ese the principles, which he
had, during his whole life, ostentatiously professed, now gave way. He
repaired to the Prince's closet, and represented the danger of leaving
the King at liberty. The Protestants of Ireland were in extreme peril.
There was only one way to secure their estates and their lives; and that
was to keep His Majesty close prisoner. It might not be prudent to shut
him up in an English castle. But he might be sent across the sea and
confined in the fortress of Breda till the affairs of the British
Islands were settled. If the Prince were in possession of such a
hostage, Tyrconnel would probably lay down the sword of state; and the
English ascendency would be restored to Ireland without a blow. If, on
the other hand, James should escape to France and make his appearance
at Dublin, accompanied by a foreign army, the consequences must be
disastrous. William owned that there was great weight in these reasons,
but it could not be. He knew his wife's temper; and he knew that she
never would consent to such a step. Indeed it would not be for his own
honour to treat his vanquished kinsman so ungraciously. Nor was it quite
clear that generosity might not be the best policy. Who could say what
effect such severity as Clarendon recommended might produce on the
public mind of England? Was it impossible that the loyal enthusiasm,
which the King's misconduct had extinguished, might revive as soon as it
was known that he was within the walls of a foreign fortress? On these
grounds William determined not to subject his father in law to personal
restraint; and there can be little doubt that the determination was
wise. [601]

James, while his fate was under discussion, remained at Whitehall,
fascinated, as it seemed, by the greatness and nearness of the danger,
and unequal to the exertion of either struggling or flying. In the
evening news came that the Dutch had occupied Chelsea and Kensington.
The King, however, prepared to go to rest as usual. The Coldstream
Guards were on duty at the palace. They were commanded by William Earl
of Craven, an aged man who, more than fifty years before, had been
distinguished in war and love, who had led the forlorn hope at
Creutznach with such courage that he had been patted on the shoulder
by the great Gustavus, and who was believed to have won from a thousand
rivals the heart of the unfortunate Queen of Bohemia. Craven was now in
his eightieth year; but time had not tamed his spiri