For the Good Old Cause

[Wikipedia delenda est]

For the Good Old Cause


Rye House (Wikimedia Commons)

April 1, 1683

On the road from Newmarket, a single carriage was visible. It was lavishly decorated, with the arms of England, Scotland, France and Ireland emblazoned on its sides. Along these sides rode armed horsemen, keeping perfect pace with the cargo. Inside the coach sat the King of England and his brother James, the Duke of York. They were returning to Westminster after having viewed some horse races, in which the stallion Britannia was crowned the winner. This was taken as a good omen by all present, so the King and Duke were in a merry mood as they were driven home, talking and laughing about their mistresses and various amours.

The carriage passed through Cambridgeshire, Essex, and Hertfordshire, and now neared the town of Hoddesdon. As it happened, the route took them by the medieval Rye House, which stood some distance beside the road. Unbeknownst to anyone in the royal carriage, in this house there lay a group of conspirators whose intention it was to kill the King and his heir. Upon the balcony were some musketeers who sat crouched beneath the battlements, lying in wait for the King and his company. Just inside the front gate were a group of men, armed with swords, daggers, pistols, and pikes. These men were charged with stopping the carriage and drawing away its guards, so that the musketeers could fire at the targets encased within.

Just then the carriage passed by the House, and to the surprise of the royal party its gates swung open. Before the carriage driver could react, the horsemen were fired upon with pistols. The shooters were too far away from the road to hit the cavaliers, but they certainly succeeded in catching their attention, as they now rode away from the carriage and toward the Rye House. As they galloped toward them the musketeers on the balcony stood up and took aim, dispatching several of the horsemen before they could even reach the gate.

Meanwhile, on the main road the carriage driver had abandoned his coach and was cowering in a bush on the other side of the road. With the coach now stationary, its two inhabitants climbed out and began to flee. But before they could get anywhere, they were peppered by a musket volley from the balcony. Once the smoke had cleared, their royal bodies were visible on the ground in front of the carriage. The musketeers then redirected their fire to the enemies below them, and before long the King's guard were routed. As the ground soldiers advanced to the site of the carriage, the corpses of the King and his brother were spotted. "The King is dead," someone shouted. "Long live the King!"

[𝕭𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖆 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖑𝖆]

In before the killer of the King is found to be yet another scary mean Papist who despises good old Protestant values and was secretly aided by evil Habsburgs just like Gavrilo Princip was aided by the Serbian government.

[True Federalist (진정한 연방 주의자)]

I just wonder which king the plotters mean. Mary, Princess of Orange, is the next in line, and while perhaps the plotters hope that like the Glorious Revolution, William will take the throne, it's more likely the Duke of Monmouth is their intended king.

[Atlas Has Shrugged]

I’m hooked.

[Wikipedia delenda est]

James Scott, Duke of Monmouth, illegitimate son of the murdered King Charles II (Wikimedia Commons)

April 15, 1683

There was panic on the streets of London as the Duke of Monmouth's carriage rolled up to Whitehall. As the coach stopped and the Duke prepared to step out, a mob suddenly descended upon the vehicle. Shouting "regicide" and "patricide", the angry Londoners attempted to fight their way through the guards surrounding the cortege, but were held back at pike's end. Eventually, the way was cleared and Monmouth was able to step out, before disappearing behind the palace gates.

When the Duke arrived in the royal chambers, he found the place in a state of chaos. It had been two weeks since the servants and courtiers of the murdered King had been left without a master, and during that time the royal government had practically ceased to function. These men without orders therefore readily took up the Duke's commands, regardless of his legitimacy or lack thereof. It seemed England had a King again, or at least someone willing to fill that role. But was he the only one?

[Wikipedia delenda est]

Five of the Infernal Seven are hanged in London (Wikimedia Commons)

April-July, 1683

After a long closed-door meeting with Arthur Capell, the Earl of Essex, and William Russell, the Lord Russell, the Duke of Monmouth emerged from his chambers to announce in a royal decree that an investigation into the killers of the King and his brother was to begin immediately, and the Duke himself swore to delay his coronation until after the culprits had been brought to justice. As the investigation proceeded over the next several weeks, England was alight with rumors and theories about the identity of the killers. There were still some who believed the Duke himself to be behind the plot, but the speed and determination he had shown in launching the investigation quelled most doubts. In the minds of most Englanders, there were only two options: either the killers were dissenting Protestants or recusant Catholics. These conflicting opinions split along predictable partisan lines: the Tory press was convinced that "fanatics" had been behind the murders, while Whigs were just as sure that it was seditious "papists" who had killed the King.

Finally, an end was brought to the speculation on May 24, when it was announced that the killers had been discovered. Five Jesuit priests and two Benedictine monks had planned and executed the murders, according to the report, in order to advance the interest of the Roman Church by crippling England with a succession crisis. Among Tories there was a sense of confusion and incredulity, but the Whig reaction was swift and decisive. The seven men were quickly labeled "the Infernal Seven" by the emboldened Whig press, and the public went right along with it. After undergoing a short trial and prompt conviction, the Seven were brought to the center of London and publicly hanged on June 16.

With this bit of business taken care of, Monmouth could focus on preparing his coronation. The Archbishop of Canterbury, William Sancroft, proved somewhat reluctant to go along, as he well knew that the Princess Mary, not Monmouth, was the rightful heir to the throne. But with no word from Mary or her husband William in The Hague, the Archbishop assumed they had renounced their rights in favor of Monmouth and, appreciating the importance of royal continuity and an orderly succession, agreed to play his part in the coronation ceremony. On July 2, the Duke of Monmouth was duly crowned King James II and VII of England, Scotland, and Ireland. As the new King rode through the streets of London, acclaimed by his subjects, any worry of a pretender or succession crisis now seemed completely unfounded.

[𝕭𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖆 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖑𝖆]

Of courſe I was in the right, the ſlayers of the King being indeed ſcary, mean Romaniſts ſeeking to ſow diſcord in the God-fearing, Proteſtant nation of England.
I ſhall now accept mine accolades!

In truth, I was in the wrong regarding the Houſe of Habſburg. Yet, I am ſure thou wilt put them in this hiſtorie - obviouſly as evil, wretched antagoniſts.

[Wikipedia delenda est]

THE

O B S E R V A T O R.

Report on the Regicide, The Policy of the Whigs, True Killers of the King Revealed, the Phanaticks Unmaſked, and the Philoſophy of a Trimmer.

𝖂𝖊𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖉𝖆𝖞,  July 4  1683.

  TRIMMER. What ſay thee Obſervator, now that we have a newe King?
   OBSERVATOR. It is on the firſt part a tragedy, in that it ſhould ariſe from the bloudy murders of our Late King and his brother the Duke, and on the ſecond part a neceſſity, for thoſe that have executed this foul deed would rather we have no King at all.
   Trim. You refer now to the Papiſts who have ſlain the King?
   Obſ. No, I do not ſay ſo. Are we to believe this was another Popiſh Plot, concocted by Oates or Tonge? How ſhort the memory of a Trimmer is, to forget deceits ſo recent! I have ſaid that if the Diſſenters kept the Papiſts from murdering the King, it was only ſo they could do it Themſelves, and now they have done ſo.
   Trim. But the report from King's Council found Seven Infernal Papiſts to be guilty of the horrid crime.
   Obſ. Dear Trimmer, let us conſider the logic of this ſame report. What Papiſt would kill the Duke of York, himſelf a Roman Catholic? Who, for theſe five years, have made it their policy, of oppoſſing every project of the Late Duke's? Who aſſerted to exclude this very Duke from the Royal Succeſſion, and in doing ſo incurred great diſpleaſsure from His Majeſty? Which faction has drawn up innumerable Petitions, Declarations, and Proteſts, in defiance of King and Country? Can anything be clearer, then that this plot was begot in a Republican Caball, and nurſt-up in the Congregations of the Diſſenters? The Jews do not gape so wide for the coming of the Meſſiah, as theſe Phanatiques and True-Proteſtants do for the reſurrection of the 𝕲𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝕮𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊.          
   Trim. Here's nothing that convinces Mee yet.
   Obſ. How then ſhall I perſuade thee; if ye will not liſten to reaſon? Trimmers, Trimmers, my friend! Think now of the motives behind this report. When the father of the preſent King did live and the ſon was known as Monmouth, did he not aſſociate excluſively with Whigs, and was it not the Whigs who ſought to name him heir to the Throne during the Excluſion buſineſs? In faith, this report is ſo ridiculouſly put together, that it requires forty times the Faith of an ordinary Chriſtian to believe the fiftieth part of the Story.
   Trim. Why certainly your brains are turn'd; you would never riot at this rate elſe.
   Obſ. And you have got ſuch a habit of denying evident truths, and affirming the moſt abominable falſities, that there is no treating with ye at the common rate of other mortalls.
   Trim. This is ſo rank, and ſo rude.
   Obſ. 'Tis not for every man to govern himſelf with the philoſophy of a Trimmer.

London, printed for Joanna Brome at the Gun in S. Pauls Church-yard.

[𝕭𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖆 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖑𝖆]

𝕹𝖔𝖜 𝕴 𝖘𝖊𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖘𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖋𝖔𝖓𝖙!

[Wikipedia delenda est]

Roger L'Estrange, Tory pamphleteer tried for sedition (Wikimedia Commons)

July, 1683

As King James II ascended the throne, there was a collective sigh of relief across England. The kingdom had a king again and the regicides had been brought to justice, so it seemed that peace would reign. But it would not be so, for on July 4 the Tory pamphleteer Roger L'Estrange published an issue of The Observator which shook the nation. In it he argued that the government report on the regicide, which pinned the murders on papists, made little logical sense and that the true killers were dissenters. The issue quickly became a hit and was printed and reprinted in the thousands, with copies being argued over by gentlemen in coffeehouses as well as on street corners where they were read aloud to the illiterate. While neither the King's report nor L'Estrange's rebuttal included much in the way of evidence, most people who read both could not help but agree that L'Estrange's position made far more sense. Why indeed would Catholics have killed the Duke of York, their greatest champion and a Catholic himself? Just as L'Estrange had written, it was the Whigs and other fanatics who had tried to exclude the Duke and made great enemies of the King. And by reminding Englanders of the Popish Plot, that fraudulent conspiracy which had fooled so many of them, those who read L'Estrange's article were brought to shame and determined not to be fooled again.

Thus was the scene set for the spectacle that unfolded on the night of July 6. A mob had formed in Lincoln's Inn Fields, full of as many middle class burghers as penniless paupers and not a few gentlemen, carrying torches and yelling as they marched through London. As they went by, any house that was owned by a known dissenter was set upon. Windows were smashed, doors broken in, tiles ripped off, and items looted and stolen. Some unruly torch-wielders even tried to set houses on fire, seemingly unaware of the great catastrophe of 1666. At one point the rioters entered a Presbyterian meeting-house and found a cache of Bibles, which was then taken outside and thrown into a public bonfire that had been lit in the middle of the street. As one Whig commentator put it, it was "the most unChristian and unholy act ever seen in England, and one which gives the lie to the Tories' professed love of Church." The rioters continued to rampage through the city for some time until finally the army, ordered in by the King, managed to disperse the mob and restore some semblance of order in the city, where they would stay for several days in order to ensure that no more rioting would occur.

Soon after, the Whig press called for blood. Denouncing L'Estrange as the instigator of the riot, Whig writers such as the Marquess of Halifax, the "Trimmer" who L'Estrange lampooned in his paper, demanded that the arch-Tory be charged with sedition. For many Whigs this was personal, as L'Estrange had cut his teeth as the leading press censor for Charles II in the 1660s and 70s, a role in which he censored any and all anti-royal publications. L'Estrange's reaction infuriated the Whigs even more. In The Observator, which published daily and featured the editor's opinion on recent news, there was not one mention of the riots. Nor was there the next day, or the next. King James, with his circle of Whig advisors, was as furious as anyone, as the infamous July 4 paper had more or less accused him of lying. After meeting with his council, the King announced that Roger L'Estrange was to be arrested immediately and charged with seditious libel for his slandering of the King and incitement of violent riots.

As the constables of London escorted L'Estrange to the Tower to await trial, competing mobs of supporters and opponents crowded around the escort and alternatively cheered and booed the prisoner. After spending several nights in the Tower, his trial began on July 14. The prosecution was confident of victory, and argued forcefully that L'Estrange's paper from July 4 had clearly libeled the King and incited the mob who rioted two days later. For the defense L'Estrange had chosen John Trevor, a Tory barrister, to represent him. Trevor contended that nowhere in L'Estrange's piece had he encouraged violence or advocated resistance against the state, and during cross-examination the cross-eyed Welshman confused the prosecution with his seemingly wayward glances. But more important than his legal skills or ophthalmological condition, Trevor had friends in high places. The Lord Chief Justice George Jeffreys, who with three of his judicial colleagues oversaw the trial, was a relative of Trevor's and had patronized him early in his career. Furthermore, the Sheriff of London Dudley North, who had selected the jury, was a Tory and Charles II appointee. The new King had been aware of the handicaps that would be placed on the prosecution by these loyalists of the old regime, but he was sure that the legal case of the Whigs was strong enough to carry the day anyway. It was not so. After having retired to come to a decision, the jury reconvened and announced that the defendant had been found not guilty. The prosecuting lawyers, floored and dumbfounded, looked on helplessly as their Tory antagonist quietly exited the courtroom with a small smile on his face.

[Wikipedia delenda est]

John Trevor, newly elected Speaker of the House of Commons (Wikimedia Commons)

August, 1683

Following the acquittal of Roger L'Estrange, Tory enthusiasm was at an all-time high. Celebrations erupted spontaneously throughout the nation, and in London throngs of men danced, drank, and sang around a massive bonfire lit in the centre of Lincoln's Inn Fields. But once the party was over, there was real work to be done for England's Tories. Determined not to let the L'Estrange trial end up an empty victory, and with popular momentum on their side, Tories in the press demanded that a general election be held. One by one, Tory paper after Tory paper announced its support for a new Parliament. "In times bygone, the Whigs did groan, against the rule of one," rhymed one balladeer, "but with their own, in power enthroned, not one is heard to moan." King James II, still furious at L'Estrange's acquittal, was in no mood to grant the Tories anything, and initially resisted the calls for an election. Confronted in his council chambers, however, his Whig advisers impressed upon him that not only was an election necessary for his legitimacy as King, but to rule without the hand of Parliament was a tyrannical abuse which they would not stand for. Realizing he had little choice in the matter, the King announced on August 11 that a general election for a new Parliament was to be held at the end of the month.

The contest began almost immediately. From the Tories came the promise that if elected, a new Parliamentary commission would be formed to reinvestigate the murders of the late King and his brother. As they well knew, the L'Estrange affair had made the public deeply skeptical of the government report on the killings. Meanwhile, Whig candidates defended the government's findings and accused Tories of being soft on popery. A major controversy of the campaign occurred when London Whigs attempting to organize a Pope-burning march through the city were denied a permit by Sheriff Dudley North, on the grounds that it might incite a riot. Infuriated Whigs accused the Sheriff of blatant partiality, who had done little to prevent the L'Estrange riot a month earlier, but North held firm. A brief pamphlet war of words ensued before the King intervened with his royal prerogative to order North to stand down and allow the march to take place. But in the end it mattered little, for the march was a dud and failed to recapture the popular mood which had been so enflamed in the heady days of the Popish Plot. By contrast, a Tory countermarch in which effigies of Oliver Cromwell were burned attracted huge crowds, all damning and cursing the wicked name of regicide.

Finally, after 20 brutal days of electioneering, Englishmen headed to the polls on August 31. As the ballots were counted in the coming days, it was soon clear that a seismic shift had occurred in Parliament. Of the 513 newly elected MPs, over 400 were Tories, while little more than 100 were Whigs. For comparison, in the preceding two elections of 1679 and 1681, the Exclusionists (predecessors of the Whigs) had won majorities of over 300 seats, both of which were dwarfed by the new Tory majority, part of which was Roger L'Estrange himself who had been elected a Member of Parliament for Winchester. Among Tories, there was jubilation; Whigs, despair. While massive celebrations once again made their way across England, other men sat glum and solemn in Whig coffeehouses. On September 4, an angry looking James II summoned the newly elected Parliament for the first time and presided over its proceedings. John Trevor, the lawyer and newly elected MP who had successfully defended L'Estrange in court, was chosen as Speaker by his colleagues, becoming only the second ever Welsh Speaker after his immediate predecessor, William Williams. As Parliament went about its business that day, one might observe the strange and unnatural condition England was now in, with a Whiggish King and Tory Parliament. Only time could tell what would become of this unpredictable arrangement.

[Wikipedia delenda est]

Algernon Sidney, the King's new favorite at court (Wikimedia Commons)

September-December, 1683

After taking their seats and choosing a Speaker, the Tory majority in the Commons set to work on establishing a commission to investigate the royal murders, as they had promised during the campaign. But it was far from clear how this intentionally vague campaign promise would be turned into a functioning, useful instrument of criminal investigation. What would be its modus operandi? Different men had different answers. It was first suggested that the commission should be responsible for finding witnesses to call before Parliament for questioning. Others said it ought to review the evidence which had led the King's men to their conclusion in the royal investigation, and it was also proposed that the Commission cooperate with the Sheriff of London, who had not been consulted in the making of the royal report on the murders. The first and the third points were readily agreed to, but it was on the second point that contention arose. The King's council had not, in fact, released any evidence to support the claim that the "Infernal Seven" had been responsible for the regicide; the public simply having gone along with it until L'Estrange raised his now famous doubts. The question was thus put: did Parliament possess the authority to request and receive documents which have been withheld from the public by the King? Naturally, Tories were strongly inclined to say nay; the sovereignty of King over Parliament being one of the essential principles of their party. But since the subject they were dealing with was regicide, most were willing to put these doubts aside. Whatever deference they might owe to King James, it was paramount that justice be done for the murdered King Charles. So, after over a month of motions, amendments, and objections, first in the Commons and then in the Lords, An Act Establishing a Commission to Investigate the Regicides of the Year 1683, which granted the Commission the power to obtain documents from the royal chambers, was passed and sent to the King.

As he read the bill that had arrived at his throne in Whitehall, rage slowly crept across the handsome face of James II. What right did Parliament have to conduct an alternative investigation from the official report of the Kingdom? As far as the King was concerned, the guilty had been tried and executed and justice had already been done. To challenge and possibly reverse these legitimate rulings of state and court were borderline treasonable. And perhaps even worse, Parliament had attempted to grant itself, via the Commission, the authority to seize documents from the possession of the Kingdom. James was outraged, and before he had even read to the end the bill was firmly pressed with the stamp of royal veto. But the King was not yet satisified. In council, he informed his two main advisers, Essex and Russell, that he intended to prorogue Parliament. The King was convinced that this seditious bill was only the beginning, and if allowed to remain in session the Parliament would soon devolve into open defiance of his authority. Both his advisers threatened to resign, but the King would not be dissuaded. The next day, on October 23, he announced the prorogation of Parliament. Parliament did as they were told, but the anger among both Whigs and Tories was palpable. Both Essex and Russell resigned, while Roger L'Estrange, who had felt free to criticize the King since his acquittal on charges of sedition three months earlier, lambasted the King for "Whiggish hypocrisy" in a hit pamphlet. In fact, the leading Whigs Essex and Russell had shown the opposite of hypocrisy, but with their resignations a new man entered the frame. Algernon Sidney, infamous for his republican politics and leading role in the trial of Charles I, was increasingly noticeable at the side of the King as the month of November wore on. What he saw in the impetuous, and many would now say tyrannical, King was quite unclear. Many Tories as well as Whigs looked on him as a cynical politician, but perhaps there was something they didn't know.

Though the King's veto of the Commission and prorogation of Parliament had been unpopular, he was somewhat relieved by events in Europe. As the Parliament fiercely debated the Commission bill throughout September and October, most English attention was focused elsewhere. A few days after the fact, news reached London that the Turks had been defeated outside the walls of Vienna by the armies of the Holy League, thanks in large part to the King of Poland. Londoners had been closely following the siege, which had begun in July, so the news of the Turkish defeat was greeted with intense enthusiasm. Wild celebrations were held across the Kingdom as Englishmen of all stripes celebrated the defeat of the Turks and their "Teckelite" supporters. The other major foreign policy event that distracted the English from their home affairs was the outbreak of war between France and Spain. The timing couldn't have been better for King James: just three days after he announced the prorogation of Parliament, the King of Spain declared war upon France in response to repeated French annexations of Spanish territory via the "Chambers of Reunion". As Englanders closely followed the progress of the French and Spanish armies in the Low Countries through the month of November, some of the pressure was lifted off James II. But would it last?

[KaiserDave]

I am enjoying this, please continue it

[𝕭𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖆 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖑𝖆]

Intriguing update! I am verily enjoying this alternate history, keep it up.
I wonder how the war between (Bourbon) France and (still Habsburg) Spain will affect domestic matters. I had predicted that the Habsburgs would come into the story as villains, and I sense that such prediction might be getting borne out.

[KaiserDave]

I am cheering for the Papists and Tories

[Wikipedia delenda est]

Mary of Modena, crowned Mary II of Ireland (Wikimedia Commons)

December 16-25, 1683

It did not last. Unbeknownst to King James or his Parliamentary foes, ever since the execution of the "Infernal Seven" in June a cabal of prominent Irish Catholics, led by Richard Talbot, had been plotting a general uprising among the Catholics in Ireland. The Irish had a long list of grievances against their English masters, many of them recent. Besides the seven Jesuits and Benedictines killed in 1683, two years earlier the Primate of All Ireland, Oliver Plunkett, had been shockingly executed amidst the frenzy of the Popish Plot. Feeling thus ran high against the English, and it was not hard for Talbot to whip up the people into a spirit of revolt. The plotters chose December 16, six months after the Seven were hanged, as the date for the rising. Carefully the date was spread by word of mouth, and before long December 16 was on the lips of every would-be Irish rebel.

Meanwhile, Talbot and his friends had also to make political preparations. They had determined that the war would be one for independence, but they needed a King. Or a Queen, for that matter. Enter Mary of Modena, the beautiful, Italian, and devoutly Roman Catholic widow of the Duke of York. Utterly devoted to her husband, she had been devastated by his murder, which she was convinced had been committed by Protestants. Sickened and with little interest in politics, she considered going into a convent or else returning to Modena. However, what she lacked in political instincts she made up in religious zeal, and Talbot, seeing in her the perfect figurehead for his Irish project, quickly established a correspondence, offering her the throne of Ireland. At first Mary was inclined to refuse, but upon urging from Father Edward Petre, her Jesuit chaplain, she agreed and quietly crossed the Irish Sea in late October, when the eyes at court were turned elsewhere.

Mary and her chaplain then went to Kilkenny, where she was to be crowned Queen of Ireland when the great day came. Finally, on December 16, all of Talbot's planning came to fruition. All at once, Catholics spontaneously arose throughout the country, taking the royal government completely by surprise. From Belfast to Cork, plantations were sacked and Protestant landlords put to the sword. In Kilkenny, Mary of Modena was crowned Mary II of Ireland in a ceremony performed by Dominic Maguire, the new Primate of Ireland, while Talbot issued a proclamation declaring the independence of Ireland and justifying the rebellion. According to the declaration, James II was a "tyrant, a regicide, and a killer of our kin and men of our faith", and the people of Ireland had taken it upon themselves to revolt "in defense of their liberties and rights as native sons of the nation of Ireland." Within a few days, nearly the entire country had been overtaken by the rebels, save the English Pale around Dublin. Fighting had been especially intense in Ulster between Catholics and Scotch Presbyterian settlers, but there too the Catholics had triumphed. The success of the rebellion was astonishing even to Talbot, who on December 20 set out of Kilkenny at the head of an army of some 15,000 men toward Dublin, the last major city that remained in royal hands. The population of the city had swelled as Protestants across Ireland fled from retribution at the hands of the rebels, so that the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, the Earl of Arran, was little equipped to withstand a long siege. On Christmas Day, Talbot's army began the siege of Dublin, while in Kilkenny the Mass was joyously celebrated by Father Petre. The grip of the Protestant Ascendancy on Ireland had never looked looser.

[Wikipedia delenda est]

Gilbert Burnet, the instigator of the King's Declaration of Indulgence (Wikimedia Commons)

December-January, 1683/1684

When news reached England of the rebellion in Ireland, a mixture of shock and horror set in. "It is well understood," read one broadside, "that the papists intend to cut all the Protestants' throats." All Englishmen, Whig and Tory alike, were appalled by the reports of massacres and bloody persecutions inflicted upon Irish Protestants at the hands of the Catholic rebels. For the great majority of Britons, news of the rebellion was acquired through the mass of prints and pamphlets which soon flooded the streets. Inevitably, many comparisons were made to the rebellion of 1641, and prints which had depicted the atrocities of that date were republished for 1683 with only the year changed. Anti-Jesuit prints dating from the Popish Plot just a few years earlier also found their way back onto the market, including the famous A Jesuit Displaid, which became a runaway hit for the second time. In other prints there was a particular focus on Jesuit Father Edward Petre, who was portrayed as the "seducer" of the Irish Queen engaged in scandalous acts with her ladyship. Among pamphlets, Scottish low churchman Gilbert Burnet's Thoughts on the Late Rebellion in Ireland garnered particular attention for its scathing excoriation of the rebels. "They speak of their rights and liberties, but wherefore do these emanate but from British laws, and British customs? Was not Ireland, and still are not much of the Highlands but a despotic tyranny of clans and chiefs, without British civil government?" According to Burnet, Father Petre was "the most bigoted papist in all these Three Kingdoms, a man of that narrow, Jesuitical sort, whose sole enjoyment is gained from roasting heretics upon the spit. If Ireland be his, it should surely be home to the most slavish tyranny, terrible despondency, and wicked debauchery ever known by man or by God."

While the popular press made hay with the Irish rebellion, King James and his court struggled on how best to respond. The new year came and went, and news reached London of the fall of Dublin. Clearly, the rebellion had to be put down, but England had no standing army and raising troops required money, money which could only be granted by Parliament - which was still prorogued. The Tories, led by Speaker John Trevor, made it known in private that they would not grant the King money unless he agreed to the establishment of the commission to investigate the regicide. The King responded with fury, accusing the Tories of disloyalty and secretly consorting with the Irish rebels. But the Tories did not budge, and so Parliament remained prorogued. With no other option, the King announced that he would be raising an army of volunteers, calling upon all patriotic Englishmen to take up arms in the name of their King and country. However, though nearly all Englishmen hated and feared the Irish and wanted to see them put down, their fear was stronger than their hatred. The reports of wanton Irish cruelties terrified them, and there were few willing to cross the Irish Sea into that land of savagery. Those who were willing were nearly all of the fanatical sort, many of them radical Whigs and former members of the Green Ribbon Club, which had played a leading role in the Exclusion Crisis. As the King went to overlook his new army upon the training grounds, he found an assortment of some 300 psalm-singing fellows in roughspun shirts and 40 year old pieces of armor. Notable among this group were 3 men in particular: John Ayloffe, Richard Rumbold, and William Waller, all political and religious radicals willing to fight and die for their beliefs. Despite these standouts, however, the King was terribly disappointed in his new fighting force, which was about 50 times too small. James would have to find more troops some place else.

That place was Scotland. Gilbert Burnet's pamphlet on the Irish rebellion had so pleased King James that he offered to make him a Privy Councillor, an offer which the Scotsman graciously accepted. Upon arriving at Whitehall, Burnet learned of the King's struggles in raising an army and came up with what he thought the perfect solution. Since the Restoration, Presbyterianism - the religion of the majority of the Scots population - had been illegal, and in recent years the persecution had become especially brutal. James II was well aware of the situation in Scotland, as he had led royal troops in person against the Covenanters at Bothwell Bridge in 1679. As well as an anti-Catholic firebrand (he had previously written a polemic on the Massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day), Burnet was a committed Whig who supported a broader, more tolerant Church of England. He sincerely wished for a reconciliation between his own Episcopal Church and the Presbyterians and an end to the senseless violence plaguing his country. His proposal to the King was therefore simple: grant Protestant Dissenters religious freedom, and have them fight for you. The Scottish Covenanters, reasoned Burnet, were already well-armed and would only be too glad to turn their guns upon the Irish Catholics, who were after all massacring their fellow Scots in Ulster. The King listened with interest and asked Sidney for his opinion, who agreed with Burnet. The King made his decision. Working through Parliament was obviously not an option, so James took matters into his own hands. On January 12 he proclaimed the Declaration of Indulgence, granting religious freedom to all members of the Christian faith throughout the Three Kingdoms, excluding "those persons now engaged in rebellion against His Majesty", by which was meant Roman Catholics. To ensure that it was understood who was included in the declaration and who was not, the King concurrently announced that all Catholics within 10 miles of London were to be expelled, a measure which had previously been implemented with the support of Whig leader Lord Shaftesbury in 1674.

The reaction to the Declaration split along mostly predictable lines. Among Tories, there was abhorrence. "It is an affront to God Himself," wrote Roger L'Estrange, "to permit conventiclers and sectaries to run wild amongst our ranks, in the name of that wicked principle called toleration." There were protests in London organized by the Tories, some of which came perilously close to reenacting the riot of July 6, but royal troops stood guard at Presbyterian churches to prevent the mob from inflicting its vengeance. Within the Church of England, however, the Bishops and prelates had no choice but to accept the Declaration. Personally they might disagree with its contents, but according to the prized doctrine of passive obedience they were obliged to obey the monarch in all matters. As for the Whigs and Dissenters, the Declaration was mostly greeted with outpourings of thanks and gratefulness, including among the Scottish Covenanters it was aimed at, who with the approval of a majority of Scots officially abolished episcopacy and reformed the Church of Scotland along Presbyterian lines. There were some Whigs, as well as the moderate "Trimmer" the Marquess of Halifax, who questioned whether it was an overreach of royal power, but they were in the minority. Soon after the Declaration, the King announced that he was traveling north to Scotland with his army on the way to Ireland, and his intentions became clear. Burnet had written to several Covenanter leaders in Scotland, who agreed to assemble an army of 15,000 men that would await the King's arrival before joining up with him. As the King marched north with his small army of English volunteers, the Tory press took up a mocking tone. "We should love nothing more than to see the fanatics and papists destroy one another," penned one Tory scribbler. "Godspeed and good health upon the army of the King." On January 28 the King's army arrived in Scotland and linked up with the Covenanters, and the next day they crossed the North Channel into Ireland.

[𝕭𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖆 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖑𝖆]

Masterful updates! I stand with the oppressed Irish Catholics and their new devout Italian queen against the wicked Gilbert Burnet and the British tyrants!

[Wikipedia delenda est]

The Battle of Drogheda (Wikimedia Commons)

February, 1684

After a short journey across the North Channel, the royal fleet of James II landed at Belfast Lough and disembarked. Sitting on the Lough was the town of Carrickfergus, home to the appropriately named Carrickfergus Castle, an imposing medieval fortress. Its location on the Lough's shore gave the town an outsized strategic importance, and so the King ordered his army to begin siege preparations. On the first day of February, 1684, the Siege of Carrickfergus began in earnest. On land and at sea, the town was blockaded and bombarded by the army and navy. Unless the town was relieved, there was little chance that it could withstand the besiegers for very long. In Dublin, where Talbot's army had remained after the city's capture, there was some debate among the rebel commanders on whether they should attempt to lift the siege. Talbot decided against engaging the royal troops, but he did order his army out of Dublin and north to Dundalk. If Carrickfergus fell, Talbot's men would hold the line at Dundalk and prevent the British army from moving any further south toward Dublin. As it happened Carrickfergus did fall, faster than either Talbot or King James had anticipated. The old medieval walls of the castle were quickly worn down by the British artillery in a matter of days, forcing the defenders to surrender after a weeklong siege.

Talbot had only just arrived in Dundalk when he was informed that Carrickfergus had fallen and the British army was on its way south, having already occupied Belfast and now nearing Dromore. The Irish general lost his nerve, and ordered a retreat back south across the River Boyne. They had only reached Drogheda, however, when they saw the royal army approaching. Surveying the situation, Talbot abandoned the idea of a crossing and decided to make his stand at Drogheda. On the morning of February 27, the fighting commenced. For several hours it was a bitterly contested fight, inflamed by the ethnic and religious hatreds of two persecuted peoples pitted against one another. The battle was not, however, decided by the thousands of Irishmen and Scottish Covenanters, but rather by several hundred mounted Englishmen. The 300 English volunteers that the King had recruited were formed up into a cavalry regiment commanded by Richard "Hannibal" Rumbold, a Civil War veteran who had served under Cromwell. When it came to leading a cavalry charge, there were few teachers better than Old Ironsides. Using this experience to his advantage, Rumbold ordered a headlong charge at just the right time to stun the enemy into retreat. It worked. The Irish began to flee in droves despite Talbot's best efforts at rallying them, but seeing that the battle was lost he soon ordered a retreat. Though forced to retreat, it is a measure of Talbot's skill that he was able to turn what initially seemed like a rout into a withdrawal in good order, with his army largely intact. And though the battle was a British victory, both sides suffered about equal casualties. Even so, King James had gotten exactly what he wanted: the road to Dublin was now open.

[Chunk Yogurt for President!]

Celts fighting Celts, so I guess I go with Preſbyterians over the Papiſts.

[Wikipedia delenda est]

John Graham of Claverhouse, leader of the Episcopalian rebellion in Scotland (Wikimedia Commons)

March, 1684

Following their defeat at Drogheda, Talbot's army retreated far to the west across the River Shannon, leaving open the way to Dublin for James II, but he had other options. Instead of going for Dublin, the royal army could pursue the Irish to the west and attempt a knockout blow against Kilkenny. This was the approach favored by most of the English volunteers, who saw it as the best way to follow up on their victory and put a quick end to the war, but for James Dublin held symbolic importance as the capital of the English Pale, and so they were overruled. On the first of March James's army arrived at Dublin and began the siege. They were supported on the Irish Sea by the Royal Navy, which blockaded the city's port. But it soon became apparent to James that Dublin would not surrender so easily as had Carrickfergus. The city's fortifications were better and more modern, and Talbot had left a large and motivated garrison of Irishmen to man them. As the month wore on, however, Dublin's large population proved a liability for the defenders, with food supplies quickly dwindling to a critical level. The besiegers also suffered during the siege when an outbreak of smallpox struck their camp, reducing the number of attackers by at least a thousand men. James considered ordering a withdrawal to stop the bleeding, but many of his officers were confident that they could outlast the starving Dubliners if they just kept the pressure on for a few more days. That likely would have been the case had not the Irish been saved by what many Catholics considered divine intervention. In the dead of night on March 24, a small cutter slipped through the English blockade and docked in at Dublin Port. As soon as it had arrived, several men quickly set to work on unloading its large cargo, which consisted of enough foodstuffs to last another three weeks. The ship then sailed back out of port, passing by the English ships once again, and was well out of firing distance when a loud cheer erupted from behind the backs of the English sailors, who whipped their heads back to see where the noise had come from. Though separated by a safe distance and a cloud of darkness, there was no mistaking what flashed before their eyes: a single ship sailing briskly away, with the fleur-de-lis raised upon its mast.

At the very same time that the British were besieging Dublin, civil war was erupting in Scotland. Though the Declaration of Indulgence had been well-received by most in Scotland, there was a significant and powerful minority who objected. Since the Restoration in 1660, Episcopalians had dominated the political and religious life of Scotland, with Presbyterians being subject to increasingly harsh persecution. Preaching in Presbyterian conventicles was made punishable by death, and since the assassination of Archbishop Sharp by Covenanters in 1679 scores of Presbyterians had been summarily executed. The old regime in Scotland, therefore, was not at all pleased to see their hegemony wiped away through the meddling actions of a certain low churchman who enjoyed peculiar access to the King. Upon hearing of the Declaration and the Kirk's decision to abolish episcopacy, John Graham, the 7th Laird of Claverhouse, resigned his position as royal commander in Scotland and relocated to the Highlands, where he began plans for an Episcopalian rising. Claverhouse could not believe his luck when he learned that the King was enlisting the Covenanters for his Irish war. With the most well-armed and battle-hardened Presbyterians now out of the country, there was no better opportunity for a counterrevolution to reverse the new order. Claverhouse spent February frantically drumming up support in the Highlands for a rebellion, which went unnoticed in Edinburgh. By March 10, he had formed a sizeable army of Highlanders some 2,000 strong, eager to begin fighting. But first, Claverhouse decided to issue a declaration of his own to counter the King's Indulgence. The Declaration of Glenroy accused King James of violating his coronation oath and betraying the Anglican Church, actions which left no resort but revolt to good Christians. In the Declaration, Claverhouse specifically addressed the prorogued Parliament of England, first praising their "notable zeal for Our Church" and then calling on them to "join with us in restoring the Church to its proper place." As the standard of rebellion was raised in Glenroy, the Earl of Argyll, the new royal commander in Scotland, responded by assembling an army of 4,000 Lowlanders at his home estate of Inveraray. By the end of the month the rebel army had occupied Glencoe and the government forces had settled into Lochawe, but no action occurred besides some minor skirmishing and feigned movements around the Loch Etive. What would come next was anyone's guess.

[President Punxsutawney Phil]

Interesting. Keep it up.

[Conservatopia]

Despite Monmouth having history's most punchable face and despite my disappointment at the fact that the Glorious Revolution will not be happening for me it's once a Whig, always a Whig.

Hopefully the Irish are thrown into the sea, Episcopapacy crushed and the Tories left on the ash heap of history.

[KaiserDave]

Is this being continued?

[Wikipedia delenda est]

John Churchill, commander of the Army of the North (Wikimedia Commons)

April, 1684

After the defeat at Dublin, James II and his army retreated to Drogheda, where they remained for the whole of April. There they recuperated from the grueling siege and discussed the course of the war. Their discussions were interrupted early in the month when James received a dire message from the Earl of Argyll. Under the Laird of Claverhouse a rebellion of Episcopalians and Highlanders had broken out in Scotland, seeking to reverse the royal Declaration of Indulgence. The King received this news with great dismay, and was especially shocked by the betrayal of Claverhouse. In times very different than these (5 years ago), the two had led royal troops side by side against the Covenanters, many of whom were now serving under His Majesty in Ireland. With this in mind, James decided that no one in the army could be allowed to hear of the rebellion in Scotland, so as to keep morale high and prevent the Covenanters from returning home to fight. To the annoyance of his men, James announced that they would no longer be allowed to send and receive letters to and from Britain, and that anyone caught doing so would be appropriately punished. While this caused some discontent, it succeeded in preventing news of the Scottish uprising from reaching any ears but the King's. Henceforth all discussion among the soldiers centered on what had happened at Dublin the previous month.

When it became known that a ship flying the fleur-de-lis had relieved the city, the army went into an uproar, where anti-French feeling ran especially high among the common soldiery and the English volunteers. Chief among them was John Ayloffe, a longtime radical and former Green Ribbon man who was virulently Francophobic. Alongside his compatriots Richard Rumbolde and William Waller, Ayloffe appeared before the King and personally beseeched him to declare war on France: "God has granted you, Your Majesty, the sword with which to strike down the tyrant of France and end his bloody and miserable reign." Ayloffe's words resonated with James, whose face bubbled up with rage at the mere mention of that country which had foiled his perfect siege, but he faced pushback from an unexpected corner. Algernon Sidney, who had stayed at the side of the King and traveled alongside his army into Ireland, told the King in the plainest possible terms that it would be utter folly to fight an exhausting foreign war while rebellion at home raged. Sidney had in mind something very different: he offered to personally travel to France and open negotiations on Ireland. Sidney knew Louis XIV from his past, and he knew well the pragmatism of that King and his foreign policy. At first James was sceptical of his proposal, but Sidney promised him that if allowed to go, he would return with a French assurance to suspend all aid to Ireland. Persuaded by Sidney's confidence, James assented to his plan, should the King of France agree. Sidney wrote to France and quickly received a reply in the affirmative; le Bon Algernon would be most welcome at the court of the Most Christian King.

Meanwhile, in England the printing of the Declaration of Glenroy in early April caused a sensation. "The hierarchical party is most incredulous," recorded the Puritan clergyman Roger Morrice in his diary, "that the Anglicans of Scotland should have to take up arms against their King, who they say has abandoned them to the Presbyterians." Indeed, Morrice accurately perceived the mood among Tories, who were horrified that their fellow Anglicans had been branded rebels and traitors by the new royal administration in Scotland. "Everyone knows of the doctrine by which a prince may impose his religion upon those of his subjects," fulminated Roger L'Estrange, "and a good doctrine it is. But for a prince to establish a religion that he himself does not profess is unheard-of, and there is nothing more false or faithless. If the King be a Presbyterian, let him say so." Other Tories went further, declaring their support for "Church and Claverhouse" and making toasts to the "eternal confusion of the Presbyterians". On the Whig side, Gilbert Burnet published A Discourse on the Principle of Toleration, which was well-received in the Dissenting community but had nothing like the universal appeal of his anti-Irish Thoughts. Another Whiggish Scotsman, Robert Ferguson, sneered at the Tories for their lack of action: "they may shout all they like, but non-resistance will keep them in line."

In fact, Ferguson was dead wrong. In late April, John Churchill, a respected soldier formerly in the service of the Duke of York, was busily riding around Northern England, recruiting troops for an "Army of the North" to invade Scotland in support of the Episcopalians. Unlike the King, who struggled to attract Englishmen to fight against the Irish, some 3,000 men flocked to Churchill's ranks. As his army crossed the Tweed into Scotland, the forces of Argyll and Claverhouse met near Loch Awe, outside Kilchurn Castle. The owner of the castle, the Earl of Breadalbane and Holland, watched from his balcony as the two armies clashed. Though outnumbered, Claverhouse's men were in better spirits than their opponents, and the ferocity of the Highlanders stunned the Lowlanders. Soon they gained the upper hand and Argyll, seeing it was a lost cause, ordered a retreat back to Inveraray. After the smoke had cleared, Breadalbane stepped out of his castle to congratulate Claverhouse on a battle well fought, offering him the castle to fortify and hold as long as he needed. While the battle at Kilchurn raged, Churchill's moves were being reported on in London, where the King had hurriedly set the Marquess of Halifax in charge of English affairs before leaving for Ireland. Halifax ordered Churchill's arrest, but Whitehall had been in a state of confusion and disorder ever since the King's departure. No one, including Halifax, was quite sure of their responsibilities, and administratively much of the state had ground to a halt. Therefore, as it happened, Halifax was quite unable to find anyone to carry out the arrest he had ordered, prompting Tory ridicule. Among those mocking the "Trimmer" was his old nemesis, the "Observator". L'Estrange also expressed his support for Churchill, openly engaging in far more brazen sedition than that which had preceded his trial: "It is one year past that Charles the Second was slain by the fanatics, and five and thirty since they killed his father the Martyr. If ye have but a little loyalty to our Kingdom, and but a little faith in true religion, there is no hope but in the downfall of this King."