e of Orange at Windsor--who, only wanting to get rid of him, and
not caring where he went, so that he went away, was very much
disconcerted that they did not let him go. However, there was nothing
for it but to have him brought back, with some state in the way of Life
Guards, to Whitehall. And as soon as he got there, in his infatuation,
he heard mass, and set a Jesuit to say grace at his public dinner.

The people had been thrown into the strangest state of confusion by his
flight, and had taken it into their heads that the Irish part of the army
were going to murder the Protestants. Therefore, they set the bells a
ringing, and lighted watch-fires, and burned Catholic Chapels, and looked
about in all directions for Father Petre and the Jesuits, while the
Pope's ambassador was running away in the dress of a footman. They found
no Jesuits; but a man, who had once been a frightened witness before
Jeffreys in court, saw a swollen, drunken face looking through a window
down at Wapping, which he well remembered. The face was in a sailor's
dress, but he knew it to be the face of that accursed judge, and he
seized him. The people, to their lasting honour, did not tear him to
pieces. After knocking him about a little, they took him, in the basest
agonies of terror, to the Lord Mayor, who sent him, at his own shrieking
petition, to the Tower for safety. There, he died.

Their bewilderment continuing, the people now lighted bonfires and made
rejoicings, as if they had any reason to be glad to have the King back
again. But, his stay was very short, for the English guards were removed
from Whitehall, Dutch guards were marched up to it, and he was told by
one of his late ministers that the Prince would enter London, next day,
and he had better go to Ham. He said, Ham was a cold, damp place, and he
would rather go to Rochester. He thought himself very cunning in this,
as he meant to escape from Rochester to France. The Prince of Orange and
his friends knew that, perfectly well, and desired nothing more. So, he
went to Gravesend, in his royal barge, attended by certain lords, and
watched by Dutch troops, and pitied by the generous people, who were far
more forgiving than he had ever been, when they saw him in his
humiliation. On the night of the twenty-third of December, not even then
understanding that everybody wanted to get rid of him, he went out,
absurdly, through his Rochester garden, down to the Medway, and got awa