ids were now taken away. The spoiled darling of
the court and of the populace, accustomed to be loved and worshipped
wherever he appeared, was now surrounded by stern gaolers in whose eyes
he read his doom. Yet a few hours of gloomy seclusion, and he must die a
violent and shameful death. His heart sank within him. Life seemed worth
purchasing by any humiliation; nor could his mind, always feeble, and
now distracted by terror, perceive that humiliation must degrade, but
could not save him.

As soon as he reached Ringwood he wrote to the King. The letter was that
of a man whom a craven fear had made insensible to shame. He professed
in vehement terms his remorse for his treason. He affirmed that, when he
promised his cousins at the Hague not to raise troubles in England,
he had fully meant to keep his word. Unhappily he had afterwards been
seduced from his allegiance by some horrid people who had heated his
mind by calumnies and misled him by sophistry; but now he abhorred
them: he abhorred himself. He begged in piteous terms that he might be
admitted to the royal presence. There was a secret which he could not
trust to paper, a secret which lay in a single word, and which, if he
spoke that word, would secure the throne against all danger. On the
following day he despatched letters, imploring the Queen Dowager and the
Lord Treasurer to intercede in his behalf. [421]

When it was known in London how he had abased himself the general
surprise was great; and no man was more amazed than Barillon, who
had resided in England during two bloody proscriptions, and had seen
numerous victims, both of the Opposition and of the Court, submit to
their fate without womanish entreaties and lamentations. [422]

Monmouth and Grey remained at Ringwood two days. They were then carried
up to London, under the guard of a large body of regular troops and
militia. In the coach with the Duke was an officer whose orders were to
stab the prisoner if a rescue were attempted. At every town along the
road the trainbands of the neighbourhood had been mustered under the
command of the principal gentry. The march lasted three days, and
terminated at Vauxhall, where a regiment, commanded by George Legge,
Lord Dartmouth, was in readiness to receive the prisoners. They were
put on board of a state barge, and carried down the river to Whitehall
Stairs. Lumley and Portman had alternately watched the Duke day and
night till they had brought him within the w