The Patriot

by Nigel Tranter

  Andrew frowned. "I regret it, sir. I know that it is argued that such a move should be soon. Before King James, your uncle, has time to entrench himself. But I would say to wait. He is a man of harsh, stern methods. Every month that he is on the throne will see the people of England, Protestant people, more afflicted, more hardly used. And so growing more ready to welcome an invasion . . ."

  "It is too late. I have given my word. Moreover, matters here push me to it, Mr. Fletcher. My uncle has sent an envoy to the Prince of Orange here, requesting that he no longer permits me to remain in Holland, and hints that he might have to consider making an edict removing the heirship to the throne from his elder daughter, Mary, William's wife, to the younger, Anne. So William wishes to be rid of me. I had thought to go to Sweden-but am committed to make the great venture in England instead. Preparations are in train. We sail in a matter of days."

  "What then am I to say to you? Only that I do not advise that you proclaim yourself King, in England as in Scotland. Announce rather that you have come to defend the Protestant faith. Issue a call to arms, in that defence. But leave the parliaments to proclaim you monarch. If you have the parliamentarians on your side, it is half the battle. And you have more hope of that in England than in Scotland, meantime."

  "You think so? How else may I woo the parliamentarians?"

  "You might ask them, sir, to bring in a Bill of Legitimation. Ask it in friendly, even respectful fashion. The English parliament is sovereign. In Scotland it is the King in parliament that is sovereign. So this could not serve there. If an Act was passed legitimating your birth, it would much help. And involve the members in your cause. Even if it failed to pass the Lords, that could serve you. Provide an issue - the Lords against the people! All to stir up feeling, rouse the nation."

  The Duke rose to pace the floor, glancing over at Burnet. "Dr. Burnet is right - you have shrewd wits, sir. But. . . there is a matter here which, shall we say, holds me back. The fact is, my friends, I require no legitimation!"

  They both stared.

  "Few know of this, gentlemen. And I tell you in greatest confidence - for I feel that I can trust you. My royal father, you see, for his own reasons, made me promise not to publish the matter. As price of his continued goodwill. I possess my father's marriage-lines to my mother!"

  "Good Lord ..-.!'*

  "My lord Duke . . ."

  "Aye - my father, as Prince of Wales, secretly married Lucy Walters, here at The Hague, in 1648, when he found that she was with child by him. It was kept very close. For his father, King Charles the First, was prisoner in England. And his mother, Queen Henrietta Maria, in Paris, had forbidden anything such, and threatened to cut his allowance from the King of France. Later, when both my grandfather and grandmother were dead, the politicians persuaded my father that to let it be known that he was wed to a commoner was no way to regain his throne. Then, it was considered expedient that he wed a princess, Catherine of Braganza. And so the thing must remain hidden - or it made that royal marriage a fraud. So it has remained." The Duke spoke it all tensely, through tight lips.

  His hearers exchanged glances. "I do not know what to say . . . Your Royal Highness!" Andrew said.

  "Say nothing, my friend - as I have done all these years. But you will understand why I am loth to seek legitimation by any parliament!"

  "No, no - that would be an equal fraud!" Burnet exclaimed.

  "Perhaps. But ... it could be worth doing, nevertheless," Andrew said. "Even though in truth unnecessary. It might well please the people. And help to bring parliament to your side. An acknowledgement of its power. Promise of your good relations with it, hereafter. Unlike your uncle's!"

  "M'mm. I will think on this. Have you any other counsel for me?"

  "The Church, sir." Andrew looked over at Burnet. "Perhaps Dr. Gilbert has so advised? I mean the English Church. For the Scottish Kirk is in hopeless disarray. No so in England. It is a Protestant Church, alarmed, with a Catholic monarch nominally at its head. Address yourself to the churchmen."

  "I agree," Burnet nodded. "It could do much. The Church can provide a voice in every parish. To stir up the people. More than any other can do."

  "If you, sir, as a Protestant monarch, could be preached in every pulpit!"

  "Yes - yes, I see. That is good, wise. Anything else, my friends?"

  "Only that I would hope, Highness, that you could yet delay this venture. Until the time was more ripe, England more eager to be rid of your uncle."

  "Impossible, I fear. It is too late to halt Argyll's sailing. And I have agreed to sail within days of his." The Duke held out an open hand. "Mr. Fletcher - despite your most evident lack of eagerness, it is my hope, indeed my urgent desire, that I can persuade you to accompany me. Dammit, man, if I was but your King already, it would be my royal command!" And he smiled.

  Andrew shook his head, wordless.

  "Consider it, my friend. Dr. Burnet, I seek your kind offices on my behalf. He will, perhaps, listen to you. He could serve me passing well . . ."

  They took their leave.

  Burnet, there as guest of the Stadtholder, was himself lodging in another wing of the vast palace; and nothing would do but that Andrew should stay with him meantime, permission already sought and granted.

  So much for non-involvement.

  7

  Andrew paced the deck of the frigate Helderenberg, on which he now knew every plank and nail and mark. It was the 31st May and he had been on this wretched ship for eight endless days, waiting, waiting, there off Texel Island at one of the mouths of the Zuider Zee. They had been due to sail on the 24th, and even that was a grievous delay; for Argyll had eventually left for Scotland on the 2nd and Monmouth had agreed to follow within six days. But delay had succeeded delay, part of it due to sheer inefficiency on the part of the Duke's lieutenants, for there did not seem to be a practical or reliable man, in Andrew's estimation, amongst them. But, to be sure, most of the trouble had been caused by lack of funds for purchasing the necessary arms and ammunition and other warlike supplies, for chartering this frigate and the three tenders which were to accompany it; likewise for paying the accumulated debts of the various exile-adventurers owed here in Holland - which proved to be an unexpectedly major item. Although money had been promised from England, none had materialised. Argyll's part of the joint venture seemed to have

  110 run off with a large proportion of the funds, with it starting first- these largely supplied by a rich widow named Smith. The Duke had been forced to pawn his valuables; also Lady Wentworth's jewels. Andrew himself, in the end, had had to put his hand deep into his pocket, despite his dislike of Dare, the paymaster, and his grave doubts anent the entire project, which he found himself somehow supporting. It was to be hoped that things would improve once they reached England.

  So far there were only about fifty men on board, apart from the Dutch crew, and few of these such as to inspire boundless confidence. None was a man of any notable substance nor repute. Not that this in itself was of great importance, assuming that their fighting qualities were right; but well-known names could much help recruitment once they landed. When it had come to the bit, most of the aristocratic English exiles, for one reason or another, had found it inexpedient to accompany the expedition at this stage, although they promised to come along later - and the Scots, of course, save for Andrew and the man Ferguson, had gone with Argyll. Strangely, also, for reasons which Andrew had not fathomed, the only two real soldiers of Monmouth's entourage, Colonels Rumbold and Ayloffe, had both been sent with the Scottish expedition.

  It was late of a blustery afternoon before those on board saw what they looked for- or two-thirds of it- coming northwards up the wind-tossed inland sea from the direction of Amsterdam. These were the two tenders, little more than square-sailed Dutch barges, which were to accompany the frigate, loaded with supplies. There should have been three.

  When the tenders came alongside to unload their passengers, Andrew saw that there were only some th
irty of these, although many more had been expected; and apart from Monmouth himself and the Lord Grey, there were only Alderman Dare and the Reverend Robert Ferguson, of the leadership group. It transpired that Sheldon, the English envoy at The Hague, on King James's orders, had been endeavouring to have all sailing halted, as an act of hostility; and his son-in-law, William, had reluctantly made a gesture of appeasement by ordering an arrestment of the tenders at Amsterdam - but only after they had been due to leave. Unfortunately they had suffered the usual delays, and they had had to make a last-minute dash for it. And making a dash in heavy Dutch scows was something of a contradiction in terms. One of the tenders had been caught and held - which of course was a major loss. Nevertheless, the survivors seemed to be in fairly high spirits at what they saw as their first victory.

  Andrew Fletcher saw it otherwise, and said so. "This is serious. Apart from the loss of men and vital supplies, it means that London knows all about this enterprise. Not only that we are sailing, but who sails and our small numbers."

  "So long as they do not know where we intend to land, that is of no great moment," Lord Grey asserted.

  "I think that it is. Eighty men, wheresoever they land, can represent little more than a fly to be crushed, against the might of England. Our only hope, as I see it, is that this may in fact so lull the authorities there that they do not trouble to take any very urgent steps against us, at first, and so give us time to assemble support on landing."

  "Henry the Seventh, sir, landed with fewer men and yet won his kingdom."

  "Yes, my lord. But Henry Tudor had previously made certain that the nobility were waiting and ready to welcome him. We have not."

  "In this venture, Fletcher, we can do without such fainthearted talk!" Heywood Dare growled. "That, certes, is not how thrones are won! If you cannot do better than make moan, by God, you should keep silent!"

  "Damn you, Dare!" Andrew's voice quivered and his hand dropped to his sword-hilt. "You, you call me faint-heart? You will take back those words or, or . . ."

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen!" the Duke intervened. "Enough-enough, I say. In my presence. Save your ire for our enemies, of a mercy! Let us have no talk of faint-hearts in this company. Now - let us be on our way. Set sail, at last. The Dutch ships may yet seek to detain us. Where is our shipmaster . . . ?"

  Andrew and Dare glared at each other, but inclined their heads towards the Duke.

  So, with Andrew almost wishing that the Dutch would appear, to prevent this unhappy enterprise from sailing, the anchor was raised and the sails unfurled. They had been lying in the lee of Texel, one of the string of low, sandy islands which rim the Zuider Zee. They skirted this, now, west-about, in order to proceed into the North Sea opposite the fortified port of Den Helder. No notice seemed to be taken of them there. Emerging into the open sea, with a half-gale sweeping up the Channel from the south-west, they realised that what they had thought was rough water in the comparatively sheltered reaches of the Zuider Zee was a mill-pond contrasted with conditions outside. All that Dutch seaboard is shallow and shelving, conducive to short, steep seas. The vessels bucked and heaved and rolled, as they turned to head downwards towards the mouth of the Channel, having at once to tack directly into wind and seas. Hot tempers, like dispute and argument, quickly sank away, as practically all the passengers went down with sea-sickness.

  Andrew was only slightly affected. But even so he did not enjoy that voyage. The unseasonable weather maintained, squally with rain-showers and cold enough for February. The old frigate was far from comfortable, accommodation primitive, food of the poorest. What it would be like in the two tenders was only to be imagined. Day after day the wind blew in their faces, so that continuous tacking, left and right, was the only way of making progress, and a slow progress indeed, made still slower by the necessity of not outsailing the lumbering, barge-like tenders, which much of the time appeared to be lost, save for their sails, under a smother of spray. Three full days out and they were still only off the mouth of the Schelde, not much south of the Hague. Andrew had little difficulty in keeping himself very much to himself, for sickness kept most of the company in their bunks, amidst a dire stench. Indeed, in the main, he saw most of James Stewart himself, who also seemed to be more or less immune to the nausea and to whom Andrew grew ever more attached. He was not a strong character, perhaps, with much of his pleasure-loving father and flighty mother in him; but he was genial, intelligent and unassuming, considering his position. Andrew only wished that he was a better judge of men. They held long talks, and the younger man came to the conclusion that he would make a better king than any of his last three predecessors, at least.

  Their destination, he learned, was the English West Country, with a landing at Lyme, in Dorset. The argument was that the people of those parts were at once more Protestant and more sturdily-independent of London than any others south of Wales and Yorkshire. Also, Heywood Dare, from Taunton, had allegedly much influence thereabouts and strongly advised such landfall. If these seemed to Andrew inadequate reasons for such an important decision, he recognised that he might be prejudiced where the goldsmith was concerned; and also that he was insufficiently knowledgeable about England to be able to pontificate.

  Beyond all calculations, even with the weather slightly improving, it took them eleven days to reach the Dorset coast. At least the adverse conditions seemed to have prevented English shipping from searching for them. They made their landfall at Portland Bill and then turned away westwards across the wide mouth of Lyme Bay. It seemed that they were going to drop Heywood Dare, by small boat, off Seaton, at the far end of the thirty-mile wide bay, after dark, from whence he would make his secret way to his own Taunton, to publish the news there and raise recruits. The vessels would then turn back across the bay for Lyme itself, there apparently being no landing-place for larger ships, and the unloading of supplies, at Seaton. There they would disembark and raise standard.

  This they did, and Andrew for one was not at all distressed to see Alderman Dare disappear in his small boat, into the gloom of the June night, on his twenty-mile road to Taunton. But it all took longer than allowed for and it was broad daylight before they won back to Lyme harbour, within the shelter of The Cobb breakwater, at the east end of the bay. Andrew advised that they stand out to sea again until nightfall, to land in darkness, so that their small numbers might not be apparent to all; but everyone was impatient now to be ashore and on with the great venture, and Monmouth gave orders to draw in to the quay, there appearing to be no opposition. There were only two other coasting craft presently in harbour.

  What followed was at least suitably dramatic and emotional.

  The Duke led the way down the gangplank, to drop on his knees on English soil and kiss the ground, others following joyfully. He uttered a short and rather embarrassed thanksgiving to God for a safe landing and sought divine aid and guidance in their undertaking. Then he drew his sword and held it high, shouting forward, to the cheers of his supporters, watched open-mouthed by sundry seamen and a few fishermen and locals.

  They marched for a couple of hundred yards or so behind the unfurled blue standard which Lady Wentworth had stitched for them, erected this silken banner at the roadside, cheered loudly, and finding nothing else to do, turned and wandered back to the ship again, to proceed with the unloading.

  That evening, in the George Inn at Lyme, the invaders ate their first good meal for some time, thankful to have a steady floor beneath them, and toasted the success of their champion. The Duke then made known his decisions and dispositions. He himself would exercise overall command in the field. Lord Grey and Mr. Fletcher meantime would be joint Masters of the Horse. Heywood Dare, when he returned, would be Commissary and would lead the foot, until further arrangements were made. The Reverend Ferguson - who had been secretary and chaplain to the former Earl of Shaftesbury - would compose and publish the manifesto which was to draw all men of goodwill to their side. And so on. There was, to be sure, precious little altern
ative to these appointments. Meanwhile their task was to assemble and train men.

  So next morning the Protestant rising was proclaimed at Lyme and in the surrounding small towns and villages of the rich Dorset-Somerset-Devon countryside, the squires and parish ministers were being approached personally. There was a moderately successful reaction amongst the latter, but the former hung back notably. Which was doubly unfortunate, not only for the failure to give a lead to the common folk but because it was from these that the essential horseflesh was looked for to mount their hoped-for cavalry. Lacking funds, they could not buy mounts. Andrew, with the others, tried his hand, or rather tongue, at this recruiting, but with only modest success, his Scots voice an obvious handicap.

  No evident opposition developed. And, hearteningly, from the small towns such as Axminster and Bridport, and the villages of the Char and Axe valleys, rather than the estates, volunteers began to come in, in fair numbers. Some few brought rusty swords and old pistols, but most arrived armed only with cudgels, billhooks and sickles.

  This continued for a second day. With a couple of young curates to be his mouthpieces, Andrew did better, and was gratified to return to Lyme in the evening with a tail of no fewer than ninety-two men, mainly small tradesmen and apprentices from the towns, with a few countrymen, farmers' sons, cattlemen, thatchers and one or two waggoners with the very necessary vehicles and draught-horses for transport.

  But straggling through the little town of Colyton on the way back, they heard the local clergymen declaiming from the town-cross a proclamation. Listening, Andrew realised, appalled, that it was Ferguson's manifesto. It was, indeed, no suitable and dignified statement of aims and claims but a tirade, rabble-rousing perhaps in parts, but in the main tedious and off-putting to any intelligent man. And ill-advised and mistaken in much that it declared, if not actually dangerous. It referred to the Duke as King James the Third and Eighth, it proclaimed his uncle as not only an usurper but as responsible for the Popish Plot of 1678, even the Great London fire of 1666, the murder of Essex and Russell and many others, and much else. It even suggested that he had poisoned his brother, Charles to obtain the throne. It declared the present parliament illegal and brought in the Catholic interest - which might have had some truth in it but was not calculated to woo the parliamentarians to Monmouth's side. Altogether the thing was a disaster, appealing only to the extremists and the wildly irresponsible. Andrew hurried on, to urge the Duke to withdraw it at once.