Great Bastards of History Read online

  AT CHARD, A SOMERSET TOWN ON THE DEVONSHIRE BORDER, MONMOUTH BRIEFLY PAUSED TO PICK UP 160 FOLLOWERS AND CROWN HIMSELF KING OF ENGLAND, INTRODUCING HIMSELF AS “JAMES SCOTT, 1ST DUKE OF MONMOUTH AND SON OF HIS ROYAL MAJESTY CHARLES II.”

  On June 20, at nearby Taunton, Monmouth crowned himself again—this time, in a bid to impart the odor of greater legitimacy to the event, ordering his army to use their pitchforks to “persuade” the Taunton Corporation (town council) to “officially” witness the ceremony, which was conducted outside of the White Hart Inn.

  As Monmouth led his army on a meandering course north, then northeast, then northwest, toward the major city of Bristol, which he intended to capture, the Royal Navy arrived at Lyme Regis and took possession of the duke’s three ships. He now had no way off the English isle.

  THE REBELLION FALTERS

  On June 24, Monmouth set up camp at Keynsham, between Bath and Bristol. From here, on the 25th, he made his move toward Bristol, but was quickly discouraged by clashes with his old regiment, the King’s Life Guards, now under the command of Louis de Duras, 2nd Earl of Feversham. Rather than fight it out, Monmouth turned 180 degrees away from Bristol and began to march instead southeast toward Bath, only to find it occupied by a large Royalist contingent. He therefore made camp at Philips Norton (modern Norton St. Philip), a few miles south of Bath, to ponder his next move.

  He did not have long to ponder, because Feversham brought the battle to him, attacking the Philips Norton camp on June 27. This drove Monmouth and his army to Frome, just south of the camp. He wanted to avoid a major battle, desperate to buy time for what he believed was an imminent and massive rebellion in Scotland, led by the 9th Earl of Argyll, which would surely force James to divide and deplete the army now arrayed against him. Indeed, Argyll had begun to muster a rebel army at Campbeltown late in May, but it disintegrated on the march to Glasgow; Argyll was captured on June 19 and, as of June 27, he had just three days to live before he would be beheaded, drawn, and quartered at Edinburgh.

  There were other rebellions in the offing. Monmouth was confident that both Cheshire and East Anglia would rise up. But they did not. And what with much running and little fighting, Monmouth’s army began to dissolve as well. At Trowbridge in Wiltshire, Royalists intercepted his line of march, prompting him to retreat back through Somerset. Retreating into Wells on July 1 and in desperate need of bullets, Monmouth’s men stripped the lead from the roof of the town’s famed cathedral to melt down, and then, in a frenzy of frustration over battles avoided, they became a mob of vandals, breaking out the stained glass windows and smashing the organ into kindling. The cathedral’s nave was transformed into an impromptu stable.

  Still, the Royalist forces pressed their pursuit, and on July 3 Monmouth and the four thousand men left to him holed up in the Somerset town of Bridgwater, which they fortified as best they could. Just three days later, however, the duke decided to risk a surprise night attack on Feversham’s forces. He must have concluded that time was on the Royalists’ side. They could starve out his army, forcing desertions, whittling it down to nothing. Hunkering down, therefore, was a losing proposition.

  THE BITTER END

  Monmouth led his men out of Bridgwater at about 10 p.m. on July 6. His guide was one Richard Godfrey, servant to a local farmer, who knew the country well—or so he said. He led the army into a dismal moor, which was traversed by deep, watery ditches in which man and horse might easily drown. Valuable time wasted away as the rebels stumbled across the difficult and uncertain ground. Then one of Monmouth’s cavalry was unexpectedly jostled by his mount or imagined he saw the enemy. In either case, a musket shot rang out. It hit nothing and no one, but it nevertheless killed the element of surprise.

  Monmouth’s small cavalry vanguard found itself at first confronted and then surrounded by the King’s Regiment of Horse. The superb horsemen of the regular English army literally ran circles around the mounted rebels, quickly routing and defeating them—with plenty of time for a rider to break away to alert Feversham and the main body of Royalist infantry. What followed was a fight too lopsided to be called a proper battle. Although Monmouth outnumbered Feversham four thousand to three thousand, the Royalist troops constituted a professional army, whereas the rebels were a motley collection of militiamen and farmers, the majority of them armed with nothing more than farm implements. In a remarkably short span, a thousand of them fell in battle, and half that number was captured. The rest scattered into the night.

  Among those who fled were Monmouth and Lord Grey of Warke, his cavalry commander. The man who would be king shed his ornate greatcoat and other regal military equipage. He and Warke donned the drab, shabby dress of the local peasantry and made for the southern coast. The two got as far as Ringwood, a Hampshire town along the River Avon. Exhausted, they lay down in a ditch overgrown with ferns and underbrush.

  A party of Feversham’s men, hot on their trail, seized an old woman of the neighborhood, who told them she had seen a tall man filling his pockets with peas, and she pointed toward the Avon. Night fell, and the troops resumed the pursuit at daybreak. As they marched along the river, one of the soldiers saw the skirt of a man’s coat just above the rim of a ditch. The 1st Duke of Monmouth, sodden with filth and hollow with hunger, was taken into custody along with Warke, who was found moments later.

  The Duke of Monmouth, captive, pleads with his uncle James II to spare his life. In this scene by the nineteenth-century Scottish-born historical painter John Pettie, the king’s body language clearly conveys the absence of avuncular forgiveness. The Duke of Monmouth Pleading for his Life before James II (oil on canvas), Pettie, John (1839-93) / © South African National Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa / The Bridgeman Art Library International

  AN AFTERMATH OF BLOOD AND GLORIOUS REVOLUTION

  The beheading of Monmouth was not the end of it. The Parliamentary “Act to Attaint James Duke of Monmouth of High-Treason” not only condemned the would-be usurper to “suffer Paines of Death,” but also to “Incurr all Forfeitures as a Traitor Convicted and Attainted of High Treason,” which meant that his dukedoms of Monmouth and Buccleuch would be lost to his family—though some lesser titles were later restored to them. Fortune and noble station, so easily conferred by Charles II on his bastard son, were even more easily taken from him and his heirs. It required but the stroke of a pen on a parliamentary act.

  Far worse was the fate that befell Monmouth’s supporters. Those of his army who escaped death or immediate capture were relentlessly hunted down in the aftermath of the battle. Some of those located were dispatched with musket balls wherever they lay in hiding. Many, however, were hanged from impromptu gibbets along the Somerset roads—examples to all those who would covet a throne not theirs by right.

  James II, an unforgiving monarch, assigned Lord Chief Justice George Jeffreys to ensure that all of the duke’s partisans were rounded up and tried. More than eleven hundred individuals were convicted in proceedings held at Taunton Castle, a process destined to be known to history as the Bloody Assizes. Three hundred and twenty of those found guilty were sentenced to the full mode of execution imposed on traitors.

  Unlike their leader, Monmouth, who was only beheaded, they were first drawn and quartered, lashed to a timber frame called a hurdle and roughly dragged to the scaffold. Here they were hanged with sufficient skill to bring them to death’s doorstep without crossing the threshold. While still living, each condemned prisoner was disemboweled and castrated, the guts and genitals thrown into a fire so that the man might see them burn as he drifted in and out of consciousness. This completed, the body was quartered—butchered into four parts—and then beheaded. Some eight hundred convicted by the Bloody Assizes escaped death and were instead sentenced to “transportation,” meaning exile to the West Indies, where they were worked as slaves.

  As threatened heads of state had done before and would do in the future, James II seized what today would be called “emergency powers,” suspending ha
beas corpus—so that anyone could be arrested and held at any time and for any reason. He built up his army and placed loyal Catholics in all of the important government offices. When Parliament objected, condemning many of his actions as illegal—which is to say, illegitimate—James II prorogued Parliament on November 20, 1685, until it was dissolved altogether in July 1687.

  This drew England to the verge of revolution. What pushed it over was the birth in 1688 of James Francis Edward Stuart, which thrust upon the Protestant nation a Catholic heir apparent. That same year, at the behest of the anti-James faction known as the Parliamentarians, no less a figure than William III of Orange was invited to overthrow James II and assume the throne in his place. It would be called the Glorious Revolution, and, like all revolutions, it would challenge assumptions of legitimacy, asking and answering the question, Who by rights should rule?

  Fittingly, before William of Orange offered his challenge, the Duke of Monmouth, whose very birth lay beyond the boundaries of conventional legitimacy, presented his and suffered on account of it the terrible fate that befalls those whose version of truth and right—legitimacy—fails to win acceptance.

  CHAPTER 6

  ALEXANDER HAMILTON

  AN ILLEGITIMATE SON BECOMES A FOUNDING FATHER OF A NEW NATION

  1757–1804

  BORN OUT OF WEDLOCK IN 1757 AND SHAPED BY GRINDING POVERTY, ALEXANDER HAMILTON RELIED ON HIS INNATE INTELLIGENCE AND AMBITION TO OVERCOME THE STIGMA OF HIS BIRTH—AND ULTIMATELY HELP FOUND A NATION.

  YOUNG ALEXANDER HAMILTON HAD COME TO LOATHE GOING INTO TOWN. The locals were always watching him, judging him. He pretended not to notice that his presence caused a stir. The adults usually glanced quickly at him before shaking their heads in disapproval, or worse yet, pity. The children—especially the older boys—could be particularly cruel, staring blatantly, snickering, and even pointing at him. The boy averted his eyes from theirs, looking down at his shoes. Well worn, but clean, his clothes hung loosely on his thin frame.

  Eight-year-old Alexander, or Alex, as he was known, was an exceedingly precocious child with a quick wit and a maturity that surprised those around him. He was extremely respectful to his elders and seemed eager to impress with an astute observation about the weather or a well-turned phrase picked up from a book he had read. He was painfully aware that his family was an object of derision on the island of St. Croix, where they resided. Although his parents lived together, they were not married. Born out of wedlock, Alex and his older brother James were labeled “obscene children” in official court documents and census records. The stigma was especially difficult for Alex, the more sensitive of the two, to bear.

  Alexander Hamilton transformed himself from a poor, illegitimate boy from the West Indies into an accomplished, brilliant politician who was instrumental in shaping a new nation. Portrait of Alexander Hamilton (1755/57-1804) (litho), Chappel, Alonzo (1828-1887) (after) / Private Collection / Ken Welsh / The Bridgeman Art Library International

  As Alex made his way through town, a teenage boy muttered something derogatory under his breath about Alex’s mother. A small, frail child, Alex was no match for the older and bigger antagonist. His heart beat faster and his fair complexion flushed red with humiliation. He hastened his pace, eager to get home. His family lived on the second floor of a small, modest, two-story house; the first floor had been converted into a shop where Alex’s mother sold produce and other staples. The Hamiltons owned only one bed; the boys slept on the floor. Alex longed to return to the nearby island of St. Christopher, where the Hamiltons spent several uneventful years in welcome obscurity.

  FOR ALEXANDER HAMILTON, ST. CROIX WAS THE PLACE WHERE HE LEARNED THE DISTRESSING TRUTH ABOUT HIS BIRTH—AND ABOUT HIS MOTHER’S PAST.

  Because they were illegitimate, the boys were barred from attending the government-sponsored schools on the Caribbean island. Their mother taught them to read and write. Young Alex was sent to study at a local Jewish school, where he learned to speak Hebrew. He became an avid reader, poring over the classics his mother kept at home.

  It was 1765 and St. Croix was under Danish rule. English was the predominant language spoken, followed by Creole, French, Dutch, and Spanish. The island was a busy port for trade; locally produced sugar and tobacco were the most popular exports. Christiansted, the center of island commerce, was a boomtown with a steady influx of merchants and prospectors hoping to strike it rich. A picturesque island, St. Croix boasted sloping hills and numerous plantations and was surrounded by brilliant blue water. Physically, the island looked like paradise. For the many African slaves forced to work the fields and plantations, it was little more than a tropical prison. For Alexander Hamilton, it was the place where he learned the distressing truth about his birth—and about his mother’s past.

  A FOUNDING FATHER’S TRAGIC CHILDHOOD

  Rachel Hamilton was no stranger to St. Croix, having lived there as a child and later as a young bride. At sixteen, Rachel married John Michael Lavien, a thirty-eight-year-old merchant whose large, fashionable wardrobe misled people (including Rachel’s mother, Mary Fawcett, who encouraged the union) into thinking he was financially well-off.

  From the start, the Laviens’ marriage was a disaster. John Michael proved to be a bully who mistreated his teenage bride. He was also far less solvent than Mary Fawcett had believed him to be. Rachel was desperately unhappy. A year into the marriage, the couple had a son whom they named Peter. Motherhood did little to raise Rachel’s spirits. She ran off to stay with friends on the island. Rumors of assignations followed her. Lavien had her arrested and thrown in jail for adultery. He hoped the time in jail would teach her a lesson and make her more accepting of domestic life. However, when Rachel was released several months later, she fled the island, leaving Lavien and Peter behind.

  Born on Nevis in the West Indies, Hamilton relocated to the Thirteen Colonies as a young man. He was especially fond of New York, preferring the cosmopolitan city to the rural islands of his youth. Map of the West Indies, Florida and South America (engraving) (b/w photo), English School, (18th century) / Private Collection / The Bridgeman Art Library International

  Rachel landed on St. Kitts, just a few miles away from St. Croix. There she embarked on another ill-fated relationship, this time with James Hamilton. A Scot who was estranged from his wealthy, aristocratic family, Hamilton had come to the West Indies to improve his finances. Feckless and flighty, he jumped from job to job and struggled to eke out a living. Although still legally wed to Lavien, Rachel lived with Hamilton as his common-law wife. Together they had two sons: James and Alexander. The family was poor and moved frequently as Hamilton sought new employment.

  Nearly a decade after Rachel left St. Croix, Lavien sued her for divorce, accusing the “shameless, rude and ungodly woman” of abandoning her duties as a wife and mother and “whoring with everyone.” He also pointed out that Rachel had given birth to two bastard children. Rachel did not answer the summons to appear in court. Lavien was granted the divorce. According to Danish law at the time, Rachel was prohibited from remarrying; Lavien, however, was free to do so.

  Although stigmatized as a “fallen woman,” Rachel was relieved to be officially free of Lavien. She was understandably upset when, in 1765, James Hamilton’s employer transferred him indefinitely to St. Croix. It was with great apprehension that Rachel agreed to move the family to the place where she had experienced such misery—and where she might encounter her ex-husband again. Her sons soon experienced their own unhappiness when they discovered that they were illegitimate. (It is unclear whether Rachel broke the news to the boys herself or whether they heard it from the locals.)

  On St. Croix, the relationship between Rachel and James Hamilton unraveled. Just months after the move, Hamilton abandoned the family, never to return. He did not send Rachel any financial assistance. Despite this fact, Alexander, then eight years old, remained inexplicably fond of his father, recasting him as a sad, bemused aristocrat who had fallen from fortune’s favo
r. In his revised history, he portrayed his father as more victim than victimizer. Perhaps this fantasy helped soften the pain of rejection. As an adult, Alexander sought out his wayward father. The two men communicated through mail, but the older Hamilton refused to meet with the son he had abandoned, even though Alexander helped support him financially.

  Rachel was forced to turn to her sister’s family for assistance. The Lyttons had fallen on hard times, but patriarch James Lytton did his best to help her. With Lytton supplying the seed money, Rachel opened a small country store, selling produce and necessities to local residents. She barely made ends meet. James Jr. was sent to apprentice with a carpenter. Alexander remained at home, working in the family store, filling orders and serving customers.

  Alexander had barely recovered from the abandonment of his father when Rachel succumbed to yellow fever in 1768. Her former husband, Lavien, immediately swooped in to claim her meager belongings for his son Peter. Peter Lytton was appointed guardian of the Hamilton boys. A year into his guardianship, Lytton committed suicide, leaving no provisions for James and Alex. James Lytton, their uncle, died soon afterward. James Hamilton, living in poverty on another island, had neither the means nor the inclination to assume custody of his sons. He left them to their own devices. The boys were forced to rely on the mercy and generosity of strangers. Fortunately, James Jr. was faring well in his apprenticeship and was able to remain on with his employer.