The History of England in Three Volumes, Vol. I., Part F.: From Charles II. to James II. — David Hume — John Shaqi
The History of England in Three Volumes, Vol. I., Part F.: From Charles II. to James II.
David Hume · en
feeble blow on Monmouth, who raised his head from the block, and looked
him in the face, as if reproaching him for his failure. He gently laid
down his head a second time; and the executioner struck him again and
again to no purpose. He then threw aside the axe, and cried out that he
was incapable of finishing the bloody office. The sheriff obliged him to
renew the attempt; and at two blows more the head was severed from the
body.
Thus perished, in the thirty-sixth year of his age, a nobleman who, in
less turbulent times, was well qualified to be an ornament of the court,
even to be serviceable to his country. The favor of his prince, the
caresses of faction, and the allurements of popularity, seduced him into
enterprises which exceeded his capacity. The good will of the people
still followed him in every fortune. Even after his execution, their
fond credulity flattered them with hopes of seeing him once more at
their head. They believed, that the person executed was not Monmouth,
but one, who, having the fortune to resemble him nearly, was willing to
give this proof of his extreme attachment, and to suffer death in his
stead.
This victory, obtained by the king in the commencement of his reign,
would naturally, had it been managed with prudence, have tended much
to increase his power and authority. But by reason of the cruelty with
which it was prosecuted, and of the temerity with which it afterwards
inspired him, it was a principal cause of his sudden ruin and downfall.
Such arbitrary principles had the court instilled into all its servants,
that Feversham, immediately after the victory, hanged above twenty
prisoners; and was proceeding in his executions, when the bishop of Bath
and Wells warned him, that these unhappy men were now by law entitled
to a trial, and that their execution would be deemed a real murder. This
remonstrance, however, did not stop the savage nature of Colonel
Kirke, a soldier of fortune, who had long served at Tangiers, and had
contracted, from his intercourse with the Moors, an inhumanity less
known in European and in free countries. At his first entry into Bridge
water, he hanged nineteen prisoners without the least inquiry into the
merits of their cause. As if to make sport with death, he ordered a
certain number to be executed, while he and his company should drink
the king’s health, or the queen’s, or that of Chief Justice Jefferies.
Observing their feet to quiver in the agonies of death, he cried that he
would give them music to their dancing; and he immediately commanded
the drums to beat and the trumpets to sound. By way of experiment,
he ordered one man to be hung up three times, questioning him at each
interval, whether he repented of his crime: but the man obstinately
asserting, that notwithstanding the past, he still would willingly
engage in the same cause, Kirke ordered him to be hung in chains. One
story, commonly told of him, is memorable for the treachery, as well as
barbarity, which attended it.