IT WAS JUNE. Charles had been dead four months. I was wondering whether James, who had since his accession shown great moderation, might have learned wisdom from his brother, and while he remained a Catholic, be able to maintain peace in the realm.
He had shown no desire so far to force his religion on his subjects, but I guessed the Whigs were alert and at the first sign of James’s favour toward the Catholics, there would be trouble.
I was alarmed when Lord Feversham told me that Archibald Campbell, the Earl of Argyll, had been arrested in Scotland.
Argyll had come from Amsterdam, where he had been in the company of the Duke of Monmouth, in three ships in which were three hundred men. His plan was to collect more on his arrival. He was displaying banners on which were written the words “For God and Religion against Popery, Tyranny, Arbitrary Government and Erastianism.”
In Scotland he gathered more men, but unfortunately for him, one of them had been captured and confessed that he had come with Argyll to turn the King off the throne and give the crown to the Duke of Monmouth.
The plot was therefore prematurely disclosed and those who were involved took fright and deserted.
“They would have had no chance against the King’s forces,” said Lord Feversham. “Poor Argyll! His venture did not last, and he found himself alone, and was captured and brought to Edinburgh Castle.”
“How could he have hoped to succeed?” I asked.
“’Tis my belief that he had no thought of attacking until Monmouth arrived.”
“Surely Monmouth cannot be so foolish as to think he can overthrow the King?”
“He will insist that his father was married to Lucy Walter.”
“But the King denied it so often.”
“The King is dead.”
“You cannot think that such a venture would succeed?”
“I am not sure. It depends on how many will support him.”
“But Charles always swore that he was illegitimate.”
“He is a Protestant.”
“But if he has no right…”
“So much depends on what the people want.”
“Do you think King James will give up lightly because the people want it?”
“Do not the people always have their choice…in time?”
“Did they want Cromwell…and the Parliament to govern them?”
“Cromwell was strong. He had many supporters.”
“And you think if he had not died, the King would not have been recalled?”
“That may have been, but at the time he came to power, the majority of the people wanted Cromwell.”
“And if they want the Duke of Monmouth as their King…?”
“Your Majesty, I should tremble if that came to pass.” He looked at me anxiously.
I said, “Please, always be frank with me. I shall know, Lord Feversham, that what you have to say to me is between us two.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall always tell you what is in my mind.”
Later he told me that the Earl of Argyll had been beheaded in Edinburgh. His head was placed on a spike at the west end of the Tolbooth, but, before that, came the news that the Duke of Monmouth had landed at Lyme Regis.
THE DRAMA HAD BEGUN. Jemmy had come for that which all his life he had coveted. Poor Jemmy, I feared for him. I had so often felt that he was far from the valiant ruler he had imagined himself to be. He had mistaken his charm and good looks for kingly qualities. He had not inherited his father’s wisdom.
I waited eagerly for news. I was fond of Jemmy. There was something lovable about him and, in some ways, he reminded me of his father. How often had I wished that he had been my son! How much easier my life would have been. Now I feared deeply for him. He would have to learn that charm of manner does not make up for a lack of wisdom.
I understood what his plan was. Argyll, as a Scot, was to capture Scotland for him, while he took England, and as the West Country was strongly Protestant, that seemed an ideal spot for him to begin his campaign.
Lord Feversham kept me in touch with the news. These tête-á-têtes had become a custom with us, and from him I learned much more than I could from the gossip of the ladies or the scraps of news which came to me from other sources.
“Monmouth has had a proclamation read in the market place,” Lord Feversham told me. “He announces that he now heads the Protestant forces in the kingdom and is the legitimate heir to the throne.”
“What will become of him?” I asked.
“I fear the impulsive young man will lose his head ere long.”
“King Charles would have been greatly distressed. He loved him devotedly. I knew there was discord at times, but that was all due to the Duke’s recklessness and ambition.”
“As is the present situation, Your Majesty. Oh, what a tragedy for this country when the King passed on.”
“You are right. It is a tragedy for us all.”
The next news I heard was that a Bill of Attainder had been issued against Monmouth and there was a price of five thousand pounds on his head.
Monmouth retaliated by marching to Taunton, where he was proclaimed King. He had gathered an army of seven thousand men and declared the Westminster Parliament was traitorous, and he had the effrontery to put a price on King James’s head. He swore he was the rightful heir to the throne, for his mother had been married to King Charles, and in time he would prove this. I am sure he believed this would be so, for there would be no hesitation in producing the little box with its documents once he had defeated James.
At Bridgwater he was proclaimed King. Then he went to Glastonbury and Shepton Mallet. The West Country was with him.
I could imagine his bitter disappointment — for I knew him so well — when Bath refused to surrender to him and when the troops he was expecting did not arrive. By that time he would have heard of Argyll’s capture. Poor Jemmy! He had no great stamina for the tremendous task which he had set himself.
His men, fearing retaliation, were deserting in hundreds. There was one great hope. The peasantry was gathering round him shouting “No Popery! King Monmouth for us!” He marched back to Bridgwater to meet his new army: unskilled men, brandishing their scythes and pitchforks.
I hoped that he would escape to Amsterdam. What his reception would be there, I could not imagine.
Churchill marched westwards with two thousand regular soldiers, and fifteen hundred more joined him from Wiltshire. They encamped on Sedgemoor.
The battle was swift, as was inevitable. Monmouth’s west country yokels were unfit to stand up to trained soldiers. Monmouth was no Churchill, and very soon more than half of his army were lying dead on the field. The enterprise had failed.
I tried to make excuses for Jemmy. He was only a boy, playing at being a king.
He made his excuses for flight from the field. Lord Grey had urged him to leave, for he must save his life to fight again for the cause. Whatever happened, he left his poor sad army and fled with Grey.
I heard later how they had ridden hard toward the Bristol Channel, how they had to leave their exhausted horses and travel on foot, how they disguised themselves as farm laborers.
About a month after his arrival in England, Monmouth was captured in a ditch in which he had hidden himself under bracken.
King Monmouth’s reign was over.
He was brought to the Tower to await his trial.
I COULD NOT STOP THINKING how saddened Charles would have been. He would have forgiven his son, as he had so often in the past. But Jemmy had never attempted any prank of such magnitude before. The slitting of Sir John Coventry’s nose, the murder of the beadle, suspicion of being involved in the Rye House Plot…that had all been forgiven. But this was an attempt on his uncle’s crown, and his father was no longer there to shield him.