more numerous than they; so that when, in due time,
his majesty shall wish no longer to permit the exercise of this religion in
his kingdom, he may no longer have to apprehend that the small number that
shall remain can undertake anything." The troops were to be withdrawn as
fast as this object should be obtained in each place, without undertaking
to convert all at once. The ministers should be driven out of the country,
and by no means should they be retained by force; the pastors absent, the
flocks could more easily be brought to reason. The soldiers were to commit
"no other disorders than to levy (daily) twenty sous for each horseman or
dragoon, and ten sous for each foot-soldier." Excesses were to be severely
punished. Louvois, in another letter, warned the general not to yield to
all the suggestions of the ecclesiastics, nor even of the intendants. They
did not calculate on being able to proceed so rapidly as in Béarn.

These instructions show precisely, not what was done, but what the King
wished should be done. The subalterns, sure of immunity in case of success,
acted more in accordance with the spirit of Louvois than according to the
words dictated by Louis. The King, when by chance he heard that his orders
had been transcended, rarely chastised the transgressor, lest it might be
"said to the Reformers that his majesty disapproves of whatsoever has been
done to convert them." Louis XIV, therefore, cannot repudiate, before
history, his share of this terrible responsibility.

The result exceeded the hopes of the King and of Louvois. Guienne yielded
as easily as Béarn. The Church of Montauban, the head-quarters of the
Reformation in this region, was "reunited" in great majority, after several
days of military vexations; Bergerac held out a little longer; then all
collective resistance ceased. The cities and villages, for ten or twelve
leagues around, sent to the military leaders their promises of abjuration.
In three weeks there were sixty thousand conversions in the district of
Bordeaux or Lower Guienne, twenty thousand in that of Montauban or Upper
Guienne. According to the reports of Boufflers, Louvois, September 7th,
reckoned that before the end of the month there would not remain in Lower
Guienne ten thousand Reformers out of the one hundred fifty thousand found
there August 15th. "There is not a courier," wrote Madame de Maintenon,
September 26th, "that does not bring the King great causes of joy; to wit,
news of conversions by thousands." The only resistance that they deigned to
notice here and there was that of certain provincial gentlemen, of simple
and rigid habits, less disposed than the court nobility to sacrifice their
faith to interest and vanity.

Guienne subjected, the army of Béarn was marched, a part into Limousin,
Saintonge, and Poitou, a part into Languedoc. Poitou, already "dragooned"
in 1681 by the intendant Marillac, had just been so well labored with by
Marillac's successor, Lamoignon de Basville, aided by some troops, that
Foucault, sent from Béarn into Poitou, found nothing more to glean. The
King even caused Louvois to recommend that they should not undertake to
convert all the Reformers at once, lest the rich and powerful families, who
had in their hands the commerce of those regions, should avail themselves
of the proximity of the sea to take flight (September 8th). Basville, a
great administrator, but harshly inflexible, was sent from Poitou into
Lower Languedoc, in the first part of September, in order to coöperate
there with the Duke de Noailles, governor of the province. The intendant of
Lower Languedoc, D'Aguesseau, although he had zealously coöperated in all
the restrictive measures of the Reformed worship, had asked for his recall
as soon as he had seen that the King was determined on the employment of
military force; convinced that this determination would not be less fatal
to religion than to the country, he retired, broken-hearted, his spirit
troubled for the future.

The conversion of Languedoc seemed a great undertaking. The mass of
Protestants, nearly all concentrated in Lower Languedoc, and in the
mountainous regions adjoining, was estimated at more than two hundred forty
thousand souls; these people, more ardent, more constant than the mobile
and sceptical Gascons, did not seem capable of so easily abandoning
their belief. The result, however, was the same as elsewhere. Nîmes and
Montpellier followed the example of Montauban. The quartering of a hundred
soldiers in their houses quickly reduced the notables of Nîmes; in this
diocese alone, the principal centre of Protestantism, sixty thousand souls
abjured in three days. Several of the leading ministers did the same. From
Nîmes the Duc de Noailles led the troops into the mountains. Cévennes and
Gevaudan submitted to invasion like the rest, as the armed mission advanced
from valley to valley. These cantons were still under the terror of the
sanguinary repressions of 1683, and had been disarmed, as far as it was
possible, as well as all Lower Languedoc. Noailles, in the earlier part of
October, wrote to Louvois that he would answer "upon his head" that, before
the end of November, the province would contain no more Huguenots. If we
are to believe his letters, prepared for the eyes of the King, everything
must have taken place "with all possible wisdom and discipline"; but the
Chancellor d'Aguesseau, in the "life" of his father, the intendant, teaches
us what we are to think of it. "The manner in which this miracle was
wrought," he says, "the singular facts that were recounted to us day by
day, would have sufficed to pierce a heart less religious than that of my
father!" Noailles himself, in a confidential letter, announced to Louvois
that he would ere long send "some capable men to answer about any matters
which he desired to know, and about which he could not write." There was
a half tacit understanding established between the minister, the military
chiefs, and the intendants. The King, in their opinion, desired the end
without sufficiently desiring the means.

Dauphiny, Limousin, La Rochelle, that holy Zion of the Huguenots, all
yielded at the same time. Louis was intoxicated. It had sufficed for him
to say a word, to lay his hand upon the hilt of his sword, to make those
fierce Huguenots, who had formerly worn out so many armies, and had forced
so many kings to capitulate before their rebellions, fall at his feet and
the feet of the Church. Who would henceforth dare to doubt his divine
mission and his infallible genius!

Not that Louis, nor especially those that surrounded him, precisely
believed that terror produced the effects of _grace_, or that these
innumerable conversions were sincere; but they saw in this the extinction
of all strong conviction among the heretics, the moral exhaustion of an
expiring sect. "The children at least will be Catholics, if the fathers
are hypocrites," wrote Madame de Maintenon. At present it was necessary to
complete the work and to prevent dangerous relapses in these subjugated
multitudes. It was necessary to put to flight as quickly as possible the
"false pastors" who might again lead their old flocks astray, and to make
the law conform to the fact, by solemnly revoking the concessions formerly
wrung by powerful and armed heresy from the feebleness of the ruling power.
Louis had long preserved some scruples about the violation of engagements
entered into by his grandfather Henry IV; but his last doubts had been
set at rest, several months since, by a "special council of conscience,"
composed of two theologians and two jurisconsults, who had decided that he
might and should revoke the Edict of Nantes. The names of the men who took
upon themselves the consequences of such a decision have remained unknown:
doubtless the confessor La Chaise was one of the theologians; who was the
other? The Archbishop of Paris, Harlai, was not, perhaps, in sufficient
esteem, on account of his habits. The great name of the Bishop of Meaux
naturally presents itself to the mind; but neither the correspondence of
Bossuet nor the documents relating to his life throw any light on this
subject, and we know not whether a direct and material responsibility must
be added to the moral responsibility with which the maxims of Bossuet and
the spirit of his works burden his memory.

After the "council of conscience," the council of the King was convened
for a definitive deliberation in the earlier part of October. Some of the
ministers, apparently the two Colberts, Seignelai, and Croissi, insinuated
that it would be better not to be precipitate. The Dauphin, a young prince
of twenty-four, who resembled, in his undefined character, his grandfather
more than his father, and who was destined to remain always as it were lost
in the splendid halo of Louis the Great, attempted an intervention that
deserves to rescue his name from oblivion. "He represented, from an
anonymous memorial that had been addressed to him the evening before, that
it was, perhaps, to be apprehended that the Huguenots might take up arms;"
"that in case they did not dare to do this, a great number would leave the
kingdom, which would injure commerce and agriculture, and thereby even
weaken the state." The King replied that he had foreseen all and provided
for all, that nothing in the world would be more painful to him than to
shed a drop of the blood of his subjects, but that he had armies and good
generals whom he would employ, in case of necessity, against rebels who
desired their own destruction. As to the argument of interest, he judged
it little worthy of consideration, compared with the advantages of an
undertaking that would restore to religion its splendor, to the state its
tranquillity, and to authority all its rights. The suppression of the Edict
of Nantes was resolved upon without further opposition.

Father la Chaise and Louvois, according to their ecclesiastical and
military correspondence, had promised that it should not even cost the drop
of blood of which the King spoke. The aged Chancellor le Tellier, already
a prey to the malady that was to bring him to his grave, drew up with
trembling hand the fatal declaration, which the King signed October 17th.

Louis professed in this preamble to do nothing but continue the pious
designs of his grandfather and his father for the reunion of their subjects
to the Church. He spoke of the "perpetual and irrevocable" edict of Henry
IV as a temporary regulation. "Our cares," he said, "since the truce that
we facilitated for this purpose, have had the effect that we proposed to
ourselves, since the better and the greater part of our subjects of the
so-called Reformed religion have embraced the Catholic; and inasmuch as by
reason of this the execution of the Edict of Nantes" "remains useless, we
have judged that we could not do better, in order wholly to efface the
memory of evils that this false religion had caused in our kingdom, than
entirely to revoke the said Edict of Nantes and all that has been done
since in favor of the said religion."

The order followed to demolish unceasingly all the churches of the said
religion situated in the kingdom. It was forbidden to assemble for the
exercise of the said religion, in any place, private house or tenement,
under penalty of confiscation of body and goods. All ministers of the said
religion who would not be converted were enjoined to leave the kingdom in a
fortnight, and divers favors were granted to those who should be converted.
Private schools for instruction of children in the said religion were
interdicted. Children who should be born to those of the said religion
should for the future be baptized by the parish curates, under penalty of a
fine of five hundred livres, and still more, if there were occasion, to
be paid by the parents, and the children should then be brought up in the
Catholic religion. A delay of four months was granted to fugitive Reformers
to leave the kingdom and recover possession of their property; this delay
passed, the property should remain confiscated. It was forbidden anew to
Reformers to leave the kingdom, under penalty of the galleys for men,
and confiscation of body and goods for women. The declarations against
backsliders were confirmed.

A last article, probably obtained by the representations of the Colberts,
declared that the Reformers, "till it should please God to enlighten them
like others, should be permitted to dwell in the kingdom, in strict loyalty
to the King, to continue there their commerce and enjoy their goods,
without being molested or hindered under pretext of the said religion."

The Edict of Revocation was sent in haste to the governors and intendants,
without waiting for it to be registered, which took place in the Parliament
of Paris, October 22d. The intendants were instructed not to allow the
ministers who should abandon the country to dispose of their real estate,
or to take with them their children above seven years of age: a monstrous
dismemberment of the family wrought by an arbitrary will that recognized
neither natural nor civil rights! The King recommended a milder course
toward noblemen, merchants, and manufacturers; he did not desire that
obstinacy should be shown "in compelling them to be converted immediately
without exception" "by any considerable violence."

The tone of the ministerial instructions changed quickly on the reception
of despatches announcing the effect of the edict in the provinces. This
effect teaches us more in regard to the situation of the dragooned people
than could the most sinister narratives. The edict which proscribed the
Reformed worship, which interdicted the perpetuation of the Protestant
religion by tearing from it infants at their birth, was received as a boon
by Protestants who remained faithful to their belief. They saw, in the
last article of the edict, the end of persecution, and, proud of having
weathered the storm, they claimed the tolerance that the King promised
them, and the removal of their executioners. The new converts, who,
persuaded that the King desired to force all his subjects to profess
his religion, had yielded through surprise, fear, want of constancy in
suffering, or through a worthier motive, the desire of saving their
families from the license of the soldiers, manifested their regret and
their remorse, and were no longer willing to go to mass.

All the leaders of the dragonades, the Noailles, the Foucaults, the
Basvilles, the Marillacs, complained bitterly of a measure that was useless
to them as to the demolition of Protestant churches and the prohibition of
worship, and very injurious as to the progress of conversions. They had
counted on rooting out the worship by converting all the believers. The
revocation of the Edict of Nantes sinned, therefore, in their eyes by
excess of moderation! Louvois hastened to reassure them in this respect,
and authorized them to act as if the last article of the edict did not
exist. "His majesty," he said, "desires that the extremest rigors of the
law should be felt by those who will not make themselves of his religion,
and those who shall have the foolish glory of wishing to remain the
last must be pushed to the last extremity." "Let the soldiers," he said
elsewhere, "be allowed to live very licentiously!" (November, 1685).

The King, however, did not mean it thus, and claimed that persecution
should be conducted with method and gravity. But men do not stop at
pleasure in evil: one abyss draws on another. The way had been opened to
brutal and cynical passions, to the spirit of denunciation, to low and
mean fanaticism; the infamies with which the subaltern agents polluted
themselves recoiled upon the chiefs who did not repress them, and on this
proud government that did not blush to add to the odium of persecution the
shame of faithlessness! The chiefs of the dragonades judged it necessary to
restrain the bad converts by making example of the obstinate; hence arose
an inundation of horrors in which we see, as Saint Simon says, "the
orthodox imitating against heretics the acts of pagan tyrants against
confessors and martyrs." Everything, in fact, was allowed the soldiers
but rape and murder; and even this restriction was not always respected;
besides, many of the unfortunate died or were maimed for life in
consequence of the treatment to which they had been subjected; and the
obscene tortures inflicted on women differed little from the last outrage,
but in a perversity more refined.

All the diabolic inventions of the highwaymen of the Middle Ages to extort
gold from their captives were renewed here and there to secure conversions:
the feet of the victims were scorched, they were strappadoed, suspended by
the feet; young mothers were tied to the bedposts, while their infants at
the breast were writhing with hunger before their eyes. "From torture to
abjuration, and from this to communion, there was often not twenty-four
hours' distance, and their executioners were their guides and witnesses.
Nearly all the bishops lent themselves to this sudden and impious
practice." Among the Reformed whom nothing could shake, those who
encouraged others to resistance by the influence of their character or
social position were sent to the Bastille or other state prisons; some were
entombed in subterranean dungeons--in those dark pits, stifling or deadly
cold, invented by feudal barbarism. The remains of animals in a state of
putrefaction were sometimes thrown in after them, to redouble the horror!
The hospital of Valence and the tower of Constance at Aigues-Mortes have
preserved, in Protestant martyrology, a frightful renown. The women usually
showing themselves more steadfast than the men, the most obstinate were
shut up in convents; infamous acts took place there; yet they were rare. It
must be said to the honor of the sex, often too facile to the suggestions
of fanaticism, that the nuns showed much more humanity and true religion
than the priests and monks. Astonished to see Huguenot women so different
from the idea they had formed of them, they almost became the protectors of
victims that had been given them to torment.

The abduction of children put the final seal to the persecution. The Edict
of Revocation had only declared that children subsequently born should be
brought up in the Catholic religion. An edict of January, 1686, prescribed
that children from five to sixteen years of age should be taken from their
heretical relatives and put in the hands of Catholic relatives, or, if they
had none, of Catholics designated by the judges! The crimes that we have
just indicated might, in strictness, be attributed to the passions of
subaltern agents; but this mighty outrage against the family and nature
must be charged to the Government alone.

With the revocation, the dragonade was extended, two places partially
excepted, over all France. When the great harvest had been sufficiently
gathered in the South and West, the reapers were sent elsewhere. The
battalions of converters marched from province to province till they
reached the northern frontier, carrying everywhere the same terror. Metz,
where the Protestants were numerous, was particularly the theatre of
abominable excesses. Paris and Alsace were alone, to a certain extent,
preserved. Louvois did not dare to show such spectacles to the society of
Versailles and Paris; the King would not have endured it. The people of
Paris demolished the Protestant church of Charenton, an object of their
ancient animosity; the ruling power weighed heavily upon the eight or nine
thousand Huguenots who remained in the capital, and constrained two-thirds
of them, by intimidation, to a feigned conversion; but there were no
striking acts of violence, except perhaps the banishment of thirty elders
of the consistory to different parts of the kingdom, and the soldiers did
not make their appearance. The lieutenant of police, La Reinie, took care
to reassure the leading merchants, and the last article of the Edict of
Revocation was very nearly observed in Paris and its environs. As to
Lutheran Alsace, it had nothing in common with the system of the Edict
of Nantes and the French Calvinists: the Treaty of Westphalia, the
capitulation of Strasburg, all the acts that bound it to France, guaranteed
to it a separate religious state. An attempt was indeed made to encroach
upon Lutheranism by every means of influence and by a system of petty
annoyances; but direct attacks were limited to a suppression of public
worship in places where the population was two-thirds Catholic. The
political events that soon disturbed Europe compelled the French Government
to be circumspect toward the people of this recently conquered frontier.

The converters indemnified themselves at the expense of another frontier
population, that was not dependent on France. The Vaudois, the first
offspring of the Reformation, had always kept possession of the high
Alpine valleys, on the confines of Piedmont and Dauphiny, in spite of the
persecutions that they had repeatedly endured from the governments of
France and Piedmont. The Piedmontese Vaudois had their Edict of Nantes;
that is, liberty of worship in the three valleys of St. Martin, La Luzerne,
and La Perouse. When the dragonade invaded Dauphiny, the Vaudois about
Briançon and Pignerol took refuge in crowds with their brethren in the
valleys subject to Piedmont. The French Government was unwilling to suffer
them to remain in this asylum. The Duke Victor Amadeus II enjoined the
refugees to quit his territory (November 4th). The order was imperfectly
executed, and Louis XIV demanded more. The Duke, by an edict of February 1,
1686, prohibited the exercise of heretical worship, and ordered the
schools to be closed under penalty of death. The _barbes_ (ministers),
schoolmasters, and French refugees were to leave the states of the Duke in
a fortnight, under the same penalty. The Vaudois responded by taking up
arms, without reflecting on the immense force of their oppressors. The
three valleys were assailed at the same time by French and Piedmontese
troops. The French were commanded by the governor of Casale, Catinat, a man
of noble heart, an elevated and philosophic mind, who deplored his fatal
mission, and attempted to negotiate with the insurgents, but Catinat could
neither persuade to submission these men resolved to perish rather than
renounce their faith, nor restrain the fury of his soldiers exasperated by
the vigor of the resistance. The valleys of St. Martin and La Perouse were
captured, and the victors committed frightful barbarities. Meanwhile
the Piedmontese, after having induced the mountaineers, who guarded the
entrance of the valley of La Luzerne, to lay down their arms, by false
promises, slaughtered three thousand women, children, and old men at
the Pré de la Tour! The remotest recesses of the Alps were searched; a
multitude of unfortunates were exterminated singly: more than ten thousand
were dragged as prisoners to the fortresses of Piedmont, where most of them
died of want. A handful of the bravest succeeding in maintaining themselves
among the rocks, where they could not be captured, and, protected by the
intervention of Protestant powers, and especially of the Swiss, finally
obtained liberty to emigrate, both for themselves and their coreligionists.

There has often been seen in history much greater bloodshed than that
caused by the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, scenes of destruction
planned more directly and on a vaster scale by governments, and sometimes
the same contrast between an advanced state of civilization and acts of
barbarity; but no spectacle wounds moral sense and humanity to the same
degree as this persecution carried on coldly and according to abstract
ideas, without the excuse of struggle and danger, without the ardent fever
of battle and revolution. The very virtues of the persecutors are here
but an additional monstrosity: doubtless, there is also seen, at a later
period, among the authors of another reign of terror, this same contrast
that astounds and troubles the conscience of posterity; but they, at least,
staked each day their own lives against the lives of their adversaries,
and, with their lives, the very existence of the country involved in their

A million and a half of Frenchmen were in terror and despair; yet songs of
victory resounded around Louis the Great. The aged Le Tellier lifted to
heaven the hand that had just signed the Revocation, and parodied, on the
occasion of an edict that recalls the times of Decius and Diocletian,
the canticle by which Simeon hailed the birth of the Redeemer. He died
a fanatic, after having lived a cold and astute politician (October 31,
1685); he died, and the most eloquent voices of the Gallican Church broke
forth in triumphal hymns, as over the tomb of a victorious hero! "Let us
publish this miracle of our days," exclaimed Bossuet, in that funeral
oration of Le Tellier, wherein he nevertheless exhibited apprehensions of
new combats and of a sombre future for the Church; "let us pour forth our
hearts in praise of the piety of Louis; let us lift our acclamations to
heaven, and let us say to this new Constantine, to this new Theodosius, to
this new Marcianus, to this new Charlemagne: 'You have strengthened the
faith, you have exterminated the heretics; this is the meritorious work of
your reign, its peculiar characteristic. Through you heresy is no more: God
alone could have wrought this wonder.'" The gentle Fléchier himself echoed
Bossuet, with the whole corps of the clergy with the great mass of the
people. Paris and Versailles, that did not witness the horror of the
details, that saw only the general prestige and the victory of unity, were
deaf to the doleful reports that came from the provinces, and applauded the
"new Constantine."

"This is the grandest and finest thing that ever was conceived and
accomplished," wrote Madame de Sévigné. All the corporations, courts of
justice, academies, universities, municipal bodies, vied with each other in
every species of laudatory allusion; medals represented the King crowned
by Religion "for having brought back to the Church two millions of
Calvinists"; the number of victims was swollen in order to swell the glory
of the persecutor. Statues were erected to the "destroyer of heresy." This
concert of felicitations was prolonged for years; the influence of example,
the habit of admiring, wrung eulogies even from minds that, it would seem,
ought to have remained strangers to this fascination; every writer thought
he must pay his tribute; even La Bruyere, that sagacious observer and
excellent writer, whose acute and profound studies of manners appeared in
1687; and La Fontaine himself, the poet of free-thought and of universal
freedom of action.

The Government redoubled its rigor. The penalty of death was decreed
against ministers reëntering the kingdom without permission, and the
galleys against whomsoever should give them asylum; penalty of death
against whomsoever should take part in a meeting (July 1, 1686). And this
penalty was not simply a dead letter! Whenever the soldiers succeeded in
surprising Protestants assembled for prayer in any solitary place, they
first announced their presence by a volley; those who escaped the bullet
and the sword were sent to the gallows or the galleys. Measures almost as
severe were employed to arrest emigration. Seamen were forbidden to aid the
Reformers to escape under penalty of a fine for the first offence, and of
corporal punishment for a second offence (November 5, 1685). They went
further: ere long, whoever aided the flight of emigrants became liable to
the galleys for life, like emigrants themselves (May 7, 1686). Armed barks
cruised along all the coasts; all the passes of the frontier were guarded;
the peasants everywhere had orders to rush upon the fugitives. Some of the
emigrants perished in attempting to force an exit; a host of others
was brought back manacled; they dared not place them all under the
galley-master's lash; they feared the effects of their despair and of their
numbers, if they should mass them in the royal galleys; they crowded the
prisons with those who were unwilling to purchase pardon by abjuration. The
misfortunes of the first emigrants served to render their coreligionists,
not more timid, but more adroit; a multitude of pilgrims, of mendicants
dragging their children after them, of nomadic artisans of both sexes
and of all trades, incessantly took their way toward all the frontiers;
innumerable disguises thus protected the "flight of Israel out of Egypt."
Reformers selected the darkest winter nights to embark, in frail open
boats, on the Atlantic or stormy Channel; the waves were seen to cast upon
the shores of England families long tossed by tempests and dying with cold
and hunger.

By degrees, the guards stationed along the shores and the frontiers were
touched or seduced, and became saviors and guides to fugitives whom they
were set to arrest. Then perpetual confinement in the galleys was no longer
sufficient against the accomplices of the _desertes_; for the galleys an
edict substituted death; death, which fell not upon those guilty of the
pretended crime of desertion, was promised to their abettors (October
12, 1687). Some were given up to capital punishment; many, nevertheless,
continued their perilous assistance to emigrants, and few betrayed them.
Those Reformers whom the authority wished most to retain in the kingdom,
the noblemen, the rich citizens, manufacturers, and merchants, were those
who escaped easiest, being best able to pay for the interested compassion
of the guards. It is said that the fugitives carried out of France sixty
millions in five years. However this may be, the loss of men was much more
to be regretted than the loss of money. The vital energy of France did
not cease for many years to ooze away through this ever-open ulcer of

It is difficult to estimate, even approximately, the number of Protestants
who abandoned their country, become to them a barbarous mother. Vauban
estimated it at a hundred thousand, from 1684 to 1691. Benoit, the
Calvinist historian of the Edict of Nantes, who published his book in 1695,
estimates it at two hundred thousand; the illustrious refugee Basnage
speaks vaguely of three or four hundred thousand. Others give figures much
more exaggerated, while the Duke of Burgundy, in the memoir that we have
cited above, reduces the emigration to less than sixty-eight thousand
souls in the course of twenty years; but the truly inconceivable illusions
preserved by this young prince, concerning the moral and political results
of the Revocation, do not allow us to put confidence in his testimony;
he was deceived, took pleasure in being deceived, and closed his ear to
whomsoever desired to undeceive him. The amount from two hundred thousand
to two hundred fifty thousand, from the Revocation to the commencement
of the following century, that is, to the revolt of Cévennes, seems most
probable. But it is not so much by the quantity as by the quality of
the emigrants that the real loss of France must be measured. France was
incomparably more weakened than if two hundred thousand citizens had been
taken at hazard from the Catholic mass of the nation. The Protestants were
very superior, on the average, if not to the Catholic middle class of Paris
and the principal centres of French civilization, at least to the mass of
the people, and the emigrants were the best of the Protestants. A multitude
of useful men, among them many superior men, left a frightful void in
France, and went to swell the forces of Protestant nations. France declined
both by what she lost and what her rivals gained. Before 1689 nine thousand
sailors, the best in the kingdom, as Vauban says, twelve thousand soldiers,
six hundred officers, had gone to foreign countries.

The most skilful chiefs and agents of contemporaneous industry went in
multitudes to settle in foreign lands. Industrial capacities, less striking
than literary capacities, inflicted losses on France still more felt and
less reparable. France was rich enough in literary glory to lose much
without being impoverished; such was not the case with respect to industry;
France was to descend in a few years, almost in a few months, from that
economical supremacy which had been conquered for her by long efforts of a
protective administration; populous cities beheld the branches of commerce
that constituted their prosperity rapidly sinking, by the disappearance of
the principal industrial families, and these branches taking root on the
other side of the frontiers. Thus fell, never to rise again, the Norman
hat trade--already suffering on account of regulations that fettered the
Canadian fur trade. Other branches, in great number, did not disappear
entirely, but witnessed the rise of a formidable competition in foreign
lands, where they had hitherto remained unknown; these were so many outlets
closed, so many markets lost for our exportation, lately so flourishing.
A suburb of London (Spitalfields) was peopled with our workmen in silk,
emigrated from Lyons and Touraine, which lost three-fourths of their looms;
the manufacture of French silk was also established in Holland, with
paper-making, cloth manufacture, etc. Many branches of industry were
transplanted to Brandenburg, and twenty thousand Frenchmen carried the most
refined arts of civilization to the coarse population thinly scattered
among the sands and firs of that sombre region. French refugees paid for
the hospitality of the Elector Frederick by laying the foundation of the
high destinies of Berlin, which on their arrival was still but a small city
of twelve or fifteen thousand souls, and which, thenceforth, took a start
which nothing was to arrest. Like the Hebrews after the fall of Jerusalem,
the Huguenot exiles scattered themselves over the entire world: some went
to Ireland, carrying the cultivation of flax and hemp; others, led by a
nephew of Duquesne, founded a small colony at the Cape of Good Hope.

France was impoverished, not only in Frenchmen who exiled themselves,
but in those, much more numerous, who remained in spite of themselves,
discouraged, ruined, whether they openly resisted persecution or suffered
some external observances of Catholicism to be wrung from them, all having
neither energy in work nor security in life; it was really the activity
of more than a million of men that France lost, and of the million that
produced most.

The great enterprise, the miracle of the reign, therefore miscarried; the
new temple that Louis had pretended to erect to unity fell to ruin as
it rose from the ground, and left only an open chasm in place of its
foundation. Everything that had been undertaken by the governing power of
France for a century in the direction of national, civil, and territorial
unity had gloriously succeeded; as soon as the governing power left this
legitimate field of unity to invade the domain of conscience and of human
individuality, it raised before itself insurmountable obstacles; it
concerned itself in contests wherein it was equally fatal to conquer or
be conquered, and gave the first blow to the greatness of France. What a
contrast between the pretensions of Louis that he could neither be mistaken
nor deceived, that he saw everything, that he accomplished everything, and
the illusions with which he was surrounded in regard to the facility of
success and the means employed! The nothingness of absolute power, and of
government by one alone, was thus revealed under the reign of the "Great



A.D. 1688



With the accession of William and Mary to the throne of England not only
did the Stuart line come to an end, but the Protestant religion was finally
established in the kingdom. By the Declaration of Right, upon which their
title rested, it was decreed that after the death of William and Mary no
person holding the Roman Catholic faith should ever be king or queen of
England. Assumption of the throne by a Roman Catholic should release the
people from their allegiance.

William III (William of Orange) was a nephew of James II. He had greatly
distinguished himself as leader of the Dutch against the invasions of Louis
XIV, when the English people, tired of the tyranny of James II, and also
fearing that he might be succeeded by a Catholic, decided to choose a
Protestant for their sovereign. William was married (1677) to Mary, eldest
child of James II. Could they have been sure that she would succeed her
father, the English people would gladly have had Mary for their sole ruler,
though European interests demanded the elevation to larger power of
the Prince of Orange as the great antagonist of Louis XIV. William was
accordingly invited to take possession of the English throne conjointly
with Mary. The Prince of Orange landed at Torbay, November 5, 1688.

This revolution, one of the least violent in all history, is best described
by Bishop Burnet, who accompanied William of Orange from Holland to
England, and in 1689 was made Bishop of Salisbury. He is not less eminent
as the historian of his time than as a theologian and prelate of the
English Church.

Having made his preparations for sailing, William was annoyed by many
delays occasioned by the hesitation of his subordinates. Traill's account
of the convention which William summoned for settlement of the crown, gives
in a wholly modern way the particulars of the formal accession of William
and Mary.


All this while the men-of-war were still riding at sea, it being a
continued storm for some weeks. The Prince[1] sent out several advice-boats
with orders to them to come in. But they could not come up to them. On
October 27th there was for six hours together a most dreadful storm; so
that there were few among us that did not conclude that the best part of
the fleet, and by consequence that the whole design, were lost. Many that
have passed for heroes yet showed then the agonies of fear in their looks
and whole deportment. The Prince still retained his usual calmness, and
the same tranquillity of spirit that I had observed in him in his happiest
days. On the 28th it calmed a little, and our fleet came all in, to our
great joy. The rudder of one third-rate was broken; and that was all the
hurt that the storm had done. At last the much-longed-for east wind came.
And so hard a thing it was to set so vast a body in motion that two days of
this wind were lost before all could be quite ready.

[Footnote 1: William of Orange.]

On November 1 (O.S.), we sailed out with the evening tide, but made little
way that night, that so our fleet might come out and move in order. We
tried next day till noon if it were possible to sail northward, but the
wind was so strong and full in the east that we could not move that way.
About noon the signal was given to steer westward. This wind not only
diverted us from that unhappy course, but it kept the English fleet in the
river; so that it was not possible for them to come out, though they were
come down as far as to the Gunfleet. By this means we had the sea open to
us, with a fair wind and a safe navigation. On the 3d we passed between
Dover and Calais, and before night came in sight of the Isle of Wight. The
next day, being the day in which the Prince was both born and married, he
fancied if he could land that day it would look auspicious to the army and
animate the soldiers. But we all, who considered that the day following,
being gunpowder-treason day, our landing that day might have a good effect
on the minds of the English nation, were better pleased to see that we
could land no sooner.

Torbay was thought the best place for our great fleet to lie in, and it was
resolved to land the army where it could be best done near it; reckoning
that being at such a distance from London we could provide ourselves with
horses, and put everything in order before the King could march his army
toward us, and that we should lie some time at Exeter for the refreshing of
our men. I was in the ship, with the Prince's other domestics, that went
in the van of the whole fleet. At noon on the 4th, Russel came on board us
with the best of all the English pilots that they had brought over. He gave
him the steering of the ship, and ordered him to be sure to sail so that
next morning we should be short of Dartmouth; for it was intended that some
of the ships should land there, and that the rest should sail into Torbay.
The pilot thought he could not be mistaken in measuring our course, and
believed that he certainly kept within orders, till the morning showed us
we were past Torbay and Dartmouth. The wind, though it had abated much
of its first violence, was yet still full in the east; so now it seemed
necessary for us to sail on to Plymouth, which must have engaged us in a
long and tedious campaign in winter through a very ill country.

Nor were we sure to be received at Plymouth. The Earl of Bath, who was
governor, had sent by Russel a promise to the Prince to come and join him;
yet it was not likely that he would be so forward as to receive us at our
first coming. The delays he made afterward, pretending that he was managing
the garrison, whereas he was indeed staying till he saw how the matter was
likely to be decided, showed us how fatal it had proved, if we had been
forced to sail on to Plymouth. But while Russel was in no small disorder,
after he saw the pilot's error (upon which he bade me go to my prayers, for
all was lost), and as he was ordering the boat to be cleared to go aboard
the Prince, on a sudden, to all our wonder, it calmed a little. And then
the wind turned into the south, and a soft and happy gale of wind carried
in the whole fleet in four hours' time into Torbay. Immediately as many
landed as conveniently could. As soon as the Prince and Marshal Schomberg
got to shore, they were furnished with such horses as the village of
Broxholme could afford, and rode up to view the grounds, which they found
as convenient as could be imagined for the foot in that season. It was not
a cold night; otherwise the soldiers, who had been kept warm aboard, might
have suffered much by it.

As soon as I landed, I made what haste I could to the place where the
Prince was; who took me heartily by the hand, and asked me if I would
not now believe in predestination. I told him I would never forget that
providence of God which had appeared so signally on this occasion.[1] He
was cheerfuller than ordinary. Yet he returned soon to his usual gravity.
The Prince sent for all the fishermen of the place and asked them which was
the properest place for landing his horse, which all apprehended would be a
tedious business and might hold some days. But next morning he was showed
a place, a quarter of a mile below the village, where the ships could be
brought very near the land, against a good shore, and the horses would
not be put to swim above twenty yards. This proved to be so happy for our
landing, though we came to it by mere accident, that if we had ordered the
whole island round to be sounded we could not have found a properer place
for it. There was a dead calm all that morning; and in three hours' time
all our horse were landed, with as much baggage as was necessary till
we got to Exeter. The artillery and heavy baggage were left aboard, and
ordered to Topsham, the seaport to Exeter. All that belonged to us was so
soon and so happily landed that by the next day at noon we were in full
march, and marched four miles that night. We had from thence twenty miles
to Exeter, and we resolved to make haste thither.

[Footnote 1: Light is thrown on this passage by the following curious
account given in M'Cormick's _Life of Carstares_: "Mr. Carstares set out
along with his highness in quality of his domestic chaplain, and went
aboard of his own ship. It is well known that, upon their first setting out
from the coast of Holland, the fleet was in imminent danger by a violent
tempest, which obliged them to put back for a few days. Upon that occasion,
the vessel which carried the Prince and his retinue narrowly escaped
shipwreck, a circumstance which some who were around his person were
disposed to interpret into a bad omen of their success. Among these, Dr.
Burnet happening to observe that it seemed predestined that they should not
set foot on English ground, the Prince said nothing; but, upon stepping
ashore at Torbay, in the hearing of Mr. Carstares, he turned about to Dr.
Burnet, and asked him what he thought of the doctrine of predestination
now?" Cunningham, according to the translation of the Latin MS. of his
_History of England_, says that "Dr. Burnet, who understood but little
of military affairs, asked the Prince of Orange which way he intended to
march, and when? and desired to be employed by him in whatever service
he should think fit. The Prince only asked what he now thought of
predestination? and advised, if he had a mind to be busy, to consult the
canons." The Bishop omits mentioning the proximate cause of the Prince's
question, and says nothing about his declining the offer of his services,
which indeed it is not likely that he did, at least so uncivilly.]

But as we were now happily landed, and marching, we saw new and
unthought-of characters of a favorable providence of God watching over us.
We had no sooner got thus disengaged from our fleet than a new and great
storm blew from the west; from which our fleet, being covered by the land,
could receive no prejudice; but the King's fleet had got out as the wind
calmed, and in pursuit of us was come as far as the Isle of Wight, when
this contrary wind turned upon them. They tried what they could to pursue
us; but they were so shattered by some days of this storm that they were
forced to go into Portsmouth, and were no more fit for service that year.
This was a greater happiness than we were then aware of: for Lord Dartmouth
assured me some time after, that, whatever stories we had heard and
believed, either of officers or seamen, he was confident they would all
have fought very heartily. But now, by the immediate hand of Heaven, we
were masters of the sea without a blow. I never found a disposition to
superstition in my temper: I was rather inclined to be philosophical upon
all occasions; yet I must confess that this strange ordering of the winds

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