as an angel from heaven. They received him with the liveliest bursts of rejoicing. They adorned their doors and windows with flowers, they strewed his path with them, and appeared abroad wearing every man a sprig of green in his hat, as a badge of the popular cause. He and his officers were quartered in the houses of the chief citizens, and the people hurried to supply his little army with food and lodging. The young ladies of the place embroidered banners for the army, and a deputation of twenty-six of the handsomest and most distinguished maidens presented to Monmouth one emblazoned with the royal arms. The lady heading the procession, also kneeling, offered for his acceptance a Bible handsomely bound, which he received with an air of reverence, saying that he came to defend the truths of that book, and, if necessary, to seal them with his blood.
All this appeared auspicious and encouraging, but it did not satisfy Monmouth. He knew, without the adhesion of the army and the leading gentry, he should never make his way to the crown. Their adhesion had been promised him, but where were they? Not a regiment had given a sign of being ready to join him. The lords Macclesfield, Brandon, Delamere, and other whig noblemen, whom he had been assured would instantly fly to his standard, lay all still. Trenchard of Taunton, who had promised to join him, unlike his townsmen, fled at his approach, and made his way into Holland, to the prince of Orange. Wildman, who had promised such wonders of county support and of money, did not appear. On the contrary, the nobility and gentry from all parts of the country, with the clergy, were pouring in addresses of attachment and support to James. Parliament, both lords and commons, displayed the same spirit.
The common people might believe that the son of Lucy Walters was legitimate, but the educated classes knew better, and that Monmouth could never be king. Parliament, therefore, at once voted James four hundred thousand pounds for present necessities, and laid new taxes for five years on foreign silks, linen, and spirits. They ordered Monmouth's declaration to be burnt by the hangman, and rapidly passed against him a bill of attainder, setting a reward of five thousand pounds on his head. They were ready to go farther, and the commons actually passed a bill for the preservation of the king's person and government, making it high treason to say that Monmouth was legitimate, or to make any motion in parliament to alter the succession. But James, knowing the uselessness of any such act, adjourned parliament without waiting for the act passing the lords, and dismissed the nobles and gentry to defend his interests in their different localities. He took care, however, to revive the censorship of the press, which had expired in 1679.
When Monmouth, with consternation, noted these adverse circumstances, Ferguson was ready with a reason. It was, that Monmouth had committed a capital error in not taking the title of king. The style and title of king, he asserted, carried a wonderful weight with the English. But of this right he had deprived himself by abjuring this title and leaving it entirely to James. That the majority would fight for the man who was in possession of the royal name, but for whom were they to fight who fought for Monmouth? Nobody could tell, and the result must be discouragement. Grey seconded Ferguson—Wade and the republicans opposed the scheme. But probably Monmouth was only too willing to be persuaded, and, accordingly, on the 20th of June, he was proclaimed in the market-place of Taunton. As the names of both rivals were James, and James II. would continue to mean James who now had that title, Monmouth was styled king Monmouth. Immediately on taking this step, Monmouth issued four proclamations. Following the example of James, he set a price on the head of James, late duke of York; declared the parliament sitting at Westminster an unlawful assembly, and ordered it to disperse; forbade the people to pay taxes to the usurper; and proclaimed Albemarle a traitor, unless he forthwith repaired to the standard of king Monmouth, where he would be cordially received.
Almost every part of this proceeding was a gross political blunder. By assuming the royal title he lost nearly everything, and gained nothing. He offended the republican party, and divided the allegiance of his little army, some of the most energetic of whose officers, as Wade and others, were of that political faith. He offended that great protestant party which was looking forward to the protestant succession of William of Orange and the princess Mary, and in case of their want of issue to the princess Anne. He cut off all retreat to Holland in case of failure, and all hope of mercy from James if he fell into his hands. By pledging himself on landing not to aspire to the crown, and thus immediately breaking his pledge, he inspired the thinking portion of the public with deep distrust, as inducing the same disregard of his word as had been so long conspicuous in the Stuarts. With all the influential protestants who might have joined him, so soon as events gave hope of success, considering him the champion of a protestant succession, he had placed himself in a hopeless position, because that succession could only come through a legitimate issue. By denouncing the parliament that body became his mortal foes. The only party from which he could now expect any support was the people, and without means, without leaders, without military training, the result could only be failure utter and fearful.
And spite of the persuasions of Ferguson, the melancholy truth seemed already to stare the unhappy Monmouth in the face. He received a secret answer from Albemarle, addressed to James Scott, late duke of Monmouth, telling him that he knew who was his lawful king, and that he had better have let rebellion alone. As he rode out of Taunton on the 22nd of June towards Bridgewater, it was remarked that he looked gloomy and dejected; the very people who crowded in the road to greet him with huzzahs, could not help remarking how different was the expression of his countenance to what it had been in his gay procession there five years before. The only man who seemed elated with anticipation of triumph, was Ferguson, and if, as he is suspected to have been, playing the traitor to the unfortunate Monmouth, he might now well grow confident of his diabolical success. He is described as riding about brandishing his sword, and addressing the people in a wild, maniacal style.
On reaching Bridgewater, where there existed a strong
