and seasons just to change as our affairs required it, could not but make a deep impression on me as well as on all that observed it. Those famous verses of Claudian seemed to be more applicable to the Prince than to him they were made on:
“Heaven’s favorite, for whom the skies do fight, And all the winds conspire to guide thee right!”
The Prince made haste to Exeter, where he stayed ten days, both for refreshing his troops and for giving the country time to show its affection. Both the clergy and magistrates of Exeter were very fearful and very backward. The Bishop and the dean ran away. And the clergy stood off, though they were sent for and very gently spoken to by the Prince. The truth was, the doctrines of passive obedience and non-resistance had been carried so far and preached so much that clergymen either could not all on the sudden get out of that entanglement into which they had by long thinking and speaking all one way involved themselves, or they were ashamed to make so quick a turn. Yet care was taken to protect them and their houses everywhere, so that no sort of violence or rudeness was offered to any of them. The Prince gave me full authority to do this, and I took so particular a care of it that we heard of no complaints. The army was kept under such an exact discipline that everything was paid for where it was demanded, though the soldiers were contented with such moderate entertainment that the people generally asked but little for what they did eat. We stayed a week at Exeter before any of the gentlemen of the country about came in to the Prince. Every day some persons of condition came from other parts. The first were Lord Colchester, Mr. Wharton, the eldest sons of the Earl of Rivers, and Lord Wharton, Mr. Russel, Lord Russel’s brother, and the Earl of Abingdon.
The King came down to Salisbury, and sent his troops twenty miles farther. Of these, three regiments of horse and dragoons were drawn on by their officers, Lord Cornbury and Colonel Langston, on design to come over to the Prince. Advice was sent to the Prince of this. But because these officers were not sure of their subalterns, the Prince ordered a body of his men to advance and assist them in case any resistance was made. They were within twenty miles of Exeter, and within two miles of the body that the Prince had sent to join them, when a whisper ran about among them that they were betrayed. Lord Cornbury had not the presence of mind that so critical a thing required. So they fell in confusion, and many rode back. Yet one regiment came over in a body, and with them about a hundred of the other two.
This gave us great courage, and showed us that we had not been deceived in what was told us of the inclinations of the King’s army. Yet, on the other hand, those who studied to support the King’s spirit by flatteries, told him that in this he saw that he might trust his army, since those who intended to carry over those regiments were forced to manage it with so much artifice, and dared not discover their design either to officers or soldiers, and that as soon as they perceived it the greater part of them had turned back. The King wanted support; for his spirits sunk extremely. His blood was in such fermentation that he was bleeding much at the nose, which returned oft upon him every day. He sent many spies over to us. They all took his money, and came and joined themselves to the Prince, none of them returning to him. So that he had no intelligence brought him of what the Prince was doing but what common reports brought him, which magnified our numbers and made him think we were coming near him while we were still at Exeter. He heard that the city of London was very unquiet.
News was brought him that the Earls of Devonshire and Danby, and Lord Lumley, were drawing great bodies together, and that both York and Newcastle had declared for the Prince. Lord Delamere had raised a regiment in Cheshire. And the body of the nation did everywhere discover their inclinations for the Prince so evidently that the King saw he had nothing to trust to but his army. And the ill-disposition among them was so apparent that he reckoned he could not depend on them. So that he lost both heart and head at once. But that which gave him the last and most confounding stroke was that Lord Churchill and the Duke of Grafton left him and came and joined the Prince at Axminster, twenty miles on that side of Exeter.
After this he could not know on whom he could depend. The Duke of Grafton was one of King Charles’ sons by the Duchess of Cleveland. He had been some time at sea, and was a gallant but rough man. He had more spirit than anyone of that spurious race. He made answer to the King, about this time, that was much talked of. The King took notice of somewhat in his behavior that looked factious, and he said he was sure he could not pretend to act upon principles of conscience; for he had been so ill-bred that, as he knew little of religion, so he regarded it less. But he answered the King that, though he had little conscience, yet he was of a party that had conscience. Soon after that, Prince George, the Duke of Ormond, and Lord Drumlanerick, the Duke of Queensbury’s eldest son, left him and came over to the Prince, and joined him when he was come as far as the Earl of Bristol’s house at Sherburn.
When the news came to London the Princess was so struck with the apprehensions of the King’s displeasure, and of the ill-effects that it might have, that she said to Lady Churchill that she could not bear the thoughts of it, and would leap out of window rather than venture on it. The Bishop of London was then lodged very secretly in Suffolk Street. So Lady Churchill, who knew where he was, went to him and concerted with him the method of the Princess’ withdrawing from the court. The Princess went sooner to bed than ordinary. And about midnight she went down a back stairs from her closet, attended only by Lady Churchill,[1] in such haste that they carried nothing with them. They were waited for by the Bishop of London, who carried them to the Earl of Dorset’s, whose lady furnished them with everything, And so they went northward as far as Northampton, where that Earl attended on them with all respect, and quickly brought a body of horse to serve for a guard to the Princess. And in a little while a small army was formed about her, who chose to be commanded by the Bishop of London, of which he too easily accepted, and was by that exposed to much censure.
[Footnote 1: And Mrs. Berkeley, afterward Lady Fitzharding. The back stairs were made a little before for that purpose. The Princess pretended she was out of order, upon some expostulations that had passed between her and the Queen, in a visit she received from her that night, therefore said she would not be disturbed till she rang her bell. Next morning, when her servants had waited two hours longer than her usual time of rising, they were afraid something was the matter with her, and finding the bed open, and her highness gone, they ran screaming to my father’s lodgings, which were the next to hers, and told my mother the Princess was murdered by the priests; thence they went to the Queen, and old Mistress Buss asked her in a very rude manner what she had done with her mistress. The Queen answered her very gravely, she supposed their mistress was where she liked to be, but did assure them she knew nothing of her, but did not doubt they would hear of her again very soon. Which gave them little satisfaction, upon which there was a rumor all over Whitehall that the Queen had made away with the Princess.–_Dartmouth._]
These things put the King in an inexpressible confusion. He saw himself now forsaken not only by those whom he had trusted and favored most, but even by his own children. And the army was in such distraction that there was not any one body that seemed entirely united and firm to him. A foolish ballad was made at that time treating the papists, and chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous manner, which had a burden, said to be Irish words, _lero, lero, lilibulero_, that made an impression on the army that cannot be well imagined by those who saw it not. The whole army, and at last all people both in city and country, were singing it perpetually. And perhaps never had so slight a thing so great an effect.
But now strange counsels were suggested to the King and Queen. The priests and all the violent papists saw a treaty was now opened. They knew that they must be the sacrifice. The whole design of popery must be given up, without any hope of being able in an age to think of bringing it on again. Severe laws would be made against them. And all those who intended to stick to the King, and to preserve him, would go into those laws with a particular zeal; so that they and their hopes must be now given up and sacrificed forever. They infused all this into the Queen. They said she would certainly be impeached, and witnesses would be set up against her and her son; the King’s mother had been impeached in the Long Parliament; and she was to look for nothing but violence. So the Queen took up a sudden resolution of going to France with the child. The midwife, together with all who were assisting at the birth, were also carried over, or so disposed of that it could never be learned what became of them afterward.
The Queen prevailed with the King not only to consent to this, but to promise to go quickly after her. He was only to stay a day or two after her, in hope that the shadow of authority that was still left in him might keep things so quiet that she might have an undisturbed passage. So she went to Portsmouth. And thence, in a man-of-war, she went over to France, the King resolving to follow her in disguise. Care was also taken to send all the priests away. The King stayed long enough to get the Prince’s answer. And when he had read it he said he did not expect so good terms. He ordered the lord chancellor to come to him next morning. But he had called secretly for the great seal. And the next morning, being December 10th, about three in the morning he went away in disguise with Sir Edward Hales, whose servant he seemed to be. They passed the river, and flung the great seal into it; which was some months after found by a fisherman near Foxhall. The King went down to a miserable fisher-boat that Hales had provided for carrying them over to France.
Thus a great king, who had yet a good army and a strong fleet, did choose rather to abandon all than either to expose himself to any danger with that part of the army that was still firm to him or to stay and see the issue of a parliament. Some put this mean and unaccountable resolution on a want of courage. Others thought it was the effect of an ill-conscience, and of some black thing under which he could not now support himself. And they who censured it the most moderately said that it showed that his priests had more regard for themselves than for him; and that he considered their interests more than his own; and that he chose rather to wander abroad with them and to try what he could do by a French force to subdue his people than to stay at home and be shut up within the bounds of law, and be brought under an incapacity of doing more mischief; which they saw was necessary to quiet those fears and jealousies for which his bad government had given so much occasion. It seemed very unaccountable, since he was resolved to go, that he did not choose rather to go in one of his yachts or frigates than to expose himself in so dangerous and ignominious a manner. It was not possible to put a good construction on any part of the dishonorable scene which he then acted.
With this his reign ended: for this was a plain deserting of his people and exposing the nation to the pillage of an army which he had ordered the Earl of Feversham to disband. And the doing this without paying them was letting so many armed men loose upon the nation; who might have done much mischief if the execution of those orders that he left behind him had not been stopped. I shall continue the recital of all that passed in this _interregnum_, till the throne, which he now left empty, was filled.
He was not got far, when some fishermen of Feversham, who were watching for such priests and other delinquents as they fancied were making their escape, came up to him. And they, knowing Sir Edward Hales, took both the King and him, and brought them to Feversham. The King told them who he was.[1] And that flying about brought a vast crowd together to look on this astonishing instance of the uncertainty of all worldly greatness, when he who had ruled three kingdoms and might have been the arbiter of all Europe was now in such mean hands, and so low an equipage. The people of the town were extremely disordered with this unlooked-for accident; and, though for a while they kept him as a prisoner, yet they quickly changed that into as much respect as they could possibly pay him. Here was an accident that seemed of no great consequence. Yet all the strugglings which that party have made ever since that time to this day, which from him were called afterward the Jacobites, did rise out of this; for if he had got clear away, by all that could be judged, he would not have had a party left; all would have agreed that here was a desertion, and that therefore the nation was free and at liberty to secure itself. But that following upon this gave them a color to say that he was forced away and driven out. Till now he scarce had a party but among the papists. But from this incident a party grew up that has been long very active for his interests.
[Footnote 1: And desired they would send to Eastwell for the Earl of Winchelsea; which Sir Basil Dixwell put a stop to by telling him surely they were good enough to take care of him. Which occasioned the King’s saying he found there was more civility among the common people than some gentlemen, when he was returned to Whitehall.–_Dartmouth_.]
As soon as it was known at London that the King was gone, the ‘prentices and the rabble, who had been a little quieted when they saw a treaty on foot between the King and the Prince, now broke out again upon all suspected houses, where they believed there were either priests or papists. They made great havoc of many places, not sparing the houses of ambassadors. But none was killed, no houses burned, nor were any robberies committed. Never was so much fury seen under so much management. Jeffreys finding the King was gone, saw what reason he had to look to himself, and, apprehending that he was now exposed to the rage of the people whom he had provoked with so particular a brutality, he had disguised himself to make his escape. But he fell into the hands of some who knew him. He was insulted by them with as much scorn and rudeness as they could invent. And, after many hours tossing him about, he was carried to the lord mayor, whom they charged to commit him to the Tower, which Lord Lucas had then seized, and in it had declared for the Prince. The lord mayor was so struck with the terror of this rude populace, and with the disgrace of a man who had made all people tremble before him, that he fell into fits upon it, of which he died soon after.
Upon the news of the King’s desertion, it was proposed that the Prince should go on with all possible haste to London. But that was not advisable. For the King’s army lay so scattered through the road all the way to London that it was not fit for him to advance faster than his troops marched before him; otherwise, any resolute officer might have seized or killed him. Though, if it had not been for that danger a great deal of mischief that followed would have been prevented by his speedy advance; for now began that turn to which all the difficulties that did afterward disorder our affairs may be justly imputed. Two gentlemen of Kent came to Windsor the morning after the Prince came thither. They were addressed to me; and they told me of the accident at Feversham, and desired to know the Prince’s pleasure upon it. I was affected with this dismal reverse of the fortune of a great prince more than I think fit to express. I went immediately to Benthink and wakened him, and got him to go to the Prince and let him know what had happened, that some order might be presently given for the security of the King’s person, and for taking him out of the hands of a rude multitude who said they would obey no orders but such as came from the Prince.
The Prince ordered Zuylestein to go immediately to Feversham, and to see the King safe and at full liberty to go whithersoever he pleased. But as soon as the news of the King’s being at Feversham came to London, all the indignation that people had formerly conceived against him was turned to pity and compassion. The privy council met upon it. Some moved that he should be sent for. Others said he was king, and might send for his guards and coaches as he pleased, but it became not them to send for him. It was left to his general, the Earl of Feversham, to do what he thought best. So he went for him with his coaches and guards. And, as he came back through the city, he was welcomed with expressions of joy by great numbers; so slight and unstable a thing is a multitude, and so soon altered. At his coming to Whitehall, he had a great court about him. Even the papists crept out of their lurking-holes, and appeared at court with much assurance. The King himself began to take heart. And both at Feversham, and now at Whitehall, he talked in his ordinary high strain, justifying all that he had done; only he spoke a little doubtfully of the business of Magdalen College. But when he came to reflect on the state of his affairs, he saw it was so soon broken that nothing was now left to deliberate upon. So he sent the Earl of Feversham to Windsor without demanding any passport, and ordered him to desire the Prince to come to St. James’ to consult with him of the best way for settling the nation.
When the news of what had passed at London came to Windsor, the Prince thought the privy council had not used him well, who after they had sent to him to take the government upon him, had made this step without consulting him. Now the scene was altered and new counsels were to be taken. The Prince heard the opinions, not only of those who had come along with him, but of such of the nobility as were now come to him, among whom the Marquis of Halifax was one. All agreed that it was not convenient that the King should stay at Whitehall. Neither the King, nor the Prince, nor the city, could have been safe if they had been both near one another. Tumults would probably have arisen out of it. The guards and the officious flatterers of the two courts would have been unquiet neighbors. It was thought necessary to stick to the point of the King’s deserting his people, and not to give up that by entering upon any treaty with him. And since the Earl of Feversham, who had commanded the army against the Prince, was come without a passport he was for some days put in arrest.
It was a tender point now to dispose of the King’s person. Some proposed rougher methods: the keeping him a prisoner, at least till the nation was settled, and till Ireland was secured. It was thought his being kept in custody would be such a tie on all his party as would oblige them to submit and be quiet. Ireland was in great danger. And his restraint might oblige the Earl of Tyrconnel to deliver up the government, and to disarm the papists, which would preserve that kingdom and the Protestants in it. But, because it might raise too much compassion and perhaps some disorder if the King should be kept in restraint within the kingdom, therefore the sending him to Breda was proposed. The Earl of Clarendon pressed this vehemently on account of the Irish Protestants, as the King himself told me, for those that gave their opinions in this matter did it secretly and in confidence to the Prince. The Prince said he could not deny but that this might be good and wise advice, but it was that to which he could not hearken; he was so far satisfied with the grounds of this expedition that he could act against the King in a fair and open war; but for his person, now that he had him in his power, he could not put such a hardship on him as to make him a prisoner; and he knew the Princess’ temper so well that he was sure she would never bear it: nor did he know what disputes it might raise, or what effect it might have upon the Parliament that was to be called; he was firmly resolved never to suffer anything to be done against his person; he saw it was necessary to send him out of London, and he would order a guard to attend upon him who should only defend and protect his person, but not restrain him in any sort.
A resolution was taken of sending the Lords Halifax, Shrewsbury, and Delamere to London, who were first to order the English guards that were about the court to be drawn off and sent to quarters out of town, and when that was done the Count of Solms with the Dutch guards was to come and take all the posts about the court. This was obeyed without any resistance or disorder, but not without much murmuring. It was midnight before all was settled. And then these lords sent to the Earl of Middleton to desire him to let the King know that they had a message to deliver to him from the Prince. He went in to the King, and sent them word from him that they might come with it immediately. They came and found him abed. They told him the necessity of affairs required that the Prince should come presently to London; and he thought it would conduce to the safety of the King’s person and the quiet of the town that he should retire to some house out of town, and they proposed Ham.
The King seemed much dejected, and asked if it must be done immediately. They told him he might take his rest first, and they added that he should be attended by a guard who should only guard his person, but should give him no sort of disturbance. Having said this, they withdrew. The Earl of Middleton came quickly after them and asked them if it would not do as well if the King should go to Rochester; for since the Prince was not pleased with his coming up from Kent it might be perhaps acceptable to him if he should go thither again. It was very visible that this was proposed in order to a second escape.
They promised to send word immediately to the Prince of Orange, who lay that night at Sion, within eight miles of London. He very readily consented to it. And the King went next day to Rochester, having ordered all that which is called the moving wardrobe to be sent before him, the Count of Solms ordering everything to be done as the King desired. A guard went with him that left him at full liberty, and paid him rather more respect than his own guards had done of late. Most of that body, as it happened, were papists. So when he went to mass they went in and assisted very reverently. And when they were asked how they could serve in an expedition that was intended to destroy their own religion, one of them answered, his soul was God’s, but his sword was the Prince of Orange’s. The King was so much delighted with this answer that he repeated it to all that came about him. On the same day the Prince came to St. James’. It happened to be a very rainy day. And yet great numbers came to see him. But, after they had stood long in the wet, he disappointed them; for he, who loved neither shows nor shoutings, went through the park. And even this trifle helped to set people’s spirits on edge.
The revolution was thus brought about with the universal applause of the whole nation; only these last steps began to raise a fermentation. It was said, here was an unnatural thing to waken the King out of his sleep, in his own palace, and to order him to go out of it when he was ready to submit to everything. Some said he was now a prisoner, and remembered the saying of King Charles I, that the prisons and the graves of princes lay not far distant from one another; the person of the King was now struck at, as well as his government, and this specious undertaking would now appear to be only a disguised and designed usurpation. These things began to work on great numbers. And the posting of the Dutch guards where the English guards had been, gave a general disgust to the whole English army. They indeed hated the Dutch besides, on account of the good order and strict discipline they were kept under; which made them to be as much beloved by the nation as they were hated by the soldiery. The nation had never known such an inoffensive march of an army. And the peace and order of the suburbs, and the freedom of markets in and about London, were so carefully maintained that in no time fewer disorders had been committed than were heard of this winter.
None of the papists or Jacobites was insulted in any sort. The Prince had ordered me, as we came along, to take care of the papists and to secure them from all violence. When he came to London he renewed these orders, which I executed with so much zeal and care that I saw all the complaints that were brought me fully redressed. When we came to London I procured passports for all that desired to go beyond the sea. Two of the popish bishops were put in Newgate. I went thither in the Prince’s name. I told them the Prince would not take upon him yet to give any orders about prisoners; as soon as he did that, they should feel the effects of it. But in the mean while I ordered them to be well used, and to be taken care of, and that their friends might be admitted to come to them; so truly did I pursue the principle of moderation even toward those from whom nothing of that sort was to be expected.
Now that the Prince was come, all the bodies about the town came to welcome him. The bishops came the next day. Only the Archbishop of Canterbury, though he had once agreed to it, yet would not come. The clergy of London came next. The city, and a great many other bodies, came likewise, and expressed a great deal of joy for the deliverance wrought for them by the Prince’s means. Old Sergeant Maynard came with the men of the law. He was then near ninety, and yet he said the liveliest thing that was heard of on that occasion. The Prince took notice of his great age, and said that he had outlived all the men of the law of his time; he answered he had liked to have outlived the law itself if his highness had not come over.
The first thing to be done after the compliments were over was to consider how the nation was to be settled. The lawyers were generally of opinion that the Prince ought to declare himself king, as Henry VII had done. This, they said, would put an end to all disputes, which might otherwise grow very perplexing and tedious; and they said he might call a Parliament which would be a legal assembly if summoned by the king in fact, though his title was not yet recognized. This was plainly contrary to his declaration, by which the settlement of the nation was referred to a parliament; such a step would make all that the Prince had hitherto done pass for an aspiring ambition only to raise himself; and it would disgust those who had been hitherto the best affected to his designs, and make them less concerned in the quarrel if, instead of staying till the nation should offer him the crown, he would assume it as a conquest.
These reasons determined the Prince against that proposition. He called all the peers and the members of the three last parliaments that were in town, together with some of the citizens of London. When these met it was told them that, in the present distraction, the Prince desired their advice about the best methods of settling the nation. It was agreed in both these Houses, such as they were, to make an address to the Prince, desiring him to take the administration of the Government into his hands in the _interim_. The next proposition passed not so unanimously; for, it being moved that the Prince should be likewise desired to write missive letters to the same effect, and for the same persons to whom writs were issued out for calling a parliament, that so there might be an assembly of men in the form of a parliament, though without writs under the great seal, such as that was that had called home King Charles II.
To this the Earl of Nottingham objected that such a convention of the states could be no legal assembly unless summoned by the King’s writ. Therefore he moved that an address might be made to the King to order the writs to be issued. Few were of his mind. The matter was carried the other way, and orders were given for those letters to be sent round the nation.
The King continued a week at Rochester. And both he himself and everybody else saw that he was at full liberty, and that the guard about him put him under no sort of restraint. Many that were zealous for his interests went to him and pressed him to stay and to see the issue of things: a party would appear for him; good terms would be got for him; and things would be brought to a reasonable agreement. He was much distracted between his own inclinations and the importunities of his friends. The Queen, hearing what had happened, writ a most vehement letter to him, pressing his coming over, remembering him of his promise, which she charged on him in a very earnest if not in an imperious strain. This letter was intercepted. I had an account of it from one that read it. The Prince ordered it to be conveyed to the King, and that determined him. So he gave secret orders to prepare a vessel for him, and drew a paper, which he left on his table, reproaching the nation for their forsaking him. He declared that though he was going to seek for foreign aid to restore him to his throne, yet he would not make use of it to overthrow either the religion established or the laws of the land. And so he left Rochester very secretly on the last day of this memorable year and got safe over to France.
H.D. TRAILL
The convention for filling the vacant throne met on January 22d, when Halifax was chosen president in the Lords; Powle speaker of the Commons. A letter from William, read in both Houses, informed their members that he had endeavored to the best of his power to discharge the trust reposed in him, and that it now rested with the convention to lay the foundation of a firm security for their religion, laws, and liberties. The Prince then went on to refer to the dangerous condition of the Protestants in Ireland, and the present state of things abroad, which obliged him to tell them that next to the danger of unreasonable divisions among themselves, nothing could be so fatal as too great a delay in their consultations. And he further intimated that as England was already bound by treaty to help the Dutch in such exigencies as, deprived of the troops which he had brought over, and threatened with war by Louis XIV, they might easily be reduced to, so he felt confident that the cheerful concurrence of the Dutch in preserving this kingdom would meet with all the returns of friendship from Protestants and Englishmen whenever their own condition should require assistance.
To this the two Houses replied with an address thanking the Prince for his great care in the administration of the affairs of the kingdom to this time, and formally continuing to him the same commission, recommending to his particular care the present state of Ireland. William’s answer to this address was characteristic both of his temperament and his preoccupation. “My lords and gentlemen,” he said, “I am glad that what I have done hath pleased you; and since you desire me to continue the administration of affairs, I am willing to accept it. I must recommend to you the consideration of affairs abroad which makes it fit for you to expedite your business, not only for making a settlement at home on a good foundation, but for the safety of Europe.”
On the 28th the Commons resolved themselves into a committee of the whole House, and Richard Hampden, son of the great John, was voted into the chair. The honor of having been the first to speak the word which was on everybody’s lips belongs to Gilbert Dolben, son of a late archbishop of York, who “made a long speech tending to prove that the King’s deserting his kingdom without appointing any person to administer the government amounted in reason and judgment of law to a demise.” Sir Robert Howard, one of the members for Castle Rising, went a step further, and asserted that the throne was vacant. The extreme Tories made a vain effort to procure an adjournment, but the combination against them of Whigs and their own moderates was too strong for them, and after a long and stormy debate the House resolved “That King James II, having endeavored to subvert the constitution by breaking the original contract between the King and people, and by the advice of Jesuits and other wicked persons having violated the fundamental laws and withdrawn himself out of the kingdom, has abdicated the government, and that the throne is thereby vacant.”
This resolution was at once sent up to the Lords. Before, however, they could proceed to consider it, another message arrived from the Commons to the effect that they had just voted it inconsistent with the safety and welfare of this Protestant nation to be governed by a popish king.
To this resolution the Peers assented with a readiness which showed in advance that James had no party in the Upper House, and that the utmost length to which the Tories in that body were prepared to go was to support the proposal of a regency. The first resolution of the Commons was then put aside in order that this proposal might be discussed. It was Archbishop Sancroft’s plan, who, however, did not make his appearance to advocate it, and in his absence it was supported by Rochester and Nottingham, while Halifax and Danby led the opposition to it. After a day’s debate it was lost by the narrow majority of two, forty-nine peers declaring in its favor and fifty-one against it.
The Lords then went into committee on the Commons’ resolution, and at once proceeded, as was natural enough, to dispute the clause in its preamble which referred to the original contract between the King and the people. No Tory, of course, could really have subscribed to the doctrine implied in these words; but it was doubtless as hard in those days as in these to interest an assembly of English politicians in affirmations of abstract political principle, and some Tories probably thought it not worth while to multiply causes of dissent with the Lower House by attacking a purely academic recital of their resolution. Anyhow, the numbers of the minority slightly fell off, only forty-six Peers objecting to the phrase, while fifty-three voted that it should stand. The word “deserted” was then substituted without a division for the word “abdicated,” and, the hour being late, the Lords adjourned.
The real battle, of course, was now at hand, and to anyone who assents to the foregoing criticisms it will be evident that it was far less of a conflict on a point of constitutional principle, and far more of a struggle between the parties of two distinct–one cannot call them rival–claimants to the throne than high-flying Whig writers are accustomed to represent it. It would, of course, be too much to say that the Whigs insisted on declaring the vacancy of the throne, _only_ because they wished to place William on it, and that the Tories contended for a demise of the crown, _only_ because they wished an English princess to succeed to the throne rather than a Dutch prince. Still, it is pretty certain that, but for this conflict of preferences, the two political parties, who had made so little difficulty of agreeing in the declaration that James had ceased to reign, would never have found it so hard to concur in its almost necessary sequence that the throne was vacant.
The debate on the last clause of the resolution began, and it soon became apparent that the Whigs were outnumbered. The forty-nine peers who had supported the proposal of a regency–which implied that the royal title was still in James–were bound, of course, to oppose the proposition that the throne was vacant; and they were reënforced by several peers who held that that title had already devolved upon Mary. An attempt to compromise the dispute by omitting the words pronouncing the throne vacant, and inserting words which merely proclaimed the Prince and Princess of Orange king and queen, was rejected by fifty-two votes to forty-seven; and the original clause was then put, and negatived by fifty-five votes to forty-one.
Thus amended by the substitution of “deserted” for “abdicated,” and the omission of the words “and that the throne is thereby vacant,” the resolution was sent back to the Commons, who instantly and without a division disagreed with the amendments. The situation was now becoming critical. The prospect of a deadlock between the two branches of the convention threw London into a ferment; crowds assembled in Palace Yard; petitions were presented in that tumultuous fashion which converts supplication into menace. To their common credit, however, both parties united in resistance to these attempts at popular coercion; and William himself interposed to enjoin a stricter police of the capital. On Monday, February 4th, the Lords resolved to insist on their amendments; on the following day the Commons reaffirmed their disagreement with them by two hundred eighty-two votes to one hundred fifty-one. A free conference between the two Houses was then arranged, and met on the following day.
But the dispute, like many another in our political history, had meanwhile been settled out of court. Between the date of the peers’ vote and the conference Mary had communicated to Danby her high displeasure at the conduct of those who were setting up her claims in opposition to those of her husband; and William, who had previously maintained an unbroken silence, now made, unsolicited, a declaration of a most important and, indeed, of a conclusive kind. If the convention, he said, chose to adopt the plan of a regency, he had nothing to say against it, only they must look out for some other person to fill the office, for he himself would not consent to do so. As to the alternative proposal of putting Mary on the throne and allowing him to reign by her courtesy, “No man,” he said, “can esteem a woman more than I do the Princess; but I am so made that I cannot think of holding anything by apron strings; nor can I think it reasonable to have any share in the government unless it be put in my own person, and that for the term of my life. If you think fit to settle it otherwise I will not oppose you, but will go back to Holland, and meddle no more in your affairs.”
These few sentences of plain-speaking swept away the clouds of intrigue and pedantry as by a wholesome gust of wind. Both political parties at once perceived that there was but one possible issue from the situation. The conference was duly held, and the constitutional question was, with great display of now unnecessary learning, solemnly debated; but the managers for the two Houses met only to register a foregone conclusion. The word “abdicated” was restored; the vacancy of the throne was voted by sixty-two votes to forty-seven; and it was immediately proposed and carried without a division that the Prince and Princess of Orange should be declared king and queen of England.
It now only remained to give formal effect to this resolution, and in so doing to settle the conditions whereon the crown, which the convention had now distinctly recognized itself as conferring upon the Prince and Princess, should be conferred. A committee appointed by the Commons to consider what safeguards should be taken against the aggressions of future sovereigns had made a report in which they recommended not only a solemn enunciation of ancient constitutional principles, but the enactment of new laws. The Commons, however, having regard to the importance of prompt action, judiciously resolved on carrying out only the first part of the programme. They determined to preface the tender of the crown to William and Mary by a recital of the royal encroachments of the past reigns, and a formal assertion of the constitutional principles against which such encroachments had offended. This document, drafted by a committee of which the celebrated Somers, then a scarcely known young advocate, was the chairman, was the famous “Declaration of Right.” The grievances which it recapitulated in its earlier portion were as follows:
(1) The royal pretension to dispense with and suspend laws without consent of Parliament; (2) the punishment of subjects, as in the “Seven Bishops'” case, for petitioning the crown; (3) the establishment of the illegal court of high commission for ecclesiastical affairs; (4) the levy of taxes without the consent of Parliament; (5) the maintenance of a standing army in time of peace without the same consent; (6) the disarmament of Protestants while papists were both armed and employed contrary to law; (7) the violation of the freedom of election; (8) the prosecution in the king’s bench of suits only cognizable in Parliament; (9) the return of partial and corrupt juries; (10) the requisition of excessive bail; (11) the imposition of excessive fines; (12) the infliction of illegal and cruel punishments; (13) the grants of the estates of accused persons before conviction.
Then after solemnly reaffirming the popular rights from which these abuses of the prerogative derogated, the declaration goes on to recite that, having an “entire confidence” William would “preserve them from the violation of the rights which they have here asserted, the Three Estates do resolve that William and Mary, Prince and Princess of Orange, be and be declared king and queen: to hold the crown and royal dignity, to them the said Prince and Princess during their lives and the life of the survivor of them; and the sole and full exercise of the royal power be only in and exercised by the said Prince of Orange, in the names of the said Prince and Princess during their lives, and, after their deceases, the said crown and royal dignity of the said kingdoms and dominions to the heirs of the body of the said Princess; and, for default of such issue, to the Princess Anne of Denmark and the heirs of her body; and, for the default of such issue, to the issue of the said Prince of Orange.” Then followed an alteration required by the scrupulous conscience of Nottingham in the terms of the oath of allegiance.
On February 12th Mary arrived from Holland. On the following day, in the Banqueting House at Whitehall, the Prince and Princess of Orange were waited on by both Houses of convention in a body. The declaration was read by the clerk of the crown; the sovereignty solemnly tendered to them by Halifax, in the name of the Estates; and on the same day they were proclaimed king and queen in the usual places in the cities of London and Westminster.
%PETER THE GREAT MODERNIZES RUSSIA%
SUPPRESSION OF THE STRELTSI
A.D. 1689
ALFRED RAMBAUD
It is the glory of Peter the Great to have changed the character of his country and elevated its position among European nations. By opening Russia to the influence of Western civilization he prepared the way for the advent of that vast empire as one of the world’s great powers.
Peter I Alexeievitch was born in Moscow June 9 (N.S.), 1672. After a joint reign with his half-brother Ivan (1682-1696), he ruled alone until his death, February 8 (N.S.), 1725. He is distinguished among princes as a ruler who temporarily laid aside the character of royalty “in order to learn the art of governing better.” By his travels under a common name and in a menial disguise, he acquired fruits of observation which proved of greater practical advantage in his career than comes to sovereigns from training in the knowledge of the schools. His restless and inquiring spirit was never subdued by the burdens of state, and his matured powers proved equal to the demands laid upon him by the great formative work which he was called to accomplish for his people.
The character and early career of this extraordinary man are here set forth by Rambaud in a masterly sketch, showing the first achievements which laid the foundation of Peter’s constructive policies.
Alexis Mikhailovitch, Czar of Russia, had by his first wife, Maria Miloslavski, two sons, Feodor and Ivan, and six daughters; by his second wife, Natalia Narychkine, one son (who became Peter I) and two daughters. As he was twice married, and the kinsmen of each wife had, according to custom, surrounded the throne, there existed two factions in the palace, which were brought face to face by his death and that of his eldest son, Feodor. The Miloslavskis had on their side the claim of seniority, the number of royal children left by Maria, and, above all, the fact that Ivan was the elder of the two surviving sons; but unluckily for them, Ivan was notoriously imbecile both in body and mind.
On the side of the Narychkines was the interest excited by the precocious intelligence of Peter, and the position of legal head of all the royal family, which, according to Russian law, gave to Natalia Narychkine her title of czarina dowager. Both factions had for some time taken their measures and recruited their partisans. Who should succeed Feodor? Was it to be the son of the Miloslavski, or the son of the Narychkine? The Miloslavskis were first defeated on legal grounds. Taking the incapacity of Ivan into consideration, the boyars and the Patriarch Joachim proclaimed the young Peter, then nine years old, Czar. The Narychkines triumphed: Natalia became czarina regent, recalled from exile her foster-father, Matveef, and surrounded herself by her brothers and uncles.
The Miloslavskis’ only means of revenge lay in revolt, but they were without a head; for it was impossible for Ivan to take the lead. The eldest of his six sisters was thirty-two years of age, the youngest nineteen; the most energetic of them was Sophia, who was twenty-five. These six princesses saw themselves condemned to the dreary destiny of the Russian _czarevni_, and were forced to renounce all hopes of marriage, with no prospects but to grow old in the seclusion of the _terem_, subjected by law to the authority of a step-mother. All their youth had to look forward to was the cloister. They, however, only breathed in action; and though imperial etiquette and Byzantine manners, prejudices, and traditions forbade them to appear in public, even Byzantine traditions offered them models to follow. Had not Pulcheria, daughter of an emperor, reigned at Constantinople in the name of her brother, the incapable Theodosius? Had she not contracted a nominal marriage with the brave Marcian, who was her sword against the barbarians?
Here was the ideal that Sophia could propose to herself; to be a _czardievitsa_, a “woman-emperor.” To emancipate herself from the rigorous laws of the terem, to force the “twenty-seven locks” of the song, to raise the _fata_ that covered her face, to appear in public and meet the looks of men, needed energy, cunning, and patience that could wait and be content to proceed by successive efforts. Sophia’s first step was to appear at Feodor’s funeral, though it was not the custom for any but the widow and the heir to be present. There her litter encountered that of Natalia Narychkine, and her presence forced the Czarina-mother to retreat. She surrounded herself with a court of educated men, who publicly praised her, encouraged and excited her to action. Simeon Polotski and Silvester Medviedef wrote verses in her honor, recalled to her the example of Pulcheria and Olga, compared her to the Virgin Queen, Elizabeth of England, and even to Semiramis; we might think we were listening to Voltaire addressing Catharine II. They played on her name Sophia (wisdom), and declared she had been endowed with the quality as well as the title. Polotski dedicated to her the _Crown of Faith_, and Medviedef his _Gifts of the Holy Spirit_.
The terem offered the strangest contrasts. There acted they the _Malade Imaginaire_, and the audience was composed of the heterogeneous assembly of popes, monks, nuns, and old pensioners that formed the courts of the ancient czarinas. In this shifting crowd there were some useful instruments of intrigue. The old pensioners, while telling their rosaries, served as emissaries between the palace and the town, carried messages and presents to the turbulent _streltsi_[1] and arranged matters between the czarian ladies and the soldiers. Sinister rumors were skilfully disseminated through Moscow: Feodor, the eldest son of Alexis, had died, the victim of conspirators; the same lot was doubtless reserved for Ivan. What was to become of the poor czarevni, of the blood of kings? At last it was publicly announced that a brother of Natalia Narychkine had seized the crown and seated himself on the throne, and that Ivan had been strangled. Love and pity for the son of Alexis, and the indignation excited by the news of the usurpation, immediately caused the people of Moscow to revolt, and the ringleaders cleverly directed the movement. The tocsin sounded from four hundred churches of the “holy city”; the regiments of the streltsi took up arms and marched, followed by an immense crowd, to the Kremlin, with drums beating, matches lighted, and dragging cannon behind them. Natalia Narychkine had only to show herself on the “Red Staircase,” accompanied by her son Peter, and Ivan who was reported dead. Their mere appearance sufficed to contradict all the calumnies. The streltsi hesitated, seeing they had been deceived. A clever harangue of Matveef, who had formerly commanded them, and the exhortations of the patriarch, shook them further. The revolt was almost appeased; the Miloslavskis had missed their aim, for they had not yet succeeded in putting to death the people of whom they were jealous.
[Footnote 1: The streltsi were an ancient Muscovite guard composed of citizens rendering hereditary military service in the different cities and fortified posts. At this time many of them were ripe for revolt.]
Suddenly Prince Michael Dolgorouki, chief of the _prikaz_ of the streltsi, began to insult the rioters in the most violent language. This ill-timed harangue awoke their fury; they seized Dolgorouki, and flung him from the top of the Red Staircase onto their pikes. They stabbed Matveef, under the eyes of the Czarina; then they sacked the palace, murdering all who fell into their hands. Athanasius Narychkine, a brother of Natalia, was thrown from a window onto the points of their lances. The following day the _emeute_ recommenced; they tore from the arms of the Czarina her father Cyril and her brother Ivan; the latter was tortured and sent into a monastery. Historians show us Sophia interceded for the victims on her knees, but an understanding between the rebels and the Czarevna did exist; the streltsi obeyed orders.
The following days were consecrated to the purifying of the palace and the administration, and the seventh day of the revolt they sent their commandant, the prince-boyar, Khovanski, to declare that they would have two czars–Ivan at the head, and Peter as coadjutor; and if this were refused, they would again rebel. The boyars of the _douma_ deliberated on this proposal, and the greater number of the boyars were opposed to it. In Russia the absolute power had never been shared, but the orators of the terem cited many examples both from sacred and profane history: Pharaoh and Joseph, Arcadius and Honorius, Basil II and Constantine VIII; and the best of all the arguments were the pikes of the streltsi (1682).
Sophia had triumphed: she reigned in the name of her two brothers, Ivan and Peter. She made a point of showing herself in public, at processions, solemn services, and dedications of churches. At the Ouspienski Sobor, while her brothers occupied the place of the czar, she filled that of the czarina; only _she_ raised the curtains and boldly allowed herself to be incensed by the patriarch. When the _raskolniks_ challenged the heads of the orthodox church to discussion, she wished to preside and hold the meeting in the open air, at the Lobnoe Miesto on the Red Place. There was, however, so much opposition that she was forced to call the assembly in the Palace of Facets, and sat behind the throne of her two brothers, present though invisible. The double-seated throne used on those occasions is still preserved at Moscow; there is an opening in the back, hidden by a veil of silk, and behind this sat Sophia. This singular piece of furniture is the symbol of a government previously unknown to Russia, composed of two visible czars and one invisible sovereign.
The streltsi, however, felt their prejudices against female sovereignty awaken. They shrank from the contempt heaped by the Czarevna upon the ancient manners. Sophia had already become in their eyes a “scandalous person” (_pozornoe litzo_). Another cause of misunderstanding was the support she gave to the state church, as reformed by Nicon, while the streltsi and the greater part of the people held to the “old faith.” She had arrested certain “old believers,” who at the discussion in the Palace of Facets had challenged the patriarchs and orthodox prelates, and she had caused the ringleader to be executed. Khovanski, chief of the streltsi, whether from sympathy with the _raskol_ or whether he wished to please his subordinates, affected to share their discontent. The court no longer felt itself safe at Moscow. Sophia took refuge with the Czarina and the two young princes in the fortified monastery of Troitsa, and summoned around her the gentlemen-at-arms. Khovanski was invited to attend, was arrested on the way, and put to death with his son. The streltsi attempted a new rising, but, with the usual fickleness of a popular militia, suddenly passed from the extreme of insolence to the extreme of humility. They marched to Troitsa, this time in the guise of suppliants, with cords round their necks, carrying axes and blocks for the death they expected. The patriarch consented to intercede for them, and Sophia contented herself with the sacrifice of the ringleaders.
Sophia, having got rid of her accomplices, governed by aid of her two favorites–Chaklovity, the new commandant of the streltsi, whom she had drawn from obscurity, and who was completely devoted to her, and Prince Vasili Galitsyne. Galitsyne has become the hero of a historic school which opposes his genius to that of Peter the Great, in the same way as in France Henry, Duke of Guise, has been exalted at the expense of Henry IV. He was the special favorite, the intimate friend, of Sophia, the director of her foreign policy, and her right hand in military affairs. Sophia and Galitsyne labored to organize a holy league between Russia, Poland, Venice, and Austria against the Turks and Tartars. They also tried to gain the countenance of the Catholic powers of the West; and in 1687 Jacob Dolgorouki and Jacob Mychetski disembarked at Dunkirk as envoys to the court of Louis XIV. They were not received very favorably: the King of France was not at all inclined to make war against the Turks; he was, on the other hand, the ally of Mahomet IV, who was about to besiege Vienna while Louis blockaded Luxemburg. The whole plan of the campaign was, however, thrown out by the intervention of Russia and John Sobieski in favor of Austria. The Russian ambassadors received orders to reëmbark at Havre, without going farther south.
The government of the Czarevna still persisted in its warlike projects. In return for an active cooperation against the Ottomans, Poland had consented to ratify the conditions of the Treaty of Androussovo, and to sign a perpetual peace (1686). A hundred thousand Muscovites, under the command of Prince Galitsyne, and fifty thousand Little Russian Cossacks, under the orders of the hetman Samoilovitch, marched against the Crimea (1687). The army suffered greatly in the southern steppes, as the Tartars had fired the grassy plains. Galitsyne was forced to return without having encountered the enemy. Samoilovitch was accused of treason, deprived of his command, and sent to Siberia; and Mazeppa, who owed to Samoilovitch his appointment as secretary-at-war, and whose denunciations had chiefly contributed to his downfall, was appointed his successor.
In the spring of 1689 the Muscovite and Ukranian armies, commanded by Galitsyne and Mazeppa, again set out for the Crimea. The second expedition was hardly more fortunate than the first: they got as far as Perekop, and were then obliged to retreat without even having taken the fortress. This double defeat did not hinder Sophia from preparing for her favorite a triumphal entry into Moscow. In vain Peter forbade her to leave the palace; she braved his displeasure and headed the procession, accompanied by the clergy and the images and followed by the army of the Crimea, admitted the generals to kiss her hand and distributed glasses of brandy among the officers. Peter left Moscow in anger, and retired to the village of Preobrajenskoe. The foreign policy of the Czarevna was marked by another display of weakness. By the Treaty of Nertchinsk she restored to the Chinese empire the fertile regions of the Amur, which had been conquered by a handful of Cossacks, and razed the fortress of Albazine, where those adventurers had braved all the forces of the East. On all sides Russia seemed to retreat before the barbarians.
Meanwhile Peter was growing. His precocious faculties, his quick intelligence, and his strong will awakened alike the hopes of his partisans and the fears of his enemies. As a child he only loved drums, swords, and muskets. He learned history by means of colored prints brought from Germany. Zotof, his master, whom he afterward made “the archpope of fools,” taught him to read. Among the heroes held up to him as examples we are not surprised to find Ivan the Terrible, whose character and position offer so much analogy to his own. “When the Czarevitch was tired of reading,” says M. Zabieline, “Zotof took the book from his hand and, to amuse him, would himself read the great deeds of his father, Alexis Mikhailovitch, and those of the Czar, Ivan Vasilievitch, their campaigns, their distant expeditions, their battles and sieges: how they endured fatigues and privations better than any common soldier; what benefits they had conferred on the empire, and how they extended the frontiers of Russia.”
Peter also learned Latin, German, and Dutch. He read much and widely, and learned a great deal, though without method. Like Ivan the Terrible, he was a self-taught man. He afterward complained of not having been instructed according to rule. This was perhaps a good thing. His education, like that of Ivan IV, was neglected, but at least he was not subjected to the enervating influence of the terem–he was not cast in that dull mould which turned out so many idiots in the royal family. He “roamed at large, and wandered in the streets with his comrades.” The streets of Moscow at that period were, according to M. Zabieline, the worst school of profligacy and debauchery that can be imagined; but they were, on the whole, less bad for Peter than the palace. He met there something besides mere jesters: he encountered new elements which had as yet no place in the terem, but contained the germ of the regeneration of Russia. He came across Russians who, if unscrupulous, were also unprejudiced, and who could aid him in his bold reform of the ancient society. He there became acquainted with Swiss, English, and German adventurers–with Lefort, with Gordon, and with Timmermann, who initiated him into European civilization.
His court was composed of Leo Narychkine, of Boris Galitsyne, who had undertaken never to flatter him; of Andrew Matveef, who had marked taste for everything European; and of Dolgorouki, at whose house he first saw an astrolabe. He played at soldiers with his young friends and his grooms, and formed them into the “battalion of playmates,” who manoeuvred after the European fashion, and became the kernel of the future regular army. He learned the elements of geometry and fortification, and constructed small citadels, which he took or defended with his young warriors in those fierce battles which sometimes counted their wounded or dead, and in which the Czar of Russia was not always spared. An English boat stranded on the shore of Yaousa caused him to send for Franz Timmermann, who taught him to manage a sailing-boat, even with a contrary wind. He who formerly, like a true boyar of Moscow, had such a horror of the water that he could not make up his mind to cross a bridge, became a determined sailor: he guided his boat first on the Yaousa, then on the lake of Pereiaslavl. Brandt, the Dutchman, built him a whole flotilla; and already, in spite of the terrors of his mother, Natalia, Peter dreamed of the sea.
“The child is amusing himself,” the courtiers of Sophia affected to observe; but these amusements disquieted her. Each day added to the years of Peter seemed to bring her nearer to the cloister. In vain she proudly called herself “autocrat”; she saw her stepmother, her rival, lifting up her head. Galitsyne confined himself to regretting that they had not known better how to profit by the revolution of 1682, but Chaklovity, who knew he must fall with his mistress, said aloud, “It would be wiser to put the Czarina to death than to be put to death by her.” Sophia could only save herself by seizing the throne–but who would help her to take it? The streltsi? But the result of their last rising had chilled them considerably. Sophia herself, while trying to bind this formidable force, had broken it, and the streltsi had not forgotten their chiefs beheaded at Troitsa. Now what did the emissaries of Sophia propose to them? Again to attack the palace; to put Leo Narychkine and other partisans of Peter to death; to arrest his mother, and to expel the patriarch. They trusted that Peter and Natalia would perish in the tumult. The streltsi remained indifferent when Sophia, affecting to think her life threatened, fled to the Dievitchi monastery, and sent them letters of entreaty. “If thy days are in peril,” tranquilly replied the streltsi, “there must be an inquiry.” Chaklovity could hardly collect four hundred of them at the Kremlin.
The struggle began between Moscow and Preobrajenskoe, the village with the prophetical name (the “Transfiguration” or “Regeneration”). Two streltsi warned Peter of the plots of his sister, and for the second time he sought an asylum at Troitsa. It was then seen who was the true czar; all men hastened to range themselves around him: his mother, his armed squires, the “battalion of playmates,” the foreign officers, and even the streltsi of the regiment of Soukharef. The patriarch also took the side of the Czar, and brought him moral support, as the foreign soldiers had brought him material force. The partisans of Sophia were cold and irresolute; the streltsi themselves demanded that her favorite Chaklovity should be surrendered to the Czar. She had to implore the mediation of the patriarch. Chaklovity was first put to the torture and made to confess his plot against the Czar, and then decapitated. Medviedef was at first only condemned to the knout and banishment for heresy, but he acknowledged he had intended to take the place of the patriarch and to marry Sophia; he was dishonored by being imprisoned with two sorcerers, condemned to be burned alive in a cage, and was afterward beheaded. Galitsyne was deprived of his property, and exiled to Poustozersk. Sophia remained in the Dievitchi Monastyr, subjected to a hard captivity. Though Ivan continued to reign conjointly with his brother, yet Peter, who was then only seventeen, governed alone, surrounded by his mother, the Narychkines, and the Dolgoroukis (1689). Sophia had freed herself from the seclusion of the terem, as Peter had emancipated himself from the seclusion of the palace to roam the streets and navigate rivers. Both had behaved scandalously, according to the ideas of the time–the one haranguing soldiers, presiding over councils, walking with her veil raised; the other using the axe like a carpenter, rowing like a Cossack, brawling with foreign adventurers, and fighting with his grooms in mimic battles. But to the one her emancipation was only a means of obtaining power; to the other the emancipation of Russia, like the emancipation of himself, was the end. He wished the nation to shake off the old trammels from which he had freed himself. Sophia remained a Byzantine, Peter aspired to be a European. In the conflict between the Czarevna and the Czar, progress was not on the side of the Dievitchi Monastyr.
The first use the Czar made of his liberty was to hasten to Archangel. There, deaf to the advice and prayers of his mother, who was astounded at this unexpected taste for salt water, he gazed on that sea which no czar had ever looked on. He ate with the merchants and the officers of foreign navies; he breathed the air which had come from the West. He established a dockyard, built boats, dared the angry waves of this unknown ocean, and almost perished in a storm, which did not prevent the “skipper Peter Alexeievitch” from again putting to sea, and bringing the Dutch vessels back to the Holy Cape. Unhappily, the White Sea, by which, since the time of Ivan IV, the English had entered Russia, is frost-bound in winter. In order to open permanent communications with the West, with civilized countries, it was necessary for Peter to establish himself on the Baltic or the Black Sea. Now the first belonged to the Swedes, and the second to the Turks, as the Caspian did to the Persians. Who was first to be attacked? The treaties concluded with Poland and Austria, as well as policy and religion, urged the Czar against the Turks, and Constantinople has always been the point of attraction for orthodox Russia.
Peter shared the sentiments of his people, and had the enthusiasm of a crusader against the infidel. Notwithstanding his ardent wish to travel in the West, he took the resolution not to appear in foreign lands till he could appear as a victor. Twice had Galitsyne failed against the Crimea; Peter determined to attack the barbarians by the Don, and besiege Azov. The army was commanded by three generals, Golovine, Gordon, and Lefort, who were to act with the “bombardier of the Preobrajenski regiment, Peter Alexeievitch.” This regiment, as well as three others which had sprung from the “amusements” of Preobrajenskoe–the Semenovski, the Botousitski, and the regiment of Lefort–were the heart of the expedition. It failed because the Czar had no fleet with which to invest Azov by sea, because the new army and its chiefs wanted experience, and because Jansen, the German engineer, ill-treated by Peter, passed over to the enemy. After two assaults the siege was raised. This check appeared the more grave because the Czar himself was with the army, because the first attempt to turn from the “amusements” of Preobrajenskoe to serious warfare had failed, and because this failure would furnish arms against innovations, against the Germans and the heretics, against the new tactics. It might even compromise, in the eyes of the people, the work of regeneration (1695).
Although Peter had followed the example of Galitsyne, and entered Moscow in triumph, he felt he needed revenge. He sent for good officers from foreign countries. Artillerymen arrived from Holland and Austria, engineers from Prussia, and Admiral Lima from Venice. Peter hurried on the creation of a fleet with feverish impatience. He built of green wood twenty-two galleys, a hundred rafts, and seventeen hundred boats or barks. All the small ports of the Don were metamorphosed into dock-yards; twenty-six thousand workmen were assembled there from all parts of the empire. It was like the camp of Boulogne. No misfortune–neither the desertion of the laborers, the burnings of the dock-yards, nor even his own illness–could lessen his activity. Peter was able to write that, “following the advice God gave to Adam, he earned his bread by the sweat of his brow.” At last the “marine caravan,” the Russian armada, descended the Don. From the slopes of Azov he wrote to his sister Natalia[1]: “In obedience to thy counsels, I do not go to meet the shells and balls; it is they who approach me, but tolerably courteously.”
[Footnote 1: His mother died in 1694, his brother Ivan in 1696.]
Azov was blockaded by sea and land, and a breach was opened by the engineers. Preparations were being made for a general assault, when the place capitulated. The joy in Russia was great, and the streltsi’s jealousy of the success of foreign tactics gave place to their enthusiasm as Christians for this victory over Islamism, which recalled those of Kazan and Astrakhan. The effect produced on Europe was considerable. At Warsaw the people shouted, “Long live the Czar!” The army entered Moscow under triumphal arches, on which were represented Hercules trampling a pacha and two Turks under foot, and Mars throwing to the earth a _mirza_ and two Tartars. Admiral Lefort and Schein the generalissimo took part in the _cortège_, seated on magnificent sledges; while Peter, promoted to the rank of captain, followed on foot. Jansen, destined to the gibbet, marched among the prisoners (1696).
Peter wished to profit by this great success to found the naval power of Russia. By the decision of the _douma_ three thousand families were established at Azov, besides four hundred Kalmucks, and a garrison of Moscow streltsi. The patriarch, the prelates, and the monasteries taxed themselves for the construction of one vessel to every eight thousand serfs. The nobles, the officials, and the merchants were seized with the fever of this holy war, and brought their contributions toward the infant navy. It was proposed to unite the Don and the Volga by means of a canal. A new appeal was made to the artisans and sailors of Europe. Fifty young nobles of the court were sent to Venice, England, and the Low Countries to learn seamanship and shipbuilding. But it was necessary that the Czar himself should be able to judge of the science of his subjects; he must counteract Russian indolence and prejudice by the force of a great example; and Peter, after having begun his career in the navy at the rank of “skipper,” and in the army at that of bombardier, was to become a carpenter of Saardam. He allowed himself, as a reward for his success at Azov, the much-longed-for journey to the West.
In 1697 Admiral Lefort and Generals Golovine and Vosnitsyne prepared to depart for the countries of the West, under the title of “the great ambassadors of the Czar.” Their suite was composed of two hundred seventy persons–young nobles, soldiers, interpreters, merchants, jesters, and buffoons. In the cortège was a young man who went by the name of Peter Mikhailof. This _incognito_ would render the position of the Czar easier, whether in his own personal studies or in delicate negotiations. On the journey to Riga Peter allowed himself to be insulted by the governor, but laid up the recollection for future use. At Koenigsburg the Prussian, Colonel Sternfeld, delivered to “M. Peter Mikhailof” “a formal brevet of master of artillery.” The great ambassadors and their travelling companion were cordially received by the courts of Courland, Hanover, and Brandenburg.
Sophia Charlotte of Hanover, afterward Queen of Prussia, has left us some curious notes about the Czar, then twenty-seven years of age. He astonished her by the vivacity of his mind and the promptitude and point of his answers, not less than by the grossness of his manners, his bad habits at table, his wild timidity, like that of a badly brought-up child, his grimaces, and a frightful twitching which at times convulsed his whole face. Peter had then a beautiful brown skin, with great piercing eyes, but his features already bore traces of toil and debauchery. “He must have very good and very bad points,” said the young Electress; and in this he represented contemporary Russia. “If he had received a better education,” adds the Princess, “he would have been an accomplished man.” The suite of the Czar were not less surprising than their master; the Muscovites danced with the court ladies, and took the stiffening of their corsets for their bones. “The bones of these Germans are devilish hard!” said the Czar.
Leaving the great embassy on the road Peter travelled quickly and reached Saardam. The very day of his arrival he took a lodging at a blacksmith’s, procured himself a complete costume like those worn by Dutch workmen, and began to wield the axe. He bargained for a boat, bought it, and drank the traditional pint of beer with its owner. He visited cutleries, ropewalks, and other manufactories, and everywhere tried his hand at the work: in a paper manufactory he made some paper. However, in spite of the tradition, he only remained eight days at Saardam. At Amsterdam his eccentricities were no less astonishing. He neither took any rest himself nor allowed others to do so; he exhausted all his _ciceroni_, always repeating, “I must see it.” He inspected the most celebrated anatomical collections; engaged artists, workmen, officers, and engineers; and bought models of ships and collections of naval laws and treaties. He entered familiarly the houses of private individuals, gained the good-will of the Dutch by his _bonhomie_, penetrated into the recesses of the shops and stalls, and remained lost in admiration over a dentist.
But, amid all these distractions, he never lost sight of his aim. “We labor,” he wrote to the patriarch Adrian, “in order thoroughly to master the art of the sea; so that, having once learned it, we may return to Russia and conquer the enemies of Christ, and free by his grace the Christians who are oppressed. This is what I shall long for to my last breath.” He was vexed at making so little progress in shipbuilding, but in Holland everyone had to learn by personal experience. A naval captain told him that in England instruction was based on principles, and these he could learn in four months; so Peter crossed the sea, and spent three months in London and the neighboring towns. There he took into his service goldsmiths and gold-beaters, architects and bombardiers. He then returned to Holland, and, his ship being attacked by a violent tempest, he reassured those who trembled for his safety by the remark, “Did you ever hear of a czar of Russia who was drowned in the North Sea?”
Though much occupied with his technical studies, he had not neglected policy; he had conversed with William III, but did not visit France in this tour, for “Louis XIV,” says St. Simon, “had procured the postponement of his visit”; the fact being that his alliance with the Emperor and his wars with the Turks were looked on with disfavor at Versailles. He went to Vienna to study the military art, and dissuaded Leopold from making peace with the Sultan. Peter wished to conquer Kertch in order to secure the Straits of Ienikale. He was preparing to go to Venice, when vexatious intelligence reached him from Moscow.
The first reforms of Peter, his first attempts against the national prejudices and customs, had raised him up a crowd of enemies. Old Russia did not allow herself quietly to be set aside by the bold innovator. There was in the interior a sullen and resolute resistance, which sometimes gave birth to bloody scenes. The revolt of the streltsi, the insurrection of Astrakhan, the rebellion of the Cossacks, and later the trial of his son and first wife are only episodes of the great struggle. Already the priests were teaching that Antichrist was born. Now it had been prophesied that Antichrist should be born of an adulteress, and Peter was the son of the _second_ wife of Alexis, therefore his mother Natalia was the “false virgin,” the adulterous woman of the prophecies. The increasingly heavy taxes that weighed on the people were another sign that the time had come. Others, disgusted by the taste shown by the Czar for German clothes and foreign languages and adventures, affirmed that he was not the son of Alexis, but of Lefort the Genevan, or that his father was a German surgeon. They were scandalized to see the Czar, like another Gregory Otrepief, expose himself to blows in his military “amusements.” The lower orders were indignant at the abolition of the long beards and national costume, and the _raskolniks_[1] at the authorization of “the sacrilegious smell of tobacco.”
[Footnote 1: Dissenters from the orthodox church of Russia (Greek Church).–ED.]
The journey to the west completed the general dissatisfaction. Had anyone ever before seen a czar of Moscow quit Holy Russia to wander in the kingdoms of foreigners? Who knew what adventures might befall him among the _niemtsi_ and the _bousourmanes_? for the Russian people hardly knew how to distinguish between the Turks and the Germans, and were wholly ignorant of France and England. Under an unknown sky, at the extremity of the world, on the shores of the “ocean sea,” what dangers might he not encounter? Then a singular legend was invented about the travels of the Czar. It was said that he went to Stockholm disguised as a merchant, and that the Queen had recognized him and had tried in vain to capture him. According to another version, she had plunged him in a dungeon, and delivered him over to his enemies, who wished to put him in a cask lined with nails and throw him into the sea. He had only been saved by a streletz who had taken his place. Some asserted that Peter was still kept there; and in 1705 the streltsi and raskolniks of Astrakhan still gave out that it was a false czar who had come back to Moscow–the true czar was a prisoner at Stockholm, attached to a stake.
In the midst of this universal disturbance, caused by the absence of Peter, there were certain symptoms peculiarly disquieting. The Muscovite army grew more and more hostile to the new order of things. In 1694 Peter had discovered a fresh conspiracy, having for its object the deliverance of Sophia; and at the very moment of his departure from Russia he had to put down a plot of streltsi and Cossacks headed by Colonel Tsykler. Those of the streltsi who had been sent to form the garrison of Azov pined for their wives, their children, and the trades they had left in Moscow. When in the absence of the Czar they were sent from Azov to the frontiers of Poland, they again began to murmur. “What a fate is ours! It is the boyars who do all the mischief; for three years they have kept us from our homes.”
Two hundred deserted and returned to Moscow; but the douma, fearing their presence in the already troubled capital, expelled them by force. They brought back to their regiments a letter of Sophia. “You suffer,” she wrote; “later it will become worse. March on Moscow. What is it you wait for? There is no news of the Czar.” It was repeated through the army that the Czar had died in foreign lands, and that the boyars wished to put his son Alexis to death. It was necessary to march on Moscow and exterminate the nobles.
The military sedition was complicated by the religious fanaticism of the raskolniks and the demagogic passions of the popular army. Four regiments revolted and deserted. Generals Schein and Gordon, with their regular troops, hastened after them, came up with them on the banks of the Iskra, and tried to persuade them to return to their duty. The streltsi replied by a petition setting forth all their grievances: “Many of them had died during the expedition to Azov, suggested by Lefort, a German, a heretic; they had endured fatiguing marches over burning plains, their only food being bad meat; their strength had been exhausted by severe tasks, and they had been banished to distant garrisons. Moscow was now a prey to all sorts of horrors. Foreigners had introduced the custom of shaving the beard and smoking tobacco. It was said that these niemtsi meant to seize the town. On this rumor, the streltsi had arrived, and also because Romodanovski wished to disperse and put them to the sword without anyone knowing why.” A few cannon-shots were sufficient to scatter the rebels. A large number were arrested; torture, the gibbet, and the dungeon awaited the captives.
When Peter hastened home from Vienna he decided that his generals and his douma had been too lenient. He had old grievances against the streltsi; they had been the army of Sophia, in opposition to the army of the Czar; he remembered the invasion of the Kremlin, the massacre of his mother’s family, her terrors in Troitsa, and the conspiracies which all but delayed his journey to the west. At the very time that he was travelling in Europe for the benefit of his people, these incorrigible mutineers had forced him to renounce his dearest projects and had stopped him on the road to Venice. He resolved to take advantage of the opportunity by crushing his enemies _en masse_, and by making the Old Russia feel the weight of a terror that would recall the days of Ivan IV. The long beards had been the standard of revolt–they should fall. On August 26th he ordered all the gentlemen of his court to shave themselves, and himself applied the razor to his great lords. The same day the Red Place was covered with gibbets. The patriarch Adrian tried in vain to appease the anger of the Czar by presenting to him the wonder-working image of the Mother of God. “Why hast thou brought out the holy icon?” exclaimed the Czar. “Retire and restore it to its place. Know that I venerate God and his Mother as much as thyself, but know also that it is my duty to protect the people and punish the rebels.”
On October 30th there arrived at the Red Place the first instalment of two hundred thirty prisoners: they came in carts, with lighted torches in their hands, nearly all already broken by torture, and followed by their wives and children, who ran behind chanting a funeral wail. Their sentence was read, and they were slain, the Czar ordering several officers to help the executioner. John George Korb, the Austrian agent, who as an eye-witness has left us an authentic account of the executions, heard that five rebel heads had been sent into the dust by blows from an axe wielded by the noblest hand in Russia. The terrible carpenter of Saardam worked and obliged his boyars to work at this horrible employment. Seven other days were employed in this way; a thousand victims were put to death. Some were broken on the wheel, and others died by various modes of torture. The removal of the corpses was forbidden: for five months Moscow had before its eyes the spectacle of the dead bodies hanging from the battlements of the Kremlin and the other ramparts; and for five months the streltsi suspended to the bars of Sophia’s prison presented her the petition by which they had entreated her to reign. Two of her confidants were buried alive; she herself, with Eudoxia Lapoukhine, Peter’s wife, who had been repudiated for her obstinate attachment to the ancient customs, had their heads shaved and were confined in monasteries. After the revolt of the inhabitants of Astrakhan, who put their waywode to death, the old militia was completely abolished, and the way left clear for the formation of new troops.
%TYRANNY OF ANDROS IN NEW ENGLAND%
THE “BLOODLESS REVOLUTION”
A.D. 1689
CHARLES W. ELLIOT
When the spirit of the English Revolution of 1688 crossed the Atlantic and stirred the New England colonists to throw off the Stuart tyranny represented by Andros, a long step was taken in the development of early American self-government. The Charter Oak tradition, whether or not resting on actual occurrences, correctly typifies the temper of that self-government as it has ever manifested itself in the crises of patriotic development in this country. And the ending of theocratic government, as here recorded of Massachusetts, foreshadowed the further growth of democracy in America.
Sir William Andros, an Englishman, was colonial governor of New York from 1674 to 1681, and of New England, including New York, from 1686 to 1689. His rule “was on the model dear to the heart of his royal master–a harsh despotism, but neither strong nor wise; it was wretched misgovernment and stupid, blundering oppression.” What poor success Andros had in his attempt to force such a rule upon people of the English race who had already accustomed themselves to a large measure of independence and self-government Elliott’s account briefly but fully shows.
While colonies are poor they are neglected by the parent state; when they are able to pay taxes then she is quite ready to “govern them”; she is willing to appoint various dependents to important offices, and to allow the colonies to pay liberal salaries; she likes also to tax them to the amount of the surplus production which is transferred to the managers in the mother-country. Surprising as this is, it is what many call “government,” and is common everywhere. England has been no exception to this, and her practice in New England was of this character till, in the year 1776, the back of the people was so galled that it threw its rider with violence.
At various times attempts had been made to destroy the Massachusetts charter. At the restoration of Charles II, in 1660, the enemies of the Puritans roused themselves. All who scented the breath of liberty in those Western gales–all who had been disappointed of fond hopes in those infant states–all who had felt in New England, too, the iron hand of ecclesiastical tyranny, who chafed in the religious manacles which there, as everywhere else, were imposed upon the minority–all united against them; and in 1664 commissioners were sent over with extraordinary powers. The colony withstood them to the best of its ability; but at last, in 1676, a _quo warranto_ was issued, and judgment was obtained in England against the Massachusetts charter.
In 1683 the quo warranto was brought over by Edward Randolph, who had been appointed collector of the port of Boston in 1681, but had not been allowed to act. He was the “messenger of death” to the hopes of the colony. The deputies refused to appear in England and plead, and judgment was entered up against them at last, in 1685, and the charter was abrogated. Charles died, and the bitter and bigoted James II came to the throne in 1684. The colonists then had rumors that Colonel Kirke, the fiercest hater of the Nonconformists in England, was coming over as governor, which filled them with dread. The colony now seemed to be at the mercy of the churchmen, or, worse than that, of the papists, for such was James. Mr. Rawson, secretary of the colony, about this time wrote, “Our condition is awful.”
Mr. Joseph Dudley was appointed governor and acted for a short time, but was succeeded by Sir Edmund Andros, who arrived December 19, 1686, with a commission from James II, to take upon himself the absolute government of all New England. Andros was supposed to be a bigoted papist, and he certainly carried matters with a high hand; the poisoned chalice of religious despotism, which these Pilgrims had commended to the lips of Roger Williams, the Browns, Mrs. Hutchinson, Gorton, Clarke, and the Quakers, was now offered to their own lips, and the draught was bitter.
First, the press was muzzled; then marriage was no longer free. The minister Moody (1684) was imprisoned six months in New Hampshire for refusing to administer the communion to Cranfield and others, according to the manner and form set forth in the _Book of Common Prayer_. The Congregational ministers were as mere laymen, and danger menaced public worship and the meeting-houses. But this last extremity was saved them by the necessity which James was under of securing the triumph of _his_ church in Protestant England, the first step toward which was the proclamation of religious toleration. This, of course, secured the colonists, and the pilgrims were saved that fearful misery of being driven out from their own cherished altars. Andros carried things with as high a hand in Massachusetts as his master did in England; absolute subjection they both insisted on. Besides the denial of political and religious rights, the practice of arbitrary taxation was asserted by Andros, and all titles to lands were questioned; in the brutal phrase of the time, it was declared that “the calf died in the cow’s belly”; that is, having no rights as a state, they had none as individuals; so fees, fines, and expenditures impoverished the people and enriched the officials. All seemed lost in Massachusetts.
Andros went down to Hartford, in Connecticut, with his suite, and with sixty troops took possession of the government there and demanded the charter. Through the day (October 31, 1687) the authorities remonstrated and postponed. When they met Andros again in the evening the people collected, much excited. There seemed no relief. Their palladium, their charter, was demanded, and before them stood Andros, with soldiers and drawn swords, to compel his demand. There was then no hope, and the roll of parchment–the charter, with the great royal seal upon it–was brought forth and laid upon the table, in the midst of the excited people. Suddenly, without warning, all lights were extinguished! There were darkness and silence, followed by wonder, movement, and confusion. What meant this very unparliamentary conduct, or was it a gust of wind which had startled all? Lights were soon obtained, and then–
“Where is the charter?” was the question that went round the assembly.
“What means this?” cried Andros, in anger.
But no man knew where the charter had disappeared to; neither threats nor persuasion brought it to light. What could Andros do? Clearly nothing, for the authorities had done all that could be asked; they had produced the charter in the presence of Andros, and now it had disappeared from his presence. He had come upon a fool’s errand, and some sharp Yankee (Captain Wadsworth) had outwitted him. Where was the charter? Safely hidden in the heart of the great oak, at Hartford, on the grounds of Samuel Wyllys. There it remained beyond the reach of tyranny.
The tree known as the “Charter Oak” stood for over a century and a half from that day. The Indians had always prayed that the tree might be spared; they have our thanks.
Andros wrote on the last page of their records, _Finis_, and disappeared–but that was not the end of Connecticut.
It was a dark time for liberty in New England, and a dark day for liberty in Old England; for there James II and his unscrupulous ministers were corruptly, grossly, and illegally trampling down the rights of manhood. Andros was doing it in New England, and he found in Dudley, Stoughton, Clark, and others, sons of New England, ready feet. In 1688 Randolph writes, “We are as arbitrary as the great Turk”; which seems to have been true. The hearts of the best men in both countries sank within them, and they cried in their discouragement, “O Lord! how long!”
Thus matters stood when, during the spring of 1688-1689, faint rumors of the landing of William, Prince of Orange, in England, came from Virginia. Could this be true? It brought Andros up to Boston (April), where he gave orders to have the soldiers ready against surprise.
Liberty is the most ardent wish of a brave and noble people, and is too often betrayed by confidence in cultivated and designing and timid men. Liberty was the wish of the people of New England; and for the want of brave men then and since then they suffered.
When, on April 4th, John Winslow brought from Virginia the rumor of the English Revolution and the landing of the Prince of Orange, it went through their blood like the electric current, and thrilled from the city along the byways into every home. Men got on their horses and rode onward to the next house to carry the tidings that the popish King was down and William was up, and that there was hope; through town and country the questions were eagerly asked: “Shall we get our old charter? Shall we regain our rights?” “What is there for us to do?” cried the people.
Andros put out a proclamation that all persons should be in readiness to resist the forces of the Prince of Orange should they come. But the old magistrates and leaders silently prayed for his success; the people, less cautious and more determined, said to one another: “Let us do something. Why not act?” and this went from mouth to mouth till their hatred of Andros, and the remembrance to his dastardly oppressions, blazed into a consuming fire.
“On April 18, 1689,” wrote an onlooker, “I knew not anything of what was intended until it was begun, yet being at the north end of the town, where I saw boys running along the streets with clubs in their hands encouraging one another to fight, I began to mistrust what was intended, and hasting toward the Town Dock I soon saw men running for their arms; but before I got to the Red Lion I was told that Captain George and the master of the frigate were seized and secured in Mr. Colman’s house at the North End; and when I came to the Town Dock I understood that Bullivant and some others were laid hold of, and then immediately the drums began to beat, and the people hastened and ran, some with and some for arms,” etc.
So it was begun, no one knew by whom; but men remembered yet their old liberties and were ready to risk something to regain them; they remembered, too, their present tyrants and longed to punish them. But in all this, men of property took no part–they are always timid. It was the “mob” that acted.
Governor Andros was at the fort with some soldiers, and sent for the clergymen to come to him, who declined. The people and train-bands rallied together at the Town House, where old Governor Bradstreet and some other principal men met to consult as to what should be done. The King’s frigate in the harbor ran up her flags, and the lieutenant swore he would die before she should be taken, and he opened her ports and ran out her guns; but Captain George (prisoner in Boston) sent him word not to fire a shot, for the people would tear him in pieces if he did. In the afternoon the soldiers and people marched to the fort, took possession of a battery, turned its guns upon the fort and demanded its surrender. They did not wait for its surrender, but stormed in through the portholes, and Captain John Nelson, a Boston merchant, cried out to Andros, “I demand your surrender.” Andros was surprised at the anger of an outraged people, and knew not what to do, but at last gave up the fort, and was lodged prisoner in Mr. Usher’s house.
The next day he was forced to give up the castle in the harbor, and the guns of the battery from the shore were brought to bear upon the frigate. But the captain prayed that she might not be forced to surrender, because all the officers and crew would lose their wages; so she was dismantled for present security. All through the day people came pouring in from the country, well armed and hot with rage against Andros and his confederates; and the cooler men trembled lest some unnecessary violence might be done; so Captain Fisher, of Dedham, led Andros by the collar of the coat back to the fort for safety.
On the 20th Bradstreet and other leading men met, and formed a kind of provisional council. They carefully abstained from resuming their old charter, partly from fear and partly from doubt, and called upon the towns to send up deputies. When these met, on May 22, 1689, forty out of fifty-four were for “resuming,” but a majority of the council opposed it, and time was spent in disputes; but at last the old Governor and magistrates accepted the control of affairs, though they would not consent to resume the charter. Thus the moment for action passed, and the colony lost that chance for reestablishing its old rights.
Rhode Island and Connecticut resumed their charters, which had never been legally vacated. Mr. Threat was obliged to take again the office of governor of Connecticut, when the amazing reports of the revolution and seizure of the Governor in Massachusetts reached them. They issued loyal addresses to William and Mary, in which they said: “Great was that day when the Lord who sitteth upon the floods did divide his and your adversaries like the waters of Jordan, and did begin to magnify you like Joshua, by the deliverance of the English dominions from popery and slavery.”
Andros escaped, but was apprehended at Rhode Island, and sent back to Boston, and in February, 1689, with Dudley and some others, he was sent away to England.
Increase Mather, the agent of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, with the aid of friends in England, endeavored to gain the restoration of the old charter from King William, but was unsuccessful; a new one was granted (1691), which contained many of the old privileges; but the King would not grant them the power of appointing their own governor; that power was reserved; and appeals from the colony courts to England were allowed. The Governor and the King both had a veto upon all colonial legislation. By it all religions except the Roman Catholic were declared free, and Plymouth was annexed to Massachusetts.
Thus two important elements of a free government were lost to Massachusetts; and powers which had been exercised over fifty years were, for nigh a hundred years, taken away. In Connecticut and Rhode Island they continued to elect their own rulers and to exercise all the powers of government. The new charter was brought over by Sir William Phipps, the new governor appointed by the King, who arrived on May 14, 1692.
Thus ended the rule of the theocracy in Massachusetts, and from this time forward the ministers and church-members possessed no more power than the rest of the people.
%MASSACRE OF LACHINE%
A.D. 1689
FRANÇOIS XAVIER GARNEAU
Just after Count Frontenac’s first administration of Canada (1672-1682), when the colony of New France was under the rule of De la Barre and his successor, the Marquis de Denonville, Montreal and its immediate vicinity suffered from the most terrible and bloody of all the Indian massacres of the colonial days. The hatred of the Five Nations for the French, stimulated by the British colonists of New York, under its governor, Colonel Dongan, was due to French forays on the Seneca tribes, and to the capture and forwarding to the royal galleys in France of many of the betrayed Iroquois chiefs. At this period the English on the seaboard began to extend their trade into the interior of the continent and to divert commerce from the St. Lawrence to the Hudson. This gave rise to keen rivalries between the two European races, and led the English to take sides with the Iroquois in their enmity to the French. The latter, at Governor Denonville’s instigation, sought to settle accounts summarily with the Iroquois, believing that the tribes of the Five Nations could never be conciliated, and that it was well to extirpate them at once. Soon the Governor put his fell purpose into effect. With a force of two thousand men, in a fleet of canoes, he entered the Seneca country by the Genesee River, and for ten days ravaged the Iroquois homes and put many of them cruelly to death. Returning by the Niagara River he erected and garrisoned a fort at its mouth and then withdrew to Québec. A terrible revenge was taken on the French colonists for these infamous acts, as the following article by M. Garneau shows.
The situation of the colonists of New France during the critical era of M. Denonville’s administration was certainly anything but enviable. They literally “dwelt in the midst of alarms,” yet their steady courage in facing perils, and their endurance of privations when unavoidable, were worthy of admiration. A lively idea of what they had to resist or to suffer may be found by reading the more particular parts of the Governor’s despatches to Paris. For instance, in one of these he wrote in reference to the raids of the Iroquois: “The savages are just so many animals of prey, scattered through a vast forest, whence they are ever ready to issue, to raven and kill in the adjoining countries. After their ravages, to go in pursuit of them is a constant but almost bootless task. They have no settled place whither they can be traced with any certainty; they must be watched everywhere, and long waited for, with fire-arms ready primed. Many of their lurking-places could be reached only by blood-hounds or by other savages as our trackers, but those in our service are few, and the native allies we have are seldom trustworthy; they fear the enemy more than they love us, and they dread, on their own selfish account, to drive the Iroquois to extremity. It has been resolved, in the present strait, to erect a fort in every seigniory, as a place of shelter for helpless people and live-stock, at times when the open country is overrun with ravagers. As matters now stand, the arable grounds lie wide apart, and are so begirt with bush that every thicket around serves as a point for attack by a savage foe; insomuch that an army, broken up into scattered posts, would be needful to protect the cultivators of our cleared lands.”[1]
[Footnote 1: Letter to M. Seignelai, August 10, 1688.]
Nevertheless, at one time hopes were entertained that more peaceful times were coming. In effect, negotiations with the Five Nations were recommenced; and the winter of 1687-1688 was passed in goings to and fro between the colonial authorities and the leaders of the Iroquois, with whom several conferences were holden. A correspondence, too, was maintained by the Governor with Colonel Dongan at New York; the latter intimating in one of his letters that he had formed a league of all the Iroquois tribes, and put arms in their hands, to enable them to defend British colonial territory against all comers.
The Iroquois confederation itself sent a deputation to Canada, which was escorted as far as Lake St. François by twelve hundred warriors–a significant demonstration enough. The envoys, after having put forward their pretensions with much stateliness and yet more address, said that, nevertheless, their people did not mean to press for all the advantages they had the right and the power to demand. They intimated that they were perfectly aware of the comparative weakness of the colony; that the Iroquois could at any time burn the houses of the inhabitants, pillage their stores, waste their crops, and afterward easily raze the forts. The Governor-general, in reply to these–not quite unfounded–boastings and arrogant assumptions, said that Colonel Dongan claimed the Iroquois as English subjects, and admonished the deputies that, if such were the case, then they must act according to his orders, which would necessarily be pacific, France and England not now being at war; whereupon the deputies responded, as others had done before, that the confederation formed an independent power; that it had always resisted French as well as English supremacy over its subjects; and that the coalesced Iroquois would be neutral, or friends or else enemies to one or both, at discretion; “for we have never been conquered by either of you,” they said; adding that, as they held their country immediately from God, they acknowledge no other master.
It did not appear, however, that there was a perfect accordance among the envoys on all points, for the deputies from Onnontaguez, the Onneyouths, and Goyogouins agreed to a truce on conditions proposed by M. Denonville; namely, that all the native allies of the French should be comprehended in the treaty. They undertook that deputies [others than some of those present?] should be sent from the Agniers and Tsonnouthouan cantons, who were then to take part in concluding a treaty; that all hostilities should cease on every side, and that the French should be allowed to revictual, undisturbed, the fort of Cataracoui. The truce having been agreed to on those bases, five of the Iroquois remained (one for each canton), as hostages for its terms being observed faithfully. Notwithstanding this precaution, several roving bands of Iroquois, not advertised, possibly, of what was pending, continued to kill our people, burn their dwellings, and slaughter live-stock in different parts of the colony; for example, at St. François, at Sorel, at Contrecoeur, and at St. Ours. These outrages, however, it must be owned, did not long continue, and roving corps of savages, either singly or by concert, drew off from the invaded country and allowed its harassed people a short breathing-time at least.
The native allies of the French, on the other hand, respected the truce little more than the Iroquois. The Abenaquis invaded the Agniers canton, and even penetrated to the English settlements, scalping several persons. The Iroquois of the Sault and of La Montagne did the like; but the Hurons of Michilimackinac, supposed to be those most averse to the war, did all they could, and most successfully, too, to prevent a peace being signed.
While the negotiations were in progress, the “Machiavel of the wilderness,” as Raynal designates a Huron chief, bearing the native name of Kondiarak, but better known as Le Rat in the colonial annals, arrived at Frontenac (Kingston), with a chosen band of his tribe, and became a means of complicating yet more the difficulties of the crisis. He was the most enterprising, brave, and best-informed chief in all North America; and, as such, was one courted by the Governor in hopes of his becoming a valuable auxiliary to the French, although at first one of their most formidable enemies. He now came prepared to battle in their favor, and eager to signalize himself in the service of his new masters. The time, however, as we may well suppose, was not opportune, and he was informed that a treaty with the Iroquois being far advanced, and their deputies on the way to Montreal to conclude it, he would give umbrage to the Governor-general of Canada should he persevere in the hostilities he had been already carrying on.
The Rat was taken aback on hearing this to him unwelcome news, but took care to hide his surprise and uttered no complaint. Yet was he mortally offended that the French should have gone so far in the matter without the concert of their native allies, and he at once resolved to punish them, in his own case, for such a marked slight. He set out secretly with his braves, laid an ambuscade near Famine Cove for the approaching deputation of Iroquois, murdered several and made the others his prisoners. Having done so, he secretly gloried in the act, afterward saying that he had “killed the peace.” Yet in dealing with the captives he put another and a deceptive face on the matter; for, on courteously questioning them as to the object of their journey, being told that they were peaceful envoys, he affected great wonder, seeing that it was Denonville himself who had sent him on purpose to waylay them!
To give seeming corroboration to his astounding assertions, he set the survivors at liberty, retaining one only to replace one of his men who was killed by the Iroquois in resisting the Hurons’ attack. Leaving the deputies to follow what course they thought fit, he hastened with his men to Michilimackinac, where he presented his prisoner to M. Durantaye, who, not as yet officially informed, perhaps, that a truce existed with the Iroquois, consigned him to death, though he gave Durantaye assurance of who he really was; but when the victim appealed to the Rat for confirmation of his being an accredited envoy, that unscrupulous personage told him he must be out of his mind to imagine such a thing! This human sacrifice offered up, the Rat called upon an aged Iroquois, then and long previously a Huron captive, to return to his compatriots and inform them from him that while the French were making a show of peace-seeking, they were, underhand, killing and making prisoners of their native antagonists.
This artifice, a manifestation of the diabolic nature of its author, had too much of the success intended by it, for, although the Governor managed to disculpate himself in the eyes of the more candid-minded Iroquois leaders, yet there were great numbers of the people who could not be disabused, as is usual in such cases, even among civilized races. Nevertheless the enlightened few, who really were tired of the war, agreed to send a second deputation to Canada; but when it was about to set out, a special messenger arrived, sent by Andros, successor of Dongan, enjoining the chiefs of the Iroquois confederation not to treat with the French without the participation of his master, and announcing at the same time that the King of Great Britain had taken the Iroquois nations under his protection. Concurrently with this step, Andros wrote to Denonville that the Iroquois territory was a dependency holden of the British, and that he would not permit its people to treat upon those conditions already proposed by Dongan.
This transaction took place in 1688; but before that year concluded, Andros’ “royal master” was himself superseded, and living an exile in France.[1] Whether instructions sent from England previously warranted the polity pursued by Andros or not, his injunctions had the effect of instantly stopping the negotiations with the Iroquois, and prompting them to recommence their vengeful hostilities. War between France and Britain being proclaimed next year, the American colonists of the latter adopted the Iroquois as their especial allies, in the ensuing contests with the people of New France.
[Footnote 1: In 1688 Andros was appointed Governor of New York and New England. The appointment of this tyrant, and the annexation of the colony to the neighboring ones, were measures particularly odious to the people.–ED.]
Andros, meanwhile, who adopted the policy of his predecessor so far as regarded the aborigines if in no other respect, not only fomented the deadly enmity of the Iroquois for the Canadians, but tried to detach the Abenaquis from their alliance with the French, but without effect in their case; for this people honored the countrymen of the missionaries who had made the Gospel known to them, and their nation became a living barrier to New France on that side, which no force sent from New England could surmount; insomuch that the Abenaquis, some time afterward, having crossed the borders of the English possessions, and harassed the remoter colonists, the latter were fain to apply to the Iroquois to enable them to hold their own.
The declaration of Andros, and the armings of the Iroquois, now let loose on many parts of Canada, gave rise to a project as politic, perhaps, as it was daring, and such as communities when in extremity have adopted with good effect; namely, to divert invasion by directly attacking the enemies’ neighboring territories. The Chevalier de Callières, with whom the idea originated, after having suggested to Denonville a plan for making a conquest of the province of New York, set out for France, to bring it under the consideration of the home government, believing that it was the only means left to save Canada to the mother-country.
It was high time, indeed, that the destinies of Canada were confided to other directors than the late and present ones, left as the colony had been, since the departure of M. de Frontenac, in the hands of superannuated or incapable chiefs. Any longer persistency in the policy of its two most recent governors might have irreparably compromised the future existence of the colony. But worse evils were in store for the latter days of the Denonville administration; a period which, take it altogether, was one of the most calamitous which our forefathers passed through.
At the time we have now reached in this history an unexpected as well as unwonted calm pervaded the country, yet the Governor had been positively informed that a desolating inroad by the collective Iroquois had been arranged, and that its advent was imminent; but as no precursive signs of it appeared anywhere to the general eyes, it was hoped that the storm, said to be ready to burst, might yet be evaded. None being able to account for the seeming inaction of the Iroquois, the Governor applied to the Jesuits for their opinion on the subject. The latter expressed their belief that those who had brought intelligence of the evil intention of the confederacy had been misinformed as to facts, or else exaggerated sinister probabilities. The prevailing calm was therefore dangerous as well as deceitful, for it tended to slacken preparations which ought to have been made to lessen the apprehensions of coming events which threw no shadow before.
The winter and the spring of the year 1688-1689 had been passed in an unusually tranquil manner, and the summer was pretty well advanced when the storm, long pent up, suddenly fell on the beautiful island of Montreal, the garden of Canada. During the night of August 5th, amid a storm of hail and rain, fourteen hundred Iroquois traversed Lake St. Louis, and disembarked silently on the upper strand of that island. Before daybreak next morning the invaders had taken their station at Lachine in platoons around every considerable house within a radius of several leagues. The inmates were buried in sleep–soon to be the dreamless sleep that knows no waking, for too many of them.
The Iroquois wait only for the signal from their leaders to fall on. It is given. In short space the doors and the windows of the dwellings are driven in; the sleepers dragged from their beds; men, women, children all struggling in the hands of their butchers. Such houses as the savages cannot force their way into, they fire; and as the flames reach the persons of those within, intolerable pain drives them forth to meet death beyond the threshold, from beings who know no pity. The more fiendish murderers even forced parents to throw their children into the flames. Two hundred persons were burned alive; others died under prolonged tortures. Many were reserved to perish similarly, at a future time. The fair island upon which the sun shone brightly erewhile, was lighted up by fires of woe; houses, plantations, and crops were reduced to ashes, while the ground reeked with blood up to a line a short league apart from Montreal city. The ravagers crossed to the opposite shore, the desolation behind them being complete, and forthwith the parish of Le Chenaie was wasted by fire and many of its people massacred.
The colonists for many leagues around the devoted region seem to have been actually paralyzed by the brain-blow thus dealt their compatriots by the relentless savages, as no one seems to have moved a step to arrest their course; for they were left in undisturbed possession of the country during several weeks. On hearing of the invasion, Denonville lost his self-possession altogether. When numbers of the colonists, recovering from their stupor, came up armed desiring to be led against the murderers of their countrymen, he sent them back or forbade them to stir! Several opportunities presented themselves for disposing of parties of the barbarians, when reckless from drink after their orgies, or when roving about in scattered parties feeble in number; but the Governor-general’s positive orders to refrain from attacking them withheld the uplifted hand from striking.
In face of a prohibition so authoritative, the soldiers and the inhabitants alike could only look on and wait till the savages should find it convenient to retire. Some small skirmishing, indeed, there was at a few distant points between the people and their invaders. Thus a party of men, partly French and partly natives, led by Larobeyre, an ex-lieutenant, on the way to reënforce Fort Roland, where Chevalier de Vaudreuil commanded, were set upon and all killed or dispersed. More than half of the prisoners taken were burned by their conquerors. Larobeyre, being wounded and not able to fire, was led captive by the Iroquois to their country, and roasted at a slow fire in presence of the assembled tribe of his captors. Meantime the resistance to the barbarians being little or none in the regions they overran, they slew most of the inhabitants they met in their passage; while their course was marked, wherever they went, by lines of flame.
Their bands moved rapidly from one devoted tract to another; yet wherever they had to face concerted resistance–which in some cases, at least, put a fitting obstacle in the way of their intended ravagings–they turned aside and sought an easier prey elsewhere. In brief, during ten entire weeks or more, did they wreak their wrath, almost unchecked, upon the fairest region of Canada, and did not retire thence till about mid-October.
The Governor-General having sent a party of observation to assure himself of the enemy having decamped, this detachment observed a canoe on the Lake of the Two Mountains, bearing twenty-two of the retiring Iroquois. The Canadians, who were of about the same number, embarked in two boats and, nearing the savages, coolly received their fire; but in returning the discharge, each singled out his man, when eighteen of the Iroquois were at once laid low.
However difficult it may have been to put the people of a partially cleared country, surrounded with forests, on their guard against such an irruption as the foregoing, it is difficult to account for their total unpreparedness without imputing serious blame to Denonville and his subalterns in office. That he exercised no proper influence, in the first place, was evident, and the small use he made of the means he had at his disposal when the crisis arrived was really something to marvel at. He was plainly unequal to the occasion, and his incapacity in every particular made it quite impossible for his presence, as chief of the colony, to be endured any longer. There is little doubt that had he not been soon recalled by royal order, the colonists themselves would have set him aside. The latter season of his inglorious administration took the lugubrious name “the Year of the Massacre.”[1]
[Footnote 1: The Five Nations, being at war with the French, made a sudden descent on Montreal, burned and sacked the town, killed one hundred of the inhabitants, carrying away a number of prisoners whom they burned alive, and then returned to their own country with the loss of only a few of their number. Had the English followed up the success of their allies, all Canada might have been easily conquered.–ED.]
The man appointed through a happy inspiration to supersede M. de Denonville had now reached the Lower Canadian waters. He was no other than the Count de Frontenac. It appears that the King, willing to cover, with a handsome pretext, the recall of Denonville, in a letter dated May 31st, advertised him that, war having been rekindled in Europe, his military talents would be of the greatest use in home service. By this time De Frontenac was called to give counsel regarding the projects of the Chevalier de Callières, and assist in preparing the way for their realization if considered feasible. Meanwhile he undertook to resume his duties as governor-general of New France; but a series of events delayed his arrival in Canada till the autumn of 1689.
He landed at Québec on October 18th, at 8 P.M., accompanied by De Callières, amid the heartiest demonstrations of popular welcome. The public functionaries and armed citizens in waiting, with torch-bearers, escorted him through the city, which was spontaneously illuminated, to his quarters. His return was hailed by all, but by none more than the Jesuits, who had, in fact for years before, labored to obtain his recall. The nobles, the merchants, the business class, gave him so hearty a reception as to convince him that real talent such as his must in the end rise superior to all the conjoined efforts of faction, public prejudices, and the evil passions of inferior minds.
War was declared against Britain in the month of June. M. de Frontenac, on resuming the reins of government, had to contend both against the Anglo-American colonies and the Five Nations. His energy and skill, however, overcame all obstacles; the war was most glorious for the Canadians, so few in number compared with their adversaries; and far from succumbing to their enemies, they carried the war into the adversaries’ camp and struck at the heart of their most remote possessions.
%SIEGE OF LONDONDERRY AND BATTLE OF THE BOYNE%
A.D. 1689-1690
TOBIAS G. SMOLLETT
Londonderry, capital of the county of the same name in Ireland, is a city of historic celebrity by reason of the successful defence there made (April-August, 1689) by the Irish Protestants against the besieging forces of James II. The battle of the Boyne (July 1, 1690) is of less importance in a military sense than for the reason that it virtually ended the war which James II carried into Ireland in his unsuccessful attempt to regain his throne from William and Mary. On account of this result, and still more by reason of the hereditary antagonisms which have so long survived it, this battle still retains a peculiar fame in history.
In Ireland, where the Roman Catholics were numerous, there was strong opposition to the government of William and Mary. The fugitive James II had supporters who controlled the Irish army. Some resistance was made by the English and Scotch colonists in Ireland, but little head was made against the Catholic party, which supported James, until William entered the country with his forces.
In the following narrative Smollett speaks of an “intended massacre” of the Protestants at Londonderry. The people of that city were of Anglo-Saxon blood. Although belonging to various Protestant churches, they were united in their hostility to the Irish and to the Catholic faith. They were alarmed at the close of 1688 by rumors of a plan for their own extirpation by the papists. News of the approach of the Earl of Antrim with a regiment, under orders from the Lord Deputy, filled the city with consternation. What followed there is graphically told in the words of the historian. A better account of a military action than that which Smollett gives of the Battle of the Boyne it would be hard to find.
On the first alarm of an intended massacre, the Protestants of Londonderry had shut their gates against the regiment commanded by the Earl of Antrim, and resolved to defend themselves against the Lord Deputy; they transmitted this resolution to the Government of England, together with an account of the danger they incurred by such a vigorous measure, and implored immediate assistance; they were accordingly supplied with some arms and ammunition, but did not receive any considerable reënforcement till the middle of April, when two regiments arrived at Loughfoyl under the command of Cunningham and Richards.
By this time King James had taken Coleraine, invested Kilmore, and was almost in sight of Londonderry. George Walker, rector of Donaghmore, who had raised a regiment for the defence of the Protestants, conveyed this intelligence to Lundy, the governor; this officer directed him to join Colonel Crafton, and take post at the Longcausey, which he maintained a whole night against the advanced guard of the enemy, until, being overpowered by numbers, he retreated to Londonderry and exhorted the governor to take the field, as the army of King James was not yet completely formed. Lundy assembling a council of war, at which Cunningham and Richards assisted, they agreed that as the place was not tenable, it would be imprudent to land the two regiments; and that the principal officers should withdraw themselves from Londonderry, the inhabitants of which would obtain the more favorable capitulation in consequence of their retreat; an officer was immediately despatched to King James with proposals of a negotiation; and Lieutenant-general Hamilton agreed that the army should halt at the distance of four miles from the town.
Notwithstanding this preliminary, James advanced at the head of his troops, but met with such a warm reception from the besieged that he was fain to retire to St. John’s Town in some disorder. The inhabitants and soldiers in garrison at Londonderry were so incensed at the members of the council of war who had resolved to abandon the place that they threatened immediate vengeance. Cunningham and Richards retired to their ships, and Lundy locked himself in his chamber. In vain did Walker and Major Baker exhort him to maintain his government; such was his cowardice or treachery that he absolutely refused to be concerned in the defence of the place, and he was suffered to escape in disguise, with a load of matches on his back; but he was afterward apprehended in Scotland, from whence he was sent to London to answer for his perfidy or misconduct.
After his retreat the townsmen chose Mr. Walker and Major Baker for their governors with joint authority; but this office they would not undertake until it had been offered to Colonel Cunningham, as the officer next in command to Lundy; he rejected the proposal, and with Richards returned to England, where they were immediately cashiered. The two new governors, thus abandoned to their fate, began to prepare for a vigorous defence: indeed their courage seems to have transcended the bounds of discretion, for the place was very ill-fortified; their cannon, which did not exceed twenty pieces, were wretchedly mounted; they had not one engineer to direct their operations; they had a very small number of horse; the garrison consisted of people unacquainted with military discipline; they were destitute of provisions; they were besieged by a king, in person, at the head of a formidable army, directed by good officers, and supplied with all the necessary implements for a siege or battle.
The town was invested on April 20th; the batteries were soon opened, and several attacks were made with great impetuosity, but the besiegers were always repulsed with considerable loss; the townsmen gained divers advantages in repeated sallies, and would have held their enemies in the utmost contempt had they not been afflicted with a contagious distemper, as well as reduced to extremity by want of provisions; they were even tantalized in their distress, for they had the mortification to see some ships, which had arrived with supplies from England, prevented from sailing