All Europe was looking anxiously towards the Low Countries.  A great French army, commanded by Villeroy, was collected in Flanders.  William crossed to the Continent to take command of the Dutch and British troops, who mustered at Ghent.  The Elector of Bavaria, at the head of a great force, lay near Brussels.  William had set his heart on capturing Namur.  After a siege hard pressed, that fortress, esteemed the strongest in Europe, splendidly fortified by Vauban, surrendered to the allies on August 26, 1695.

The Treaty of Ryswick

The war was ended by the signing of the treaty of Ryswick by the ambassadors of France, England, Spain, and the United Provinces on September 10, 1697.  King William was received in London with great popular rejoicing.  The second of December was appointed a day of thanksgiving for peace, and the Chapter of St. Paul’s resolved that on that day their new Cathedral, which had long been slowly rising on the ruins of a succession of pagan and Christian temples, should be opened for public worship.  There was indeed reason for joy and thankfulness.  England had passed through severe trials, and had come forth renewed in health and vigour.

Ten years before it had seemed that both her liberty and her independence were no more.  Her liberty she had vindicated by a just and necessary revolution.  Her independence she had reconquered by a not less just and necessary war.  All dangers were over.  There was peace abroad and at home.  The kingdom, after many years of ignominious vassalage, had resumed its ancient place in the first rank of European powers.  Many signs justified the hope that the Revolution of 1688 would be our last Revolution.  Public credit had been re-established; trade had revived; the Exchequer was overflowing; and there was a sense of relief everywhere, from the Royal Exchange to the most secluded hamlets among the mountains of Wales and the fens of Lincolnshire.

Early in 1702 alarming reports were rife concerning William’s state of health.  Headaches and shivering fits returned on him almost daily, and it soon became evident that the great king’s days were numbered.  On February 20 William was ambling on a favourite horse, named Sorrel, through the park of Hampton Court.  The horse stumbling on a mole-hill went down on his knees.  The king fell off and broke his collar-bone.  The bone was set, and to a young and vigorous man such an accident would have been a trifle.  But the frame of William was not in a condition to bear even the slightest shock.  He felt that his time was short, and grieved, with such a grief as only noble spirits feel, to think that he must leave his work but half finished.  On March 4 he was attacked by fever, and he was soon sinking fast.  He was under no delusion as to his danger.  “I am fast drawing to my end,” said he.  His end was worthy of his life.  His intellect was not for a moment clouded.  His fortitude was the more admirable because he was not willing to die.  From the words which escaped him he seemed to be frequently engaged in mental prayer.  The end came between seven and eight in the morning.  When his remains were laid out, it was found that he wore next to his skin a small piece of black silk riband.  The lords in waiting ordered it to be taken off.  It contained a gold ring and a lock of the hair of Mary.