THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND. VOL. III.
THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND, FROM The EARLIEST TIMES to the DEATH of GEORGE II. By Dr. GOLDSMITH. IN FOUR VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON, Printed for T. DAVIES, in Russel-street; BECKET and DE HONDT; and T. CADELL, in the Strand. MDCCLXXI.
EDWARD VI
Hull sculp.
CHAP. XXIV. EDWARD VI.
HENRY the eighth was succeeded on the throne by his only son Edward the sixth, now in the ninth year of his age. The late king in his will, which he expected would be absolutely obeyed, fixed the majority of the prince at the completion of his eighteenth year; and in the mean time appointed sixteen executors of his will, to whom, during the miniority, he entrusted the government of the king and kingdom. But the vanity of his aims was soon discovered; for the first act of the executors was to chuse the earl of Hertford, who was afterwards made duke of Somerset, as protector of the realm, and in him was lodged all the regal power, together with a privilege of naming whom he would for his privy council.
This was a favourable season for those of the reformed religion; and the eyes of the late king were no sooner closed, than all of that persuasion congratulated themselves on the event. They no longer suppressed their sentiments, but maintained their doctrines openly, in preaching and teaching, even while the laws against them continued in full force. The protector had long been regarded as the secret partizan of the reformers; and, being now freed from restraint, he scrupled not to express his intention of correcting all the abuses of the ancient religion, and of adopting still more the doctrines propagated by Luther. His power was not a little strengthened by his success against an incursion of the Scotch, in which about eight hundred of their army were slain; and the popularity which he gained upon this occasion, seconded his views in the further propagation of the new doctrines. But the character of Somerset did not stand in need of the mean supports of popularity acquired in this manner, as he was naturally humble, civil, affable, and courteous to the meanest suitor, while all his actions were directed by motives of piety and honour.
The protector, in his schemes for advancing the reformation, had always recourse to the counsels of Cranmer, who; being a man of moderation and prudence, was averse to violent changes, and determined to bring over the people by insensible innovations to his own peculiar system. The person who opposed with the greatest authority any farther advances towards reformation, was Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, who, though he had not obtained a place at the council-board, yet from his age, experience, and capacity, was regarded by most men with some degree of veneration. Upon a general visitation of the church, which had been commanded by the primate and protector, Gardiner defended the use of images, which was now very openly attacked by the protestants; he even wrote an apology for holy water; but he particularly alleged, that it was unlawful to make any change in religion during the king's minority. This opposition of Gardiner drew on him the indignation of the council; and he was sent to the Fleet prison, where he was used with much harshness and severity.
These internal regulations were in some measure retarded by the war with Scotland, which still continued to rage with some violence. But a defeat, which that nation suffered at Musselborough, in which above ten thousand perished in the field of battle, induced them to sue for peace, in order to gain time; and the protector returned to settle the business of the reformation, which was as yet only begun. But, though he acquired great popularity by this expedition, he did not fail to attract the envy of several noblemen, by procuring a patent from the young king his nephew, to sit in parliament on the right hand of the throne, and to enjoy the same honours and privileges which had usually been granted the uncles of kings in England. However, he still drove on his favourite schemes of reformation, and gave more consistency to the tenets of the church. The cup was restored to the laity in the sacrament of the Lord's supper; private masses were abolished; the king was empowered to create bishops by letters patent. Vagabonds were adjudged to be slaves for two years, and to be marked with a red hot iron; an act commonly supposed to be levelled against the strolling priests and friars. It was enacted also, that all who denied the king's supremacy, or asserted the pope's, should, for the first offence, forfeit their goods and chattels, and suffer imprisonment during pleasure; for the second offence they were to incur the pain of premunire, and for the third offence to be attainted of treason. Orders were soon after issued by the council that candles should no longer be carried about on Candlemas day, ashes on Ash Wednesday, or palms on Palm Sunday. These were ancient superstitious practices, which led to immoralities that it was thought proper to restrain. An order also was issued for the removal of all images from the churches, an innovation which was much desired by the reformers, and which alone, with regard to the populace, amounted almost to a change of the established religion. The people had for some time been extremely distracted by the opposite opinions of their preachers; and as they were totally incapable of judging the arguments advanced on either side, and naturally regarded every thing they heard at church, as of the greatest authority, much confusion and fluctuation resulted from this uncertainty. The council first endeavoured to remove the inconvenience by laying some restraints upon preaching; but finding this expedient fail, they imposed a total silence upon preachers, which however, was removed by degrees, in proportion as the reformation gained ground among the people.
But these innovations, evidently calculated for the good of the people, were not brought about without some struggles at home, while the protector was but too busily employed against the Scotch, who united with, and seconded by France, still pushed on their inroads with unremitting animosity. Besides, there was still an enemy that he had yet to fear more than any of the former; and this was his own brother, lord Thomas Seymour, the admiral, a man of uncommon talents, but proud, turbulent, and untractable. This nobleman could not endure the distinction which the king had always made between him and his elder brother; so that they divided the whole court and the kingdom by their opposite cabals and pretensions. By his flattery and address, he had so insinuated himself into the good graces of the queen dowager, that, forgetting her usual prudence and decency, she married him immediately upon the decease of the late king. This match was particularly displeasing to the elder brother's wife, who now saw that while her husband had the precedency in one place, she was obliged to yield it in another. His next step was to cabal and make a party among the nobility, who, as they hated his brother, fomented his ambition. He then bribed the king's domestics to his interest; and young Edward frequently went to his house, on pretence of visiting the queen. There he ingratiated himself with his sovereign by the most officious assiduities, particularly by supplying him with money to distribute among his servants and favourites, without the knowledge of his governor. In the protector's absence with the army in Scotland, he made it his business to redouble all his arts and insinuations; and thus obtained a new patent for admiral, with an additional appointment. Sir William Paget perceiving the progress he daily made in the king's affection, wrote to the protector on the subject, who finished the campaign in Scotland with all possible dispatch, that he might return in time to counter-work his machinations. But before he could arrive in England, the admiral had engaged in his party several of the principal nobility, and had even prevailed on the king himself to write a letter to the two houses of parliament with his own hand, desiring that the admiral might be appointed his governor; but the council being apprized of his schemes, sent deputies to assure him, that if he did not desist they would deprive him of his office, send him prisoner to the Tower, and prosecute him on the last act of parliament, by which he was subject to the penalty of high treason, for attempting to disturb the peace of the government. It was not without some severe struggles within himself, and some menaces divulged among his creatures, that he thought proper to submit, and desired to be reconciled to his brother. Yet he still nourished the same designs in secret; and his brother, suspecting his sincerity, employed spies to inform him of all his private transactions.
But it was not in the power of persuasions or menaces to shake the admiral's unalterable views of ambition. His spouse, the queendowager, had died in child-bed; and this accident, far from repressing his schemes, only seemed to promote them. He made his addresses to the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards so revered by the English; and it is said that she listened to his insinuations, contrary to the will of her father, who had excluded her the succession, in case she married without the consent of council. The admiral, however, it is supposed, had projects of getting over that objection; and his professions seemed to give reason to believe that he intended aiming at regal authority. By promises and persuasions he brought over many of the principal nobility to his party; he neglected not even the most popular persons of inferior rank; and he computed that he could on occasion command the service of ten thousand men among his servants, tenants, and retainers. He had already provided arms for their use; and having engaged in his interests Sir John Sharrington,
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master of the mint at Bristol, a very corrupt man, he flattered himself that money would not be wanting.
Somerset being well ascertained of all these alarming circumstances, endeavoured by every expedient that his power or his near connection could suggest, to draw him from his designs. He reasoned, he threatened, he heaped new favours upon him; but all to no purpose. At last he resolved to make use of the last dreadful remedy, and to attaint his own brother of high treason. In consequence of this resolution, and secretly advised to it by Dudley, earl of Warwick, a wicked ambitious man, who expected to rise upon the downfall of the two brothers, he deprived him of his office of high-admiral and signed a warrant for committing him to the Tower. Yet still the protector suspended the blow, and shewed a reluctance to ruin one so nearly connected with himself: he offered once more to be sincerely reconciled, and give him his life, if he was contented to spend the remainder of his days in retirement and repentance. But finding himself unable to work on the inflexible temper of his brother by any methods but severity, he ordered a charge to be drawn up against him, consisting of thirty-three articles; and the whole to be brought into parliament, which was now become the instrument by which the administration usually punished their enemies. The charge being brought first into the house of lords, several peers, rising up in their places, gave an account of what they knew concerning lord Seymour's conduct, and his criminal words and actions. There was more difficulty in managing the prosecution in the house of commons; but upon receiving a message from the king, requiring them to proceed, the bill passed in a very full house, near four hundred voting for it, and not above nine or ten against it. The sentence was soon after executed, by beheading him on Tower-Hill. His death, however, was, in general, disagreeable to the nation, who considered the lord Seymour as hardly dealt with, in being condemned upon general allegations, without having an opportunity of making a defence, or confronting his accusers. But the chief odium fell upon the protector; and it must be owned that there was no reason for carrying his severity to such a length as he did.
This obstacle being removed, the protector went on to reform and regulate the new system of religion, which was now become the chief concern of the nation. A committee of bishops and divines had been appointed by the council to frame a liturgy for the service of the church; and this work was executed with great moderation, precision, and accuracy. A law was also enacted, permitting priests to marry; the ceremony of auricular confession, though not abolished, was left at the discretion of the people, who were not displeased at being freed from the spiritual tyranny of their instructors; the doctrine of the real presence was the last tenet of popery that was wholly abandoned by the people, as both the clergy and laity were loth to renounce so miraculous a benefit, as it was asserted to be. However, at last, not only this, but all the principal opinions and practices of the Catholic religion, contrary to what the scripture authorizes, were abolished; and the reformation, such as we have it, was almost entirely completed in England.
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With all these innovations the people and clergy in general acquiesced; and Gardiner and Bonner, were the only persons whose opposition was thought of any weight; they were, therefore, sent to the Tower, and threatened with the king's further displeasure in case of disobedience.
But it had been well for the credit of the reformers, had they stopt at imprisonment only. They also resolved to become persecutors in turn; and although the very spirit of their doctrines arose from a freedom of thinking, yet they could not bear that any should controvert what they had been at so much pains to establish. A commission was granted to the primate and some others, to search after all anabaptists, heretics, or contemners of the new liturgy. Among the number of those who were supposed to incur guilt upon this occasion, was one Joan Boucher, commonly called Joan of Kent; who was so extremely obstinate, that the commissioners could gain nothing upon her. She had maintained an abstruse metaphysical sentiment, that Christ, as man, was a sinful man; but as the Word he was free from sin, and could be subject to none of the frailties of the flesh with which he was cloathed. For maintaining this doctrine, which none of them could understand, this poor ignorant woman was condemned to be burnt to death as an heretic. The young king, who it seems had more sense than his ministers, refused at first to sign the death warrant; but being at last pressed by Cranmer, and vanquished by his importunities, he reluctantly complied; declaring, that if he did wrong, the sin should be on the head of those who had persuaded him to it. The primate, after making a new effort to reclaim the woman from her opinions, and finding her obstinate against all his arguments, at last committed her to the flames. Some time after, one Van Paris, a Dutchman, being accused of an heresy called Arianism, was condemned to the same punishment. He suffered with so much satisfaction, that he hugged and caressed the faggots that were consuming him; and died exulting in his situation.
Although these measures were intended for the benefit of the nation, and in the end turned out entirely to the advantage of society; yet they were at that time attended with many inconveniences, to which all changes, whatsoever, are liable. When the monasteries were suppressed, a prodigious number of monks were obliged to earn their subsistence by their labour; so that all kinds of business were overstocked. The lands of the monasteries, also, had been formerly farmed out to the common people, so as to employ a great number of hands; and the rents being moderate, they were able to maintain their families on the profits of agriculture. But now these lands being possessed by the nobility, the rents were raised; and the farmers perceiving that wool was a better commodity than corn, turned all their fields into pasture. In consequence of this practice, the price of meal arose, to the unspeakable hardship of the lower class of people. Beside, as few hands were required to manage a pasture farm, a great number of poor people were utterly deprived of subsistence, while the nation was filled with murmurs and complaints against the nobility, who were considered as the sources of the general calamity. To add to these complaints, the rich proprietors of lands proceeded to enclose their estates; while the tenants, regarded as an useless burthen, were expelled their habitations. Even cottagers, deprived of the commons on which they formerly fed their cattle, were reduced to misery; and a great decay of people as well as a diminution of provisions, was observed in every part of the kingdom. To add to this picture of general calamity, all the good coin of the kingdom was hoarded up or exported abroad; while a base metal was coined at home, or imported from abroad in great abundance; and this the poor were obliged to receive in payment, but could not disburse at an equal advantage. Thus an universal diffidence and stagnation of commerce took place; and nothing but loud complaints were heard in every quarter.
The protector, who knew that his own power was to be founded on the depression of the nobility, espoused the cause of the sufferers. He appointed commissioners to examine whether the possessors of the church-lands had fulfilled the conditions on which those lands had been sold by the crown; and ordered all late enclosures to be laid open on an appointed day. As the object of this commission was very disagreeable to the gentry and nobility, they called it arbitrary and illegal; while the common people, fearing it would be eluded, and being impatient for redress, rose in great numbers, and sought a remedy by force of arms. The rising began at once, in several parts of England, as if an universal conspiracy had been formed among the people. The rebels in Wiltshire, were dispersed by Sir William Herbert; those of Oxford and Gloucester, by lord Gray of Wilton; the commotions in Hampshire, Sussex, Kent, and other counties, were quieted by gentle methods; but the disorders in Devonshire and Norfolk were the most obstinate, and threatened the greatest danger. In the first of these counties, the insurgents amounting to ten thousand men, were headed by one Humphry Arundel, an experienced soldier; and they were still more encouraged by sermons, which gave their revolt the air of a religious confederacy. They accordingly sent a set of articles to court, which, in general, demanded an abolition of the statutes lately made in favour of the reformation; but the ministry rejected their demands with contempt, at the same time offering a pardon to all that would lay down their arms and return to their habitations. But the insurgents were now too far advanced to recede; and still encouraged by the monks, who were with them they laid siege to Exeter, carrying before them crosses, banners, holy-water, candlesticks, and other implements of their ancient superstition; but the town was gallantly defended by the inhabitants. In the mean time, lord Russel had been sent against them with a small body of forces; and being reinforced by lord Gray and others, he attacked, and drove them from all their entrenchments. Great slaughter was committed upon these deluded creatures, both in the action and the pursuit. Arundel, their leader, and several others, were sent to London, where they were condemned and executed. Many of the inferior sort were put to death by martial law. The vicar of St. Thomas, one of the principal incendiaries, was hanged on the top of his own steeple, arrayed in his popish habits, with his beads at his girdle.
The sedition at Norfolk appeared still more alarming. The insurgents there amounted to twenty thousand men; and as their forces were numerous, their demands were exorbitant. They required the suppression of the gentry, the placing new counsellors about the king, and the establishment of their ancient rights. One Ket, a tanner, had assumed the priority among them; he erected his tribunal near Norwich, under an old oak, which was termed the Oak of Reformation. He afterwards undertook the siege of Norwich, which having reduced, he imprisoned the mayor, and some of the principal citizens. The marquis of Northampton was first sent down against them, but met with a repulse; the earl of Warwick followed soon after, at the head of six thousand men, and soon coming to a general engagement, put them entirely to the rout. Two thousand of them fell in the fight and pursuit; Ket was hanged at Norwich castle, nine of his followers on the boughs of the Oak of Reformation; and the insurrection, which was the last in favour of popery, was thus entirely suppressed.
But though the suppression of these insurrections seemed to be very favourable to the interests of the protector, yet the authority which the earl of Warwick gained in quelling that of Norfolk, terminated in Somerset's ruin. Of all the ministers, at that time in the council, Dudley, earl of Warwick, was the most artful, ambitious, and unprincipled. Resolved at any rate to possess the principal place under the king, he cared not what means were to be used in acquiring it. However, unwilling to throw off the mask, he covered the most exorbitant views under the fairest appearances. Having associated himself with the earl of Southampton, he formed a strong party in the council, who were determined to free themselves from the controul the protector assumed over them. That nobleman was, in fact, now grown obnoxious to a very prevailing party in the kingdom. He was hated by the nobles for his superior magnificence and power; he was hated by the Catholic party for his regard to the Reformation; he was disliked by many for his severity to his brother, besides the great estate he had raised at the expence of the church and the crown, rendered him obnoxious to all. The palace which he was then building in the Strand, served also by its magnificence, and still more by the unjust methods that were taken to raise it, to expose him to the censures of the public. The parish church of St. Mary, with three bishop's houses, were pulled down to furnish ground and materials for the structure. Several other churches were demolished, to have their stones employed to the same purpose; and it was not without an insurrection, that the parishioners of St. Margaret's Westminster, prevented their church from being pulled down to make room for the new fabric.
These imprudences were soon exaggerated and enlarged upon by Somerset's enemies. They represented him as a parricide, a sacrilegious tyrant, and an unjust usurper upon the privileges of the council and the rights of the king. In consequence of this, the lord St. John, president of the council, the earls of Warwick, Southampton, and Arundel, with five counsellors more, met at Ely-House; and assuming to themselves the whole power of the council, began to act independent of the protector,
whom they pretended to consider as the author of every public grievance. They wrote letters to the chief nobility and gentry of England, informing them of the present measures, and requiring their assistance. They sent for the mayor and aldermen of London, and enjoined them to concur in their measures, which they represented as the only means of saving the nation. The next day several others of the council joined the seceding members; and the protector now began to tremble, not for his authority, but his life.
He had no sooner been informed of these transactions, than he sent the king to Windsor, and armed the inhabitants of Hampton and Windsor also for his security. But finding that no man of rank, except Cranmer and Paget, adhered to him, and that the people did not rise at his summons, perceiving that he was in a manner deserted by all, and that all resistance was fruitless, he resolved to apply to his enemies for pardon. This gave fresh strength and confidence to the party of Warwick; they assured the king, with the humblest professions of obedience, that their only aim was to put the council on the same footing on which it had been ordained by the will of their late sovereign, and to rescue his authority from the hands of a man who had assumed all power to himself. The king, who never much cared for Somerset, gave their address a favourable reception; and the protector was sent to the Tower, with some of his friends and partizans, among whom was Cecil, afterwards earl of Salisbury. Mean while the council ordered six lords to act as governors to the king, two at a time officiating alternately. It was then, for the first time, that the earl of Warwick's ambition began to appear in full splendour; he set himself forward as the principal promoter of the protector's ruin, and the other members, without the least opposition, permitted him to assume the reins of government.
It was now supposed that Somerset's fate was fixed, as his enemies were numerous, and the charges against him of the most heinous nature. The chief article of which he was accused, was his usurpation of the government, and the taking all power into his own hands; several others of a slighter tint were added to invigorate this accusation, but none of them could be said to amount to the crime of high treason. In consequence of these, a bill of attainder was preferred against him in the house of lords; but Somerset contrived, for this time, to elude the rigour of their sentence, by having previously, on his knees, confessed the charge before the members of the council. This confession, which he signed with his own hand, was alleged and read against him at the bar of the house, who once more sent a deputation to him, to know whether the confession was voluntary or extorted. Somerset thanked them for their candour; owned that it was his voluntary act, but strenuously insisted, that he had never harboured a sinister thought against the king or the commonwealth. In consequence of this confession, he was deprived of all his offices and goods, together with a great part of his landed estate, which was forfeited to the use of the crown. This fine on his estate was soon after remitted by the king, and Somerset once more, contrary to the expectation of all, recovered his liberty. He was even re-admitted into the council; happy for him, if his ambition had not revived with his security.
The catholics were extremely elevated at the protector's fall; and they began to entertain hopes of a revolution in their favour. But they were mistaken in their opinion of Warwick, who now took the lead, as ambition was the only principle in his breast; and to that he was resolved to sacrifice all others. He soon gave instances of his disregard in religious points, by his permitting Gardiner to undergo the penalties prescribed against disobedience. Many of the prelates, and he among the rest, though they made some compliances, were still addicted to their ancient communion. A resolution was therefore taken to deprive them of their sees; and it was thought proper to begin with him, in order to strike a terror into the rest. He had been now for two years in prison, for having refused to inculcate the duty of obedience to the king during his minority; and the council took this opportunity to send him several articles to subscribe, among which was one, acknowleging the justice of the order for his confinement. He was likewise to own, that the king was supreme head of the church; that the power of making and dispensing holidays was a part of the prerogative; and that the Common Prayer Book was a godly and commendable form. Gardiner was willing to put his hand to all the articles, except that by which he accused himself, which he refused to do, justly perceiving that their aim was either to ruin or dishonour him. For this offence he was deprived of his bishopric, committed to close custody; his books and papers were seized; all company was denied him; and he was not even permitted the use of pen and ink. This severity, in some measure, countenanced those which this prelate had afterwards an opportunity of retaliating when he came into power.
But the reformers did not stop here: the rapacious courtiers, never to be satisfied, and giving their violence an air of zeal, deprived, in the same manner, Day, bishop of Chichester, Heathe of Worcester, and Voisy of Exeter. The bishops of Landaff, Salisbury, and Coventry came off something more advantageously, by sacrificing the most considerable share of their ecclesiastical revenues. Not only the revenues of the church, but the libraries also, underwent a dreadful scrutiny. The libraries of Westminster and Oxford were ordered to be ransacked, and purged of the Romish missals, legends, and other superstitious volumes; in which search great devastation was made even in useful literature. Many volumes clasped in silver were destroyed for the sake of their rich bindings; many of geometry and astronomy were supposed to be magical, and met no mercy. The university, unable to stop the fury of these barbarians, silently looked on, and trembled for its own security.
Warwick was willing to indulge the nobility with these humiliations of the church; and perceiving that the king was extremely attached to the reformation, he supposed that he could not make his court to the young monarch better than by a seeming zeal in the cause. But he was still stedfastly bent on enlarging his own power; and as the last earl of Northumberland died without issue or heirs, Warwick procured for himself a grant of his ample possessions, and obtained the title also of duke of Northumberland. The duke of Somerset was now the only person he wished to have entirely removed; for though fallen as he was by his late spiritless conduct, yet he still preserved a share of popularity that rendered him formidable to this aspirer. Indeed Somerset was not always upon his guard against the arts of Northumberland; but could not help now and then bursting out into invectives, which were quickly carried to his secret enemy. As he was surrounded by Northumberland's creatures, they took care to reveal all the designs which they had themselves first suggested; and Somerset soon found the fatal effects of his rival's resentment. He was, by Northumberland's command, arrested with many more, accused of being his partizans; and he was, with his wife the dutchess, also thrown into prison. He was now accused of having formed a design to raise an insurrection in the North; of attacking the train-bands on a muster day; of plotting to secure the Tower, and to excite a rebellion in London. These charges he strenuously denied; but he confessed to one of as heinous a nature, which was, that he had laid a project for murdering Northumberland, Northampton, and Pembroke, at a banquet, which was to be given them by lord Paget. He was soon after brought to a trial before the marquis of Winchester, who sat as high-steward on the occasion, with twenty-seven peers more, including Northumberland, Pembroke, and Northampton, who were at once his judges and accusers. He was accused with an intention to secure the person of the king, and re-assume the administration of affairs, to assassinate the duke of Northumberland, and raise an insurrection in the city. He pleaded not guilty to the first part of the charge, and of this he was accordingly acquitted; but he was found guilty of conspiring the death of a privy-counsellor, which crime had been made felony in the reign of Henry the seventh; and for this he was condemned to be hanged. The populace seeing him re-conveyed to the Tower without the ax, which was no longer carried before him, imagined that he had been entirely acquitted; and in repeated shouts and acclamations manifested their joy; but this was suddenly damped, when they were better informed of his doom. Care in the mean time had been taken to prepossess the young king against his uncle; and lest he should relent, no access was given to any of Somerset's friends, while the prince was kept from reflection by a series of occupations and amusements. At last the prisoner was brought to the scaffold on Tower-hill, where he appeared, without the least emotion, in the midst of a vast concourse of the populace, by whom he was beloved. He spoke to them with great composure, protesting that he had always promoted the service of his king, and the interests of true religion, to the best of his power. The people attested their belief of what he said, by crying out,
"It is most true."
An universal tumult was beginning to take place; but Somerset desiring them to be still, and not to interrupt his last meditations, but to join with him in prayer, he laid down his head, and submitted to the stroke of the executioner. Sir Ralph Vane, and Sir Miles Partridge, were hanged; and Sir Michael Stanhope, with Sir Thomas Arundel, were beheaded, as being his accomplices.
Nothing could have been more unpopular than the measure of destroying Somerset, who, though many actions of his life were very exceptionable, yet still consulted the good of the people. The house of commons was particularly attached to him; and of this Northumberland was very sensible. He therefore resolved to dissolve that parliament, and call another that would be more obsequious to his will. For this purpose he engaged the king to write circular letters to all the sheriffs, in which he enjoined them to chuse such men as he and the privy-council should recommend. With this despotic mandate the sheriffs immediately complied; and the members returned, fully answered Northumberland's expectations. He had long aimed at the first authority; and the infirm state of the king's health opened the prospects to his ambition. He represented to that young prince that his sisters Mary and Elizabeth, who were appointed by Henry's will to succeed in failure of direct heirs to the crown, had been both declared illegitimate by parliament; that the queen of Scots, his aunt, stood excluded by the king's will, and being an alien also, lost all right of succeeding; that as the three princesses were thus legally excluded, the succession naturally devolved to the marchioness of Dorset, whose next heir was the lady Jane Grey, a lady every way accomplished for government, as well by the charms of her person, as the virtues and acquirements of her mind. The king, who had long submitted to all the politic views of this designing minister, agreed to have the succession submitted to council, where Northumberland hoped to procure an easy concurrence.
In the mean time, as the king's health declined, the minister laboured to strengthen his own interests and connexions. His first aim was to secure the interests of the marquis of Dorset, father to Lady Jane Gray, by procuring for him the title of duke of Suffolk, which was lately become extinct. Having thus obliged this nobleman, he then proposed a match between his fourth son, lord Guilford Dudley, and the lady Jane Gray, whose interests he had been at so much pains to advance. Still bent on spreading his interests as widely as possible,
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he married his own daughter to lord Hastings; and had these marriages solemnized with all possible pomp and festivity. Mean while, Edward continued to languish; and several fatal symptoms of a consumption began to appear. It was hoped, however, that his youth and temperance might get the better of his disorders; and from their love the people were unwilling to think him in danger. It had been remarked indeed by some, that his health was visibly seen to decline, from the time that the Dudleys were brought about his person. The character of Northumberland might have justly given some colour to suspicion; and his removing all, except his own emissaries, from about the king, still farther encreased the distrusts of the people. Northumberland, however, was no way uneasy at their mumurs; he was assiduous in his attendance upon the king, and professed the most anxious concern for his safety; but still drove forward his darling scheme of transferring the succession to his own daughter-in-law. The judges who were appointed to draw up the king's letters patent for that purpose, warmly objected to the measure; and gave their reasons before the council. They begged that a parliament might be summoned, both to give it force, and to free its partizans from danger; they said, that the form was invalid, and would not only subject the judges who drew it, but every counsellor who signed it, to the pains of treason. Northumberland could not brook their demurs; he threatened them with the dread of his authority; he called one of them a traitor, and said, that he would fight in his shirt with any man on so just a cause, as that of the lady Jane's succession. A method was therefore found out of screening the judges from danger, by granting them the king's pardon for what they should draw up; and at length, after much deliberation, and some refusals, the patent for changing the succession was completed. Thus, by this patent, Mary and Elizabeth were set aside; and the crown was settled on the heirs of the dutchess of Suffolk, for the dutchess herself was contented to forego her claim.
Northumberland having thus far succeeded, thought physicians were no longer serviceable in the king's complaint; they were dismissed by his advice; and Edward was put into the hands of an ignorant woman, who very confidently undertook his cure. After the use of her medicines, all the bad symptons encreased to a most violent degree; he felt a difficulty of speech and breathing; his pulse failed, his legs swelled, his colour became livid, and many other symptoms appeared of his approaching end. He expired at Greenwich, in the sixteenth year of his age, and the seventh of his reign, greatly regretted by all, as his early virtues gave a prospect of the continuance of an happy reign.
What were the real qualities of this young prince's heart there was no time to discover; but the cultivation of his understanding, if we may credit historians, was amazing. He was said to understand the Greek, Latin, French, Italian, and Spanish languages. He was versed in logic, music, natural philosophy, and theology. Cardan, the extraordinary scholar and visionary, happening to pay a visit to the English court, was so astonished at his early progress, that he extols him as a prodigy of nature. It is probable, however, that so much flattery as he received would have contributed to corrupt him, as it had formerly corrupted his father.
MARY I.
Hull sculp.
CHAP. XXV. MARY.
THE death of Edward only served to prepare fresh troubles for a people that had hitherto greatly suffered from the depravity of their kings, or the turbulence of their nobility. The succession to the throne had hitherto been obtained partly by lineal descent, and partly by the aptitude for government in the person chosen. Neither quite hereditary, nor quite elective, it had made ancestry the pretext of right, while the consent of the people was necessary to support all hereditary pretensions. In fact, when wisely conducted, this is the best species of succession that can be conceived, as its prevents that aristocracy, which is ever the result of a government entirely elective; and that tyranny, which is too often established, where there is never an infringement on hereditary claims.
Whenever a monarch of England happened to be arbitrary, and to enlarge the prerogative, he generally considered the kingdom as his property, and not himself as a servant of the people. In such cases it was natural for him at his decease to bequeath his dominions as he thought proper, making his own will the standard of his subjects' happiness. Henry the eighth, in conformity to this practice, made his will, in which he settled the succession merely according to his caprice. In that, Edward his son was the first nominated to succeed him; then Mary, his eldest daughter, by Catharine of Spain; but with a special mark of condescension, by which he would intimate her illegitimacy. The next that followed was Elizabeth, his daughter by Anne Bullen, with the same marks, intimating her illegitimacy also. After his own children, his sister's children were mentioned; his younger sister the dutchess of Suffolk's issue were preferred before those of their elder sister the queen of Scotland, which preference was thought by all to be neither founded in justice, nor supported by reason. This will was now, however, set aside by the intrigues of Northumberland, by whose advice a will was made, as we have seen; in favour of lady Jane Gray, the dutchess of Suffolk's daughter, in prejudice of all other claimants. Thus, after the death of this young monarch, there were no fewer than four princesses who could assert their pretensions to the crown. Mary, who was the first upon Henry's will, but who had been declared illegitimate by an act of parliament, which was never repealed. Elizabeth was next to succeed, and though she had been declared illegitimate, yet she had been restored to her rights during her father's life-time. The queen of Scotland, Henry's eldest sister, was first in right, supposing the two daughters illegitimate, while lady Jane Gray might alledge the will of the late king in her own favour.
Of these, however, only two put in their pretensions to the crown. Mary relying on the justice of her cause, and lady Jane upon the support of the duke of Northumberland, her father-in-law. Mary was strongly bigotted to the popish superstitions, having been bred up among church-men, and having been even taught to prefer martyrdom to a denial of belief. As she had lived in continual restraint, she was reserved and gloomy; she had, even during the life of her father, the resolution to maintain her sentiments, and refused to comply with his new institutions. Her zeal had rendered her furious; and she was not only blindly attached to her religious opinions, but even to the popish clergy who maintained them. On the other hand, Jane Gray was strongly attached to the reformers; and though yet but sixteen, her judgment had attained to such a degree of maturity, as few have been found to possess. All historians agree that the solidity of her understanding, improved by continual application, rendered her the wonder of her age. Ascham, tutor to Elizabeth, informs us, that coming once to wait upon lady Jane at her father's house in Leicestershire, he found her reading Plato's works in Greek, while all the rest of the family were hunting in the Park. Upon his testifying his surprize at her situation, she assured him that Plato was an higher amusement to her than the most studied refinements of sensual pleasure; and she, in fact, seemed born for philosophy, and not for ambition.
Such were the present rivals for power; but lady Jane had the start of her antagonist. Northumberland now resolving to secure the succession, carefully concealed the death of Edward, in hope of securing the person of Mary, who, by an order of council, had been required to attend her brother during his illness; but being informed of his death, she immediately prepared to assert her pretensions to the crown. This crafty minister, therefore, finding that farther dissimulation was needless, went to Sion-house, acccompanied by the duke of Suffolk, the earl of Pembroke, and others of the nobility, to salute lady Jane Gray, who resided there. Jane was in a great measure ignorant of all these transactions; and it was with equal grief and surprize that she received intelligence of them. She shed a flood of tears, appeared inconsolable, and it was not without the utmost difficulty that she yielded to the entreaties of Northumberland, and the duke her father. At length, however, they exhorted her to consent, and next day conveyed her to the Tower, where it was then usual for the kings of England to pass some days after their accession. Thither also all the members of the council were obliged to attend her; and thus were in some measure made prisoners by Northumberland, whose will they were under a necessity of obeying. Orders were given also for proclaiming her throughout the kingdom; but these were but very remissly obeyed. When she was proclaimed in the city, the people heard her accession made public without any signs of pleasure, no applause ensued, and some even expressed their scorn and contempt.
In the mean time Mary, who had retired, upon the news of the king's death, to Kenning-Hall in Norfolk, sent circular letters to all the great towns and nobility in the kingdom, reminding them of her right, and commanding them to proclaim her without delay. Having taken these steps, she retired to Framlingham-Castle in Suffolk, that she might be near the sea, and escape to Flanders in case of failure. But she soon found her affairs wear the most promising aspect. The men of Suffolk came to pay her their homage; and being assured by her, that she would defend the laws and the religion of her predecessor, they enlisted themselves in her cause with alacrity and affection. The people of Norfolk soon after came in; the earls of Bath, and Suffex, the eldest sons of lord Wharton, and lord Mordaunt joined her; and lord Hastings, with four thousand men, which were raised to oppose her, revolted to her side. Even a fleet that had been sent to lie off the coast of Suffolk to prevent her escaping, engaged in her service; and now, but too late, Northumberland saw the deplorable end of all his schemes and ambition.
This minister, with the consent of the council, had assembled some troops at Newmarket, had set on foot new levies in London, and appointed the duke of Suffolk general of the army, that he might himself continue with, and overawe the deliberations of the council. But he was turned from this manner of managing his affairs, by considering how unfit Suffolk was to head the army; so that he was obliged himself to take upon him the military command. It was now, therefore, that the council being free from his influence, and no longer dreading his immediate authority, began to declare against him. Arundel led the opposition, by representing the injustice and cruelty of Northumberland, and the exorbitancy of his ambition. Pembroke seconded him with declarations, that he was ready to fight all of a contrary opinion; the mayor and aldermen, who were sent for, readily came into the same measures; the people expressed their approbation by shouts and applauses; and even Suffolk himself, finding all resistance fruitless, threw open the gates of the Tower, and joined in the general cry. Mary's claims now became irresistible, in a little time she found herself at the head of forty thousand men; while the few who attended Northumberland, continued irresolute; and he even feared to lead them to the encounter.
Lady Jane, thus finding that all was lost, resigned her royalty, which she had held but ten days, with marks of real satisfaction, and retired with her mother to their own habitation. Northumberland, also, who found his affairs desperate, and that it was impossible to stem the tide of popular opposition, attempted to quit the kingdom; but he was prevented by the band of pensioner guards, who informed him that he must stay to justify their conduct in being led out against their lawful sovereign. Thus circumvented on all sides, his cunning was now his only resource; and he began by endeavouring to recommend himself to Mary, by the most extravagant protestations of zeal in her service. He repaired to the market-place in Cambridge, and proclaiming her queen of England, was the first to throw up his cap in token of joy. But he reaped no advantage from this mean duplicity; he was the next day arrested in the queen's name by the earl of Arundel, at whose feet he fell upon his knees, begging protection with the most abject submission. His three sons, his brother, and some more of his followers were arrested with him, and committed to the Tower of London. Soon after, the lady Jane Gray, the duke of Suffolk her father, and lord Guildford Dudley her husband, were made prisoners by order of the queen, whose authority was now confirmed by universal assent.
Northumberland was the first who suffered for opposing her, and was the person who deserved punishment the most. When brought to his trial, he openly desired permission to ask two questions of the peers, who were appointed to sit on his jury;
"Whether a man could be guilty of treason, who obeyed orders given him by the council under the great seal? and, whether those who were involved in the same guilt with himself, could act as his judges?"
Being told that the great seal of an usurper was no authority; and that his judges were proper, as they were unimpeached, he acquiesced, and pleaded guilty. At his execution, he owned himself a papist; and exhorted the people to return to the catholic faith, as they hoped for happiness and tranquility. Sir John Gates, and Sir Thomas Palmer, two infamous tools of his power, suffered with him; and the queen's resentment was appeased by the lives of three men, who had forfeited them by several former crimes. Sentence was pronounced against lady Jane, and lord Guildford, but without any intention for the present of putting it in execution; the youth and innocence of the persons, neither of whom had reached their seventeenth year, pleaded powerfully in their favour.
Mary now entered London, and with very little effusion of blood, saw herself joyfully proclaimed, and peaceably settled on the throne. This was the crisis of British happiness; a queen whose right was the most equitable, in some measure elected by the people, the aristocracy of the last reign almost wholly suppressed, the house of commons by this means reinstated in its ancient authority, the pride of the clergy humbled, and their vices detected, peace abroad, and unanimity at home. This was the flattering prospect of Mary's accession, but soon this pleasing phantom was dissolved. Mary was morose, and a bigot; she was resolved to give back their former power to the clergy; and thus once more to involve the kingdom in all the horrors it had just emerged from. The queen had promised the men of Suffolk, who first came to declare in her favour, that she would suffer religion to remain in the situation in which she found it. This promise, however, she by no means intended to perform; she had determined on bringing the sentiments of the people to correspond with her own; and her extreme ignorance rendered her utterly incapable of doubting her own belief, or of granting indulgence to the doubts of others. Gardiner, Bonner, Tonstal, Day, Heath, and Vesey, who had been confined, or suffered losses for their catholic opinions, during the late reigns, were taken from prison, re-instated in their sees, and their former sentences repealed. On pretence of discouraging controversy, she silenced, by her prerogative, all preachers throughout England, except such as should obtain a particular licence; which she was previously determined to grant only to those of her own persuasion. Men now, therefore, foresaw that the Reformation was to be overturned; and though the queen still pretended that she would grant a general toleration, yet no great favour could be expected by those who were hateful to her from inveterate prejudices.
The first steps that caused an alarm among the protestants, was the severe treatment of Cranmer, whose moderation, integrity, and virtues, had made him dear, even to most of the catholic party. A report being spread, that this prelate, in order to make his court to the queen, had promised to officiate in the Latin service, he drew up a declaration, in which he entirely cleared himself of the aspersion indeed, but incurred what was much more terrible, the queen's resentment. On the publication of this paper, Cranmer was thrown into prison, and tried for the part he had acted, in concurring among the rest of the council, to exalt lady Jane, and set aside the rightful sovereign. This guilt he had in fact incurred; but as it was shared with a large body of men, most of whom were not only uncensured, but even taken into favour; the malignanty of the prosecution was easily seen through. Sentence of high treason was, therefore, pronounced against him; but it was not then executed, as this venerable man was reserved for a more dreadful punishment. Shortly after, Peter Martyr, a German reformer, who had in the late reign been invited over to England, seeing how things were likely to go, desired leave to return to his native country. But the zeal of the catholics, though he had escaped them, was malignantly, though harmlessly, wrecked upon the body of his wife, which had been interred some years before at Oxford. It was dug up by public order, and buried in a dunghill.
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The bones also of Bucer and Fagius, two foreign reformers, were about the same time committed to the flames at Cambridge. The greater part of the foreign protestants, took early precautions to leave the kingdom; and many of the arts and manufactures, which they successfully advanced, fled with them. Nor were their fears without foundation; a parliament, which the queen called soon after, seemed willing to concur in all her measures; they at one blow repealed all the statutes with regard to religion, which had passed during the reign of her predecessor: so that the national religion was again placed on the same footing, on which it stood at the death of Henry the eighth.
While religion was thus returning to its primitive abuses, the queen's ministers, who were willing to strengthen her power by a catholic alliance, had been for some time looking out for a proper consort. The person on whom her own affections seemed chiefly placed was the earl of Devonshire; but that nobleman either disliking her person, or having already placed his affections on her sister Elizabeth, neglected all overtures to such an alliance. Cardinal Pole, who, though invested with that ecclesiastical dignity, was still a layman, and a person of high character for virtue, generosity, and attachment to the catholic religion, was next thought of. But as he was in the decline of life, the queen soon dropped all thoughts of him. The person last thought of, and who succeeded, was Philip, prince of Spain, and son of the celebrated Charles the fifth. In order to avoid as much as possible any disagreeable remonstrances from the people, the articles of marriage were drawn as favourably as possible to the interests and honour of England; and this in some measure stilled the clamours that had already been begun against it. It was agreed, that though Philip should have the title of king, the administration should be entirely in the queen; that no foreigner should be capable of enjoying any office in the kingdom; that no innovation should be made in the English laws, customs, and privileges; that her issue should inherit, together with England, Burgundy, and the Low Countries; and that if Don Carlos, Philip's son by a former marriage, should die, the queen's issue should then enjoy all the dominions possessed by the king. Such was the treaty of marriage, from which politicians foresaw very great changes in the system of Europe; but which in the end came to nothing, by the queen's having no issue.
The people, however, who did not see so far, were much more just in their surmises, who saw that it might be a blow to their liberties and religion. They loudly murmured against it, and a flame of discontent was kindled over the whole nation. Sir Thomas Wyatt, a Roman catholic, at the head of four thousand insurgents, marched from Kent to Hyde Park, publishing, as he went forward, a declaration against the queen's evil counsellors, and against the Spanish match. His first aim was to secure the Tower;
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but his rashness undid him. As he marched forward through the city of London, and among the narrow streets without suspicion, care was taken by the earl of Pembroke to block up the way behind him by ditches and chains thrown across, and guards placed at all the avenves to prevent his return. In this manner did this bold demagogue pass onward, and supposed himself now ready to reap the fruits of his undertaking, when, to his utter confusion, he found that he could neither go forward, nor yet make good his retreat. He now, therefore, perceived that the citizens, from whom he had expected assistance, would not join him; and losing all courage in this exigency, he surrendered at discretion.
The duke of Suffolk was not less guilty also; he had been joined in a confederacy with Sir Peter Carew, to make an insurrection in the counties of Kent, Warwick, and Leicester; but his confederate's impatience engaging him to rise in arms before the day appointed, Suffolk vainly endeavoured to excite his dependants; but was so closely pursued by the earl of Huntingdon, that he was obliged to disperse his followers; and being discovered in his retreat was led prisoner to London, where he, together with Wyatt, and seventy persons more, suffered by the hand of the executioner. Four hundred were conducted before the queen with ropes about their necks; and falling on their knees received pardon, and were dismissed.
But what excited the compassion of the people most of all, was the execution of lady Jane Gray, and her husband lord Guilford Dudley, who were involved in the punishment, though not in the guilt, of this insurrection. Two days after Wyatt was apprehended, lady Jane and her husband were ordered to prepare for death. Lady Jane, who had long before seen the threatened blow, was no way surprised at the message, but bore it with heroic resolution; and being informed that she had three days to prepare, she seemed displeased at so long a delay. On the day of her execution her husband desired permission to see her; but this she refused, as she knew the parting would be too tender for her fortitude to withstand. The place at first designed for their execution was without the Tower; but their youth, beauty, and innocence being likely to raise an insurrection among the people, orders were given that they should be executed within the verge of the Tower. Lord Dudley was the first that suffered; and while the lady Jane was conducting to the place of execution, the officers of the Tower met her, bearing along the headless body of her husband streaming with blood, in order to be interred in the Tower-chapel. She looked on the corpse for some time without any emotion; and then, with a sigh, desired them to proceed. John Gage, constable of the Tower, as he led her to execution, desired her to bestow on him some small present, which he might keep as a perpetual memorial of her. She gave him her tablets, where she had just written three sentences on seeing her husband's dead body, one in Greek, one in Latin, and one in English, importing, that she hoped God and posterity would do him and their cause justice. On the scaffold she made a speech, in which she alledged that her offence was not the having laid her hand upon the crown, but the not rejecting it with sufficient constancy; that she had less erred through ambition than filial obedience; that she willingly accepted death as the only atonement she could make to the injured state; and was ready by her punishment to shew, that innocence is no plea in excuse for deeds that tend to injure the community. After speaking to this effect, she caused herself to be disrobed by her women, and with a steady serene countenance submitted to the executioner.
The enemies of the state being thus suppressed, the theatre was now opened for the pretended enemies of religion. The queen being freed from apprehensions of an insurrection, began by assembling a parliament, which upon this, as upon most occasions, seemed only met to give countenance to her various severities. The nobles, whose only religion was that of the prince who governed, were easily gained over; and the house of commons had long been passive under all the variations of regal caprice. But there was a new enemy started up against the reformers in the person of the king, who, though he took all possible care to conceal his aversion, yet secretly influenced the queen, and enflamed all her proceedings. Philip had for some time been come over; and had used every endeavour to encrease that share of power which he had been allowed by parliament, but without effect. The queen, indeed, who loved him with a foolish fondness that sat but ill on a person of her years and disagreeable person, endeavoured to please him by every concession she could make or procure; and finding herself incapable of satisfying his ambition, she was not remiss in concurring with his zeal; so that heretics began to be persecuted with inquisitorial severity.
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The old sanguinary laws were now revived, which had been rejected by a former parliament. Orders were given that the bishops and priests who had married should be ejected, that the mass should be restored, that the pope's authority should be established, and that the church and its privileges, all but their goods and estates, should be put upon the same foundation on which they were before the commencement of the reformation. As the gentry and nobles had already divided the church-lands among them, it was thought inconvenient, and indeed impossible, to make a restoration of these.
At the head of those who drove such measures forward were Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, and cardinal Pole, who was now returned from Italy. Pole, who was nearly allied by birth to the royal family, had always conscientiously adhered to the catholic religion, and had incurred Henry's displeasure, not only by refusing his assent to his measures, but by writing against him. It was for this adherence that he was cherished by the pope, and now sent over to England as legate from the holy see. Gardiner was a man of a very different character; his chief aim was to please the reigning prince, and he had shewn already many instances of his prudent conformity. He now perceived that the king and queen were for rigorous measures; and he knew that it would be the best means of paying his court to them, even to out-go them in severity. Pole, who had never varied in his principles, declared in favour of toleration; Gardiner, who had often changed, was for punishing those changes in others with the utmost rigour. However, he was too prudent to appear at the head of a persecution in person; he therefore consigned that odious office to Bonner, bishop of London, a cruel, brutal, and ignorant man.
This bloody scene began by the martyrdom of Hooper, bishop of Gloucester, and Rogers, prebendary of St. Paul's. They were examined by commissioners appointed by the queen, with the chancellor at the head of them. It was expected by their recantation that they would bring those opinions into disrepute which they had so long inculcated; but the persecutors were deceived; they both continued stedfast in their belief, and they were accordingly condemned to be burnt, Rogers in Smithfield, and Hooper in his own diocese at Gloucester. Rogers, beside the care of his own preservation, lay under very powerful temptations to deny his principles, and save his life, for he had a wife whom he tenderly loved, and ten children; but nothing could move his resolution. Such was his serenity after condemnation, that the jailors, we are told, waked him from a sound sleep upon the approach of the hour appointed for his execution. He desired to see his wife before he died; but Gardiner told him that being a priest he could have no wife. When the faggots were placed around him, he seemed no way daunted at the preparation; but cried out,
"I resign my life with joy in testimony of the doctrine of Jesus."
When Hooper was tied to the stake a stool was set before him with the queen's pardon upon it, in case he should relent; but he ordered it to be removed, and prepared chearfully to suffer his sentence, which was executed in its full severity. The fire, either from malice or neglect, had not been sufficiently kindled; so that his legs and thighs were first burned, and one of his hands dropped off, while with the other he continued to beat his breast. He was three quarters of an hour in torture, which he bore with inflexible constancy.
Sanders and Taylor, two other clergymen, whose zeal had been distinguished in carrying on the reformation, were the next that suffered. Taylor was put into a pitch-barrel; and before the fire was kindled, a faggot from an unknown hand was thrown at his head, which made it stream with blood. Still, however, he continued undaunted singing the thirty-first psalm in English, which one of the spectators observing, struck him a blow on the side of the head, and commanded him to pray in Latin. Taylor continued a few minutes silent with his eyes stedfastly fixed upward, when one of the guards, either through impatience or compassion, struck him down with his halbert, and thus happily put an end to his torments.
The death of these only served to encrease the savage appetite of the popish bishops and monks, for fresh slaughter. Bonner, bloated at once with rage and luxury, let loose his vengeance without restraint; and seemed to take a pleasure in the pains of the unhappy sufferers; while the queen, by her letters, exhorted him to pursue the pious work without pity or interruption. Soon after, in obedience to her commands, Ridley, bishop of London; and the venerable Latimer, bishop of Worcester, were condemned together. Ridley had been one of the ablest champions for the reformation; his piety, learning, and solidity of judgment, were admired by his friends, and dreaded by his enemies. The night before his execution, he invited the mayor of Oxford and his wife to see him; and when he beheld them melted into tears, he himself appeared quite unmoved, inwardly supported and comforted in that hour of agony. When he was brought to the stake to be burnt, he found his old friend Latimer there before him. Of all the prelates of that age, Latimer was the most remarkable for his unaffected piety, and the simplicity of his manners. He had never learned to flatter in courts; and his open rebuke was dreaded by all the great, who at that time too much deserved it. His sermons, which remain to this day, shew that he had much learning, and much wit; and there is an air of sincerity running through them, not to be found elsewhere. When Ridley began to comfort his ancient friend; Latimer, on his part, was as ready to return the kind office.
"Be of good cheer, brother, cried he, we shall this day kindle such a torch in England, as I trust in God, shall never be extinguished."
A furious bigot ascended to preach to them and the people, while the fire was preparing; and Ridley gave a most serious attention to his discourse. No way distracted by the preparations about him, he heard him to the last; and then told him, that he was ready to answer all that he had preached upon, if he were permitted a short indulgence; but this was refused him. At length fire was set to the pile: Latimer was soon out of pain, but Ridley continued to suffer much longer, his legs being consumed before the fire reached his vitals.
One Thomas Haukes, when conducted to the stake, had agreed with his friends, that if he found the torture supportable, he would make them a signal for that purpose in the midst of the flames. His zeal for the cause in which he suffered was so strong, that when the spectators thought him near expiring, by stretching out his arms, he gave his friends the signal that the pain was not too great to be borne. This example, with many others of the like constancy, encouraged multitudes not only to suffer, but even to aspire after martyrdom.
But women seemed persecuted with as much severity even as men. A woman in Guernsey, condemned for heresy, was delivered of a child in the midst of the flames. Some of the spectators, humanely ran to snatch the infant from danger; but the magistrate, who was a papist, ordered it to be flung in again, and there it was consumed with the mother.
Cranmer's death followed soon after, and struck the whole nation with horror. This prelate, whom we have seen acting so very conspicuous a part in the reformation, during the two preceding reigns, had been long detained a prisoner, in consequence of his imputed guilt in obstructing the queen's succession to the crown. But it was now resolved to bring him to punishment; and to give it all its malignity, the queen ordered that he should be punished for heresy, rather than for treason. He was accordingly cited by the pope, to stand his trial at Rome; and though he was kept a prisoner at Oxford, yet upon his not appearing, he was condemned as contumacious. But his enemies were not satisfied with his tortures, without adding to them the poignancy of self-accusation. Persons were, therefore, employed to tempt him by flattery and insinuation; by giving him hopes of once more being received into favour, to sign his recantation, by which he acknowledged the doctrines of the papal supremacy and the real presence. His love of life prevailed. In an unguarded moment he was induced to sign this paper; and now his enemies, as we are told of the devil, after having rendered him completely wretched, resolved to destroy him. But it was determined before they led him out to execution, that they should try to induce him to make a recantation in the church before the people. The unfortunate prelate, either having a secret intimation of their design, or having once more recovered the native vigour of his mind, entered the church, prepared to surprize the whole audience by a contrary declaration. Being placed in a conspicuous part of the church, a sermon was preached by Cole, provost of Eaton, in which he magnified Cranmer's conversion as the immediate work of heaven itself. He assured the archbishop, that nothing could have been so pleasing to God, the queen, or the people; he comforted him, that in case it was thought fit he should suffer, that numberless dirges and masses should be said for his soul; and that his own confession of his faith would still more secure his soul from the pains of purgatory. During this whole rhapsody, Cranmer expressed the utmost agony, anxiety, and internal agitation; he lifted up his eyes to heaven, he shed a torrent of tears, and groaned with unutterable anguish. He then began a prayer, filled with the most pathetic expressions of horror and remorse: he then said he was well apprized of his duty to his sovereign; but that a superior duty, the duty which he owed his Maker, obliged him to declare that he had signed a paper contrary to his conscience: that he took this opportunity of attoning for his error, by a sincere and open recantation; he was willing, he said, to seal with his blood that doctrine, which he firmly believed to be communicated from heaven; and that as his hand had erred, by betraying his heart, it should undergo the first punishment. The assembly, consisting chiefly of papists, who hoped to triumph in the last words of such a convert, were equally confounded and incensed at this declaration. They called aloud to him to leave off dissembling; and led him forward amidst the insults and reproaches of his audience, to the stake at which Latimer and Ridley had suffered. He was resolved to triumph over their insults by his constancy and fortitude; and the fire beginning to be kindled round him, he stretched forth his right-hand, and held it in the flames till it was consumed, while he frequently cried out, in the midst of his suerings,
"That unworthy hand;"
at the same time exhibiting no appearance of pain or disorder. When the fire attacked his body, he seemed to be quite insensible of his tortures; his mind was occupied wholly upon the hopes of a future reward. After his body was destroyed, his heart was found entire; an emblem of the constancy with which he suffered.
These persecutions were now become odious to the whole nation; and, as it may be easily supposed, the perpetrators of them were all willing to throw the odium from themselves upon others. Philip, sensible of the hatred which he must incur upon this occasion, endeavoured to remove the reproach from himself by a very gross artifice. He ordered his confessor to deliver in his presence a sermon in favour of toleration; but Bonner in his turn would not take the whole of the blame, and retorted the severities upon the court. In fact, a bold step was taken to introduce a court similar to that of the Spanish inquisition, that should be empowered to try heretics, and condemn them without any other form of law but its own authority. But even this was thought a method too dilatory in the present exigence of affairs. A proclamation issued against books of heresy, treason, and sedition declared, that whosoever having such books in his possession did not burn them without reading, should be esteemed rebels, and suffer accordingly. This, as might be expected, was attended with bloody effects, whole crowds were executed, till even at last the very magistrates, who had been instrumental in these cruelties, at last refused to lend their assistance. It was computed, that during this persecution, two hundred and seventy-seven persons suffered by fire, besides those punished by imprisonment, fines, and confiscations. Among those who suffered by fire were five bishops, twenty-one clergymen, eight lay gentlemen, eighty-four tradesmen, one hundred husbandmen, fifty-five women, and four children.
All this was terrible; and yet the temporal affairs of the kingdom did not seem to be more successful. From Philip's first arrival in England the queen's pregnacy was talked of; and her own extreme desire that it should be true, induced her to favour the report. When Pole, the pope's legate, was first introduced to her, she fancied the child stirred in her womb; and this her flatterers compared to the leaping of John the Baptist in his mother's belly, at the salutation of the Virgin. The catholics were confident that she was pregnant; they were confident that this child should be a son; they were even confident that heaven would render him beautiful, vigorous, and witty. But it soon turned out that all their confidence was ill founded; for the queen's supposed pregnancy was only the beginning of a dropsy, which the disordered state of her health had brought upon her.
This opinion of the queen's pregnancy was all along carefully kept up by Philip, as it was an artifice by which he hoped to extend his authority in the kingdom. But he was mistaken: the English parliament, however lax in their principles at that time, harboured a continual jealousy against him, and passed repeated acts, by which they ascertained the limits of his power, and confirmed the authority of the queen. Ambition was his only ruling passion; and the extreme fondness of the queen for his person was rather permitted by him than desired. He only wanted to make her inclinations subservient to the purposes of his power; but finding her unable to satisfy him in that hope, he no longer treated her with any return of affection, but behaved to her with apparent indifference and neglect. At length, tired with her importunities and jealousies, and finding his authority extremely limited in England, he took hold of the first opportunity to leave her, and went over to the emperor his father in Flanders. In the mean time, the queen's passion encreased in proportion to the coolness with which it was returned. She passed most of her time in solitude, where she gave vent to her sorrows, either by tears or by writing fond epistles to Philip, who, except when he wanted money, seldom returned her any answer. To supply his demands upon these occasions, she took several very extorting methods by loans, which were forced from several whom she thought most affectionate to her person, or best able to spare it. She offered the English merchants at Antwerp fourteen per cent. for a loan of thirty thousand pounds, and yet was mortified by a refusal.
She was more successful in her attempts to engage the English in a war with France, at the instigation of her husband, although in the end it turned out to her utter confusion. A war had just been commenced between Spain and that kingdom; and Philip, who took this occasion to come over to England, declared, that if he were not seconded by England at this crisis, he would never see the country more. This declaration greatly heightened the queen's zeal for promoting his interests; and though she was warmly opposed in this measure by cardinal Pole, and the rest of her council, yet, by threatening to dismiss them all, she at last succeeded. War was declared against France, and preparations were every where made for attacking that kingdom with vigour.
A.D.
1557
An army of ten thousand men was raised, and supplied by various methods of extortion, and sent over into Flanders.
A battle gained by the Spaniards at St. Quintin seemed to promise great success to the allied arms; but soon an action, performed by the duke of Guise in the midst of winter, turned the scale in favour of France, and affected, if not the interests, at least the honour of England in the tenderest point. Calais had now for above two hundred years been in possession of the English; it had been made the chief market for wool, and other British commodities; it had been strongly fortified at different times, and was then deemed impregnable. But all the fortifications, which were raised before gunpowder was found out, were very ill able to resist the attacks of a regular battery from cannon; and they only continued to enjoy an ancient reputation for strength, which they were very ill able to maintain. Coligny, the French general, had remarked to the duke of Guise, that as the town of Calais was surrounded by marshes, which during winter were impassable, except over a dyke guarded by two castles, St. Agatha and Newnam Bridge; the English were, of late, accustomed, to save expence, to dismiss a great part of the garrison at the approach of winter, and recall them in spring. The duke of Guise upon this, made a sudden and unexpected march towards Calais, and assaulted the castle of St. Agatha with three thousand arquebusiers. The garrison was soon obliged to retreat to their other castle of Newnam Bridge, and shortly after compelled to quit that post, and to take shelter in the city. Mean while a small fleet was sent to block up the entrance of the harbour; and thus Calais was invested by land and sea. The governor, lord Wentworth, made a brave defence; but his garrison being very weak, they were unable to resist an assault given by the French, who made a lodgement in the castle. On the night following, Wentworth attempted to recover this post; but having lost two hundred men in the attack, he was obliged to capitulate; so that in less than eight days, the duke of Guise recovered a city that had been in possession of the English since the time of Edward the third, and which he had spent eleven months in besieging. This loss filled the whole kingdom with murmurs, and the queen with despair; she was heard to say, that when dead, the name of Calais would be found engraven on her heart.
These complicated evils, a murmuring people, an encreasing heresy, a disdainful husband, and an unsuccessful war, made dreadful depredations on Mary's constitution. She began to appear consumptive, and this rendered her mind still more morose and bigotted. The people now therefore began to turn their thoughts to her successor; and the princess Elizabeth came into a greater degree of consideration than before. During this whole reign, the nation was in continual apprehensions with regard not only to the succession, but the life of this princess. The violent hatred of the queen broke out upon every occasion; while Elizabeth, conscious of her danger, past her time wholly in reading and study, entirely detached from business. Proposals of marriage had been made to her by the Swedish ambassador, in his master's name; but she referred him to the queen, who leaving it to her own choice, she had the magnanimity to reserve herself for better fortune. Nor was she less prudent in concealing her sentiments of religion, and in eluding all questions relative to that dangerous subject. She was obnoxious to Mary for two reasons; as she was next heir to the throne, it was feared she might aspire to it during her sister's life-time; but it was still more reasonably apprehended that she would, if ever she came to the crown, make an innovation in that religion, which Mary took such pains to establish. The bishops, who had shed such a deluge of blood, foresaw this; and often told Mary that her destroying meaner heretics was of no advantage to the state, while the body of the tree was suffered to remain. Mary saw and acknowledged the cogency of their arguments, confined her sister with proper guards, and only waited for some fresh insurrection, or some favourable pretext, to destroy her. Her own death prevented the perpetration of her meditated cruelty.
Mary had been long in a very declining state of health; and having mistaken her dropsy for a pregnancy, she made use of an improper regimen, which had encreased the disorder. Every reflection now tormented her. The consciousness of being hated by her subjects, the prospect of Elizabeth's succession, whom she hated, and, above all, her anxiety for the loss of her husband, who never intended to return; all these preyed upon her mind, and threw her into a lingering fever, of which she died, after a short and unfortunate reign of five years, four months, and eleven days, in the forty-third year of her age. Cardinal Pole, whose gentleness in power we have often had occasion to mention, survived her but one day. She was buried in Henry the seventh's chapel, according to the rites of the church of Rome.
ELIZABETH.
Hull sculp.
CHAP. XXVI. ELIZABETH.
A.D.
1558
WERE we to adopt the maxim of the catholics themselves, that evil may be done for the production of good, one might say that the persecutions in Mary's reign were permitted only to bring the kingdom more generally over to the protestant religion. Nothing could preach so effectually against the cruelty and vices of the monks, as the actions of the monks themselves. Wherever heretics were to be burnt, the monks were always present, rejoicing at the flames, insulting the fallen, and frequently the first to thrust the flaming brand against the faces of the sufferers. The English were effectually converted by such sights as these from their ancient superstitions. To bring the people over to any opinion, it is only necessary to persecute, instead of attempting to convince. The people had formerly been compelled to embrace the protestant religion, and their fears induced them to conform; but now almost the whole nation were protestants from inclination.
Nothing, therefore, could exceed the joy that was diffused among the people upon the accession of Elizabeth, who now came to the throne without any opposition. She had been at Hatfield, when informed of her sister's death; and, hastening up to London, was received by the multitude with universal acclamations. Elizabeth had her education in that best school, the school of adversity; and she had made the proper use of her confinement. Being debarred the enjoyment of pleasures abroad, she sought for knowledge at home; she cultivated her understanding, learned the languages and sciences; but of all the arts which she acquired, that of concealing her opinions, of checking her inclinations, of displeasing none, and of learning to reign, were the most beneficial to her.
This virgin monarch, as some historians have called her, upon entering the Tower according to custom, could not refrain from remarking on the difference of her present, and her former fortune, when she was sent there as a prisoner, and from whence she had so narrowly escaped. She had also been scarce proclaimed queen, when Philip, who had been married to Mary, but who ever testified a partiality in favour of Elizabeth, ordered his ambassador in London, the duke of Feria, to make her proposals of marriage from his master. What political motives Elizabeth might have against this marriage, are not mentioned; but certain it is, that she neither liked the person, nor the religion of her admirer. She was willing at once to enjoy the pleasures of independence, and the vanity of numerous solicitations. But while these were her views, she returned him a very obliging, though evasive answer; and he still retained such hopes of success, that he sent a messenger to Rome, with orders to solicit the dispensation.
Elizabeth had, from the beginning, resolved upon reforming the church, even while she was held in the constraints of a prison; and now, upon coming to the crown, she immediately set about it. But not to alarm the partizans of the catholic religion all at once, she retained eleven of her sister's council; and, in order to balance their authority, added eight more who were known to be affectionate to the protestant religion. Her particular adviser, however, was Sir William Cecil, secretary of state, a man more earnestly employed in the business than the speculations of the times; and whose temper it was to wish for any religion that he thought would contribute to the welfare of the state. By his advice, therefore, she immediately recalled all exiles, and gave liberty to all prisoners who were confined on account of religion. She next published a proclamation, by which she forbade all preaching without a special licence. She also suspended the laws so far as to have a great part of the service to be read in English,
A.D.
1559
and forbade the host to be any more elevated in her presence. A parliament soon after completed what the prerogative had begun; act after act was passed in favour of the reformation; and in a single session the form of religion was established as we at present have the happiness to enjoy it.
The opposition which was made to these religious establishments was furious, but feeble. A conference, of nine doctors on each side, was proposed and agreed to, in presence of the lord keeper Bacon. They were to dispute publicly upon either side of the question; and it was resolved that the people should hold to that which came off with the victory. Disputations of this kind never carry conviction to either party; so much is to be said, and so wide is the field that both sides have to range in, that the strength of both is exhausted before the engagement may be properly said to begin. The conference therefore came to nothing; the catholics declared that it was not in their power to dispute a second time upon topics, on which they had gained a former victory; while the protestants, on the other side, ascribed their caution to their fears. Of nine thousand four hundred beneficed clergymen, which were the number of those in the kingdom, only fourteen bishops, twelve archdeacons, fifteen heads of colleges, and about eighty of the parochial clergy, chose to quit their preferments rather than give up their religion. Thus England was seen to change its belief in religion four times since the beginning of the reign of Henry the eighth.
"Strange, says a foreign writer, that a people so resolute, should be guilty of so much inconstancy; that the same people, who this day assisted at the execution of heretics, should the next, not only think them guiltless, but conform to their systems of thinking."
Elizabeth was now fixed upon a protestant throne; and had consequently all the catholic powers of Europe her open or secret enemies France, Scotland, the pope, and even Spain itself, began to think of combining against her. Her subjects of Ireland were concealed enemies; and the catholic party in England, though professing obedience, were yet ready to take the advantage of her slightest misfortunes. These were the dangers she had to fear; nor had she formed a single alliance to assist her, nor possessed any foreign friends that she could safely rely on. In this situation, therefore, she could hope for no other resource but what proceeded from the affection of her own subjcts, her own insight into her affairs, and the wisdom of her administration. From the beginning of her reign, she seemed to aim at two very difficult attainments; to make herself loved by her subjects, and feared by her courtiers. She resolved to be frugal of her treasury; and still more sparing in her rewards to favourites. This at once kept the people in good humour; and the great too poor to shake off their independence. She also shewed, that she knew how to distribute both rewards and punishments with impartiality; that she knew when to sooth, and when to upbraid; that she could dissemble submission, but preserve her prerogatives. In short, she seemed to have studied the people she was born to govern, and even shewed that she knew when to flatter their foibles to secure their affections.
Her chief minister was Robert Dudley, son to the late duke of Northumberland, whom she seemed to regard from capricious motives, as he was possessed neither of abilities nor virtue. But to make amends, the two favourites next in power, were Bacon and Cecil, men of great capacity and infinite application: they regulated the finances, and directed the political measures with foreign courts, that were afterwards followed with so much success.
A state of permanent felicity is not to be expected here; and Mary Stuart, commonly called Mary queen of Scots, was the first person that excited the fears or the resentment of Elizabeth. We have already mentioned, that Henry the seventh married his eldest daughter, Margaret, to James, king of Scotland, who dying, left no issue that came to maturity except Mary, afterwards surnamed Queen of Scots. At a very early age, this princess being possessed of every accomplishment of person and mind, was married to Francis, the dauphin of France, who dying, left her a widow at the age of nineteen. As Elizabeth had been declared illigitimate by Henry the eighth, Francis, in right of his wife, began to assume the title of king of England; nor did the queen of Scots, his consort, seem to decline sharing in this empty appellation. But though nothing could have been more unjust than such a claim, or more unlikely to succeed, Elizabeth, knowing that such pretensions might produce troubles in England, sent an ambassador to France, complaining of the behaviour of that court in this instance. Francis, however, was not upon such good terms with Elizabeth as to forego any claims that would distress her; and her ambassador was sent home without satisfaction. Upon the death of Francis, Mary, the widow, still seemed disposed to keep up the title; but finding herself exposed to the persecutions of the dowager queen, who now began to take the lead in France, she determined to return home to Scotland, and demanded a safe passage from Elizabeth through England. But it was now Elizabeth's turn to refuse; and she sent back a very haughty answer to Mary's request. From hence a determined personal enmity began to prevail between these rival queens, which subsisted for many years after, until at last the superior fortune of Elizabeth prevailed.
As the transactions of this unfortunate queen make a distinguished part in Elizabeth's history, it will be necessary to give them greater room than I have hitherto given to the occurences of Scotland. The reformation in England having taken place, in Scotland, also, that work was begun, but with circumstances of greater animosity against their ancient superstitions. The mutual resentment which either party, in that kingdom, bore to each other, knew no bounds; and a civil war was likely to end the dispute. It was in this divided state of the people, that Elizabeth, by giving encouragement to the reformers, gained over their affections from their natural queen, who was a catholic, and who consequently favoured those of that persuasion. Thus religion at last effected a sincere friendship between the English and Scotch, which neither treaties, nor marriages, nor the vicinity of situation, was able to produce. The reformers, to a man, considered Elizabeth as their patroness and defender, and Mary as their persecutor and enemy.
It was in this situation of things, that Mary returned from France to reign at home in Scotland, entirely attached to the customs and manners of the people she left; and consequently very averse to the gloomy severity which her reformed subjects affected, and which they fancied made a proper ingredient in religion. A difference in religion between the sovereign and the people is ever productive of bad effects; since it is apt to produce contempt on the one side, and jealousy on the other. Mary could not avoid regarding the four manners of the reformed clergy, who now bore sway among the people, without a mixture of ridicule and hatred; while they, on the other hand, could not look tamely on the gaieties and levities which she introduced among them, without abhorrence and resentment. The jealousy thus excited, began every day to grow stronger; the clergy waited only for some indiscretion in the queen to sly out into open opposition; and her indiscretion but to soon gave them sufficient opportunity.
After two years had been spent in altercation and reproach, between Mary and her subjects, it was resolved upon at last by her council, that she should look out for some alliance, by which she might be sheltered and protected against the insolence and misguided zeal of her spiritual instructors.
A.D.
1564
After some deliberation, the lord Darnley, son to the earl of Lenox, was the person in whom their opinions and wishes centered. He had been born and educated in England, was now in his twentieth year, was cousin-german to the queen; and what perhaps she might admire still more, he was extremely tall. Elizabeth was secretly no way averse to this marriage, as it freed her from the dread of a foreign alliance; but when informed that it was actually concluded and consummated, she pretended to testify the utmost displeasure; she menaced, complained, protested; seized all the earl of Lenox's English estate, and threw the countess and her second son into the Tower. This duplicity of conduct was common enough with Elizabeth; and on the present occasion, it served her as a pretext for refusing Mary's title to the succession of England, which that princess had frequently urged, but in vain.
But notwithstanding Elizabeth's complaints and resentment, Mary was resolved to indulge her own inclinations, and, struck with the beauty of Darnley's figure, the match was driven forward with all expedition; and some of the first weeks of their connexion seemed to promise an happy union for the rest of their lives. However, it was not without some opposition from the reformers that this marriage was completed. It was agitated, whether the queen could marry without the consent of the people? Some lords rose up in arms to prevent it; but being pursued by a superior force, they found themselves obliged to abandon their country, and take refuge in England. Thus far all was favourable to Mary; and thus far she kept within the bounds of strict virtue. Her enemies were banished, her rival over-ruled, and she herself married to the man she loved.
While Mary had been dazzled by the pleasing exterior of her new lover, she had entirely forgot to look to the accomplishments of his mind. Darnley was but a weak and ignorant man; violent, yet variable in his enterprizes; insolent, yet credulous, and easily governed by flatterers; devoid of all gratitude, because he thought no favours equal to his merit; and being addicted to low pleasures, he was equally incapable of all true sentiments of love and tenderness. Mary, in the first effusions of her fondness, had taken a pleasure in exalting him beyond measure; but having leisure afterwards to remark his weakness and his vices, she began to convert her admiration into disgust; and Darnly, enraged at her encreasing coldness, pointed his vengeance against every person he esteemed the cause of this change in her sentiments and behaviour.
There was then in the court one David Rizzio, the son of a musician at Turin, himself a musician, who finding it difficult to subsist by his art in his own country, had followed the ambassador from that court into Scotland. As he understood music to perfection, and sung a good bass, he was introduced into the queen's concert, who was so taken with him, that she desired the ambassador, upon his departure, to leave Rizzio behind. The excellence of his voice soon procured him greater familiarities; and although he was by no means handsome, but rather ugly, the queen seemed to place peculiar confidence in him, and ever kept him next her person. Her secretary for French dispatches having some time after fallen under her displeasure, pleasure, she promoted Rizzio to that office, who, being shrewd, sensible, and aspiring beyond his rank, soon after began to entertain hopes of being promoted to the important office of chancellor of the kingdom. He was consulted on all occasions; no favours could be obtained but by his intercession, and all suitors were first obliged to gain Rizzio to their interests, by presents, or by flattery. It was easy to prevail upon a man of Darnley's jealous uxorious temper, that Rizzio was the person who had estranged the queen's affections from him; and a surmise once conceived became to him a certainty. He soon therefore consulted with some lords of his party, stung as he was with envy, rage, and resentment; and they not only fanned the conflagration in his mind, but offered their assistance to dispatch Rizzio. George Douglas, natural brother to the countess of Lenox, the lords Ruthven and Lindsey, settled the circumstances of this poor creature's assassination among them; and determined that, as a punishment for the queen's indiscretions, the murder should be committed in her presence. Mary was at this time in the sixth month of her pregnancy, and was then supping in private, at table with the countess of Argyle, her natural sister, some other servants, and her favourite Rizzio. Lord Darnly led the way into the apartment by a private stair-case, and stood for some time leaning at the back of Mary's chair. His fierce looks and unexpected intrusion greatly alarmed the queen, who, nevertheless, kept silence, not daring to call out. A little after lord Ruthven, George Douglas, and the other conspirators, rushed in, all armed, and shewing in their looks the brutality of their intentions. The queen could no longer restrain her terrors, but demanded the reason of this bold intrusion. Ruthven made her no answer; but ordered Rizzio to quit a place of which he was unworthy. Rizzio now saw that he was the object of their vengeance; and trembling with apprehension took hold of the queen's robes to put himself under her protection, who, on her part, strove to interpose between the assassins and him. Douglas, in the mean time, had reached the unfortunate Rizzio; and snatching a dagger from the king's side, while the queen filled the room with her cries, plunged it in her presence into Rizzio's bosom, who, screaming with fear and agony, was torn from Mary by the other conspirators, and dragged into the anti-chamber, where he was dispatched with fifty-six wounds. The unhappy princess continued her lamentations; but being informed of his fate, at once dried her tears, and said she would weep no more, for she would now think of revenge. The insult indeed upon her person and honour, and the danger to which her life was exposed on account of her pregnancy, were injuries so atrocious and so complicated, that they scarce left room for pardon.
This act of violence was only to be punished by temporizing; she pretended to forgive so great a crime; and exerted the force of her natural allurements so powerfully, that her husband submitted implicitly to her will. He soon gave up his accomplices to her resentment, and retired with her to Dunbar, while she, having collected an army, which the conspirators had no power to resist, advanced to Edinburgh, and obliged them to fly into England, where they lived in great poverty and distress. They made application, however, to the earl of Bothwell, a new favourite of Mary's; and that nobleman, desirous to strengthen his party by the accession of their interest, was able to pacify her resentment, and he soon after procured them liberty to return home.
The vengeance of the queen was implacable to her husband alone; his person was before disagreeable to her; and having persuaded him to give up his accomplices, she treated him with merited disdain and indignation. But it were well for her character and happiness had she rested only in despising; she secretly resolved on a severer revenge. The earl Bothwel, who was now become her favourite, was of a considerable family in Scotland; and though not distinguished by any talents, civil or military, yet he made some noise in the dissensions of the state, and was an opposer of the reformation. He was a man of profligate manners, had involved his fortune in great debts, and had reduced himself to beggary by his profusion. This nobleman, notwithstanding, had ingratiated himself so far with the queen, that all her measures were entirely directed by his advice and authority. Reports were even spread of more particular intimacies; and these gave such uneasiness to Darnley, that he left the court, and retired to Glasgow, to be no longer a spectator of her excesses. But this was not what the queen aimed at; she was determined upon more ample punishment. Shortly after, all those who wished well to her character, or repose to their country, were extremely pleased, and somewhat surprised, to hear that her tenderness for her husband was revived; and that she had taken a journey to visit him, during his sickness there. Darnley was so far allured by her behaviour on this occasion, that he resolved to part with her no more; he put himself under her protection, and soon after attended her to Edinburgh, which it was thought would be a place more favourable to his declining health. She lived in the palace of Holyroood-house; but as the situation of that place was low, and the concourse of persons about the court necessarily attended with noise, which might disturb him in his present infirm state, she fitted up an apartment for him in a solitary house at some distance, called the Kirk of Field. Mary there gave him marks of kindness and attachment; she conversed cordially with him, and she lay some nights in a room under him. It was on the ninth of February that she told him she would pass that night in the palace, because the marriage of one of her servants was to be there celebrated in her presence. But dreadful consequences ensued. About two o'clock in the morning the whole city was much alarmed at hearing a great noise; the house in which Darnley lay was blown up with gunpowder. His dead body was found at some distance in a neighbouring field, but without any marks of violence or contusion. No doubt could be entertained but that Darnley was murdered; and the general suspicion fell upon Bothwell as the perpetrator.
All orders of the state, and the whole body of the people, began to demand justice on the supposed murderer; the queen herself was not entirely exempt from the general suspicion; and papers were privately stuck up every where, accusing her of being an accomplice. Mary, more solicitous to punish others than defend herself, offered rewards for the discovery of those who had spread such reports; but no rewards were offered for the discovery of the murderers. One indiscretion led on to another; Bothwell, though accused of being stained with her husband's blood, though universally odious to the people, had the confidence, while Mary was on her way to Stirling, on a visit to her son, to seize her at the head of a body of eight hundred horse, and to carry her to Dunbar, where he forced her to yield to his purposes. It was then thought by the people that the measure of his crimes was complete; and that he who was supposed to kill the queen's husband, and to have offered violence to her person, could expect no mercy; but they were astonished upon finding, instead of disgrace, that Bothwell was taken into more than former favour; and, to crown all, that he was married to the queen, having divorced his own wife to procure this union.
This was a fatal alliance to Mary; and the people were now wound up by the complication of her guilt, to pay very little deference to her authority. The protestant teachers, who had great power, had long borne great animosity towards her; the opinion of her guilt was by that means more widely diffused, and made the deeper impression. The principal nobility met at Stirling; and an association was soon formed for protecting the young prince, and punishing the king's murderers. Lord Hume was the first in arms; and leading a body of eight hundred horse, suddenly environed the queen and Bothwell, in the castle of Borthwick. They found means, however, to make their escape; and Bothwell, at the head of a few forces, meeting the associators within about six miles of Edinburgh, was obliged to capitulate, while Mary was conducted by the prevailing party into Edinburgh, amidst the insults and reproaches of the populace. From thence she was sent a prisoner to the castle of Lochlevin, situated in a lake of that name, where she suffered all the severities of an unkind keeper, and an upbraiding conscience, with a feeling heart. Bothwell, however, was more fortunate; he fled during the conference, unattended to Dunbar, where fitting out a few small ships, he subsisted among the Orkneys for some time by piracy. Being pursued thither, and his domestics taken, who made a full discovery of his crimes, he escaped himself in an open boat to Denmark, where he was thrown into prison, lost his senses, and died miserably about ten years afterwards.
In this situation, Mary was not entirely without protection and friends. Queen Elizabeth, who now saw her rival entirely humbled, began to relent; she was seen to reflect on the precarious state of royal grandeur, and the danger of encouraging rebellious subjects; she, therefore, sent Sir Nicholas Throgmorton as her ambassador to Scotland, to interpose in her behalf; but the associated lords thought proper to deny him, after several affected delays, all access to Mary's person. However, though he could not confer with her, he procured her the best terms with the rebellious lords that he could, which was, that she should resign the crown in favour of her son, who was as yet a minor; that she should appoint the earl of Murray, who had from the begining testified an hatred to lord Darnly, as regent of the kingdom; and as he was then in France, that she should appoint a council till his arrival. Mary could not think of resigning all power without a plentiful effusion of tears; but at last signed what was brought to her, even without inspection. In consequence of this forced resignation, the young prince was proclaimed king, under the title of James the sixth. The queen had now no hopes but from the kindness of the earl of Murray; but even here she was disappointed; the earl, upon his return, instead of comforting her, as she expected, loaded her with reproaches, which reduced her almost to despair.
The calamities of the great, even though justly deserved, seldom fail of creating pity, and procuring friends. Mary, by her charms and promises, had engaged a young gentleman, whose name was George Douglas, to assist her in escaping from the place where she was confined: and this he effected, by conveying her in disguise in a small boat, rowed by himself, a-shore. It was now that the news of her enlargement being spread abroad, all the loyalty of the people seemed to revive once more. As Bothwell was no longer associated in her cause, many of the nobility, who expected to succeed him in favour, signed a bond of association for her defence; and in a few days she saw herself at the head of six thousand men.
The earl of Murray, who had been declared regent, was not slow in assembling his forces; and although his army was inferior to that of the queen of Scots, he boldly took the field against her. A battle was fought at Langside, near Glasgow, which was entirely decisive in his favour; and he seemed to merit victory by his clemency after the action. Mary, now totally ruined, fled southwards from the field of battle with great precipitation;
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and came with a few attendants to the borders of England, where she hoped for protection from Elizabeth, who had upon some recent occasions declared in her favour.
With these hopes she embarked on board a fishing boat in Galloway, and landed the same day at Wirkington in Cumberland, about thirty miles distant from Carlisle, whence she immediately dispatched a messenger to London, craving protection, and desiring liberty to visit the queen. Elizabeth being informed of her misfortunes and retreat, deliberated for some time upon the proper methods of proceeding, and resolved at last to act in a friendly, yet cautious manner. She immediately sent orders to lady Scrope, sister to the duke of Norfolk, a lady who lived in that neighbourhood, to attend on the queen of Scots; and soon after dispatched lord Scrope himself, and sir Francis Knolles, to pay her all possible respect. Notwithstanding these marks of distinction, the queen refused to admit Mary into her presence, untill she had cleared her character from the many foul aspersions that it was stained with. It might, perhaps, have been Elizabeth's duty to protect, and not to examine, her royal fugitive. However, she acted entirely under the direction of her council, who observed, that if the crimes of the Scottish princess were really so great as they were represented, the treating her with friendship would but give them a sanction; if she was found guiltless upon trial, every enterpize, which friendship should inspire in her defence, would be considered as laudable and glorious.
Mary was now, though reluctantly, obliged to admit her ancient rival as an umpire in her cause; and the accusation was readily undertaken by Murray the regent, who expected to remove so powerful an assistant as Elizabeth, by the atrociousness of Mary's offences. This extraordinary conference, which deliberated on the conduct of a foreign queen, was managed at York; three commissioners being appointed by Elizabeth, nine by the queen of Scots, and five by the regent, in which he himself was included. These conferences were carried on for some time at the place first appointed; but after a while, Elizabeth, either unwilling to decide, as she would thus give up the power she was now possessed of, or perhaps desirous of throwing all light possible upon Mary's conduct, ordered the commissioners to continue their conferences at Hampton-court, where they were spun out by affected delays. Whatever might have been the cause of protracting this conference in the beginning is not known; but many of the proofs of Mary's guilt, which were suppressed at York, made their appearance before the board at Hampton. Among other proofs, were many letters and sonnets written in Mary's own hand to Bothwell, in which she discovers her knowledge of Darnley's intended murder, and her contrivance to marry Bothwell, by pretending a forced compliance. These papers, it must be owned, are not free themselves from suspicion of being a forgery; yet the reasons for their authenticity seem to prevail. However this be, the proofs of Mary's guilt appearing stronger, it was thought proper to engage her advocates to give answers to them; but they, contrary to expectation, refused, alledging, that as Mary was a sovereign princess, she could not be subject to any tribunal, not considering that the aim of this conference was not punishment, but reconciliation; that it was not to try Mary, in order to inflict penalties, but to know whether she was worthy of Elizabeth's friendship and protection. Instead of attempting to justify her conduct, the queen of Scots laboured nothing so much as to obtain an interview with Elizabeth; conscious that her insinuations, arts, and address, of all which she was a perfect mistress, would be sufficient to persuade her royal sister, and stand in place of innocence. But as she still persisted in a resolution to make no defence, this demand was finally refused her.
She still, however, persisted in demanding Elizabeth's protection; she desired that either she should be assisted in her endeavours to recover her authority, or that liberty should be given her for retiring into France, there to make trial of the friendship of other princes. But Elizabeth, sensible of the danger which attended either of these proposals, was secretly resolved to detain her still in captivity, and she was accordingly sent to Tuthury castle, in the county of Stafford, where she was put under the custody of the earl of Shrewsbury; there she gave her royal prisoner hopes of one day coming into favour, and that unless her own obstinacy prevented, an accommodation might at last take place.
But this unhappy woman was fated to nothing but misfortunes; and those hopes of accommodation which she had been given to expect, were still put off by some sinister accident. The factions of her own subjects in Scotland tended not a little to alarm the jealousy of Elizabeth, and encrease the rigours of Mary's confinement. The regent of Scotland, who had been long her inveterate enemy, happening to be assassinated, in revenge of a private injury, by a gentleman of the name of Hamilton, upon his death the kingdom relapsed into its former anarchy. Mary's party once more assembled themselves together, and became masters of Edinburgh. They even ventured towards the borders of England, where they committed some disorders, which called upon the vigilance of Elizabeth to suppress. She quickly sent an army commanded by the earl of Suffex, who entering Scotland, principally chastised all the partizans of the captive queen, under a pretence that they had offended his mistress by harbouring English rebels.
But the designs and arts of Elizabeth did not rest here; while she kept up the most friendly correspendence with Mary, and the most warm protestations of sincerity passed between them, she was far from either assisting her cause, or yet from rendering it desperate. It was her interest to keep the factions in Scotland still alive, to weaken the power of that restless and troublesome nation; for this purpose she weakened the party of the queen, that had now promised to prevail, by tedious negociations; and in the mean time procured the earl of Lenox to be appointed regent, in the room of Murray who was flain.
This attempt, which promised to be favourable to Mary, proved thus unsuccessful, as well as another, which was concerted near the place of her captivity. The duke of Norfolk was the only peer who enjoyed that highest title of nobility in England; and the qualities of his mind corresponded to his high station. Beneficent, affable, and generous,
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he had acquired the affections of the people; and yet from his moderation, he had never alarmed the jealousy of the sovereign. He was at this time a widower, and being of a suitable age to espouse the queen of Scots, her own attractions, as well as his interests, made him desirous of the match. But the obtaining Elizabeth's consent, previous to their nuptials, was considered as a circumstance essential to his aims. But while this nobleman made almost all the nobility of England confidants to his passion, he never had the prudence, or the courage, to open his full intentions to the queen herself. On the contrary, in order to suppress the surmises that were currently reported, he spoke contemptuously of Mary to Elizabeth; affirmed that his estates in England were of more value than the revenue of the whole kingdom; and declared, that when he amused himself in his own tennis-court at Norwich, he was a more magnificent prince than a Scottish king. This duplicity only served to enflame the queen's suspicions the more; and finding that she gave his professions no great degree of credit, he retired from the court in disgust. Repenting, however, soon after of this measure, he was resolved to return, with a view of regaining the queen's good graces; but on the way, he was stopt by a messenger from the queen, and soon commited to the Tower under the custody of Sir Henry Nevil.
But the duke of Norfolk was too much beloved by his partizans in the North, to be confined without an effort made for his release. The earls of Westmorland and Northumberland had prepared measures for a rebellion; had communicated their design to Mary and her ministers; had entered into a correspondence with the duke of Alva, governor of the Low Countries, and had obtained his promise of men and ammunition. But the vigilance of Elizabeth's ministers was not to be eluded; orders were immediately sent for their appearance at court, and now the insurgent lords perceiving their schemes discovered, were obliged to begin their revolt before matters were entirely prepared for its opening. They accordingly published a manifesto, in which they alledged, that no injury was intended against the queen, to whom they vowed unshaken allegiance; but that their sole aim was to re-establish the religion of their ancestors, to remove all evil counsellors from about the queen's person; and to restore the duke of Norfolk to his liberty and the queen's favour. Their number amounted to four thousand foot, and sixteen hundred, horse; and they expected to be joined by all the catholics in England. But they soon found themselves miserably undeceived; the queen's conduct had acquired the general good will of the people, and she now perceived that her surest support was the justice of her actions. The duke of Norfolk himself, for whose sake they had revolted, used every method that his circumstances would permit, to assist and support the queen; the insurgents were obliged to retire before her forces to Hexham; and hearing that reinforcements were upon their march to join the royal army, they found no other expedient but to disperse themselves without a blow. Northumberland fled into Scotland, and was confined by the regent to the castle of Lochlevin; Westmorland, after attempting to excite the Scotch to revolt, was obliged to escape into Flanders, where he found protection. This rebellion was followed by another, led on by lord Dacres, but with as little success. Some severities were used against these revolters, and it is said, that no less than eight suffered by the hands of the executioner on this occasion. The queen was so well pleased with the duke of Norfolk's behaviour,
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that she now released him from the Tower; allowed him to return home, only exacting a promise from him, not to proceed any farther in his pretensions to the queen of Scots.
But the queen's confidence was fatal to this brave, but undesigning nobleman. He had not been released above a year, when new projects were set on foot by the enemies of the queen and the reformed religion, secretly fomented by Rodolphi, an instrument of the court of Rome, and the bishop of Ross, Mary's minister in England. It was concerted by them, that Norfolk should renew his designs upon Mary, to which it is probable he was prompted by passion; and this nobleman entering into their schemes, he from being at first only ambitious, now became criminal. It was mutually agreed, therefore, that the duke should enter into all Mary's interests; while on the other hand, the duke of Alva promised to transport a body of six thousand foot, and four thousand horse, to join Norfolk as soon as he should be ready to begin. This scheme was so secretly laid, that it had hitherto entirely escaped the vigilance of Elizabeth, and that of secretary Cecil, who now bore the title of lord Burleigh. It was found out merely by accident; for the duke having sent a sum of money to lord Herreis, one of Mary's partizans in Scotland, omitted trusting the servant with the contents of his message; and he finding, by the weight of the bag, that it contained a larger sum than the duke mentioned to him, began to mistrust some plot, and brought the money, with the duke's letter, to the secretary of state. It was by the artifices of that great statesman, that the duke's servants were brought to make a full confession of their master's guilt; and the bishop of Ross soon after, finding the whole discovered, did not scruple to confirm their testimony. The duke was instantly committed to the Tower, and ordered to prepare for his trial. A jury of twenty-five peers unanimously passed sentence upon him; and the queen, four months after, reluctantly signed the warrant for his execution. He died with great calmness and constancy; and though he cleared himself of any disloyal intentions against the queen's authority, he acknowledged the justice of the sentence by which he suffered. A few months after, the duke of Northumberland being delivered up by the regent, underwent a similar trial, and was brought to the scaffold for his rebellion. All these ineffectual struggles in favour of the unfortunate queen of Scots, seemed only to rivet the chains of her confinement; and she now found relief only in the resources of her own mind, which distress had contributed to soften, refine, and improve. From henceforth she continued for several years a precarious dependent on Elizabeth's suspicions; and only waited for some new effort of her adherents to receive that fate, which political, and not merciful motives seemed to prolong.
MARY Q. of SCOTS.
Hull sculpt .
CHAP. XXVII. ELIZABETH (Continued.)
HAVING thus far attended the queen of Scotland, whose conduct and misfortunes make such a distinguished figure in this reign, we now return to some transactions, prior in point of time, but of less consideration.
In the beginning of this reign, the Hugonots, or reformed party in France, were obliged to call in the protection of the English;
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and in order to secure their confidence, as they were possessed of the greatest part of Normandy, they offered to put Havre into the queen's hands, a proffer which she immediately accepted. She wisely considered, that as that port commanded the mouth of the river Seine, it was of much more importance than Calais; and she could thus have the French still in her power. Accordingly three thousand English took possession of Havre and Dieppe, under the command of Sir Edward Poinings, but the latter place was found so little capable of being defended, that it was immediately abandoned. But Havre itself was obliged to capitulate shortly after. Although the garrison was reinforced, and was found to amount to six thousand men; and every means was employed for putting the town in a posture of defence against the French army that was preparing to besiege it, yet it felt a severer enemy within its walls; for the plague had got into the town, and committed such havock among the soldiers, that an hundred were commonly seen to die of it in one day. The garrison, being thus dispirited and diminished to fifteen hundred men, finding the French army indefatigable in their approaches, were obliged to capitulate; and thus the English lost all hopes of ever making another establishment in the kingdom of France. This misfortune was productive of one still more dreadful to the nation, for the English army carried back the plague with them to London, which made such ravages, that twenty thousand persons died there in one year.
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This, if we except the troubles raised upon the account of Mary, seems to have been the only disaster that, for above thirteen years, any way contributed to disturb the peace of this reign. Elizabeth, ever vigilant, active, and resolute, attended to the slightest alarms, and repressed them before they were capable of producing their effect. Her frugality kept her independent, and her dissimulation (for she could dissemble) made her beloved. The opinion of the royal prerogative was such, that her commands were obeyed as statutes; and she took care that her parliaments should never venture to circumscribe her power. In her schemes of government she was assisted by lord Burleigh, and Sir Anthony Bacon, two of the most able ministers that ever directed the affairs of England; but while she committed, to them all the drudgery of duty, her favourite Robert Dudley, earl of Leicester, engrossed all her favour, and secured all the avenues to preferment. All requests were made through him; and nothing given away without his consent and approbation. His merits, however, were by no means adequate to his successes; he was weak, vain, and boastful; but these qualities did no injury to the state, as his two co-adjutors were willing, while he maintained all the splendour of office, to secure to themselves the more solid emoluments.
During this peaceable and uniform government, England furnishes but few materials for history. While France was torn with internal convulsions; while above ten thousand of the Hugonots were massacred in one night, in cool blood, on the feast of St. Bartholomew, at Paris; while the inhabitants of the Low Countries had shaken off the Spanish yoke, and were bravely vindicating their rights and their religion; while all the rest of Europe was teeming with plots, seditions, and cruelty; the English, under their wise queen, were enjoying all the benefits of peace, extending commerce, improving manufactures; and seting an example of arts and learning to all the rest of the world. Except the small part, therefore, which Elizabeth took in foreign transactions, there scarce passed any occurence which requires a particular detail.
There had for some time arisen disgusts between the court of England and that of Spain. Elizabeth's having rejected the suit of Philip, might probably have given rise to these distrusts; and after that, Mary's claiming the protection of that monarch, tended still more to widen the breach. This began, as usual on each side, with petty hostilities; the Spaniards, on their part, had sent into Ireland a body of seven hundred of their nation, and Italians, who built a fort there; but were soon after cut off to a man, by the duke of Ormond. On the other hand the English, under the conduct of Sir Francis Drake, assaulted the Spaniards in the place where they deemed themselves most secure, in the New World. This was the first Englishman that sailed round the globe; and the queen was so well pleased with his valour and success, that she accepted a banquet from him at Deptford, on board the ship which had atchieved so memorable a voyage.
In this manner, while hostilities were daily multiplying between Spain and England; and while the power of Spain, as well as the monarch's inclinations, were very formidable to the queen, she began to look out for an alliance that might support her against such a dangerous adversary. The duke of Anjou had long made pretensions to Elizabeth; and though she was near twenty-five years older than he, he took the resolution to prefer his suit in person, and paid her a visit in secret at Greenwich. It appears, that though his figure was not advantageous, his address was pleasing. The queen ordered her ministers to fix the terms of the contract; a day was appointed for the solemnization of their nuptials, and every thing seemed to speak an approaching union. But Elizabeth could not be induced, as that event appeared to approach, to change her condition; she appeared doubtful, irresolute, and melancholy; she was observed to pass several nights without any sleep, till at last her settled habits of prudence prevailed over her ambition, and the duke of Anjou was dismissed.
The queen thus depriving herself of a foreign ally, looked for approbation and assistance from her own subjects at home. Yet even here she was not without numberless enemies, who either hated her for religion, or envied her for success. There were several conspiracies formed against her life, many of which were imputed to the intrigues of the queen of Scots, at least it is certain that her name was used in all. Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland, brother to him beheaded some years before, and Philip Howard, earl of Arundel, son to the unfortunate duke of Norfolk, fell under suspicion; and the latter was, by order of council, confined to his own house. Francis Throgmorton, a private gentleman, was committed to custody, on account of a letter which he had written to the queen of Scots; and shortly after confessing his guilt, he was condemned and executed. Soon after William Parry, a catholic gentleman, who had on a former occasion received the queen's pardon, was found engaged in a desperate conspiracy to assassinate his sovereign and benefactor. He had consulted upon the justice and expediency of this vile measure both with the pope's nuncio and legate, who exhorted him to persevere in his resolution, and extremely applauded his design. He, therefore, associated himself with one Nevil, who entered zealously into the design; and it was determined to shoot the queen, while she was taking the air on horseback. But while they were watching an opportunity for the execution of their purpose, the earl of Westmoreland happened to die in exile; and as Nevil was next heir to the family, he began to entertain hopes, that by doing some acceptable service to the queen, he might recover the estate and honours which had been forfeited by the rebellion of the last earl. He betrayed the whole conspiracy to the ministers; and Parry being thrown into prison confessed the guilt both to them, and to the jury who tried him. He was shortly after condemned and executed.
These attempts, which were entirely set on foot by the catholic party, served to encrease the severity of the laws against them. Popish priests were banished the kingdom; those who harboured or relieved them were declared guilty of felony; and many were executed in consequence of this severe edict. Nor was the queen of Scots herself without some share of the punishment. She was removed from under the care of the earl of Shrewsbury, who had always been indulgent to his prisoner, particularly with regard to air and exercise; and she was committed to the custody of Sir Amias Paulett, and Sir Drue Drury, men of honour, but inflexible and rigid in their care and attention.
These conspiracies served to prepare the way for Mary's ruin, whose greatest misfortunes proceeded rather from the violence of her friends, than the malignity of her enemies. Elizabeth's ministers had long been waiting for some signal instance of the captive queen's enmity, which they could easily convert into treason; and this was not long wanting.
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About this time one John Ballard, a popish priest, who had been bred in the English seminary at Rheims, resolved to compass the death of a queen, whom he considered as the enemy of his religion; and with that gloomy resolution came over into England in the disguise of a soldier, with the assumed name of captain Fortescue. He bent his endeavours to bring about at once the project of an assassination, an insurrection, and an invasion. The first person he addressed himself to was Anthony Babington, of Dethick, in the county of Derby, a young gentleman of good family, and possessed of a very plentiful fortune. This person had been long remarkable for his zeal in the catholic cause, and in particular for his attachment to the captive queen. He therefore came readily into the plot, and procured the concurrence and assistance of some other associates in this dangerous undertaking. Barnwell, a gentleman of a noble family in Ireland, Charnock, a gentleman of Lancashire, Abington, whose father had been cofferer to the household, and chief of all John Savage, a man of desperate fortunes, who had served in the Low Countries, and came into England under a vow to destroy the queen. He indeed did not seem to desire any associate in the bold enterprize, and refused for some time to permit any to share with him in what he esteemed his greatest glory. He challenged the whole to himself; and it was with some difficulty that he was induced to depart from his preposterous ambition. The next step was to apprize Mary of the conspiracy formed in her favour; and this they effected by conveying their letters to her by means of a brewer that supplied the family with ale, through a chink, in the wall of her apartment. In these, Babington informed her of a design laid for a foreign invasion, the plan of an insurrection at home, the scheme for her delivery, and the conspiracy for assassinating the usurper by six noble gentlemen, as he termed them, all of them his private friends, who, from the zeal which they bore the catholic cause, and her majesty's service, would undertake the tragical execution. To these Mary replied, that she approved highly of the design; that the gentlemen might expect all the rewards which it should be ever in her power to confer; and that the death of Elizabeth was a necessary circumstance, previous to any further attempts either for her delivery, or the intended insurrection.
Such was the scheme laid by the conspirators; and nothing seemed so certain as its secrecy and its success. But they were all miserably deceived; the active and sagacious ministers of Elizabeth were privy to it in every stage of its growth, and only retarded their discovery till the meditated guilt was ripe for punishment and conviction. Ballard was actually attended by one Maude, a catholic priest, who was a spy in pay with Walsingham, secretary of state. One Polly, another of his spies, had found means to insinuate himself among the conspirators, and to give an exact account of their proceedings. Soon after one Giffard a priest came over, and discovering the whole conspiracy to the bottom, made a tender of his service to Walsingham. It was he that procured the letters to be conveyed thro' the wall to the queen, and received her answers; but he had always taken care to shew them to the secretary of state, who had them deciphered, and took copies of them all.
The plot being thus ripe for execution, and the evidence against the conspirators incontestible, Walsingham resolved to suspend their punishment no longer. A warrant was accordingly issued out for the apprehending of Ballard; and this giving the alarm to Babington, and the rest of the conspirators, they covered themselves with various disguises, and endeavoured to keep themselves concealed. But they were soon discovered, thrown into prison, and brought to trial. In their examination they contradicted each other, and the leaders were obliged to make a full confession of the truth. Fourteen were condemned and executed, seven of whom died acknowledging their crime.
The execution of these wretched men only prepared the way for one of still greater importance, in which a captive queen was to submit to the unjust decisions of those who had no right, but that of power, to condemn her. Though all England was acquainted with the detection of Babington's conspiracy, every avenue to the unfortunate Mary was so strictly guarded, that she remained in utter ignorance of the whole matter. But her astonishment was equal to her anguish, when sir Thomas Gorges, by Elizabeth's order, came to inform her of the fate of her unhappy confederates. She was at that time mounted on horse-back, going a-hunting; and was not permitted to return to her former place of abode, but conducted from one gentleman's house to another, till she was lodged in Fotheringay castle, in Northamptonshire, where the last scene of her miserable tragedy was to conclude.
The council of England was divided in opinion about the measures to be taken against the queen of Scots. Some members proposed, that as her health was very infirm, her life might be shortened by close confinement; therefore to avoid any imputation of violence or cruelty, the earl of Leicester proposed that she should be dispatched by poison; but the majority insisted on her being put to death by legal process. Accordingly a commission was issued to forty peers, with five judges, or the major part of them, to try and pass sentence upon Mary, daughter and heir of James the fifth, king of Scotland, commonly called queen of Scots, and dowager of France.
Thirty six of these commissioners arriving at the castle of Fotheringay,
presented her with a letter from Elizabeth, commanding her to submit to a trial for her late conspiracy. Mary perused the letter with great composure; and as she had long foreseen the danger that hung over her, received the intelligence without emotion or astonishment. She said, however, that she wondered the queen of England should command her as a subject, who was an independent sovereign, and a queen like herself. She would never, she said, stoop to any condescension which would lessen her dignity, or prejudice the claims of her posterity. The laws of England, she observed, were unknown to her; she was destitute of counsel; nor could she conceive who were to be her peers, as she had but one equal in the kingdom. She added, that instead of enjoying the protection of the laws of England, as she had hoped to obtain, she had been confined in prison ever since her arrival in the kingdom; so that she derived neither benefit, nor security from them. When the commissioners pressed her to submit to the queen's pleasure, otherwise they would proceed against her as contumacious, she declared she would rather suffer a thousand deaths, than own herself a subject to any prince on earth. That, however, she was ready to vindicate herself in a full and free parliament, as for aught she knew, this meeting of commissioners was devised against her life, on purpose to take it away with a pretext of justice. She exhorted them to consult their own consciences, and to remember that the theatre of the world was much more extensive than that of the kingdom of England. At length, the vice-chamberlain Hatton vanquished her objections, by representing that she injured her reputation by avoiding a trial, in which her innocence might be proved to the satisfaction of all mankind. This observation made such an impression upon her, that she agreed to plead, if they would admit and allow her protest, of disallowing all subjection. This, however, they refused; but they satisfied her, by entering it upon record, and thus they proceeded to a trial.
The principal charge against her was urged by serjeant Gaudy, who accused her with knowing, approving, and consenting to Babington's conspiracy. This charge was supported by Babington's confession, by the copies which were taken of their correspondence, in which her approbation of the queen's murder was expresly declared, by the evidence of her own two secretaries, Nau, a Frenchman, and Curle, a Scotchman, who swore that she received Babington's letters, and that they had answered them by her orders. These were still further confirmed by the testimony of Ballard and Savage, to whom Babington had shewn these letters, declaring them to have come from the captive queen. To these charges Mary made a sensible and resolute defence; she said Babington's confession was extorted from his fears of the torture, which was really the case; she alledged, that the letters were forgeries; and she defied her secretaries to persist in their evidence, if brought into her presence. She owned, indeed, that she had used her best endeavours to recover her liberty, which was only pursuing the dictates of nature; but as for harbouring a thought against the life of the queen, she treated the idea with horror. During the course of the trial, as a letter between Mary and Babington was reading, mention was made in it of the earl of Arundel and his brothers. On hearing their names she shed a flood of tears, exclaiming, Alas! what hath the noble house of the Howards endured for my sake! She took occasion also to observe, that his letter might have been a base contrivance of Walsingham's, who had frequently practised both against her life and her son's. Walsingham thus accused rose up, and protested that his heart was free from malice; that he had never done any thing unbecoming an honest man in his private capacity, nor aught unworthy of the place he occupied in the state. Mary declared herself satisfied of his innocence, and begged he would give as little credit to the malicious accusations of her enemies, as she now gave to the reports which she had heard to his prejudice.
Whatever might have been this queeen's offences, it is certain that her treatment was very severe. She desired to be put in possession of such notes as she had taken preparative to her trial; but this was refused her. She demanded a copy of her protest; but her request was not complied with; she even required an advocate to plead her cause against so many learned lawyers, as had undertaken to urge her accusations, but all her demands were rejected; and, after an adjournment of some days, sentence of death was pronounced against her in the Star-chamber in Westminster, all the commissioners, except two, being present. At the same time a declaration was published by the commissioners, implying, that the sentence against her did no wise derogate from the title and honour of James, king of Scotland, son to the attainted queen.
Though the condemning a sovereign princess at a tribunal to which she owed no subjection, was an injustice that must strike the most inattentive, yet the parliament of England, who met four days after,
did not fail to approve the sentence, and to go still farther, in presenting an address to the queen, desiring that it might speedily be put into execution. But Elizabeth still possessed, or pretended to possess, an horror for such precipitate severity. She entreated them to find some expedient to save her from the necessity of taking a step so repugnant to her inclination. But at the same time she seemed to dread another conspiracy to assassinate her within a month, which probably was only an artifice of her ministers to encrease her apprehensions, and consequently her desire of being rid of a rival, that had given her so much disturbance. The parliament, however, reiterated their sollicitations, arguments, and entreaties; and even remonstrated, that mercy to the queen of Scots was cruelty to them, her subjects, and her children. Elizabeth affected to continue inflexible; but at the same time permitted Mary's sentence to be made public; and lord Buckhurst, and Beale, clerk to the council, were sent to the unhappy queen to apprize her of the sentence, and the popular clamour for its speedy execution.
Upon receiving this dreadful information, Mary seemed no way moved; but insisted that since her death was demanded by the protestants, she died a martyr to the catholic religion. She said, that as the English often embrued their hands in the blood of their own sovereigns, it was not to be wondered at that they exercised their cruelty towards her. She wrote her last letter to Elizabeth, not demanding her life, which she now seemed willing to part with, but desiring, that after her enemies should be satiated with her innocent blood, her body might be consigned to her servants, and conveyed to France, there to repose in a catholic country, with the sacred reliques of her mother.
In the mean time, accounts of this extraordinary sentence were spread into all parts of Europe; and the king of France was among the foremost who attempted to avert the threatened blow. He sent over Believre as an extraordinary ambassador, with a professed intention of interceding for the life of Mary. But James of Scotland, her son, was, as in duty obliged, still more pressing in her behalf. He dispatched one Keith, a gentleman of his bed-chamber, with a letter to Elizabeth, conjuring her to spare the life of his parent, and miring threats of vengeance, in case of a refusal. Elizabeth, however, treated his remonstrances with the utmost indignation; and when the Scotch ambassador begged that the execution might be put off for a week, the queen answered with great emotion,
"No, not for an hour."
Thus Elizabeth, when sollicited by foreign princes to pardon the queen of Scots, seemed always disposed to proceed to extremities against her; but when her ministers urged her to strike the blow, her scruples and her reluctance seemed to return.
Whether the queen was really sincere in her reluctance to execute Mary, is a question which, though usually given against her, I will not take upon me to determine. Certainly there were great arts used by her courtiers to determine her to the side of severity; as they had every thing to fear from the resentment of Mary, in case she ever succeeded to the throne. Accordingly, the kingdom was now filled with rumours of plots, treasons, and insurrections; and the queen was continually kept in alarm by fictitious dangers. She, therefore, appeared to be in great terror and perplexity; she was observed to sit much alone, and to mutter to herself half sentences, importing the difficulty and distress to which she was reduced. In this situation, she one day called her secretary, Davison, whom she ordered to draw out secretly the warrant for Mary's execution, informing him, that she intended to keep it by her in case any attempt should be made for the delivery of that princess. She signed the warrant, and then commanded it to be carried to the chancellor to have the seal affixed to it. Next morning, however, she sent two gentlemen successively to desire that Davison would not go to the chancellor, until she should see him; but Davison telling her that the warrant had been already sealed, she seemed displeased at his precipitation. Davison, who probably wished himself to see the sentence executed, laid the affair before the council, who unanimously resolved, that the warrant should be immediately put in execution, and promised to justify Davison to the queen. Accordingly, the fatal instrument was delivered to Beale, who summoned the noblemen to whom it was directed, namely, the earls of Shrewsbery, Derby, Kent, and Cumberland, and these together set out for Fotheringay castle, accompanied by two executioners, to dispatch their bloody commission.
Mary heard of the arrival of her executioners, who ordered her to prepare for death by eight o'clock the next morning. Without any alarm she heard the death-warrant read with her usual composure, though she could not help expressing her surprize, that the queen of England should consent to her execution. She even abjured her being privy to any conspiracy against Elizabeth, by laying her hand upon a New Testament, which happened to lie on the table. She desired that her confessor might be permitted to attend her, which, however, these zealots refused. After the earls had retired, she ate sparingly at supper, while she comforted her attendants, who continued weeping and lamenting their mistress, with a chearful countenance, telling them, they ought not to mourn, but rejoice, at the prospect of her speedy deliverance from a world of misery. Towards the end of supper, she called in all her servants, and drank to them; they pledged her in order on their knees, and craved her pardon for any past neglect of duty. She craved mutual forgiveness; and a plentiful effusion of tears attended this last solemn separation.
After this, she reviewed her will, and perused the inventory of her effects. These she bequeathed to different individuals, and divided her money among her domestics, recommending them in letters to the king of France, and the duke of Guise. Then going to bed at her usual hour, she passed part of the night in uninterrupted repose; and rising, spent the remainder in prayer, and acts of devotion. Towards morning, she dressed herself in a rich habit of silk and velvet, the only one which she had reserved for this solemn occasion. Thomas Andrews, the under-sheriff of the country, then entering the room, he informed her that the hour was come, and that he must attend her to the place of execution. She replied, that she was ready; and bidding her servants farewel, she proceeded, supported by two of her guards, and followed the sheriff, with a serene composed aspect, with a long veil of linen on her head, and in her hand a crucifix of ivory. In passing through an hall adjoining to her chamber, Sir Andrew Melvil, master of her houshold, fell upon his knees, and shedding a flood of tears, lamented his misfortune, in being doomed to carry the news of her unhappy fate to Scotland.
"Lament not, said she, but rather rejoice. Mary Stuart will soon be freed from all her cares. Tell my friends that I die constant in my religion, and firm in my affection and fidelity to Scotland and France. God forgive them that have long desired my end, and have thirsted for my blood, as the heart panteth for the water-brook. Thou O God, who art truth itself, and perfectly understandest the inmost thoughts of my heart, knowest how greatly I have desired that the realms of Scotland and England might be united. Commend me to my son, and assure him I have done nothing prejudicial to the state, or the crown of Scotland. Admonish him to persevere in amity and friendship with the queen of England, and see that thou dost him faithful service. And so good Melvil farewel; once again farewel, good Melvil, and grant the assistance of thy prayers to thy queen and thy mistress."
In this place she was received by the four noblemen, who with great difficulty were prevailed upon to allow Melvil, with her physician, apothecary, and two female attendants, to be present at her execution. She then passed into another hall, the noblemen and the sheriff going before, and Melvil bearing up her train; where was a scaffold erected and covered with black. As soon as she was seated, Beale began to read the warrant for her execution. Then Fletcher, dean of Peterborough, standing without the rails, repeated a long exhortation, which she desired him to forbear, as she was firmly resolved to die in the catholic religion. The room was crowded with spectators, who beheld her with pity and distress, while her beauty, though dimmed by age and affliction, gleamed through her sufferings, and was still remarkable in this fatal moment. The earl of Kent observing, that in her devotions she made frequent use of the crucifix, he could not forbear reproving her, exhorting her to have Christ in her heart, not in her hand. She replied, with presence of mind, that it was difficult to hold such an object in her hand, without feeling her heart touched for the sufferings of him whom it represented. She now began, with the aid of her two women, to undress for the block; and the executioner also lent his hand to assist them. She smiled, and said that she was not accustomed to undress herself before so large a company, nor to be attended by such servants. Her two women bursting into tears, and loud exclamations of sorrow, she turned about to them, put her finger upon her lips, as a sign of imposing silence upon them; and having given them her blessing, desired their prayers in return. The two executioners kneeling, and asking her pardon, she said she forgave them, and all the authors of her death, as freely as she hoped forgiveness from her Maker, and then once more made a solemn protestation of her innocence. Her eyes were then covered with a linen handkerchief; and she laid herself down without any fear or trepidation. Then reciting a psalm, and repeating a pious ejaculation, her head was severed from her body at two strokes by the executioner. He instantly held it up to the spectators, streaming with blood, and agitated with the convulsions of death; the dean of Peterborough alone exclaimed,
"So perish all queen Elizabeth's enemies."
The earl of Kent replied Amen, while the rest of the spectators wept and sighed at this affecting spectacle; for flattery and zeal alike gave place to stronger and better emotions. Thus died Mary, in the forty-fifth year of her age, and the nineteenth of her captivity, a princess unmatched in beauty, and unequalled in misfortunes. In contemplating the contentions of mankind, we find almost ever both sides culpable; Mary, who was stained with crimes that deserved punishment, was put to death by a princess who had no just pretensions to inflict punishment on her equal.
It is difficult to be certain of the true state of Elizabeth's mind, upon receiving the first accounts of the death of Mary. Historians in general are willing to ascribe the extreme sorrow she testified on that occasion to falsehood and deep dissimulation. But where is the necessity of ascribing to bad motives, what seems to proceed from a more generous scource? There is nothing more certain, than that, upon hearing the news, she testified the utmost surprize and indignation. Her countenance changed, her speech faltered and failed her, and she stood fixed for a long time in mute astonishment. When the first burst of sorrow was over, she still persisted in her resentment against her ministers, none of whom dared to approach her. She committed Davison to prison, and ordered him to be tried in the Star-chamber for this misdemeanor. He was condemned to imprisonment during the queen's, pleasure, and to pay a fine of ten thousand pounds; in consequence of which he remained a long time in custody, and the fine, though it reduced him to want and beggary, was rigorously levied upon him. It is likely therefore that Elizabeth was sincere enough in her anger for the fate of Mary; as it was an event likely to brand her reign with the character of cruelty, and though she might have desired her rival's death, yet she must certainly be shocked at the manner of it.
But the uneasiness the queen felt from this disagreeable forwardness of her ministry, was soon lost in one much greater. Philip, who had long meditated the destruction of England, and whose extensive power gave him grounds to hope for success, now began to put his projects into execution. The point on which he rested his glory, and the perpetual object of his schemes, was to support the catholic religion, and exterminate the reformation. The revolt of his subjects in the Netherlands still more enflamed his resentment against the English, as they had encouraged that insurrection, and assisted the revolters. He had, therefore, for some time been making preparations to attack England by a powerful invasion; and now every part of his vast empire resounded with the noise of armaments, and every art was used to levy supplies for that great design. The marquis of Santa Croce, a sea officer of great reputation and experience, was destined to command the fleet, which consisted of an hundred and thirty vessels, of a greater size than any that had been hitherto seen in Europe. The duke of Parma was to conduct the land forces, twenty thousand of whom were on board the fleet, and thirty-four thousand more were assembled in the Netherlands, ready to be transported into England. The most renowned nobility and princes of Italy and Spain, were ambitious of sharing in the honour of this great enterprize. Don Amadaeus of Savoy, Don John of Medicis, Gonzaga, duke of Sabionetta, and others, hastened to join this great equipment; no doubt was entertained of its success, and it was ostentatiously styled the Invincible Armada. It carried on board, beside the land forces, eight thousand four hundred mariners, two thousand galley-slaves, and two thousand six hundred and thirty great pieces of brass ordnance. It was victualled for six months, and was attended with twenty lesser ships, called Caravals, and ten Salves, with six oars a-piece.
Nothing could exceed the terror and consternation which all ranks of people felt in England upon news of this terrible Armada being under sail to invade them. A fleet of not above thirty ships of war, and those very small, in comparison, was all that was to oppose it by sea; and as for resisting by land, that was supposed to be impossible, as the Spanish army was composed of men well disciplined, and long enured to danger. The queen alone seemed undismayed in this threatening calamity; she issued all her orders with tranquility, animated her people to a steady resistance; and the more to excite the martial spirit of the nation, she appeared on horseback in the camp at Tilbury, exhorting the soldiers to their duty, and promising to share the same dangers, and the same fate with them.
"I myself, cried she, will be your general, your judge, and the rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. Your alacrity has already deserved its rewards; and on the word of a prince they shall be duly paid you. Persevere then in your obedience to command, shew your valour in the field, and we shall soon have a glorious victory over those enemies of my God, my kingdom, and my people."
The soldiers with shouts proclaimed their ardour, and only wished to be led on to conquest.
Nor were her preparations by sea driven on with less alacrity; although the English fleet was much inferior in number and size of shipping to that of the enemy, yet it was much more manageable, the dexterity and courage of the mariners being greatly superior. Lord Howard of Effingham, a man of great courage and capacity, as lord Admiral, took on him the command of the navy. Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher, the most renowned seamen in Europe, served under him; while a small squadron consisting of forty vessels, English and Flemish, commanded by lord Seymour, lay off Dunkirk, in order to intercept the duke of Parma. This was the preparation made by the English, while all the protestant powers of Europe regarded this enterpize as the critical event which was to decide for ever the fate of their religion.
In the mean time, while the Spanish Armada was preparing to sail, the admiral Santa Croce died, as likewise the vice admiral Paliano; and the command of the expedition was given to the duke de Medina Sidonia, a person utterly unexperienced in sea affairs; and this, in some measure, served to frustrate the design. But some other accidents also contributed to its failure. Upon leaving the port of Lisbon, the Armada next day met with a violent tempest, which sunk some of the smallest of their shipping, and obliged the fleet to put back into harbour. After some time spent in refitting, they again put to sea; where they took a fisherman, who gave them intelligence that the English fleet, hearing of the dispersion of the Armada in a storm, was retired back into Plymouth harbour, and most of the mariners discharged. From this false intelligence, the Spanish admiral, instead of going directly to the coast of Flanders, to take in the troops stationed there, as he had been instructed, resolved to sail to Plymouth, and destroy the shipping laid up in that harbour. But Effingham, the English admiral, was very well prepared to receive them; he was just got out of port when he saw the Spanish Armada coming full sail towards him, disposed in the form of an half moon, and stretching seven miles from one extremity to the other. However the English admiral, seconded by Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher, attacked the Armada at a distance, pouring in their broadsides with admirable dexterity. They did not chuse to engage the enemy more closely, because they were greatly inferior in the number of ships, guns, and weight of metal; nor could they pretend to board such lofty ships without manifest disadvantage. However, two Spanish galleons were disabled and taken. As the Armada advanced up the Channel, the English still followed and infested their rear; and their fleet continually encreasing from different ports, they soon found themselves in a capacity to attack the Spanish fleet more nearly; and accordingly fell upon them, while they were as yet taking shelter in the port of Calais. To encrease their confusion, Howard took eight of his smaller ships, and filling them with combustible materials, sent them, as if they had been fire ships, one after the other into the midst of the enemy. The Spaniards, taking them for what they seemed to be, immediately took flight in great disorder; while the English, profiting by their panic, took or destroyed about twelve of the enemy.
This was a fatal blow to Spain; the duke de Medina Sidonia being thus driven to the coast of Zealand, held a council of war, in which it was resolved, that as their ammunition began to fail, as their ships had received great damage, and the duke of Parma had refused to venture his army under their protection, they should return to Spain by sailing round the Orkneys, as the winds were contrary to his passage directly back. Accordingly they proceeded northward, and were followed by the English fleet as far as Flamborough-head, where they were terribly shattered by a storm. Seventeen of the ships, having five thousand men on board, were afterwards cast away upon the western isles, and the coast of Ireland. Of the whole Armada, three and fifty ships only returned to Spain, in a miserable condition; and the seamen as well as soldiers who remained, only served, by their accounts, to intimidate their countrymen from attempting to renew so dangerous an expedition.
These disasters of the Spanish Armada, served only to excite the spirit and courage of the English, to attempt invasions in their turn. It would be endless to relate all the advantages obtained over the enemy at sea, where the capture of every ship must have been made a separate narrative; or their various descents upon different parts of the coast, which were attended with effects too transient for the page of history. It is sufficient to observe, that the sea captains of that reign are still considered as the boldest and most enterprizing set of men that England ever produced; and among this number, we reckon our Rawleigh, and Howard, our Drake, our Cavendish, and Hawkins. The English navy then first began to take the lead; and has since continued irresistible in all parts of the ocean.
Of those who made the most signal figure in these depredations upon Spain, was the young earl of Essex, a nobleman of great bravery, generosity, and genius; and fitted, not only for the foremost ranks in war by his valour, but to conduct the intrigues of a court by his eloquence and address. But with all these endowments, both of body and mind, he wanted prudence; being impetuous, haughty, and totally incapable of advice or controul. The earl of Leicester had died some time before, and now left room in the queen's affections for a new favourite, which she was not long in chusing, since the merit, the bravery, and the popularity of Essex, were too great not to engage her attention. Elizabeth, though she rejected an husband, yet appeared always passionately desirous of a lover; and flattery had rendered her so insensible to her want of beauty, and the depredations of age, that she still thought herself as powerful by her personal accomplishments as by her authority. The new favourite was young, active, ambitious, witty, and handsome; in the field, and at court, he always appeared with superior lustre. In all the masques which were then performed, the earl and Elizabeth were generally coupled as partners; and although she was almost sixty, and he not half so old, yet her vanity overlooked the disparity; the world told her that she was young, and she herself was willing to think so. This young earl's interest in the queen's affections, as may naturally be supposed, promoted his interests in the state; and he conducted all things at his discretion. But young and unexperienced as he was, he at length began to fancy that the popularity he possessed, and the flatteries he received, were given to his merits and not to his favour. His jealousy also of lord Burleigh, who was his only rival in power, made him still more untractable; and the many successes he had obtained against the Spaniards, encreased his confidence. In a debate before the queen, between him and Burleigh, about the choice of a governor for Ireland, he was so heated in the argument, that he entirely forgot both the rules and duties of civility. He turned his back on the queen in a contemptuous manner, which so provoked her resentment, that she instantly gave him a box on the ear. Instead of recollecting himself, and making the submissions due to her sex and station, he clapped his hand to his sword; and swore he would not bear such usage even from her father. This offence, though very great, was overlooked by the queen; her partiality was so prevalent, that she re-instated him in his former favour, and her kindness seemed to have acquired new force from that short interruption of anger and resentment. The death also of his rival, lord Burleigh, which happened shortly after, seemed to confirm his power.
But though few men were possessed of Essex's talents, both for war and peace, yet he had not art enough to guard against the intrigues of a court; his temper was too candid and open, and gave his enemies many advantages over him. At that time the earl of Tyrone headed the rebellious natives of Ireland; who, not yet thoroughly brought into subjection to the English, took every opportunity to make incursions upon the more civilized inhabitants, and slew all they were able to overpower. To subdue these was an employment that Essex thought worthy of his ambition; nor were his enemies displeased at thus removing a man from court, where he obstructed all their private aims of preferment. But it ended in his ruin.
Essex, upon entering on his new command in Ireland, employed his friend, the earl of Southampton, who was long obnoxious to the queen, as general of his horse; nor was it till after repeated orders from Elizabeth, that he could be prevailed on to displace him. This indiscretion was followed by another; instead of attacking the enemy in their grand retreat in Ulster, he led his forces into the province of Munster, where he only exhausted his strength, and lost his opportunity against a people that submitted at his approach, but took up arms again when he retired. It may easily be supposed, that these miscarriages were urged by the enemies of Essex at home; but they had still greater reason to attack his reputation, when it was known, that instead of humbling the rebels, he had only treated with them; and instead of forcing them to a submission, he had concluded a cessation of hostilities. This issue of an enterprize, from which much was expected, did not fail to provoke the queen most sensibly; and her anger was still more heightened by the peevish and impatient letters, which he daily wrote to her and the council. But her resentment against him was still more justly let loose, when she found, that leaving the place of his appointment, and without any permission demanded or obtained, he had returned from Ireland to make his complaints to herself in person.
At first, indeed, Elizabeth was pleased at seeing a favourite come back, whom she longed to see; but the momentary satisfaction of his unexpected appearance being over, she reflected on the impropriety of his conduct with greater severity; and ordered him to remain a prisoner at his own house. But this was a reception Essex was not unprepared for: he used every expression of humiliation and sorrow, and tried once more, the long unpractised arts of insinuation that had brought him into favour. The queen, however, still continuing inflexible, he resolved to give up every prospect of ambition; but previous to his retiring into the country, he assured the queen, that he could never be happy till he again saw those eyes, which were used to shine upon him with such lustre; that, in expectance of that happy moment, he would, like another Nebuchadnezzar, dwell with the beasts of the field, and be wet with the dew of heaven, till she again propitiously took pity on his sufferings. This romantic message, which was quite in the breeding of the times, seemed peculiarly pleasing to the queen; she thought him sincere from the consciousness of her own sincerity; she, therefore replied, that after some time, when convinced of his sincerity, something might be expected from her lenity. When these symptoms of the queen's returning affection were known, they equally renewed the fears of his real enemies, and the assiduities of his pretended friends. He did not, therefore, decline an examination of his conduct before the council, secure in his mistress's favour, and their impotence to do him a real injury. In consequence of this, he was only sentenced for his late misconduct, to resign his employments, and to continue a prisoner in his own house, till her majesty's further pleasure should be known.
He now, therefore, had, in some measure,
A.D.
1600
triumphed over his enemies; and the discretion of a few months might have reinstated him in all his former employments; but the impetuosity of his character would not suffer him to wait for a slow redress of what he considered as wrongs; and the queen's refusing his request to continue him in the possession of a lucrative monopoly of sweet wines, which he had long enjoyed, spurred him on to the most violent and guilty measures. Having long built with fond credulity on his great popularity, he began to hope, from the assistance of the giddy multitude, that revenge upon his enemies in the council, which he supposed was denied him from the throne. With these aims he began to encrease the general propensity in his favour, by an hospitality little suited to his situation, or his circumstances. He entertained men of all ranks and professions; but particularly the military, whom he hoped in his present views might be serviceable to him. But his greatest dependence was upon the professions of the citizens of London, whose schemes of religion and government he appeared entirely to approve; and while he gratified the puritans by railing at the government of the church, he pleased the envious, by exposing the faults of those in power. However the chief severity of his censure was heard to rest upon the queen, whom he did not hesitate to ridicule; and of whom he declared that she was now become an old woman, and that her mind was grown as crooked as her body.
It may well be supposed that none of these indiscretions were concealed from the queen; his enemies, and her emissaries, took care to bring her information of all his resentments and aims, and to aggravate his slightest reflections into treason. Elizabeth was ever remarkably jealous where her beauty was in question; and though she was now in her seventieth year, yet she eagerly listened to all the flattery of her courtiers, when they called her a Venus, or an Angel. She, therefore, began to consider him as unworthy of her esteem, and permitted his enemies to drive him to those extremities to which he was naturally very well inclined to proceed. He had, in fact, by this time collected together a select council of malcontents, who flattered him in his wild projects; and, supposing their adherents much more numerous than they really were, they took no pains to conceal their intentions. Among other criminal projects, the result of blind rage and despair, they resolved at last that Sir Christopher Blount, one of his creatures, should, with a choice detachment, possess himself of the palace gates; that Sir John Davis should seize the hall, Sir Charles Davers the guard-chamber, while Essex himself would rush in from the Meuse, attended by a body of his partizans, into the queen's presence, entreat her to remove his and her enemies, to assemble a new parliament, and to correct the defects of the present administration.
It was the fortune of this queen's reign, that all projects against it were frustrated by a timely notice of their nature and intent. The queen and council, alarmed at the great resort of people to Essex, and having some intimations of his design, sent secretary Herbert to require his appearance before the council, which was assembled at the lord keeper's. While Essex was deliberating upon the manner he should proceed, whether to attend the summons, or fly into open rebellion, he received a private note, by which he was warned to provide for his own safety. He now, therefore, consulted with his friends touching the emergency of their situation; they were destitute of arms and ammunition, while the guards at the palace were doubled, so that any attack upon that would be fruitless. While he and his confidants were in consultation, a person, probably employed by his enemies, came in as a messenger from the citizens, with tenders of friendship and assistance against all his adversaries. Wild as the project was of raising the city, in the present terrible conjuncture it was resolved on, but the execution of it was delayed till the day following.
Early in the morning of the next day, he was attended by his friends, the earls of Rutland and Southampton, the lords Sandes, Parker, and Mounteagle, with three hundred persons of distinction. The doors of Essexhouse were immediately locked, to prevent all strangers from entering; and the earl now discovered his scheme for raising the city more fully to all the conspirators. In the mean time, Sir Walter Raleigh sending a message to Sir Ferdinando Gorges, this officer had a conference with him in a boat on the Thames, and there discovered all their proceedings. The queen being informed of the whole, sent in the utmost haste Egerton, the lord keeper, Sir William Knollys, the controller, Popham, the lord chief justice, and the earl of Worcester, to Essex house, to demand the cause of these unusual proceedings. It was some time before they received admittance through the wicket into the house; and it was not without some degree of fury, that they ordered Essex and his adherents to lay down their arms. While they continued undaunted in the discharge of their duty, and the multitude around them clamoured loudly for their punishment, the earl of Essex, who now saw that all was to be hazarded, resolved to leave them prisoners in his house, and to sally forth to make an insurrection in the city. But he had made a very wrong estimate in expecting that popularity alone could aid him in time of danger; he issued out with about two hundred followers, armed only with swords; and in his passage to the city was joined by the earl of Bedford and lord Cromwell. As he passed through the streets, he cried aloud, For the queen! for the queen! a plot is laid for my life! hoping to engage the populace to rise; but they had received orders from the mayor to keep within their houses; so that he was not joined by a single person. He then proceeded to the house of Smith, the sheriff, on whose aid he greatly depended; but the crowd gathered round him rather to satisfy their curiosity than to lend him any assistance. Essex now perceived that he was quite undone; and hearing that he was proclaimed a traitor by the earl of Cumberland, and lord Burleigh, he began to think of retreating to his own house, there to sell his life as dearly as he could. But he was prevented in his aims even there; the streets in his way were baricadoed, and guarded by the citizens, under the command of Sir John Levison. In fighting his way through this obstruction, Henry Tracy, a young gentleman, for whom he had a singular affection, was killed, and Sir Christopher Blount wounded and taken. The earl, himself, attended by a few of his followers, the rest having privately retired, made towards the river; and, taking a boat, arrived once more at Essex-house, where he began to make preparations for his defence. But his case was too desperate for any remedy from valour; wherefore, after demanding in vain for hostages, and conditions from his besigers, he surrendered at discretion, requesting only civil treatment, and a fair and impartial hearing.
Essex and Southampton were immediately carried to the archbishop's palace at Lambeth, from whence they were next day conveyed to the Tower, and tried by their peers on the nineteenth of February following. Little could be urged in their defence; their guilt was too flagrant, and though it deserved pity it could not meet an acquittal. Essex after condemnation was visited by that religious horror which seemed to attend him in all his disgraces. He was terrified almost to despair by the ghostly remonstrances of his own chaplain, he was reconciled to his enemies, and made a full confession of his conspiracy. It is alledged upon this occasion, that he had strong hopes of pardon, from the irresolution which the queen seemed to discover before she signed the warrant for his execution. She had given him formerly a ring, which she desired him to send her in any emergency of this nature, and that it should procure his safety and protection. This ring was actually sent her by the countess of Nottingham, who, being a concealed enemy to the unfortunate earl, never delivered it; while Elizabeth secretly fired at his obstinacy in making no applications for mercy and forgiveness. The fact is, she appeared herself as much an object of pity, as the unfortunate nobleman she was induced to condemn. She signed the warrant for his execution, she countermanded it, she again resolved on his death, and again felt a new return of tenderness. At last she gave her consent to his execution, and was never seen to enjoy one happy day more.
After the beheading of Essex, which death he suffered in the thirty-fifth year of his age, some of his associates were brought in like manner to their trials. Cuffe, his secretary, a turbulent man, but possessed of great learning, Davers, Blount, Meric, and Davis, were condemned and executed; the queen pardoned the rest, being persuaded that they were culpable only from their friendship to their benefactor.
The remaining events of this reign are not considerable enough to come into a picture, already crouded with great ones. With the death of her favourite Essex, all Elizabeth's pleasures seemed to expire; she afterwards went through the business of the state merely from habit, but her satisfactions were no more. She had fallen into a profound melancholy, which all the advantages of her high fortune, all the glories of her prosperous reign, were unable to remove. She had now found out the falsehood of the countess of Nottingham; who, on her death-bed, sent for the queen, and informed her of the fatal circumstance of the ring, which she had neglected to deliver. This information only served to awaken all that passion which the queen had vainly endeavoured to suppress. She shook the dying countess in her bed, crying out,
"That God might pardon her, but she never would."
She then broke from her, and resigned herself to the dictates of her fixed despair. She refused food and sustenance; she continued silent, and gloomy; sighs, and groans, were the only vent she gave to her despondence; and she lay for ten days and nights upon the carpet, leaning on cushions, which her maids brought her. Perhaps the faculties of her mind were impaired by long and violent exercise; perhaps she reflected with remorse on some past actions of her life, or perceived, but too strongly, the decays of nature, and the approach of her dissolution. She saw her courtiers remitting their assiduity to her, in order to pay their court to James, the apparent successor. Such a concurrence of causes was more than sufficient to destroy the remains of her constitution; and her end was now visibly seen to approach. Feeling a perpetual heat in her stomach, attended with an unquenchable thirst, she drank without ceaseing, but refused the assistance of her physicians. Her distemper gaining ground, Cecil, and the lord admiral, desired to know her sentiments with regard to the succession. To this she replied, that as the crown of England had always been held by kings, it ought not to devolve upon any inferior character, but upon her immediate heir the king of Scotland. Being then advised by the archbishop of Canterbury to fix her thoughts upon God, she replied, that her thoughts did not in the least wander from him. Her voice soon after left her; she fell into a lethargic slumber, which continued some hours, and she expired gently without a groan, in the seventieth year of her age, and the forty-fifth of her reign. Her character differed with her circumstances; in the beginning, she was moderate and humble; towards the end of her reign, haughty, and severe. But ever prudent, active, and discerning, she procured for her subjects that happiness, which was not entirely felt by those about her. She was indebted to her good fortune, that her ministers were excellent; but it was owing to her indiscretion that the favourites, who were more immediately chosen by herself, were unworthy. Though she was possessed of excellent sense, yet she never had the discernment to discover that she wanted beauty; and to flatter her charms at the age of sixty-five, was the surest road to her favour and esteem.
But whatever were her personal defects as a queen, she is to be ever remembered by the English with gratitude. It is true, indeed, that she carried her prerogative in parliament to its highest pitch; so that it was tacitly allowed in that assembly, that she was above all law, and could make and unmake them at her pleasure; yet still she was so wise and good, as seldom to exert that power which she claimed, and to enforce few acts of her prerogative, which were not for the benefit of the people. It is true, in like manner, that the English during her reign were put in possession of no new, or splendid acquisitions; but commerce was daily growing up among them, and the people began to find that the theatre of their truest conquests was to be on the bosom of the ocean. A nation which hitherto had been the object of every invasion, and a prey to every plunderer, now asserted its strength in turn, and became terrible to its invaders. The successful voyages of the Spaniards and Portuguese, began to excite their emulation; and they fitted out several expeditions for discovering a shorter passage to the East-Indies. The famous Sir Walter Raleigh, without any assistance from government, colonized New England, while internal commerce was making equal improvements; and many Flemings, persecuted in their native country, found, together with their arts and industry, an easy asylum in England. Thus the whole island seemed as if rouzed from her long habits of barbarity; arts, commerce, and legislation began to acquire new strength every day; and such was the state of learning at that time, that some fix that period as the Augustan age of England. Sir Walter Raleigh, and Hooker, are considered as among the first improvers of our language. Spenser and Shakespeare are too well known, as poets, to be praised here; but of all mankind, Francis Bacon, lord Verulam, who flourished in this reign, deserves, as a philosopher, the highest applause; his style is copious and correct, and his wit is only surpassed by his learning and penetration. If we look through history, and consider the rise of kingdoms, we shall scarce find an instance of a people, becoming, in so short a time, wise, powerful, and happy. Liberty, it is true, still continued to fluctuate; Elizabeth knew her own power, and stretched it to the very verge of despotism; but now that commerce was introduced, liberty soon after followed; for there never was a nation perfectly commercial, that submitted long to slavery.
JAMES I
Hull sculp.
CHAP. XXVIII. JAMES I.
JAMES, the sixth of Scotland and the first of England, the son of Mary, came to the throne with the universal approbation of all orders of the state, as in his person were united every claim, that either descent, bequest, or parliamentary sanction could confer. He had every reason, therefore, to hope for an happy reign; and he was taught, from his inafncy, that his prerogative was uncontroulable, and his right transmitted from heaven. These sentiments he took no care to conceal; and he even published them in many parts of those works, which he had written before he left Scotland.
But he was greatly mistaken in the spirit of thinking of the times; for new systems of government, and new ideas of liberty, had for some time been stealing in with the reformation; and only wanted the reign of a weak or merciful monarch, to appear without controul. In consequence of the progress of knowledge, and a familiar acquaintance with the governments of antiquity, the old Gothic forms began to be despised; and an emulation took place, to imitate the freedom of Greece and Rome. The severe, though popular government of Elizabeth, had confined this rising spirit within very narrow bounds; but when a new sovereign, and a new family appeared, less dreaded, and less loved by the people, symptoms immediately began to be seen of a more free and independent genius in the nation.
James scarce was entered into England when he gave disgust to many. The desire in all to see their new sovereign was ardent and natural; but the king, who loved retirement, forbid the concourse that attended on his journey from Scotland, pretending that this great resort of people would produce a scarcity of provisions. To this offence to the people he added, soon after, what gave offence to the higher orders of the state, by prostituting titles of honour, so that they became so common as to be no longer marks of distinction. A pasquinade was fixed up at St. Paul's, declaring that there would be a lecture given on the art of assisting short memories, to retain the names of the new nobility.
But though his countrymen shared a part of these honours, yet justice must be done the king, by confessing, that he left almost all the great offices in the hands he found them. Among these, Cecil, created earl of Salisbury, who had been so active in the last reign against his own interests, was continued now prime minister and chief counsellor. This crafty statesman had been too cunning for the rest of his associates; and while, during Elizabeth's reign, he was apparently leagued against the earl of Essex whom James protected, yet he kept up a secret corrospondence with that monarch, and secured his interests without forfeiting the confidence of his party.
But it was not so fortunate with lord Grey, lord Cobham, and Sir Walter Raleigh, who had been Cecil's associates. They felt immediately the effects of the king's displeasure, and were dismissed their employments. These three seemed to be marked out for peculiar indignation, for soon after they were accused of entering into a conspiracy against the king; neither the proofs of which, nor its aims, have reached posterity: all that is certain is, that they were condemned to die, but had their sentence mitigated by the king. Cobham and Grey were pardoned, after they had laid their heads on the block. Raleigh was reprieved, but remained in confinement many years afterwards, and at last suffered for this offence, which was never proved.
This mercy, shewn to these supposed delinquents, was very pleasing to the people; and the king, willing to remove all jealousy of his being a stranger, began his attempts in parliament by an endeavour to unite both kingdoms into one. However, the people were not as yet ripe for this coalition; they were apprehensive that the posts and employments, which were in the gift of the court, would be conferred on the Scotch, whom they were as yet taught to regard as foreigners. By the repulse in this instance, as well as by some exceptions, the house of commons took to the form of his summons to parliament, James found that the people he came to govern, were very different from those he had left behind; and perceived that he must give reasons for every measure he intended to enforce.
He now, therefore, attempted to correct his former mistake, and to peruse the English laws, as he had formerly done those of his own country, and by these he resolved to govern. But even here he again found himself disappointed. In a government so fluctuating as that of England, opinion was ever deviating from law; and what was enacted in one reign, was contradicted by custom in another. The laws had all along declared in favour of an almost unlimited prerogative, while the opinions of the people were guided by instructors, who began to teach opposite principles. All the kings and queens before him, except such as were controuled by intestine divisions, or awed by foreign invasion, issued rather their commands to parliament, than gave their reasons. James, unmindful of this alteration in the opinions of the people, resolved to govern in the ancient manner; while the people, on the contrary, having once got an idea of the inherent privileges of mankind, never gave it up, sensible that they had reason and power also on their side.
Numberless, therefore, were the disputes between the king and his parliament during his whole reign; one attempting too keep the privileges of the crown entire, the other aiming at abridging the dangerous part of the prerogative; the one labouring to preserve customs established for time immemorial, the other equally assiduous in defending the inherent privileges of humanity. Thus we see laudable motives actuating the disputants on both sides of the question, and the principles of both founded either in law or in reason. When the parliament would not grant a subsidy, James had examples enough among his predecessors, which taught him to extort a benevolence. Edward the fourth, Henry the eighth, and queen Elizabeth herself, had often done so; and precedent undoubtedly entitled him to the same privilege. On the other hand, the house of commons, who found their growing power to protect the people, and not suffer the impositions of the crown, considered that this extorted benevolence might at length render the sovereign entirely independent of the parliament, and therefore complained against it as an infringement of their privileges. These attempts of the crown, and these murmurings of the commons, continued through this whole reign, and first gave rise to that spirit of party, which has ever since subsisted in England; the one for preserving the ancient constitution, by maintaining the prerogative of the king; the other for trying an experiment to improve it, by extending the liberties of the people.
During these contests, James, who supposed no arguments sufficient to impair the prerogative, seemed entirely secure that none would attempt to alledge any. He daily continued to entertain his parliament with set speeches, and florid harrangues, in which he urged his divine right and absolute power as things incontestible; to these the commons made as regular answers, not absolutely denying his pretensions, but slowly and regularly abridging his power.
However, tho' James persevered in asserting his prerogative, and threatened those who should presume to abridge it, yet his justice and clemency were very apparent in the toleration which he gave to the teachers of different religions throughout the kingdom. The minds of the people had long been irritated against one another, and each party persecuted the rest, as it happened to prevail; it was expected, therefore, that James would strengthen the hands of that which was then uppermost; and that the catholics and sectaries should find no protection. But this monarch wisely observed, that men should be punished for actions, and not for opinions; a decision which gave general dissatisfaction: but the universal complaint of every sect was the best argument of his moderation towards all.
Yet mild as this monarch was, there was a project contrived in the very beginning of his reign for the re-establishment of popery, which, were it not a fact known to all the world, could scarcely be credited by posterity. This was the gun-powder plot, than which a more horrid or terrible scheme never entered into the human heart to conceive, and which shews at once the most determined courage may be united with the most execrable intentions.
The Roman catholics had expected great favour and indulgence on the accession of James, both as a descendant from Mary, a rigid catholic, and also as having shewn some partiality to that religion in his youth. But they soon discovered their mistake; and were at once surprised and enraged to find James on all occasions express his resolution of strictly executing the laws enacted against them, and of persevering in the conduct of his predecessor. This declaration determined them upon more desperate measures; and they at length formed a resolution of destroying the king and both houses of parliament at a blow. The scheme was first broached by Robert Catesby, a gentleman of good parts and ancient family, who conceived that a train of gun-powder might be so placed under the parliament-house, as to blow up the king and all the members at once. He opened his intention to Thomas Percy, a descendant from the illustrious house of Northumberland, who was charmed with the project, and readily came into it. Thomas Winter was next entrusted with the dreadful secret; and he went over to Flanders in quest of Guy Fawkes, an officer in the Spanish service, with whose zeal and courage the conspirators were thoroughly acquainted. When they enlisted any new zealot into their plot, the more firmly to bind him to secrecy, they always, together with an oath, employed the sacrament, the most sacred rite of religion. Every tender feeling and all pity were banished from their breasts; and Tesmond and Garnet, two jesuits, superiors of the order, absolved their consciences from every scruple.
How horrid soever the contrivance might appear, yet every member seemed faithful and secret in the league; and about two months before the sitting of parliament, they hired an house, in Percy's name, adjoining to that in which the parliament was to assemble. Their first intention was to bore a way under the parliament-house, from that which they occupied, and they set themselves laboriously to the task; but when they had pierced the wall, which was three yards in thickness, on approaching the other side, they were surprised to find that the house was vaulted underneath, and that a magazine of coals were usually deposited there. From their disappointment on this account they were soon relieved, by information that the coals were then selling off, and that the vaults would be then let to the highest bidder. They therefore seized the opportunity of hiring the place, and bought the remaining quantity of coals with which it was then stored, as if for their own use. The next thing done was to convey thither thirty-six barrels of gun-powder, which had been purchased in Holland; and the whole was covered with the coals and with faggots brought for that purpose. Then the doors of the cellar were boldly flung open, and every body admitted, as if it contained nothing dangerous.
Confident of success, they now began to plan the remaining part of their project. The king, the queen, and prince Henry, the king's eldest son, were all expected to be present at the opening of the parliament. The king's second son, by reason of his tender age, would be absent, and it was resolved that Percy should seize, or assassinate him. The princess Elizabeth, a child likewise, was kept at lord Harrington's house in Warwickshire; and Sir Everard Digby was to seize her, and immediately proclaim her queen.
The day for the sitting of parliament now approached. Never was treason more secret, or ruin more apparently inevitable; the hour was expected with impatience, and the conspirators gloried in their meditated guilt. The dreaful secret, though communicated to above twenty persons, had been religiously kept during the space of near a year and an half; when all the motives of pity, justice, and safety, were too weak, a remorse of private friendship saved the kingdom.
Sir Henry Percy, one of the conspirators, conceived a design of saving the life of lord Mounteagle, his intimate friend and companion, who also was of the same persuasion with himself. About ten days before the meeting of parliament, this nobleman, upon his return to town, received a letter from a person unknown, and delivered by one who fled as soon as he had discharged his message. The letter was to this effect,
"My Lord, stay away from this parliament; for God and man have concurred to punish the wickedness of the times. And think not slightly of this advertisement, but retire yourself into your country, where you may expect the event in safety. For though there be no appearance of any stir, yet I say they will receive a terrible blow this parliament; and yet they shall not see who hurts them. This counsel is not to be contemned, because it may do you good, and can do you no harm. For the danger is past as soon as you have burned the letter."
The contents of this mysterious letter surprised and puzzled the nobleman to whom it was addressed; and though inclined to think it a foolish attempt to affright and ridicule him, yet he judged it safest to carry it to lord Salisbury, secetary of state. Lord Salisbury too was inclined to give little attention to it, yet thought proper to lay it before the king in council, who came to town a few days after. None of the council were able to make any thing of it, although it appeared serious and alarming. In this universal agitation between doubt and apprehension, the king was the first who penetrated the meaning of this dark epistle. He concluded that some sudden danger was preparing by gun-powder; and it was thought adviseable to inspect all the vaults below the houses of parliament. This care belonged to the earl of Suffolk, lord chamberlain, who purposely delayed the search, till the day before the meeting of parliament.
He remarked those great piles of faggots which lay in the vault under the house of peers; and he cast his eye upon Fawkes, who stood in a dark corner, and who passed himself for Percy's servant. That daring determined courage, which he had long been noted for, even among the desperate, was fully painted in his countenance, and struck the lord chamberlain with strong suspicion. The great quantity of fuel also kept there for the uses of a person seldom in town, did not pass unnoticed; and he resolved to take his time to make a more exact scrutiny. About midnight, therefore, Sir Thomas Knevit, a justice of peace, was sent with proper attendants, and, just at the entrance of the vault, he seized a man preparing for the terrible enterprize, dressed in a cloak and boots, and a dark lanthorn in his hand. This was no other than Guy Fawkes, who had just disposed every part of the train for its taking fire the next morning, the matches and other combustibles being found in his pockets. The whole of the design was now discovered; but the atrociousness of his guilt, and the despair of pardon, inspiring him with resolution, he told the officers of justice, with an undaunted air, that had he blown them and himself up together he had been happy. Before the council he displayed the same intrepid firmness, mixt even with scorn and disdain, refusing to discover his associates, and shewing no concern but for the failure of his enterprize. But his bold spirit was at length subdued; being confined to the Tower for two or three days, and the rack just shewn him, his courage, fatigued with so long an effort, at last failed him, and he made a full discovery of all his accomplices.
Catesby, Percy, and the conspirators who were in London, hearing that Fawkes was arrested, fled with all speed to Warwickshire, where Sir Everard Digby, relying on the success of the plot, was already in arms, in order to seize the princess Elizabeth. But the country soon began to take the alarm, and wherever they turned, they found a superior force ready to oppose them. In this exigence, beset on all sides, they resolved, to about the number of eighty persons, to fly no farther, but make a stand at an house in Warwickshire, to defend it to the last, and sell their lives as dearly as possible. But even this miserable consolation was denied them: a spark of fire happening to fall among some gun-powder that was laid to dry, it blew up, and so maimed the principal conspirators, that the survivors resolved to open the gate, and sally out against the multitude that surrounded the house. Some were instantly cut to pieces; Catesby, Percy, and Winter, standing back to back, fought long and desperately, till in the end the two first fell covered with wounds, and Winter was taken alive. Those that survived the slaughter were tried and convicted; several fell by the hands of the executioner, and others experienced the king's mercy. The jesuits, Garnet and Oldcorn, who were privy to the plot, suffered with the rest; and, notwithstanding the atrociousness of their treason, Garnet was considered by his party as a martyr, and miracles were said to have been wrought by his blood.
Such was the end of a conspiracy that brought ruin on its contrivers, and utterly supplanted that religion it was intended to establish. Yet it is remarkable, that before this audacious attempt, the conspirators had always borne a fair reputation; Catesby was loved by all his acquaintance, and Digby was as highly respected both for his honour and integrity as any man in the nation. However, such are the lengths that superstition and early prejudice can drive minds originally well formed, but impressed by a wrong direction.
The king's moderation, after the extinction of this conspiracy, was as great as his penetration in the prevention of it. The hatred excited in the nation against the catholics knew no bounds; and nothing but a total extinction of those who adhered to that persuasion, seemed capable of satisfying the greater part of the people. James bravely rejected all violent measures, and nobly declared, that the late conspiracy, however atrocious, should never alter his plans of government; but as, on the one hand, he was determined to punish guilt, so, on the other, he would still support and protect innocence.
This moderation, however laudable, was at that time no way pleasing to the people, and the malignant part of his subjects were willing to ascribe his lenity to the papists, to his being himself tinctured with their superstitions. However this be, he still found his parliaments refractory to all the measures he took to support his authority at home, or his desire of peace with foreign states. His speeches indeed betrayed no want of resolution to defend his rights; but his liberality to his favourites, and the insufficiency of his finances to maintain the royal dignity, still rendered him dependent upon his parliament for money, and they took care to keep him in indigence. Thus he was often forced into concessions, which, when once granted, could never be recalled; and while he supposed himself maintaining the royal prerogative, it was diminishing on every side.
It was, perhaps, the opposition which James met with from his people, that made him place his affections upon different persons about the court, whom he rewarded with a liberality that bordered on profusion. The death of young prince Henry, his eldest son, which happened at this time,
A.D.
1612
a youth of great hopes, gave him no very great uneasiness, as his affections were rather taken up by newer connexions. In the first rank of these stood Robert Carre, a youth of a good family in Scotland, who, after having passed some time in his travels, arrived in London, at about twenty years of age. All his natural accomplishments consisted in a pleasing visage; all his acquired abilities, in an easy and graceful demeanor. This youth came to England with letters of recommendation to see his countryman, lord Hay; and that nobleman took an opportunity of assigning him the office of presenting the king his buckler at a match of tilting. When Carre was advancing to execute his office, he was thrown by his horse, and his leg was broke in the king's presence. James approached him with pity and concern, and ordered him to be lodged in the palace till his cure was completed. He himself, after tilting, paid him a visit in his chamber, and returned frequently during his confinement. The ignorance and simplicity of the youth confirmed the king's affections, as he disregarded learning in his favourites, of which he found but very little use in his own practice. Carre was therefore soon considered as the most rising man at court; he was knighted, created viscount Rochester, honoured with the order of the garter, made a privy-counsellor; and, to raise him to the highest pitch of honour, he was at last created earl of Somerset.
This was an advancement which some regarded with envy; but the wiser part of mankind looked upon it with contempt and ridicule, sensible that ungrounded attachments are seldom of long continuance. Nor was it long before the favourite gave proofs of his being unworthy the place he held in the king's affections. Among the friends whom he consulted at court was Sir Thomas Overbury, a man of great abilities and learning; among the mistresses whom he addressed was the young countess of Essex, whose husband had been sent by the king's command to travel, until the young couple should be arrived at the age of puberty. But the assiduities of a man of such personal accomplishments as the favourite were too powerful to be resisted; a criminal corespondence was commenced between the countess and the earl; and Essex, upon his return from his travels, found his wife beautiful and lovely indeed, but her affections entirely placed upon another. But this was not all; not contented with denying him all the rights of an husband, she was resolved to procure a divorce, and then to marry the favourite, to whom she had granted her heart. It was upon this occasion that Overbury was consulted by his friend; and that this honest counsellor declared himself utterly averse to the match. He described the countess as an infamous and abandoned woman; and went so far as to threaten the earl that he would separate himself from him for ever, if he could so far forget his honour and his interest as to prosecute the intended marriage. The consequence of this advice was fatal to the giver. The countess, being made acquainted with his expostulations, urged her lover to undo him. In consequence of this command, the king was persuaded by the favourite to order Overbury on an embassy into Russia; Overbury was persuaded by the same adviser to refuse going; the delinquent was shut up in the Tower, and there he was poisoned, by the direction of the countess, in a tart.
In the mean time, the divorce which had been with some difficulty procured, took place, and the marriage of the favourite was solemnized with all imaginable splendour. But the suspicion of Overbury's being poisoned every day grew stronger, and reached the favourite, amidst all the glare and splendor of seeming happiness and success. The graces of his youth gradually disappeared; the gaiety of his manners were converted into sullen silence; and the king, whose affections had been engaged by these superficial accomplishments, began to cool to a man who no longer contributed to his amusement. But the adoption of another favourite, and the discovery of Somerset's guilt, soon removed all remains of affection, which the king might still harbour for him.
An apothecary's apprentice, who had been employed in making up the poison, having retired to Flushing, had divulged the secret there; and the affair being thus laid before the king, he commanded Sir Edward Coke, lord chief justice, to sift the affair to the bottom, with rigorous impartiality. This injunction was executed with great industry and severity; and the whole complication of their guilt was carefully unravelled. The lieutenant of the Tower, with some of the lesser criminals, were condemned and executed; Somerset and his countess were soon after found guilty, but reprieved, and pardoned after some years of strict confinement. The king's duplicity and injustice on this occasion are urged as very great stains upon his character. Somerset was in his presence at the time the officer of justice came to apprehend him; and boldly reprehended that minister's presumption for daring to arrest a peer of the realm before the king. But James being informed of the cause, said, with a smile,
"Nay, nay, you must go; for if Coke should send for myself, I must comply."
He then embraced him at parting, begged he would return immediately, and assured him he could not live without his company: yet he had no sooner turned his back, than he exclaimed,
"Go, and the devil go with thee, I shall never see thy face again."
He was also heard to wish, some time after, that God's curse might fall upon him and his family, if he should pardon those whom the law should condemn; however, he afterwards restored them both to liberty, and granted them a pension, with which they retired, and languished out the remainder of their lives in guilt, infamy, and mutual recrimination.
But the king had not been so improvident as to part with one favourite until he had provided himself with another. This was George Villiers, a youth of one and twenty, a younger brother of a good family, who was returned about that time from his travels, and whom the enemies of Somerset had taken occasion to throw in the king's way, certain that his beauty and fashionable manners would do the rest. Accordingly, he had been placed at a comedy full in the king's view, and immediately caught the monarch's affections. The history of these times, which appears not without some degree of malignity against this monarch, does not however insinuate any thing flagitious in these connexions, but imputes his attachment rather to a weakness of understanding, than to any perversion of appetite. Villiers was immediately taken into the king's service, and the office of cup-bearer was bestowed upon him. It was in vain that Somerset had used all his interest to depress him; his stern jealousy only served the more to interest the king in the young man's behalf.
But after Somerset's fall, the favour of James was wholly turned upon young Villiers; in the course of a few years he created him viscount Villiers, earl, marquis, and duke of Buckingham, knight of the garter, master of the horse, chief justice in Eyre, warden of the cinque ports, master of the king's bench office, steward of Westminster, constable of Windsor, and lord high admiral of England. His mother obtained the title of countess of Buckingham; his brother was created viscount Purbeck; and a numerous train of needy relations were all pushed up into credit and authority. It may, indeed be reckoned among the most capricious circumstances of this monarch's reign, that he, who was bred a scholar, should chuse for his favourites the most illiterate persons about his court; that he, whose personal courage was greatly suspected, should lavish his honours upon those whose only accomplishments were a skill in the warlike exercises of the times.
When unworthy favourites were thus advanced, it is not to be wondered at if the public concerns of the kingdom were neglected, and men of real merit left to contempt and misery. Yet such was the case at present, with regard to the cautionary towns in Holland, and the brave Sir Walter Raleigh at home.
In the preceding reign, Elizabeth, when she gave assistance to the Dutch, at that time shaking off the Spanish yoke, was not so disinterested upon her lending them large sums of money, as not to require a proper deposit for being repaid. The Dutch, therefore, put into her hands the three important fortresses of Flushing, Brille, and Ramekins, which were to be restored upon payment of the money due, which amounted in the whole to above eight hundred thousand pounds. But James, in his present exigence, being to supply a needy favourite and a craving court, agreed to evacuate these fortresses, upon being paid a third part of the money that was strictly due. The cautionary towns, therefore, were evacuated, which had held the states in total subjection; and which an ambitious or enterprizeing prince would have regarded as his most valuable possessions.
The universal murmur which this impolitic measure produced, was soon after heightened by an act of severity, which still continues as the blackest stain upon this monarch's memory. The brave and learned Raleigh had been confined in the Tower almost from the very beginning of James's accession, for a conspiracy which had never been proved against him; and in that abode of wretchedness he wrote several valuable performances, which are still in the highest esteem. His long sufferings, and his ingenious writings, had now turned the tide of popular opinion in his favour; and they who once detested the enemy of Essex, could not now help pitying the long captivity of this philosophical soldier. He himself still struggled for freedom; and perhaps it was with this desire that he spread the report of his having discovered a gold mine in Guiana, which was sufficient to enrich, not only the adventurers who should seize it, but afford immense treasures to the nation. The king, either believing his assertions, or willing to subject him to further disgrace, granted him a commission to try his fortune in quest of these golden schemes; but still reserved his former sentence as a check upon his future behaviour.
Raleigh was not long in making preparations for this adventure, which, from the sanguine manner in which he carried it on, many believe he thought to be as promising as he described it. He bent his course to Guiana, and remaining himself at the mouth of the river Oroonoko, with five of the largest ships, he sent the rest up the stream, under the command of his son and of captain Keymis, a person entirely devoted to his interests. But instead of a country abounding in gold, as the adventurers were taught to expect, they found the Spaniards had been warned of their approach, and were prepared in arms to receive them. Young Raleigh, to encourage his men, called out that
"This was the true mine,"
meaning the town of St. Thomas, which he was approaching;
"and that none but fools looked for any other:"
but just as he was speaking, he received a shot, of which he immediately expired. This was followed by another disappointment, for when the English took possession of the town they found nothing in it of any value.
It was Keymis who pretended that he had seen the mine, and gave the first account of it to Raleigh; but he now began to retract, and though he was within two hours march of the place, he refused, on the most absurd pretences, to take any effectual step towards finding it. He returned, therefore, to Raleigh with the melancholy news of his son's death; and then going into his cabbin, put an end to his own life in despair.
Raleigh, in this forlorn situation, found now that all his hopes were over; but saw his misfortunes still farther aggravated by the reproaches of those whom he had undertaken to command. Nothing could be more deplorable than his situation, particularly when he was told that he must be carried back to England to answer for his conduct to the king. It is pretended that he employed many artifices, first to engage them to attack the Spanish settlements at a time of peace; and failing of that, to make his escape into France. But all these proving unsuccessful, he was delivered into the king's hands, and strictly examined, as well as his fellow adventurers, before the privy-council. Count Gondemar, the Spanish ambassador, made heavy complaints against the expedition; and the king declared that Raleigh had express orders to avoid all disputes and hostilities against the Spaniards. Wherefore, to give the court of Spain a particular instance of his attachment, he signed the warrant for his execution, not for the present offence, but for his former conspiracy. Thus shewing himself guilty of complicated injustice; unjust in originally having condemned him without proof; unjust in having trusted a man with a commission without a pardon, expressive of that confidence; unjust in punishing with death a transgression that did not deserve it; but most unjust of all, when he refused a new trial, but condemned him upon an obsolete sentence. This great man died with the same fortitude that he had testified through life; he observed, as he felt the edge of the ax, that it was a sharp, but a sure remedy for all evils; his harangue to the people was calm and eloquent; and he laid his head down on the block with the utmost indifference. His death ensured him that popularity, which his former intrepidity and his sufferings, so much greater than his crimes, had tended to procure him; and no measure, in this reign, was attended with so much public dissatisfaction. The death of this great man was soon after followed by the disgrace of a still greater, namely, the chancellor Bacon, who was accused of receiving bribes in his office; and, pleading guilty, was degraded and fined thirty thousand pounds; but his fine was afterwards remitted by the king.
A.D.
1618
But there soon appeared very apparent reasons for James's partiality to the court of Spain, in the case of Raleigh. This monarch had entertained an opinion which was peculiar to himself, that in marrying his son Charles, the prince of Wales, any alliance below that of royalty would be unworthy of him; he, therefore, was obliged to seek, either in the court of France or Spain, a suitable match, and he was taught to think of the latter. Gondemar, who was ambassador from that court, perceiving this weak monarch's partiality to a crowned head, made an offer of the second daughter of Spain to prince Charles; and that he might render the temptation irresistible, he gave hopes of an immense fortune which should attend the princess. However this was a negotiation that was not likely soon to be concluded; and from the time the idea was first started, James saw five years elapsed without bringing the treaty to any kind of conclusion.
A delay of this kind was very displeasing to the king, who had all along an eye on the great fortune of the princess; nor was it less disagreeable to prince Charles, who, bred up with ideas of romantic passion, was in love without ever seeing the object of his affections. In this general tedium of delay, a project entered the head of Villiers, who had for some years ruled the king with absolute authority, that was fitter to be conceived by the knight of a romance, than by a minister and a statesman. It was nothing less, than that the prince should himself travel in disguise into Spain, and visit the object of his affections in person. Buckingham, who wanted to ingratiate himself with the prince, offered to be his companion; and the king, whose business it was to check so wild a scheme, gave his consent to this hopeful proposal. Their adventures on this project could fill novels; and have actually been made the subject of many. Charles was the knight-errant, and Buckingham was his 'squire. They travelled through France in disguise, assuming the names of Jack and Tom Smith. They went to a ball at Paris, where the prince first saw the princess Henrietta, whom he afterwards married, and who was then in the bloom of youth and beauty. They were received at the court of Spain with all possible demonstrations of respect; but Buckingham filled the whole city with intrigues, adventures, serenades, challenges, and jealousy. To complete the catalogue of his follies, he fell in love with the dutchess of Olivarez, the prime minister's wife, and insulted that minister in person. These levities were not to be endured at such a court as that of Spain, where jealousy is so prevalent, and decorum so much observed; the match therefore broke off, for what reason historians do not assign; but if we may credit the novelists of that time, the prince had already fixed his affections upon the French princess.
In fact, a match for this prince was soon after negotiated with Henrietta, who was the daughter of the great Henry the fourth; and this met with much better success than the former. However, the king had not the same allurements in prosecuting this match as the former, as the portion promised him was much smaller; but willing that his son should not be altogether disappointed of a bride, as the king of France demanded only the same terms which had been offered to the court of Spain, James consented to comply. In an article of this treaty of marriage it was stipulated, that the education of the children, till the age of thirteen, should belong to the mother; and this probably gave that turn towards popery, which has since been the ruin of that unfortunate family.
Indeed a variety of causes seemed to conspire, together with their own imprudence, to bring down upon them those evils which they afterwards experienced. The house of commons was by this time become quite unmanageable; the prodigality of James to his favourites, had made his necessities so many, that he was contented to sell the different branches of his prerogative to the commons, one after the other, to procure supplies. In proportion as they perceived his wants, they found out new grievances; and every grant of money was sure to come with a petition for redress. The struggles between him and his parliament had been growing more and more violent every session; and the very last advanced their pretensions to such a degree, that he began to take the alarm; but these evils fell upon the successor, which the weakness of this monarch had contributed to give birth to.
These domestic troubles were attended by others still more important in Germany, and which produced in the end the most dangerous effects. The king's eldest daughter had been married to Frederic, the elector Palatine of Germany, and this prince revolting against the emperor Ferdinand the second, was defeated in a decisive battle, and obliged to take refuge in Holland. His affinity to the English crown, his misfortunes, but particularly the protestant religion, for which he had contended, were strong motives for the people of England to wish well to his cause; and frequent addresses were sent from the commons to spur up James to take a part in the German contest, and to replace the exiled prince upon the throne of his ancestors.
A.D.
1620
James at first attempted to ward off the misfortunes of his son-in-law by negotiations; but these proving utterly ineffectual, it was resolved at last to rescue the Palatinate from the emperor by force of arms. Accordingly war was declared against Spain and the emperor; six thousand men were sent over into Holland, to assist prince Maurice in his schemes against those powers; the people were every where elated at the courage of their king, and were satisfied with any war which was to exterminate the papists. This army was followed by another consisting of twelve thousand men, commanded by count Mansfeldt, and the court of France promised its assistance. But the English were disappointed in all their views: the troops being embarked at Dover, upon sailing to Calais, they found no orders for their admission. After waiting in vain for some time, they were obliged to sail towards Zealand, where no proper measures were yet consulted for their disembarkation. Mean while, a pestilential distemper crept in among the forces, so long cooped up in narrow vessels; half the army died while on board, and the other half, weakened by sickness, appeared too small a body to march into the Palatinate; and thus ended this ill-concerted and fruitless expedition.
Whether this misfortune had any effect upon the constitution of the king is uncertain; but he was soon after seized with a tertian ague,
A.D.
1625
which, when his courtiers assured him from the proverb that it was health for a king, he replied, that the proverb was meant for a young king. After some fits he found himself extremely weakened, and sent for the prince, whom he exhorted to persevere in the protestant religion; then preparing with decency and courage to meet his end, he expired, after a reign over England of twenty-two years, and in the fifty-ninth year of his age. With regard to foreign negotiations, James neither understood nor cultivated them; and perhaps in a kingdom so situated as England, domestic politics are alone sufficient. His reign was marked with none of the splendors of triumph, nor no new conquests or acquisitions; but the arts were nevertheless silently and successfully going on to improvement. Reason was extending her influence, and discovering to mankind a thousand errors in religion, in morals, and in government, that had long been reverenced by blind submission. The reformation had produced a spirit of liberty, as well as of investigation, among all ranks of mankind, and taught them that no precedents could sanctify fraud, tyranny, or injustice. James taught them by his own example to argue upon the nature of the king's prerogative, and the extent of the subjects liberty. He first began by setting up the prescriptive authority of kings against the natural privileges of the people; but when the subject was submitted to a controversy, it was soon seen that the monarch's was the weakest side.
CHARLES. I.
Hull sculp.
CHAP. XXIX. CHARLES I.
A.D.
1625
FEW princes have ascended a throne with more apparent advantages than Charles; and none ever encountered more real difficulties. The advantages were such as might flatter even the most cautious prince into security; the difficulties were such as no abilities could surmount. He found himself, upon coming to the crown, possessed of a peaceful and flourishing kingdom; his right undisputed by all the world, his power strengthened by an alliance with one of the most potent nations in Europe, his absolute authority tacitly acknowledged by one part of his subjects, and enforced from the pulpit by the rest. To add to all this he was loved by his people, whose hearts he had gained by his virtues, his humility, and his candour.
But on the opposite side of the picture we are presented with a very different scene. Men had begun to think on the different rights of mankind; and found, that all had an equal claim to the inestimable blessings of freedom. The spirit of liberty was roused; and it was resolved to oppose the ancient claims of monarchs, who usurped their power in times of ignorance or danger, and who pleaded in succeeding times their former depredations as prescriptive privileges. Charles had been taught from his infancy to consider the royal prerogative as a sacred pledge, which it was not in his power to alienate, much less his duty to abridge. His father, who had contributed so much to sink the claims of the crown, had nevertheless boldly defended them in his writings, and taught his son to defend by the sword what he had only inculcated by the press. Charles, though a prince of tolerable understanding, had not comprehension enough to see, that the genius and disposition of his people had received a total change; he resolved, therefore, to govern by old maxims and precedents, a people who had lately found out that these maxims were established in times of ignorance and slavery.
In the foregoing reigns I have given very little of the parliamentary history of the times, which would have led me out of the way; but in the present it will be fit to point out the transactions of every parliament, as they make the principal figure in this remarkable aera, in which we see genius and courage united in opposing injustice, seconded by custom, and backed by power.
Charles undertook the reins of government with a fixed persuasion that his popularity was sufficient to carry every measure. He had been loaded with a treaty for defending the Palatinate in the late reign; and the war declared for that purpose was to be carried on with vigour in this. But war was more easily declared than supplies granted. After some reluctance the commons voted him two subsidies; a sum far from being sufficient to support him in his intended equipment, to assist his brother-in-law; and to this was added a petition for punishing papists, and redressing the grievances of the nation. Buckingham, who had been the late king's favourite, and who was still more caressed by the present monarch, did not escape their censures; so that instead of granting the sums requisite, they employed the time in disputations and complaints, till the season for prosecuting the intended campaign was elapsed. Charles, therefore, wearied with their delays, and offended at their refusal of his demands,
A.D.
1625
thought proper to dissolve a parliament which he could not bring to reason.
To supply the want of parliamentary aids, Charles had recourse to some of the ancient methods of extortion, practised by sovereigns when in necessitous circumstances. That kind of tax called a benevolence was ordered to be exacted, and privy-seals were issued accordingly. In order to cover the rigour of this step, it was commanded, that none should be asked for money but such as were able to spare it; and he directed letters to different persons, mentioning the sums he desired. With this the people were obliged, though reluctantly, to comply; it was in fact authorised by many precedents; but no precedents whatsoever could give a sanction to injustice.
With this money a fleet was equipped against Spain, carrying ten thousand men, the command of which army was entrusted to lord Wimbleton, who sailed directly to Cadiz, and found the bay full of ships of great value. But he failed in making himself master of the harbour, while his undisciplined army landing, instead of attacking the town, could not be restrained from indulging themselves in the wine, which they found in great abundance on shore. Further stay, therefore, appearing fruitless, they were re-imbarked; and the plague attacking the fleet soon afterwards, they were obliged to abandon all hopes of success, and return to England. Loud complaints were made against the court, for entrusting so important a command to a person who was judged so unqualified for the undertaking.
This ineffectual expedition was a great blow to the court; and to retrieve the glory of the nation, another attempt was to be made, but with a more certain prospect of success. New supplies therefore being requisite, the king was resolved to obtain them in a more regular and constitutional manner than before. Another parliament was accordingly called; and tho' some steps were taken to exclude the more popular leaders of the last house of commons, by nominating them as sheriffs of counties, yet the present parliament seemed more refractory than the former. When the king laid before the house his necessities, and asked for a supply, they voted him only three subsidies, which amounted to about an hundred and sixty thousand pounds; a sum no way adequate to the importance of the war, or the necessities of the state. But even this was not to be granted, until the grievances of the state were redressed. Their chief indignation was levelled against Buckingham, a minister who had no real merit, and the great infelicity of being the king's favourite. Whenever the subjects resolve to attack the royal prerogative, they begin with the favourites of the crown, and wise monarchs seldom have any. Charles was not possessed of the art of making a distinction between friends and ministers; and whoever was his friend was always trusted with the administration of his affairs. He loved Buckingham, and undertook to protect him, although to defend a person so obnoxious to the people, was to share his reproach. The commons undertook to impeach him in the lower house, while the earl of Bristol, who had returned from his embassy in Spain, accused him among his peers. The purport of the charge against him amounted to little more than that he had engrossed too much power for himself and his relations; that he had neglected to guard the seas with the fleet; and that he had applied a plaster to the late king's side, which was supposed to be poisonous, and to hasten his end. These frivolous accusations must have sunk of themselves, had they not been intemperately opposed by the royal authority. The king gave orders to the lord-keeper to command the commons expressly in his name not to meddle with his minister and servant Buckingham. The more to enrage them, he had him elected chancellor of the university of Cambridge, and wrote that body a letter of thanks for their compliance. He assured the commons, that if they would not comply with his demands, he would try
new councils.
But what justly enraged them beyond all sufferance was when two of their members, Sir Dudley Digges and Sir John Elliot, complaining of this partiality in favour of a man odious to the nation, the king ordered both to be committed to prison for seditious behaviour. This was an open act of violence, and should have been supported, or never attempted.
It was now that the commons justly exclaimed that their privileges were infringed, and all freedom of debate destroyed. They protested, in the most solemn manner, that neither of their members had said any thing disrespectful of the king, and they made preparations for publishing their vindication. The king, whose character it was to shew a readiness to undertake harsh measures, but not to support them, released the two members; and this compliance confirmed that obstinacy in the house, which his injuries had contributed to give rise to. The earl of Arundel, for being guilty of the same offence in the house of lords, was rashly imprisoned, and as tamely dismissed by the king. Thus the two houses having refused to answer the intentions of the court without previous conditions, the king, rather than give up his favourite, chose to be without the supply, and therefore once more dissolved the parliament.
The new councils which Charles had mentioned to the parliament, were now to be tried, in order to supply his necessities. Instead of making peace with Spain, and thus trying to abridge his expences, since he could not enlarge his income, he resolved to carry on the war, and to keep up a standing army for this purpose. Perhaps also he had further views in keeping this army in pay, which was to seize upon the liberty of his subjects, when he found matters ripe for the execution. But at present his forces were new levied, ill paid, and worse disciplined; so that the militia of the country, that would be instantly led out against him, were far his superiors. In order, therefore, to gain time and money, a commission was openly granted to compound with the catholics, and agree for a dispensation of the penal laws against them. He borrowed a sum of money from the nobility, whose contributions came in but slowly. But the greatest stretch of his power was in the levying of
ship-money.
In order to equip a fleet (at least this was the pretence made) each of the maritime towns was required, with the assistance of the adjacent counties, to arm as many vessels as were appointed them. The city of London was rated at twenty ships. This was the commencement of a tax, which afterwards, being carried to such violent lengths, created such great discontents in the nation. But the extortions of the ministry did not rest here. Persons of birth and rank, who refused the loan, were summoned before the council; and, upon persisting in a refusal, were put into confinement. Thus we see here, as in every civil war, something to blame on one side and the other. Both sides guilty of injustice, yet either in general actuated by motives of virtue. The one contending for the inherent liberties of mankind, the other for the prescriptive privileges of the crown; both driven to all the extremes of falsehood, rapine, and injustice; and, by a fate attendant on humanity, permitting their actions to degenerate from the motives which first set them in motion.
Hitherto the will of the monarch was reluctantly obeyed; most of those who refused to lend their money, were thrown into prison, and patiently submitted to confinement, or applied by petition to the king for their release. Five persons alone undertook to defend the cause of the public; and, at the hazard of their whole fortunes, were resolved to try whether the king legally had a right to confine their persons without an infringement of any law. The names of these patriots were Sir Thomas Darnel, Sir John Corbet, Sir Walter Earl, Sir John Haveningham, and Sir Edward Hambden. Their cause was brought to a solemn trial before the King's Bench, and the whole kingdom was attentive to the result of so important a trial.
By the debates on this subject it appeared, that personal liberty had been secured by no less than six different statutes, and by an article of the Great Charter itself. That in times of turbulence and sedition, the princes infringed upon those laws; and of this also many examples were produced. The difficulty then lay to determine when such violent measures were expedient; but of that the court pretended to be the supreme judge. As it was legal, therefore, that these five gentlemen should plead the statute, by which they might demand bail, so it was expedient in the court to remand them to prison, without determining on the necessity of taking bail for the present. This was a cruel evasion of justice; and, in fact, satisfied neither the court nor the country party. The court insisted that no bail could be taken; the country exclaimed, that the prisoners should be set free.
The king being thus embroiled with his parliament, his people, and some of the most powerful foreign states, it was not without amazement that all men saw him enter into a war with France, a kingdom with which he had but lately formed the most natural alliance. This monarch, among the foibles of a good disposition, relied too much on the sincerity of his servants; and, among others, permitted Buckingham to lead him as he thought proper. All historians agree that this minister had conceived hopes of gaining the heart of the queen of France, while, at the same time, Cardinal Richelieu aspired to the same honour. The rivalry of these favourites produced an inveterate enmity between them; and from a private quarrel, they resolved to involve their respective nations in the dispute. However this be, war was declared against France; and Charles was taught to hope, that hostilities with that kingdom would be the surest means of producing unanimity at home.
But fortune seemed to counteract all this monarch's attempts. A fleet was sent out, under the command of Buckingham, to relieve Rochelle, a maritime town in France, that had long enjoyed its privileges independent of the French king; but that had for some years embraced the reformed religion, and now was besieged with a formidable army. This expedition was as unfortunate as that to the coasts of Spain. The duke's measures were so ill concerted, that the inhabitants of the city shut their gates, and refused to admit allies, of whose coming they were not previously informed. Instead of attacking the island of Oleron, which was fertile and defenceless, he bent his course to the Isle of Rhé, which was garrisoned, and well fortified. He attempted there to starve out the garrison of St Martin's castle, which was copiously supplied with provisions by sea. By that time the French had landed their forces privately at another part of the island; so that Buckingham was at last obliged to retreat, but with such precipitation, that two thirds of his army were cut in pieces before he could reimbark, though he was the last man of the whole army that quitted the shore. This proof of his personal courage, however, was but a small subject of consolation for the disgrace which his country had sustained, and his own person would have been the last they would have regretted.
The bad success of this expedition served to render the duke still more obnoxious, and the king more needy. He therefore resolved to call a third parliament; for money was to be had at any rate. In his first speech, he told them they were convoked on purpose to grant the supplies; and that if they should neglect to contribute what was necessary for the support of the state, he would, in discharge of his conscience, use those means that God had put into his hands, for saving that, which the folly of certain persons would otherwise endanger. But the king did not find his commons intimidated by his threats, nor by those of the lord-keeper, who commented upon what he said. They boldly inveighed against his late arbitrary measures, forced loans, benevolences, taxes without consent of parliament, arbitrary imprisonments, biletting soldiers, martial laws; these were the grievances complained of, and against these they insisted that an eternal remedy should be provided. An immunity from these vexations they alledged to be the inherent right of the subject; and their new demand they resolved to call a petition of right, as implying privileges they had already been possessed of.
A.D.
1628
Nothing could be more just than the enacting the contents of this petition of right into a law. The Great Charter, and the old statutes, were sufficiently clear in favour of liberty; but as all the kings of England had ever, in cases of necessity or expediency, been accustomed at intervals to elude them; and as Charles, in a complication of instances, had lately violated them, it was but requisite to enact a new law, which might not be eluded or violated by any authority, or any former precedent to the contrary.
But though this was an equitable proposal, and though the ready compliance with it might have prevented many of the disorders that were about to ensue, Charles was taught to consider it as the most violent encroachment on his prerogative, and used at first every method to obruct its progress. When he found that nothing but his assent would satisfy the house, he gave it; but at first in such an ambiguous manner as left him still in possession of his former power. At length, however, to avoid their indignation, and still more to screen his favourite Buckingham, he thought proper to give them full satisfaction. He came therefore to the house of peers, and pronouncing the usual form of words
"Soit come il e desire; Let it be law as it is desired,"
he gave the petition of right all the sanction that was necessary to pass it into a law. The acclamations with which the house resounded sufficiently testified the joy of the people; and a bill for five subsidies, which passed soon after, was the strongest mark of their gratitude.
But the commons finding their perseverance crowned with success in this instance, were resolved to carry their scrutiny into every part of government, which they considered as defective. The leaders of the house of commons at this time were very different from those illiterate barbarians which a century or two before came up to the capital, not to grant supplies, but to consider where supplies were to be procured; not to debate as legislators, but to receive commands as inferiors. The men of whom the present parliaments were composed, were persons of great knowlege and extensive learning; of undaunted courage, and inflexible perseverance.
A little before the meeting of this parliament, a commission had been granted to thirty-three of the principal officers of state, empowering them to meet, and concert among themselves the methods of levying money by impositions, or otherwise. The commons applied for cancelling that commission; and indeed the late statute of the petition of rights seemed to render such a commission entirely unnecessary. They objected to another commission for raising money for the introduction of a thousand German horse, which, with just reason, they feared might be turned against the liberties of the people. They resumed also their censure of Buckingham, whom they resolved implacably to pursue. They also openly asserted, that a method of levying money used by the king called tonnage and poundage, without the consent of parliament, was a palpable violation of all the liberties of the people. All these grievances were preparing to be drawn up in a remonstrance to his majesty, when the king, hearing of their intentions, came suddenly to the house, and ended the session by a prorogation.
But they were not so easily to be intimidated in their schemes for the liberty of the people. They urged their claims with still more force on their next sitting; and the duty of tonnage and poundage was discussed with greater precision than before. This tax upon merchandise was a duty of very early institution, and had been conferred on Henry the fifth, and all succeeding princes during life, in order to enable them to maintain a naval force for the protection of the kingdom. But the parliament had usually granted it as of their special favour in the beginning of each reign, except to Henry the eighth, who had it not conferred on him by parliament, till the sixth year of his sitting on the throne. Although he had continued to receive it from the beginning, yet he thought it necessary to have the sanction of parliament to ensure it to him, which certainly implied that it was not an inherent privilege of the crown. Upon this argument, the commons founded their objections to the levying it in the present reign; it was a tax they had not yet granted, and it had been granted by them in every preceding reign. They refused, therefore, to grant it now; and insisted the king could not levy it without their permission.
This bred a long contest, as may be supposed, between the commons and the crown. The officers of the custom-house were summoned before the commons, to give an account by what authority they seized the goods of the merchants, who had refused to pay these duties. The barons of the Exchequer were questioned concerning their decrees on that head; the sheriff of London was committed to the Tower for his activity in supporting the custom-house officers. These were bold measures; but the commons went still farther, by a resolution to examine into religious grievances, and a new spirit of intolerance began to appear. The king, therefore,
A.D.
1629
resolved to dissolve a parliament, which he found himself unable to manage; and Sir John Finch, the speaker, just as the question concerning tonnage and poundage was going to be put, rose up, and informed the house that he had a command from the king to adjourn.
Nothing could exceed the consternation and indignation of the commons upon this information. Just at a time they were carrying their most favourite points to a bearing, to be thus adjourned, and the parliament dissolved, rendered them furious. The house was in an uproar; the speaker was pushed back into his chair, and forcibly held in it by Hollis and Valentine, till a short remonstrance was framed, and passed by acclamation rather than vote. In this hasty production, Papists and Arminians were declared capital enemies to the state. Tonnage and poundage was condemned as contrary to law; and not only those who raised that duty, but those who paid it, were considered as guilty of capital crimes.
In consequence of this violent procedure, Sir Miles Hobart, Sir Peter Heyman, Selden, Coriton, Long, and Strode, were, by the king's order, committed to prison, under pretence of sedition. But the same temerity that impelled Charles to imprison them, induced him to grant them a release. Sir John Elliot, Hollis, and Valentine, were summoned before the King's Bench; but they refusing to appear before an inferior tribunal, for faults committed in a superior, they were condemned to be imprisoned during the king's pleasure, to pay a fine, the two former of a thousand pounds each, and the latter of five hundred, and to find sureties for their good behaviour. The members triumphed in their sufferings, while they had the whole kingdom as spectators and applauders of their fortitude.
In the mean time, while the king was thus distressed by the obstinacy of the commons, he felt a much severer blow in the death of his favourite, the duke of Buckingham, who fell a sacrifice to his unpopularity. It had been resolved once more to undertake the raising of the siege of Rochelle; and the earl of Denbigh, brother-in-law to Buckingham, was sent thither, but returned without effecting any thing. In order to repair this disgrace, the duke of Buckingham went in person to Portsmouth to hurry on another expedition, and to punish such as had endeavoured to defraud the crown of the legal assessments. In the general discontent that prevailed against this nobleman, it was daily expected that some severe measures would be resolved on; and he was stigmatized as the tyrant and the betrayer of his country. There was one Felton, who caught the general contagion; an Irishman of a good family, who had served under the duke as lieutenant, but had resigned, on being refused his rank on the death of his captain, who had been killed at the Isle of Rhé. This man was naturally melancholy, courageous, and enthusiastic; he felt for his country, as if labouring under a calamity which he thought it in the power of his single arm to remove. He therefore resolved to kill the duke, and thus revenge his own private injuries, while he did service also to God and man. Animated in this mannner with gloomy zeal, and mistaken patriotism, he travelled down to Portsmouth alone, and entered the town while the duke was surrounded by his levee, and giving out the necessary orders for embarkation. He was at that time engaged in conversation with one Soubize, and other French gentlemen; and a difference of sentiments having arisen in the conference, it was attended with all these violent gesticulations with which foreigners generally enforce their meaning. The conversation being finished, the duke drew towards the door; and while he was speaking to one of his colonels, Felton struck him over that officer's shoulder in the breast with his knife. The duke had only time to say,
"The villain has killed me,"
when he fell at the colonel's feet, and instantly expired. No one had seen the blow, nor the person who gave it; but in the confusion it was generally supposed that he was murdered by one of the Frenchmen, who appeared so violent in their motions but a little before. They were accordingly secured, as for certain punishment; but in the mean time an hat was picked up, on the inside of which was sewed a paper, containing four or five lines of the remonstrance of the commons against the duke; and under these lines a short ejaculation, desiring aid in the attempt. It was now concluded that this hat must belong to the assassin; and while they were employed in conjectures whose it should be, a man without an hat was seen walking very composedly before the door, and was heard to cry out, I am he. He disdained denying a murder in which he gloried; and averred, that he looked upon the duke as an enemy to his country, and as such deserving to suffer. When asked at whose instigation he had performed that horrid deed? he answered, that they need not trouble themselves in that enquiry; that his conscience was his only prompter, and that no man on earth could dispose him to act against its dictates. He suffered with the same degree of constancy to the last; nor were there many wanting who admired not only his fortitude, but the action for which he suffered.
The king had always the highest regard for Buckingham, and was extremely mortified at his death; he began to perceive that the tide of popularity was entirely turned from him, and that the house of commons only served to encrease the general discontent. He felt therefore a disgust against parliaments; and he was resolved not to call any more, till he should see greater indications of a compliant disposition in the nation. Having lost his favourite Buckingham, he became more his own minister, and never afterwards imposed such unlimited confidence in any other. But though the minister of the crown was changed, the measures still continued the same; the same disregard to the petitions of the people, the same desire of extending and supporting the prerogative, the same temerity, and the same weakness of condescension.
His first measure, however, now being left without a minister and a parliament, was a prudent one.
A.D.
1629
He made peace with the two crowns, against whom he had hitherto waged war, which had been entered upon without necessity, and conducted without glory. Being freed from these embarrassments, he bent his whole attention to the management of the internal policy of the kingdom, and took two men as his associates in this task, who still acted an under-part to himself. These were Sir Thomas Wentworth, afterwards created earl of Strafford; and Laud, afterwards archbishop of Canterbury.
Strafford, by his eminent talents and abilities, merited all the confidence which the king reposed in him. His character was stately and austere; more fitted to procure esteem than love; his fidelity to the king was unshaken; but in serving the interests of the crown, he did not consider himself as an agent also for benefit of the people. As he now employed all his counsels to support the prerogative, which he formerly had endeavoured to diminish, his actions are liable to the imputation of self-interest and ambition, but his good character in private life made up for that seeming duplicity of public conduct.
Laud was in the church somewhat resembling Strafford in the state, rigid, severe, punctual, and industrious. His zeal was unrelenting in the cause of religion, and the forms as established in the reign of queen Elizabeth seemed essentially connected with it. His desire to keep these on their former footing was imprudent and severe; but it must be confessed that the furious opposition he met with was sufficient to excite his resentment.
Since the times of Elizabeth, a new religious sect had been gaining ground in England; which, from the supposed greater purity of their manners, were called
Puritans.
Of all other sects, this was the most dangerous to monarchy; and the tenets of it more calculated to support that imagined equality which obtains in a state of nature. The partizans of this religion, being generally men of warm, obstinate tempers, pushed their sentiments into a total opposition to those of Rome; and in the countries where their opinions had taken place, not only a religious, but a political freedom began to be established. All enthusiasts, indulging themselves in rapturous flights, extasies, visions, and inspirations, have a natural aversion to all ceremonies, rites, or forms, which are but external means of supplying that devotion, which they want no prompter but their hearts to inspire. The same bold and daring spirit which accompanied them in their addresses to the divinity, appeared in their political speculations; and the principles of civil liberty, which had hitherto been almost totally unknown in Europe, began to shoot forth in this ungracious soil. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, if kings and bishops were willing to suppress the growth of opinions so unfavourable to their authority; and that Laud, who of all men alive, was the most attached to ceremony and shew, should treat with rigour, men who braved him into severity. The truth is, that in the histories of the times, we find the great cause of the present contest between the king and his people to arise, not from civil, but religious motives; not from a desire on the one hand of extending power, and on the other of promoting liberty; but merely from the ardour of the king in supporting bishops, surplices, and other ceremonies of the church, and the fury of the puritans in abolishing those distinctions, as remnants of popish idolatry. These distinctions in religion, at this day, are regarded with more unconcern; and, therefore, we are more apt to impute the disorders of those times, rather to civil motives of establishing liberty, which, in reality, made but a very subordinate consideration.
The humour of the nation ran, at that time, into the extreme opposite of superstition; and those ancient ceremonies, to which men had been accustomed in England, since the commencement of the Reformation, were in general considered as impious and idolatrous. It was, therefore, the most impolitic time in the world for Laud to think of introducing new ceremonies and observances, which could not fail of being treated with utter detestation. Nevertheless he went on boldly with his injunctions for the observance of those rites, which, in themselves, were of no moment; and, therefore, were as unnecessary to be urged by him, as ridiculous in being opposed by the puritans.
Orders were given, and rigorously insisted on, that the communion table should be removed from the middle of the church, where it hitherto stood since the Reformation, to the East end; where it should be railed in, and denominated the altar. The kneeling at the altar, and the using of copes, an embroidered vestment used in popish countries, were introduced to the great discontent of the people. Some pictures were admitted again into churches by his command. All such clergy as neglected to observe every ceremony, were suspended, and deprived by the high commission court. And, to mortify the puritans still more, orders were issued from the council, forbidding any controversy, either from the pulpit or the press, on the points in dispute between them and their opponents, concerning free will and predestination. At the same time that he obtained the king's protection for carrying on these measures, he took care to repay the monarch, by magnifying on every occasion the regal authority; and treating all pretensions to independence, as a puritanical innovation. The king's divine, hereditary, and indefeasible right, was the theme of every sermon; and those who attempted to question such doctrines, were considered as making an attack upon religion itself. The king, who had now taken a resolution of calling no more parliaments, and which resolution he adhered to for the space of eleven years after, was very well satisfied with these doctrines; as they were the only means of facilitating his measures of government, and procuring those pecuniary supplies which he had no legal means of obtaining.
While Laud, therefore, during this long interval, ruled the church, the king and Strafford undertook to manage the temporal interests of the nation. A proclamation was issued, in which Charles declared,
"That whereas, for several ill ends, the calling again of a parliament is divulged; yet the late abuses, having for the present, unwillingly driven him out of that course; he will account it presumption for any one to prescribe to him any time for calling that assembly."
This was generally construed as a declaration, that during that reign no more parliaments would be summoned; and every measure of the king but too well served to confirm the suspicion.
It was now that the people, without a defender, or hopes of redress, saw themselves at the mercy of a monarch, who, though good and gentle in his own nature, might at any time change in his conduct. They now saw the constitution at one blow wholly overthrown, and one branch of the legislature assuming those rights, which had been divided between three. Tonnage and poundage were continued to be levied by royal authority alone: custom-house officers received orders from the council to enter any house whatever, in search of suspected goods: compositions were openly made with papists; and their religion was become a regular part of the revenue. The high commission court of Star-chamber exercised its power, independent of any law, upon several bold innovators in liberty, who only gloried in their sufferings, and contributed to render government odious and contemptible. Sir David Foulis was fined by this court five thousand pounds, merely for dissuading a friend from compounding with the commissioners; who called upon him to take up the title of knighthood. Prynne, a barrister of Lincoln's inn, had written an enormous quarto of a thousand pages, which was entitled Histriomastix, or a Scourge for the Stage. In this, beside much paltry declamation against the stage, he took occasion to blame the ceremonies and late innovations of the church; and this was an offence that Laud was not likely to forgive. He was condemned by the Star-chamber to be degraded from the bar; to stand in the pillory, in two places, Westminster and Cheapside; to lose his ears, one at each place; to pay five thousand pounds to the king, and to be imprisoned during life. This sentence, which was equally cruel and unjust, was rigorously executed; and Prynne gloried in his sufferings. Burton, a divine, and Bastwick, a physician, were tried before this tribunal for schismatical libels, in which they attacked, with great severity and intemperate zeal, the ceremonies of the church of England. They were condemned to the same punishment that had been inflicted upon Prynne; and Prynne himself was also tried for a new offence, for which he was fined five thousand pounds more, and sentenced to lose the rest of his ears. The answers which these bold demagogues gave into court, were so full of contumacy and invective, that no lawyer could be prevailed with to sign them. The rigours, however, which they underwent, being so unworthy men of their profession, gave general offence; and the patience, or rather alacrity with which they suffered, encreased still further the public indignation.
The puritans, restrained in England, shipped themselves off for America, where they laid the foundations of a new government, agreeable to their systems of political freedom. But the government, unwilling that the nation should be deprived of its useful members, or dreading the unpopularity of these migrations, was prevailed on to issue a proclamation, debarring those devotees access, even into those inhospitable regions. Eight ships, lying in the Thames, and ready to sail, were detained by order of counsel; and in these were embarked Sir Arthur Hazlerig, John Hamden, and Oliver Cromwell, who had resolved for ever to abandon their native country. This may stand as a proof of the sincerity these men afterwards testified in the cause for which they fought; and is a clear proof that hypocrisy, with which they were charged, in the beginning at least, was not among the motives of their opposition.
Every year, every month, every day, gave fresh instances, during this long intermission of parliaments, of the resolutions of the court to throw them off for ever: but the levying of
ship-money,
as it was called, being a general burthen, was universally complained of as a national grievance. This was a tax which had, in former reigns, been levied without the consent of parliament; but then the exigency of the state demanded such a supply. But as the necessity at present was not so apparent, and might excite murmurs among the people, a question was proposed by the king to the judges, whether, in a case of necessity, for the defence of the kingdom, he might not impose this tax? and whether he was not sole judge of this necessity? To this the judges replied that he might; and that he was sole judge of the necessity. In this universal appearance of obedience to the king's injunctions, John Hamden, a gentleman of fortune in Buckinghamshire, refused to comply with the tax, and resolved to bring it to a legal determination. He had been rated at twenty-shillings for his estate, which he refused to pay; and the case was argued twelve days in the Exchequer chamber, before all the judges of England. The nation regarded, with the utmost anxiety, the result of a trial that was to fix the limits of the king's power; but after the former opinion of the judges on this subject, the event might have been easily foreseen. All the judges, four only excepted, gave sentence in favour of the crown; while Hamden, who lost his cause, was more than sufficiently recompensed by the applauses of the people. Nothing now was heard in every company but murmurs against government, and encomiums on him who had withstood its usurpations. It was now alleged, that tyranny was confirmed into system; and that there was no redress except in sullen patience, or contented slavery. Ecclesiastical tyranny was thought to give aid to political injustice; and all the rights of the nation, transmitted through so many ages, secured by so many laws, and purchased by the blood of so many heroes, now lay prostrate in undistinguished neglect. In this universal state of despondence, or clamour, an accident gave the people of England an opportunity of vindicating their ancient privileges; and even of acquiring greater than was compatible with the subjects' happiness to be possessed of.
The Scotch had, during the reign of James the first, shewed a strong attachment to puritanical principles; and though they still continued to allow of bishops; yet they were reduced to poverty, and treated with contempt. James, indeed, had seen the low estate of episcopacy in that kingdom, and had endeavoured to exalt and establish it once more; but he died in the midst of his endeavours. It was the fate of Charles, for ever to aim at projects which were at once impracticable, and unnecessary; he resolved, therefore, to complete what his father had begun. This ill-judged attempt served to alienate the affections of his Scotch subjects, as much as his encroachments on liberty had rendered him unpopular in England. The flame of sedition in Scotland, passed from city to city, while the puritans formed a
Covenant,
to support and defend their opinions; and resolved to establish their doctrines, or overturn the state. On the other hand, the court were determined to establish the liturgy of the church of England; and both sides being obstinate in opinion, those sanguinary measures were soon begun in Scotland, which had hitherto been only talked of among the English.
The discontent and opposition which the king met with in maintaining episcopacy among his English subjects might, one would think, hinder him from attempting to introduce it among those of Scotland; but such was his ardour, that he was resolved to have it established in every part of his dominions. Having published an order for reading the liturgy in the principal church in Edinburgh, the people received it with clamours and imprecations. The court-party, indeed, with great justice, blamed their obstinacy, as the innovations were but trifling; but the people might have retorted with still greater force the folly of their thus earnestly attempting the establishment of trifles. The seditious disposition in that kingdom, which had hitherto been kept within bounds, was now too furious for restraint, and the insurrection became general over all the country.
Yet still the king could not think of desisting from his design; and so prepossessed was he in favour of royal right, that he thought the very name of king, when forcibly urged, would induce them to return to their duty. But he was soon undeceived; the puritans of Scotland were republicans in principle, as well as those in England; and they only wished to see the bishops first humbled, in order to make a more successful attack upon unguarded monarchy. Charles, therefore, finding them in arms, and that they insisted on displacing the bishops, considered their demands as an open declaration of war; and accordingly summoned such of the nobility of England as held lands of the crown, to furnish him with a proper number of forces to oppose them. To add to these supplies, he demanded a voluntary contribution from the clergy, as he was, in fact, fighting their cause; and by means of his queen, the catholics were also pressed for their assistance. By these methods he soon found himself at the head of an undisciplined and reluctant army, amounting to about twenty thousand men, and commanded by generals less willing to fight than to negociate. His superiority in numbers, however, gave him the manifest advantage over his rebellious subjects, who were no way slow in marching to give him battle. But Charles, who inherited the peaceable disposition of his father, was unwilling to come to extremities, although a blow then struck with vigour might have prevented many of his succeeding misfortunes. Instead of fighting with his opponents, he entered upon a treaty with them; so that a suspension of arms was soon agreed upon, and a treaty of peace concluded, which neither side intended to observe; and then both parties agreed to disband their forces. This step of disbanding the army was a fatal measure to Charles, as he could not levy a new army without great labour and expence; while the Scotch insurgents, who were all volunteers in the service, could be mustered again at pleasure. Of this the heads of the malcontents seemed sensible; for they lengthened out the negotiations with affected difficulties, and threw in obstructions, in proportion as they were confident of their own superiority. At length, after much altercation, and many treaties signed and broken, both parties once more had recourse to arms, and nothing but blood could satiate the contenders.
War being thus resolved on, the king took every method as before for raising money to support it. Ship-money was levied as usual; some other arbitrary taxes were exacted from the reluctant people with great severity; but one method of raising the supplies reflects immortal honour on those who contributed. The counsellors and servants of the crown lent the king whatever sums they could spare, and distressed their private fortunes to gratify their sovereign. These were the resources of the crown to prepare an army; but they were far from being sufficient; and there now remained only one method more, the long-neglected method of a parliamentary supply.
It was now above eleven years since the king had called a parliament.
A.D.
1640
The fierce and ungovernable spirit of the last had taught him to hate and to fear such an assembly; but all resources being exhausted, and great debts contracted, he was obliged to call another parliament, from which he had no great reason to expect any favour. The many illegal, and the numerous imprudent steps of the crown, the hardships which several persons had suffered, and their constancy in undergoing punishment, had as much alienated the affections of the king's English as of his Scotch subjects. Instead of supplies the king was harrassed with murmurs and complaints. The zealous in religion were pleased with the distresses of the crown, in its attempts against their brethren in opinion; and the real friends to the liberties of mankind saw, with their usual penetration, that the time was approaching when the royal authority must fall into a total dependence on popular assemblies, and when public freedom must acquire a full ascendant.
The House of commons, therefore, could not be induced to treat the Scotch, who were of the same principles with themselves, and contending against the same ceremonies, as enemies to the state. They regarded them as friends and brothers, who first rose to teach them a duty it was incumbent on all virtuous minds to imitate. The king, therefore, could reap no other fruits from this assembly than murmurings and complaints. Every method he had taken to supply himself with money was declared an abuse, and a breach of the constitution. Tonnage and poundage, ship-money, the sale of monopolies, the billeting soldiers upon refractory citizens, were all voted as stretches of arbitrary power. The king finding no hopes of redress from the commons, had recourse to the house of peers; but this was equally ineffectual with the former application. The king, therefore, finding no hopes of a compliance with his request, but recrimination instead of redress, once more dissolved the parliament, to try more feasible methods of removing his necessities.
The king having now made enemies of his Scotch subjects, by controlling them in their mode of worship, and of the commons by dissolving them, it remained to exasperate the city of London against him by some new imprudence. Upon their refusing to lend him money to carry on the Scotch war, he sued the citizens in the Star-chamber for some lands in Ireland, and made them pay a considerable fine. He continued also to exact all the taxes against which every former parliament had remonstrated; but all were insufficient. A loan of forty thousand pounds was extorted from the Spanish merchants, who had bullion in the Tower, exposed to the attempts of the king. Coat and conduct money for the soldiers was levied on the counties; an ancient practice, but supposed to be abolished by the petition of right. All the pepper was bought from the East India company upon trust, and sold at a great discount for ready money. A scheme was proposed for coining two or three hundred thousand pounds of base money; and yet all these methods were far from being effectual. The Scotch, therefore, sensible of the extremities to which he was reduced, led on an army of twenty thousand men as far as New-castle upon Tyne, to lay their grievances before their sovereign, as they were pleased to term their rebellion. One of the most disgusting strokes in the puritanical character of the times, was this gentle language and humble cant, in the midst of treason; and their flattery to their prince, while they were attempting to dethrone and destroy him.
To these troops, inspired by religion, flushed with some slight victories obtained over straggling parties of the royalists, and encouraged by the English themselves, among whom they continued, the king was able to oppose only a smaller force, new levied, undisciplined, seditious, and ill paid. Being therefore in despair of stemming the torrent, he at last yielded to it. He first summoned a great council of peers to York; and, as he foresaw that they would advise him to call a parliament, he told them in his first speech that he had already taken that resolution. Having thus prepared for his misfortunes, he a short time after called that long parliament,
which never discontinued sitting till they finally accomplished his ruin.
CHAP. XXX. CHARLES I. (Continued.)
THE ardent expectations of men with regard to a parliament at such a critical juncture, and during such general discontents, might naturally engage the attendance of the members on their duty. The house of commons was never, from its first institution, observed to be so numerous, or the assiduity of its members greater. Without any interval, therefore, they entered upon business; and by unanimous consent they struck a blow that might be regarded as decisive. Instead of granting the demanded subsidies, they impeached the earl of Strafford, the king's first minister, and had him arraigned before the house of peers for high treason. Pym, a tedious, but sensible speaker, who had first opened the accusation against him in the house of commons, was sent up to defend it at the bar of the house of lords; and most of the house accompanied their member on so agreeable an errand.
To bestow the greatest solemnity on this important trial, scaffolds were erected in Westminster Hall, where both houses sat, the one as judges, the other as accusers. Beside the chair of state, a close gallery was prepared for the king and queen, who attended during the whole trial. The articles of impeachment against him were twenty-eight in number, the substance of which was, that he had attempted to extend the king's authority at home, and had been guilty of several exactions in Ireland. But though four months were employed by the managers in framing the accusation, yet there appears very little just cause of blame in him, since the stretches of the king's power were made before he came into authority. However, the managers for the house of commons pleaded against him with vehemence stronger than their reasons, and summed up their arguments, by insisting, that though each article taken separately did not amount to a proof, yet the whole taken together might be fairly concluded to carry conviction. This is a method of arguing frequently used in the English courts of justice even at this day: and perhaps none can be more erroneous; for almost every falsehood may be found to have a multiplicity of weak reasons to support it. In this tumult of aggravation and clamour, the earl himself, whose parts and wisdom had been long respectable, stood unmoved and undaunted. He defended his cause with all the presence of mind, judgment, and sagacity, that could be expected from innocence and ability. His children were placed beside him as he was thus defending his life, and the cause of his master. After he had in a long and eloquent speech, delivered without premeditation, confuted all the accusations of his enemies; after he had shewn that during his government in Ireland, he had introduced the arts of peace among the savage part of that people; after he had declared, that though his measures in England were harsh, he shewed the necessity by which he was driven into them, since his coming over; after he had clearly refuted the argument upon the accumulative force of his guilt, he thus drew to a conclusion.
"But, my lords, I have troubled you too long; longer than I should have done, but for the sake of these dear pledges, which a saint in heaven has left me."
—Upon this he paused, dropped a tear, looked upon his children, and proceeded.—
"What I forfeit for myself is a trifle; that my indiscretions should reach my posterity, wounds me to the heart.— Pardon my infirmity.—Something I should have added, but am not able; therefore let it pass. And now, my lords, for myself; I have long been taught that the afflictions of this life are overpaid by that eternal weight of glory which awaits the innocent; and so my lords, even so, with the utmost tranquillity, I submit myself to your judgment, whether that judgment be life or death: not my will, but thine, O God, be done."
His eloquence and innocence induced those judges to pity, who were the most zealous to condemn him. The king himself went to the house of lords, and spoke for some time in his defence; but the spirit of vengeance that had been chained for eleven years, was now rouzed, and nothing but his blood could give the people satisfaction. He was found guilty by both houses of parliament; and nothing remained but for the king to give his consent to the bill of attainder. But in the present commotions the consent of the king was a thing that would very easily be dispensed with; and imminent dangers might attend his refusal. Yet still Charles, who loved Strafford tenderly, hesitated, and seemed reluctant, trying every expedient to put off so dreadful a duty, as that of signing the warrant for his execution. While he continued in this agitation of mind, not knowing how to act, his doubts were at last silenced by an act of heroic bravery in the condemned lord. He received a letter from that unfortunate nobleman, desiring that his life might be made the sacrifice of a mutual reconciliation between the king and his people; adding, that he was prepared to die, and to a willing mind there could be no injury. This instance of noble generosity was but ill repaid by his master, who complied with his request. He consented to the signing the fatal bill by commission; Strafford was beheaded on Tower-hill, behaving with all that composed dignity of resolution that was expected from his character. The people, taught by his death to trample upon the rights of humanity, soon after resolved to shed blood that was still more precious.
But the commons did not stop their impeachments here. Laud also, after a deliberation which did not continue half an hour, was considered as sufficiently culpable to incur the same accusation, and was committed to custody. Finch, the lord keeper, was also impeached; but he had the precaution to make his escape, and fly over into Holland, as did Sir Francis Wyndebank, the secretary, into France.
The crown being thus deprived of the services of its ministers, the commons next proceeded to attack the few privileges it still possessed. During the late military operations, several powers had been exerted by the lieutenants, and deputy-lieutenants of counties, men who were all under the influence of the crown. These were, therefore, voted
Delinquents
; a term now first used to signify transgressors, whose crimes were not as yet ascertained by law. The sheriffs also, who had obeyed the king's mandate in raising ship-money, were voted also to be delinquents. All the farmers and officers of the customs, who had been employed during so many years in levying tonnage and poundage, were subjected to the same imputation, and only purchased their safety by paying an hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Every discretionary or arbitrary sentence of the Star-chamber, and High commission courts, underwent a severe scrutiny; and all those who had any hand in such sentences were voted to be liable to the penalties of the law. The judges, who had declared against Hamden in the trial of ship-money, were accused before the peers, and obliged to find security for their appearance. All those monopolies which had been lately granted by the crown, were now annihilated by the order of the commons; and they carried their detestation of that grievance so far, as to expel from their own house all such members as had been monopolists or projectors.
Hitherto we have seen the commons in some measure the patrons of liberty and of the people; boldly opposing the stretches of illegal power, or repressing those claims which, tho' founded on custom, were destructive of freedom. Thus far their aims, their struggles, were just and honourable: but the general passions of the nation were now excited; and having been once put into motion, they soon passed the line, and knew not where to stop. Had they been contented with resting here, after abridging all those privileges of monarchy which were capable of injuring the subject, and leaving it all those prerogatives that could benefit, they would have been considered as the great benefactors of mankind, and would have left the constitution pretty nearly on the same footing on which we enjoy it at present. But they either were willing to revenge their former sufferings, or thought that some terrible examples were necessary to deter others from attempting to enslave their country. The horrors of a civil war were not sufficiently attended to; and they precipitately involved the nation in calamities which they themselves were the first to repent.
The whole nation was thrown into a general ferment. The harangues of the members, now first published and dispersed, kept alive the horrors which were felt for the late administration. The pulpits, delivered over to the puritanical preachers, whom the commons arbitrarily placed in all the considerable churches, resounded with faction and fanaticism. The press, freed from all fear or restraint, swarmed with productions, dangerous by their sedition and calumny, more than by their eloquence or style.
In this universal uproar against the crown, Prynne, Burton, and Bastwick, who had some years before suffered so severely for their licentious abuses, and had been committed to remote prisons, were set at liberty by order of the commons, and were seen making their triumphant entry into the capital. Bastwick had been confined in Scilly, Burton in Jersey, and Prynne in Guernsey; and upon landing at their respective places they were received by the acclamations of the people, and attended by crowds to London. Boughs were carried in this tumultuous procession; the roads were strewed with flowers, their sufferings were aggravated, and their persecutors reviled. Every person who had been punished for seditious libels during the foregoing administration, now recovered their liberty, and had damages given them upon those who had decreed their punishment.
Grievances had, no doubt, and heavy ones, been endured during the last intermission of parliaments; but the very complaints against them now became one of the greatest grievances. So many were offered within doors, and petitioned against without, that the house was divided into above forty committees, charged each of them with the examination of its respective complaints. The torrent rising to so dreadful and unexpected an height, despair seized all those who, from interest or habit, were attached to monarchy; while the king himself saw, with amazement, the whole fabric of government totally overturned.
"You have taken, said he to the parliament, the whole machine of government to pieces; a practice frequent with skilful artists, when they desire to clear the wheels from any rust which may have grown upon them. The engine may be restored to its former use and motions, provided it be fitted up entire, so as not a pin be wanting."
But the commons, in their present temper, were much better adapted to destroy than to fit up; and having taken the machine asunder, they soon found an expeditious set of workmen ready, to step in and take the whole business off their hands.
But in this universal rage for abolishing the former constitution, the parliament fell with great justice on two courts, which had been erected under arbitrary kings, and had seldom been employed but in cases of necessity. These were, the High-commission court, and the court of Star-chamber. A bill unanimously passed the houses to abolish both; and in them to annihilate the principal and most dangerous articles in the king's prerogative. The first of those, which was instituted for defending the establishments of the church, had great power in all ecclesiastical matters; and the judges in that court were entirely arbitrary in whatever punishments, or fines, they thought proper to inflict. The Star-chamber had given force to the king's proclamations, and punished such as ventured to transgress them; but that being now taken away, his proclamations were of no effect, and might be opposed with impunity. Such were, the transactions of this first session of the long parliament; and tho' in some cases they acted with anger, and in others with precipitation, yet their merits so much overbalanced their mistakes, that they deserve the highest gratitude from posterity.
After this, the parliament seemingly adjourned; but a committee of both houses, a thing altogether unprecedented, was appointed to sit during the recess, with very ample powers, and very little less than those of the parliament in the plenitude of its authority. Pym was appointed chairman of the lower house; in this further attempts were made for assuming the sovereign executive powers, and publishing the ordinances of this committee as statutes enacted by all the branches of the legislature. In the mean the king went to pay a visit to his subjects in Scotland.
In the midst of these troubles, the papists of Ireland fancied they found a convenient opportunity of throwing off the English yoke. There was a gentleman called Roger More, who, though of a narrow fortune, was descended from a very ancient Irish family, and was very much celebrated among his countrymen for his valour and capacity. This man first formed the project of expelling the English, and asserting the independency of his native country. The occasion was favourable; the English, warmly engaged in domestic animosities, were unable to attend to a distant insurrection; and those of that nation, who resided among them, were too feeble to resist. Struck with these motives, Sir Phelim O'Neale entered into a conspiracy; lord Macguire came into his designs, and soon after all the chiefs of the native Irish promised their concurrence.
Their plan was laid accordingly, which was, that Sir Phelim O'Neale, and the other conspirators, should all begin an insurrection on one day throughout the provinces; should destroy all the English, while lord Macguire, and Roger More, should surprise the castle of Dublin. They had fixed on the approach of winter for this revolt, the day was appointed, every thing in readiness, the secret profoundly kept, and the conspirators promised themselves a certainty of success. The earl of Leicester, who had been appointed lord lieutenant, was then in London. Sir William Parsons, and Sir John Borlace, the two lords justices, were men of mean intellects; and, without attending to the interests of their country, indulged themselves in the most profound tranquility on the very brink of ruin.
The very day before the intended seizure of the castle of Dublin, the plot was discovered by one O'Connolly, an Irishman, but a protestant, to the justices, who fled to the castle, and alarmed all the protestant inhabitants of the city to prepare for their defence. Macguire was taken, but More escaped; and new informations being every hour added to those already received, the project of a general insurrection was no longer a secret.
But though the citizens of Dublin had just time enough to save themselves from danger; the protestants dispersed over the different parts of the country, were taken unprepared. O'Neale and his confederates had already taken arms in Ulster. The Irish, every where intermingled with the English, needed but a hint from their leaders and priests to massacre a people whom they hated for their religion, and envied for their riches and prosperity. The insurrections of a civilized people, are usually marked with very little cruelty; but the revolt of a savage nation, generally aims at extermination. The Irish accordingly resolved to cut off all the protestants of the kingdom at a stroke; so that neither age, sex, or condition, received any pity. In such indiscriminate slaughter, neither former benefits, nor alliances, nor authority, were any protection: numberless were the instances of friends murdering their intimates, relations their kinsmen, and servants their masters. In vain did flight save from the first assault; destruction, that had an extensive spread, met the hunted victims at every turn. Not only death, but studied cruelties were inflicted on the unhappy sufferers; the very avarice of the revolters could not restrain their thirst for blood, and they burned the inhabitants in their own houses to encrease their punishment. Several hundreds were driven upon a bridge; and from thence obliged, by these barbarians, to leap into the water, where they were drowned. The English colonies were totally annihilated in the open country of Ulster; but in the other provinces the rebels pretended to act with greater humanity.
The protestants were driven there from their houses, to meet the severity of the weather, without food or raiment, and numbers of them perished with the cold, which happened at that time to be peculiarly severe. By some computations, those who perished by all these cruelties, are made to amount to an hundred and fifty, or two hundred thousand; but, by a moderate computation, they could not have been less than forty thousand.
In the mean time the English Pale, as it was called, consisting of the old English catholics, who had first come over, joining with the native Irish, a large army was formed, amounting to above twenty thousand men, which threatened a total extermination of the English power in that island. The king was at that time in Scotland, when he received the first accounts of this rebellion; and though he did all in his power to induce his subjects there to lend assistance to the protestant cause, yet he found them totally averse to sending any succours into Ireland. Their aim was to oblige the parliament of England, with what succours they could spare, and not to obey the injunctions of their sovereign. They went still farther, and had the assurance to impute a part of these dreadful massacres to the king's own contrivance. In fact, the rebels of Ireland did not fail to shew a royal patent, authorising their attempts; and it is said that Sir Phelim O'Neale, having found a royal patent in lord Caulfield's house, whom he had murdered, he tore off the seal, and affixed it to a commission which he had forged for himself.
However this be, the king took all the precautions in his power to shew his utter detestation of these bloody proceedings; and being sensible of his own inability to suppress the rebellion, he had once more recourse to his English parliament, and craved their assistance for a supply. But here he found no hopes of assistance; many insinuations were thrown out that he had himself fomented this rebellion, and no money could be spared for the extinction of distant dangers, when they pretended that the kingdom was threatened with greater at home.
It was now that the republican spirit began to appear without any disguise in the present parliament; and that party, instead of attacking the faults of the king, resolved to destroy monarchy. They had seen a republican system of government lately established in Holland, and attended with very noble effects; they began, therefore, to wish for a similar system at home, and many productions of the press at that time sketched out the form. It would be unjust to deny these men the praise of being guided by honest motives; but it would be unwise not to say also, that they were swayed by wrong ones. In the comparison between a republic and a limited monarchy, the balance entirely inclines to the latter, since a real republic never yet existed, except in speculation; and that liberty which demagogues promise to their followers, is generally only sought after for themselves. The aim in general of popular leaders, is rather to depress the great than exalt the humble; and in such governments, the lower ranks of people are too commonly the most abject slaves. In a republic, the number of tyrants are capable of supporting each other in their injustice; while in a monarchy there is one object, who, if he offends, is easily punishable, and ought to be brought to justice.
The leaders of the opposition began their operations by a resolution to attack episcopacy, which was one of the strongest bulwarks of the royal power; but previously framed a remonstrance, in which they summoned up all their former grievances.
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1641
These they ascribed to a regular system of tyranny in the king, and asserted that they amounted to a total subversion of the constitution. This, when drawn up by a tumultuous majority of the house, they ordered to be printed and published, without being carried up, as is usual in such cases, to the house of peers, for their assent and approbation. The commons having thus endeavoured to render the king's administration universally odious, they began upon the hierarchy. Their first measure was, by their own single authority, to suspend all the laws which had been made for the observance of public worship. They particularly forbade bowing at the name of Jesus. They complained of the king's filling five vacant bishoprics; and considered it as an insult upon them, that he should complete and strengthen an order which they were resolved to abolish. They accused thirteen bishops of high treason, for enacting canons without the consent of parliament; and endeavoured to prevail upon the house of peers to exclude all the prelates from their seats and votes, in that august assembly. But notwithstanding all their efforts, the lords refused their concurrence to this law; and all such as any way tended to the farther limitation of royal authority. The majority of the peers adhered to the king; and plainly foresaw the depression of the nobility as a necessary consequence of the popular usurpations on the crown. The commons murmured at their refusal, mixed threats with their indignation, and began, for the first time, to insinuate that the business of the state could be carried on without them.
In order to intimidate the lords into their measures, the populace was let loose to insult and threaten them. Multitudes of people flocked every day towards Westminster, and insulted the prelates, and such lords as adhered to the crown. Some seditious apprentices being seized and committed to prison, the house of commons immediately ordered them to be set free. Encouraged by the countenance of the house, the populace crowded about Whitehall, and threw out insolent menaces against the king himself. It was at this time that several reduced officers and students of the inns of court, offered their services to the king, to repress the rioters; and many frays ensued not without bloodshed. The rabble, by way of reproach, were called Round-heads, from the manner of wearing their hair, and the gentlemen Cavaliers. These names afterwards served to distinguish the partizans of either side, and served still more to divide the nation.
The fury of the commons, and also of the populace, did not fail to intimidate the bishops; they saw the storm that was gathering against them; and, probably, to avert its effects, they resolved to attend their duty in the house of lords no longer; but drew up a protest, which was signed by twelve of them, in which they declared, that being hindered by the populace from attending at the house of lords, they resolved to go there no more till all commotions should be appeased; protesting, in the mean time, against all such laws as should be enacted in their absence.
This secession of the bishops from the house of lords was what the commons most ardently wished for; and they seized the opportunity with pleasure. An impeachment of high treason was immediately sent up against them, as guilty of subverting the fundamental laws, and invalidating the legislative authority. In consequence of this, they were by the lords excluded from parliament, and committed to custody, no man in either house daring to speak a word in their vindication. One of the lords, indeed, was heard to say, that he did not believe they were guilty of treason, but he thought they were mad, and therefore were fitter for Bedlam, than a seat in parliament.
This was a fatal blow to the royal interest; but it soon felt a much greater from the king's own imprudence. Charles had long suppressed his resentment and only strove to satisfy the commons by the greatness of his concessions; but finding that all his compliance had but encreased their demands, he could no longer contain. He gave orders to Herbert, his attorney general, to enter an accusation of high treason in the house of peers against lord Kimbolton, one of the most popular men of his party, together with five commoners, Sir Arthur Haslerig, Hollis, Hambden, Pym, and Strode. The articles were, that they had traiterously endeavoured to subvert the fundamental laws and government of the kingdom; to deprive the king of his regal power, and to impose on his subjects an arbitrary and tyrannical authority; that they had invited a foreign army to invade the kingdom; that they had aimed at subverting the very rights and being of parliaments, and had actually raised and countenanced tumults against the king. Men had scarce leisure to wonder at the precipitancy and imprudence of this impeachment, when they were astonished by another measure, still more rash and more unsupported. A serjeant at arms, in the king's name, demanded of the house the five members, and was sent back without any positive answer. This was followed by a conduct still more extraordinary. The next day the king himself was seen to enter the house of commons alone, advancing through the hall, while all the members stood up to receive him. The speaker withdrew from his chair, and the king took possession of it. Having seated himself, and looked round him for some time, he told the house that he was sorry for the occasion that forced him thither, that he was come in person to seize the members, whom he had accused of high treason, seeing they would not deliver them up to his serjeant at arms. Addressing himself to the speaker, he desired to know whether any of them were in the house; but the speaker falling on his knees, replied, that he had neither eyes to see, nor tongue to speak in that place, but as the house was pleased to direct him; and he asked pardon for being able to give no other answer. He then sate for some time to see if the accused were present; but they had escaped a few minutes before his entry. Thus disappointed, perplexed, and not knowing on whom to rely, he next proceeded, amidst the clamours of the populace, who continued to cry out,
"Privilege! privilege!"
to the common council of the city, and made his complaint to them. The common council only answered his complaints with a contemptuous silence; and on his return, one of the populace, more insolent than the rest, cried out,
"To your tents, O Israel!"
a watch word among the Jews, when they intended to abandon their princes.
When the commons were assembled the next day, they affected the greatest terror, and passed an unanimous vote that the king had violated their privileges, and that they could not assemble again in the same place, till they should have obtained satisfaction, with a guard for their security. They ascribed the last measure of the king to the counsels of the papists, and the city was thus filled with groundless consternation.
As the commons had artfully kept up their panic, in order to enflame the populace, and as the city was now only one scene of confusion, the king, afraid of exposing himself to any fresh insult from the fury of the populace, retired to Windsor, overwhelmed with grief, shame, and remorse. There he began to reflect on the rashness of his former proceedings; and now too late resolved to make some atonement. He therefore wrote to the parliament, informing them, that he desisted from his former proceedings against the accused members; and assured them, that upon all occasions he would be as careful of their privileges as of his life or his crown. Thus his former violence had rendered him hateful to his commons, and his present submission now rendered him contemptible.
The commons had already stript the king of almost all his privileges; the bishops were fled, the judges were intimidated; it now only remained that, after securing the church and the law, they should get possession of the sword also. The power of appointing governors, generals, and levying armies, was still a remaining prerogative of the crown. Having, therefore, first magnified their terrors of popery, which perhaps they actually dreaded, they proceeded to petition that the Tower might be put into their hands, and that Hull, Portsmouth, and the fleet, should be intrusted to persons of their chusing. These were requests, the complying with which levelled all that remained of the ancient constitution; however, such was the necessity of the times, that they were at first contested, and then granted. At last, every compliance only encreasing the avidity of making fresh demands, the commons desired to have a militia, raised and governed by such officers and commanders as they should nominate, under pretext of securing them from the Irish papists, of whom they were in great apprehensions.
It was here that Charles first ventured to put a stop to his concessions; and that not by a refusal, but a delay. He was at that time at Dover, attending the queen, and the princess of Orange, who had thought prudent to leave the kingdom. He replied to the petition of the commons, that he had not now leisure to consider a matter of such great importance; and therefore would defer an answer till his return. But the commons were well aware, that though this was depriving him even of the shadow of power; yet they had now gone too far to recede, and were therefore desirous of leaving him no authority whatsoever, as being conscious that themselves would be the first victims to its fury. They alleged, that the dangers and distempers of the nation were such as could endure no longer delay; and unless the king speedily complied with their demands, they should be obliged, both for his safety and that of the kingdom, to dispose of the militia by the authority of both houses, and were resolved to do it accordingly. In their remonstrances to the king, they desired even to be permitted to command the army for an appointed time; which so exasperated him, that he exclaimed,
"No, not for an hour."
This peremptory refusal broke off all further treaty; and both sides were now resolved to have recourse to arms.
Charles, taking the prince of Wales with him, retired to York, where he found the people more loyal, and less infected with the religious frenzy of the times. He found his cause there backed by a more numerous party than he had expected among the people. The queen, who was in Holland, was making successful levies of men and ammunition, by selling the crown-jewels. But before war was openly declared the shadow of a negotiation was carried on, rather to serve as a pretence to the people, than with a real design of reconciliation. The king offered proposals to the commons, which he knew they would not accept; and they, in return, submitted nineteen propositions to his consideration, which, if complied with, would have rendered him entirely subservient to their commands. Their import was, that the privy-council, the principal officers of state, the governors of the king's children, the commanders of the forts, his fleet, and army, should be all appointed by, and under the controul of parliament; that papists should be punished by their authority; that the church and liturgy should be reformed at their discretion; and that such members as had been displaced, should be restored. These proposals, which, if they had been complied with, would have moulded the government into an aristocracy, were, happily for posterity, rejected by the king.
"Should I grant these demands, said he, in his reply, I might be waited on bare-headed; I might have my hand kissed, the title of majesty be continued to me, and the king's authority signified by both houses of parliament, might be still the style of your commands; I might have swords and maces carried before me, and please myself with the sight of a crown and sceptre (tho' even these twigs would not long flourish, when the stock upon which they grew was dead): but as to true and real power, I should remain but the outside, but the picture, but the sign of a king."
War on any terms was, therefore, esteemed preferable to such an ignominious peace. Thus the king and his parliament mutually reproached each other for beginning a scene of slaughter, of which both were equally culpable.
CHAP. XXXI. CHARLES I. (Continued.)
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NO period since England began could shew so many instances of courage, abilities, and virtue, as the present fatal opposition called forth into exertion. Now was the time when talents of all kinds, unchecked by authority, were called from the lower ranks of life to dispute for power and pre-eminence. Both sides, equally confident of the justice of their cause, appealed to God to judge of the rectitude of their intentions. The parliament was convinced that it fought for heaven, by asserting its regards for a peculiar mode of worship; and the king was not less convinced that his claims were sacred, as he had ever been taught to consider them as of divine original. Thus passion and enthusiasm on each side animated the combatants; and courage, rather than conduct among these undisciplined troops, decided the fortune of the day.
Never was contest more unequal than seemed at first between the contending parties; the king being entirely destitute of every advantage. His revenue had been seized by parliament; all the sea-port towns were in their hands, except Newcastle, and thus they were possessed of the customs, which these could supply; the fleet was at their disposal; all magazines of arms and ammunition were seized for their use; and they had the wishes of all the most active members of the nation.
To oppose this, the king had that acknowledged reverence which was paid to royalty, to give sanction to his cause. The greater part of the nobility adhered to him, as their distinctions must rise or fall with the source of honour. Most of the men of education also, and the ancient gentry, still considered loyalty as a virtue, and armed their tenants and servants in his cause. With these followers and hopes, therefore, he resolved to take the field, and erected the royal standard at Nottingham.
Manifestoes on the one side and the other were now dispersed throughout the whole kingdom; and the people were universally divided between two factions, distinguished by the names of Cavaliers and Roundheads. The king, to bind himself by the most solemn engagements to his people, made the following protestation before his whole army.
"I do promise, in the presence of almighty God, and as I hope for his blessing and protection, that I will, to the utmost of my power, defend and maintain the true reformed protestant religion, established in the church of England; and, by the grace of God, in the same will live and die.
I desire that the laws may be ever the measure of my government, and that the liberty and property of the subject may be preserved by them with the same care as my own just rights. And if it please God by his blessing on this army, raised for my necessary defence, to preserve me from the present rebellion, I do solemnly and faithfully promise; in the sight of God, to maintain the just privileges and freedom of parliament, and to govern, to the utmost of my power, by the known statutes and customs of the kingdom; and particularly to observe inviolably the laws to which I have given my consent this parliament. Mean while, if this emergence, and the great necessity to which I am driven, beget any violation of law, I hope it shall be imputed by God and man to the authors of this war, not to me, who have so earnestly laboured to preserve the peace of the kingdom.
When I willingly fail in these particulars, I shall expect no aid or relief from man, nor any protection from above. But in this resolution I hope for the chearful assistance of all good men, and am confident of the blessing of heaven."
The sincerity with which this speech was delivered, and the justice of its contents, served to strengthen the king's cause. At first he appeared in a very low condition; besides the train-bands of the county, raised by Sir John Digby, the sheriff, he had not got together three hundred infantry. His cavalry, which composed his chief strength, exceeded not eight hundred, and were very ill provided with arms. However, he was soon gradually reinforced from all quarters; but not being then in a condition to face his enemies, he thought it prudent to retire by slow marches to Derby, and thence to Shrewsbury, in order to countenance the levies which his friends were making in those quarters.
In the mean time, the parliament were not remiss in preparations on their side. They had a magazine of arms at Hull, and Sir John Hotham was appointed governor of that place by parliament. Charles had some time before presented himself before that town, but was refused admission: and from this they drew their principal resources. The forces also, which had been every where raised on pretence of the service of Ireland, were now more openly enlisted by the parliament for their own purposes; and the command given to the earl of Essex, a bold man, who rather desired to see monarchy abridged, than totally destroyed. In London, no less than four thousand men were enlisted in one day; and the parliament voted a declaration, which they required every member to subscribe, that they would live and die with their general. Orders were also issued out for loans of money and plate, which were to defend the king, and both houses of parliament; for they still preserved this style. This brought immense quantities of plate to the treasury; and so great was men's ardour in the cause, that there was more than they could find room for. By these means they found themselves in a short time at the head of sixteen thousand men; and the earl of Essex led them towards Northampton against the king.
The army of the royalists was not so great as that of Essex; however it was supposed to be better disciplined, and better and conducted. The two sons of the unfortunate Elector Palatine, prince Rupert and prince Maurice, offered their services to the king, and were gladly accepted. A slight advantage gained by prince Rupert over colonel Sandys, in the beginning, gave great hopes of his future activity, and inspired the army with resolution to hazard a battle. So little were both armies skilled in the arts and stratagems of war, that they were within six miles of each other before they were acquainted with their mutual approach; and, what is remarkable, they had been ten days within twenty miles of each other without knowing it.
Edge-Hill was the first place where the two armies were put in array against each other, and the country first drenched in civil slaughter. It was a dreadful sight, to see above thirty thousand of the bravest men in the world, instead of employing their courage abroad, turning it against each other, while the dearest friends, and the nearest kinsmen, embraced opposite sides, and prepared to bury their private regards in factious hatred. In the beginning of this engagement, Sir Faithful Fortescue, who had levied a troop for the Irish war, but had been obliged to serve in the parliamentary army, deserted to the royalists; and so intimidated the parliamentary forces, that the whole body of cavalry fled. The right wing of their army followed the example; but the victors too eagerly pursuing, Essex's body of reserve wheeled upon the rear of the pursuers, and made great havock among them. After the royalists had a little recovered from their surprize, they made a vigorous stand; and both sides, for a time, stood gazing at each other, without sufficient courage to renew the attack. They all night lay under arms, and next morning found themselves in sight of each other; this had been the time for the king to have struck a decisive blow; he lost the opportunity, and both sides separated with equal loss. Five thousand men are said to have been found dead on the field of battle.
It would be tedious, and no way instructive, to enter into the marchings, and countermarchings of these undisciplined and ill conducted armies: war was a new trade to the English, as they had not seen an hostile engagement in the island for near a century before. The queen came to re-inforce the royal party; she had brought soldiers and ammunition from Holland, and immediately departed to furnish more. But the parliament, who knew its own strength, was no way discouraged. Their demands seemed to encrease in proportion to their losses; and as they were repressed in the field, they grew more haughty in the cabinet. Such governors as gave up their fortresses to the king, were attainted of high treason. It was in vain for the king to send proposals after any success, this only raised their pride and their animosity. But though this desire in the king to make peace with his subjects was the highest encomium on his humanity, yet his long negociations, one of which he carried on at Oxford, were faulty as a warrior. He wasted that time in altercation and treaty, which he should have employed in vigorous exertions in the field.
However, his first campaign, upon the whole, wore a favourable aspect. One victory followed after another; Cornwall was reduced to peace and obedience under the king: a victory was gained over the parliamentarians at Stratton Hill, in Devonshire, another at Roundaway Down, about two miles from the Devizes; and still a third at Chalgrave Field. Bristol was besieged and taken; and Gloucester was besieged: the battle of Newbury was favourable to the royal cause, and great hopes of success were formed from an army in the North, raised by the marquis of Newcastle.
But in this campaign, the two bravest and greatest men of their respective parties were killed; as if it was intended, by the kindness of Providence, that they should be exempted from seeing the miseries and the slaughter which were shortly to ensue. These were John Hampden, and Lucius Cary, lord Falkland.
In an incursion made by prince Rupert to with in about two miles of the enemies quarters, a great booty was obtained. This the parliamentarians attempted to rescue; and Hampden at their head, overtook the royalists on Chalgrave Field. As he was ever the first to enter into the thickest of the battle, he was shot in the shoulder with a brace of bullets, and the bone broke. Some days after, he died in great pain; nor could his whole party, had their army met a total overthrow, have been cast into greater consternation. Even Charles his enemy felt for his disaster, and offered his own surgeon to assist his cure. Hampden, whom we have seen in the beginning of these troubles refuse to pay ship-money, gained, by his inflexible integrity, the esteem even of his enemies. To these he added affability in conversation, temper, art, eloquence in debate, and penetration in counsel.
But Falkland was still a greater loss, and a greater character. He added to Hamden's severe principles, a politeness and elegance, but then beginning to be known in England. He had boldly withstood the king's pretensions, while he saw him making a bad use of his power; but when he perceived the design of the parliament, to overturn the religion and the constitution of his country, he changed his side, and stedfastly attached himself to the crown. From the beginning of the civil war, his natural chearfulness and vivacity forsook him; he became melancholy, sad, pale, and negligent of his person. When the two armies were in sight of each other, and preparing for the battle of Newbury, he appeared desirous of terminating his life, since he could not compose the miseries of his country. Still anxious for his country alone, he dreaded the too prosperous success of his own party, as much as that of the enemy; and he professed that its miseries had broken his heart. His usual cry among his friends, after a deep silence, and frequent sighs, was Peace! Peace! He now said, upon the morning of the engagement, that he was weary of the times, and should leave them before night. He was shot by a musquet-ball in the belly; and his body was next morning found among an heap of slain. His writings, his elegance, his justice, and his courage, deserved such a death of glory: and they found it.
The king, that he might make preparations during the winter for the ensuing campaign, and to oppose the designs of the Westminster parliament, called one at Oxford; and this was the first time that England saw two parliaments sitting at the same time. His house of peers was pretty full; his house of commons consisted of about an hundred and forty, which amounted to not above half of the other house of commons. From this shadow of a parliament he received some supplies, after which it was prorogued, and never after assembled.
In the mean time the parliament was equally active on their side. They passed an ordinance, commanding all the inhabitants of London and its neighbourhood to retrench a meal a week, and to pay the value of it for the support of the public cause. But what was much more effectual, the Scotch, who considered their claims as similar, led a strong army to their assistance. They levied an army of fourteen thousand men in the east, under the earl of Manchester; they had an army of ten thousand men under Essex, another of nearly the same force, under Sir William Waller. These were superior to any force the king could bring into the field; and were well appointed with ammunition, provisions, and pay.
Hostilities,
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which even during the winter season had never been wholly discontinued, were renewed in spring with their usual fury, and served to desolate the kingdom, without deciding victory. Each county joined that side to which it was addicted from motives of conviction, interest, or fear, though some observed a perfect neutrality. Several frequently petitioned for peace; and all the wise and good were earnest in the cry. What particularly deserves remark, was an attempt of the women of London; who, to the number of two or three thousand, went in a body to the house of commons, earnestly demanding a peace.
"Give us those traitors, said they, that are against a peace; give them, that we my tear them in pieces."
The guards found some difficutly in quelling this insurrection, and one or two women lost their lives in the fray.
The battle of Marston-Moor was the beginning of the king's misfortunes and disgrace. The Scotch and parliamentarian army had joined, and were besieging York; when prince Rupert, joined by the marquis of Newcastle, determined to raise the siege. Both sides drew up on Marston-Moor, to the number of fifty thousand, and the victory seemed long undecided between them. Rupert, who commanded the right wing of the royalists, was opposed by Oliver Cromwell, who now first came into notice, at the head of a body of troops, whom he had taken care to levy and discipline. Cromwell was victorious; he pushed his opponents off the field, followed the vanquished, returned to a second engagement, and a second victory; the prince's whole train of artillery was taken, and the royalists never after recovered the blow.
While the king was unfortunate in the field, he was not more successful in negociation. A treaty was begun at Uxbridge, which, like all others, came to nothing. The puritans demanded a total abolition of the episcopacy, and all church ceremonies; and these Charles, from conviction, from interest, and persuasion, was not willing to permit. He had all along adhered to the episcopal jurisdiction, not only because it was favourable to monarchy, but because all his adherents were passionately devoted to it. He esteemed bishops as essential to the christian church; and thought himself bound, not only by temporal, but sacred ties, to defend them. The parliament was as obstinately bent upon removing this order; and to shew their resolution, began with the foremost of the number.
William Laud, archbishop of Canterbury, as we have already seen, had been imprisoned in the Tower at the same time with Strafford; and he had patiently endured so long a confinement, without being brought to any trial. He was now, therefore, accused of high treason, in endeavouring to subvert the fundamental laws, and of other high crimes and misdemeanors. The groundless charge of popery, which his life, and afterwards his death belied, was urged against him. In his defence, he spoke several hours, with that courage which seems the result of innocence and integrity. The lords, who were his judges, appeared willing to acquit him; but the commons, his accusers, finding how his trial was likely to go, passed an ordinance for his execution, and terrified the lords who continued obstinate to give their consent. Seven peers alone voted in this important question; all the rest, either from shame or fear, did not appear. When brought to the scaffold, this venerable prelate, without any terror, but in the usual tone of his exhortations from the pulpit, made the people a long speech. He told them that he had examined his heart; and thanked God that he found no sins there, which deserved the death he was going to suffer. The king, he said, had been traduced by some, as labouring to introduce popery; but he believed him as sound a protestant as any man in the kingdom; and as for parliaments, though he disliked the conduct of one or two, yet he never designed to change the laws of his country, or the protestant religion. After he had prayed for a few minutes, the executioner severed his head at a blow. It is indeed a melancholy consideration, that in these times of trouble, the best men were those on either side who chiefly suffered.
The death of Laud was followed by a total alteration of the ceremonies of the church. The Liturgy was, by a public act, abolished the day he died, as if he had been the only obstacle to its former removal. The church of England was in all respects brought to a conformity to the puritanical establishment; while the citizens of London, and the Scotch army, gave public thanks for so happy an alteration.
The total abolition of the reformed religion, as established by queen Elizabeth, seemed at first to promise vigour and consistence to the counsels of the parliamentarians. But such is the nature of man, that if he does not find, he makes opposition. From the moment the puritans began to be apparently united, and ranked under one denomination of presbyterians, they began again to divide into fresh parties, each professing different views and interests. One part of the house was composed of Presbyterians, strictly so called; the other, though a minority, of Independents, a new sect that had lately been introduced, and gained ground surprisingly.
The difference between these two sects would be hardly worth mentioning, did not their religious opinions influence their political conduct. The church of England, as we have seen, had appointed bishops of clerical ordination, and a book of common prayer. The presbyterians exclaimed against both; they were for having the church governed by clergymen elected by the people, and prayers made without premeditation. The independents went still farther; they excluded all the clergy, they maintained that every man might pray in public, exhort his audience, and explain the scriptures. Their political system kept pace with their religious. Not contented with reducing the king to a first magistrate, which was the aim of the presbyterians, this sect aspired at the abolition not only of all monarchy, but of all subordination. They maintained, and they maintained right, that all men were born equal; but they alleged also, that no accidental or artificial institutions could destroy this equality; and there they were deceived. Could such a plan of government as theirs be practicable, it would no doubt be the most happy; but the wise and industrious must in every country prevail over the weak and idle; and the bad success of the independent scheme soon after shewed how ill adapted such speculative ideas were to human infirmity. Possessed, however, with an high idea of their own rectitude, both in religion and politics, they gave way to a surly pride, which is ever the result of narrow manners and solitary thinking.
These were a body of men that were now growing into consideration; their apparent sanctity, their natural courage excited by enthusiasm, and their unceasing perseverance, began to work considerable effects; and tho' they were out-numbered in the house of commons, which was composed of more enlightened minds, they formed a majority in the army, made up chiefly of the lowest of the vulgar.
The royalists endeavoured to throw a ridicule on this fanaticism, without being sensible how much reason they had to apprehend its dangerous consequences. The forces of the king were united by much feebler ties; and licence among them, which had been introduced by the want of pay, had arisen to a dangerous height, rendering them as formidable to their friends as their enemies. To encrease this unpopularity, the king finding the parliament of Scotland as well as that of England declaring against him, thought proper to make a truce with the papists of Ireland, in order to bring over the English forces who served in that kingdom. With these troops he also received some of the native Irish into his service, who still retained their fierceness and their barbarity. This gave the parliament a plausible opportunity of upbraiding him with taking papists into his service, and gave a colour to the ancient calumny of his having excited them to rebel. Unfortunately, too soon after it was found, that they rather encreased the hatred of his subjects, than added to the strength of his army. They were routed by Fairfax, one of the generals of the parliament army; and though they threw down their arms they were slaughtered without mercy. It is said that several women were found among the slain, who with long knives had done considerable execution; but the animosity of the English against these wretches at that time, might have given rise to the report.
These misfortunes were soon after succeeded by another. Charles, who had now retired to Oxford, found himself at the head of a turbulent seditious army, who, from wanting pay, were scarcely subject to control; while, on the other hand, the parliamentarians were well supplied and paid, and held together from principle. The parliament, to give them an example of disinterestedness in their own conduct, passed an act, called the
Self-denying ordinance,
which deserved all commendation. They resolved, lest it should be suggested by the nation that their intent was to make themselves masters, that no member of their house should have a command in the army. The former generals were therefore changed; the earls of Essex, Denbigh, and Manchester, gave up their commissions; and Fairfax, who was now appointed general with Cromwell, who found means to keep at once his seat and his commission, new modelled the army. This, which might at first have seemed to weaken their forces, gave them new spirit; and the soldiers, become more confident in their new commanders, were irresistible.
Never was a more singular army assembled than that which now drew the sword in the parliamentary cause. The officers exercised the office of chaplains; and, during the intervals of action, instructed their troops by sermons, prayers, and exhortations. Rapturous ecstacies supplied the place of study and reflection; and while they kindled as they spoke, they ascribed their own warmth to a descent of the spirit from heaven. The private soldiers, seized with the same spirit, employed their vacant hours in prayer, in perusing the holy scriptures, in ghostly conferences. When marching to the field of battle, the hymn and the ejaculation, mixed their notes with those of the trumpet. An army thus actuated became invincible.
The well-disputed battle, which decided the fate of Charles, was fought at Naseby,
a village in Yorkshire. The main body of the royal army was commanded by lord Astley, prince Rupert led the right wing, Sir Marmaduke Langdale the left, and the king himself headed the body of reserve. On the opposite side, Fairfax and Skippon commanded the main body; Cromwell led on the right wing, and Ireton, his son-in-law, the left. Prince Rupert attacked the left wing with his usual impetuosity and success: they were broke and pursued as far as the village; but he lost time in attempting to make himself master of their artillery. Cromwell, in the mean time, was equally successful on his side, and broke through the enemies horse after a very obstinate resistance. While these were thus engaged, the infantry on both sides maintained the conflict with equal ardour; but in spite of the efforts of Fairfax and Skippon, their battalions began to give way. But it was now that Cromwell returned with his victorious forces, and charged the king's infantry in flank with such vigour, that a total rout began to ensue. By this time prince Rupert had rejoined the king, and the small body of reserve; but his troops, though victorious, could not be brought to a second charge. They were at all times licentious and ungovernable; but they were now intimidated; for the parliamentarians having recovered from the first shock, stood ready in order of battle to receive them. The king was desirous of charging them at the head of his reserve; but the earl of Carnwarth, who rode by his majesty's side, seizing the bridle of his horse, turned him round, saying, with a loud oath,
"Will you go upon your death in an instant."
The troops seeing this motion, wheeled to the right, and rode off in such confusion, that they could not be rallied again during the rest of the day. The king perceiving the battle wholly lost, was obliged to abandon the field to his enemies, who took all his cannon, baggage, and above five thousand prisoners.
This fatal blow the king never after recovered; his army was dispersed, and the conquerors made as many captives as they thought proper. Among the other spoils taken on this occasion, the king's cabinet of letters was seized, in which was contained all his private correspondence with the queen. These were shortly after published by the command of the parliament, who took a vulgar and brutal pleasure in ridiculing all those tender effusions which were never drawn up for the public eye.
The battle of Naseby put the parliamentarians in possession of almost all the strong cities of the kingdom. Bristol, Bridgewater, Chester, Sherborn, and Bath. Exeter was besieged; and all the king's troops in the western counties being entirely dispersed, Fairfax pressed the place, and it surrendered at discretion. The king's interests seemed going to ruin on every quarter. The Scotch army, which, as has been said, took part with the parliament, having made themselves masters of Carlisle after an obstinate siege, marched south and laid siege to Hereford. Another engagement followed between the king and the parliamentarians, in which his forces were put to the rout by colonel Jones, a thousand of his men made prisoners, and five hundred slain. Thus surrounded, harrassed on every side, he retreated to Oxford, that in all conditions of his fortune had held steady to his cause; and there he resolved to offer new terms to his victorious pursuers.
Nothing could be more affecting than the king's situation during his abode at Oxford. Saddened by his late melancholy disasters, impressed with the apprehensions of such as hung over him, harrassed by the murmurs of those who had followed his cause, and stung with sorrow for his incapacity to relieve them. He now was willing to grant the parliament their own terms, and at any rate to procure a reconciliation. He therefore sent them repeated messages to this purpose, but they never deigned to make him the least reply. At last, after reproaching him with the blood spilt during the war, they told him that they were preparing some bills, to which if he would consent, they would then be able to judge of his pacific inclinations.
In the mean time Fairfax was approaching with a powerful and victorious army, and was taking the proper measures of laying siege to Oxford, which promised an easy surrender. To be taken captive, and led in triumph by his insolent subjects, was what Charles justly abhorred; and every insult and violence was to be dreaded from the soldiery, who had felt the effects of his opposition. In this desperate extremity he embraced a measure which, in any other situation, might justly lie under the imputation of imprudence and indiscretion. He resolved to give himself up to the Scotch army, who had never testified such implacable animosity against him, and to trust to their loyalty for the rest.
That he might the better conceal his design from the people of Oxford, orders were given at every gate of the city for allowing three persons to pass. In the night, the king, accompanied by one doctor Hudson, and Mr. Ashburnham, took the road towards London, travelling as Ashburnham's servant. He, in fact, came so near London, that he once entertained some thoughts of entering that city, and of throwing himself on the mercy of the parliament. At last, after passing through many cross-roads and bye-ways, he arrived at the Scotch camp before Newark, and discovered himself to lord Leven,
the Scotch general.
The Scotch, who had before given him some general assurances of their fidelity and protection, now seemed greatly surprised at his arrival among them. Instead of bestowing a thought on his interests, they instantly entered into a consultation upon their own. The commissioners of their army sent up an account of the king's arrival to the parliament, and declared, that his coming was altogether uninvited and unexpected. In the mean time they prevailed upon the king to give directions for surrendering all his garrisons to the parliament, with which he complied. In return for this condescension they treated him with very long sermons among the ecclesiastics, and with the most cautious reserve, but very different from respect, among the officers. The preachers of the party indeed insulted him from the pulpit; and one of them, after reproaching him to his face with his misconduct, ordered that psalm to be sung, which begins,
"Why dost thou, Tyrant, boast thyself
Thy wicked deeds to praise."
The king stood up, and called for that Psalm, which begins with these words:
"Have mercy, Lord, on me I pray,
For men would me devour."
The audience accordingly sung this Psalm in compassion to majesty in distress.
The parliament being informed of the king's captivity, immediately entered into a treaty with the Scotch about delivering up their prisoner. The Scotch had, from their first entrance into England, been allowed pay by the parliament, in order to prevent their plundering the country; much of this, however, remained unpaid, from the unavoidable necessities of the times, and much more was claimed by the Scotch than was really due. Nevertheless, they now saw this a convenient time for insisting on their arrears; and they resolved to make the king the instrument by which this money was to be obtained. After various debates upon this head between them and the parliament, in which they pretended to great honour, and insisted upon many punctilios, they agreed, that upon payment of four hundred thousand pounds they would deliver up the king to his enemies, and this was chearfully complied with. An action so atrocious may be palliated, but can never be defended; they returned home laden with plunder, and the reproaches of all good men.
From this period, to the despotic government of Cromwell, the constitution was convulsed with all the agitations of faction, guilt, ignorance, and enthusiasm. The kingly power being laid low, the parliament attempted to assume the rein; but they were soon to submit in turn to the military power, which, like all democracies, was turbulent, transient, feeble, and bloody.
CHAP. XXXII. CHARLES I. (Continued.)
THE king being delivered over by the Scotch to the parliamentary commissioners, he was conducted under a guard to Holmby Castle, in Northamptonshire. They treated him in confinement with the most rigorous severity, dismissing all his ancient servants, debarring him from all visits, and cutting off all communication with his friends and family.
The civil war was now over; the king had absolved his followers from their allegiance, and the parliament had now no enemy to fear, except those very troops by which they had extended their overgrown authority. But in proportion as the terror of the king's power diminished, the divisions between the independents and the presbyterians became more apparent. The majority in the house were of the presbyterian sect; but the majority of the army were staunch independents. At the head of this sect was Cromwell, who secretly directed its operations, and invigorated all their measures.
Oliver Cromwell, whose talents now began to appear in full lustre, was the son of a private gentleman of Huntingdon; but being the son of a second brother, he inherited a very small paternal fortune. He had been sent to Cambridge; but his inclinations not at that time turning to the calm occupations of elegant literature, he was remarkable only for the profligacy of his conduct, and the wasting his paternal fortune. It was, perhaps, his poverty that induced him to fall into the opposite extreme shortly after; for, from being one of the most debauched men in the kingdom, he became the most rigid and abstemious. The same vehemence of temper, which had transported him into the extremes of pleasure, now distinguished his religious habits. He endeavoured to improve his shattered fortunes by agriculture; but this expedient served only to plunge him in further difficulties. He was even determined to go over and settle in New England; but was hindered by the king's ordinance to the contrary. From accident or intrigue, he was chosen member for the town of Cambridge, in the long parliament; but he seemed at first to possess no talents for oratory, his person being ungraceful, his dress slovenly, his elocution homely, tedious, obscure, and embarrassed. He made up, however, by zeal and perseverance, what he wanted in natural powers; and being endowed with unshaken intrepidity, much dissimulation, and a thorough conviction of the rectitude of his cause, he rose, through the gradations of preferment, to the post of lieutenant-general under Fairfax; but, in reality, possessing the supreme command over the whole army.
Soon after the retreat of the Scotch, the presbyterian party, seeing every thing reduced to obedience, began to talk of dismissing a considerable part of the army, and to send the rest to Ireland. It may easily be supposed, that for every reason the army were as unwilling to disband, as to be led over into a country as yet uncivilized, uncultivated, and barbarous. Cromwell took care to inspire them with an horror of either; they loved him for his bravery and religious zeal, and still more for his seeming affection to them. Instead, therefore, of preparing to disband, they resolved to petition; and they began by desiring an indemnity, ratified by the king, for any illegal actions which they might have committed during the war. This the commons, in turn, treated with great severity; they voted, that this petition tended to introduce mutiny, to put conditions upon the parliament, to obstruct the relief of the kingdom of Ireland; and they threatened to proceed against the promoters of it as enemies to the state and disturbers of the public peace.
The army now began to consider themselves as a body distinct from the commonwealth; and complained, that they had secured the general tranquility, while they were, at the same time, deprived of the privileges of Englishmen. In opposition, therefore, to the parliament at Westminster, a military parliament was formed, composed of the officers and common soldiers of each regiment. The principal officers formed a council to represent the body of peers; the soldiers elected two men out of each company to represent the house of commons, and these were called the Agitators of the army. Cromwell took care to be one of the number, and thus contrived an easy method under-hand of conducting and promoting the sedition of the army.
This fierce assembly having debated for a very short time, declared, that they found many grievances to be redressed; and began by specifying such as they desired to be most speedily removed. The very same conduct which had formerly been used with success by the parliament against their sovereign, was now put in practice by the army against the parliament. As the commons granted every request, the agitators rose in their demands; these accused the army of mutiny and sedition; the army retorted the charge, and alledged, that the king had been deposed only to make way for their usurpations.
The unhappy king, in the mean time, continued a prisoner at Holmby castle; and as his countenance might add some authority to that side which should obtain it, Cromwell, who secretly conducted all the measures of the army, while he apparently exclaimed against their violence, resolved to seize the king's person. Accordingly a party of five hundred horse appeared at Holmby castle, under the command of one Joyce, who had been originally a taylor; but who, in the present confusion of all ranks and orders, was advanced to the rank of cornet. Without any opposition he entered the king's apartment, armed with pistols, and told him, that he must prepare to go with him. Whither? said the king, To the army, replied Joyce. By what warrant? asked the king. Joyce pointed to his followers.
"Your warrant, replied Charles is wrote in fair characters."
And then without further delay he went into his coach, and was safely conducted to the army who were hastening to their rendezvous at Triploheath, near Cambridge. The next day Cromwell arrived among them, where he was received with acclamations of joy, and was instantly invested with the supreme command.
It was now that the commons perceived a settled design in the army to prescribe laws to their employers; and they did not fail to spread the alarm through the city. But it was too late to resist; the army, with Cromwell at their head, advanced with precipitation, and arrived in a few days at St Alban's; so that the commons now began to think of temporizing. The declaration, by which they had voted the military petitioners enemies to the state, was recalled, and erazed from their journal book. But all submission was become vain; the army still rose in their demands, in proportion as those demands were gratified, until at last they entirely threw off the mask, and claimed a right of modelling the whole government, and settling the nation.
But as too precipitate an assumption of authority might appear invidious, Cromwell began by accusing eleven members of the house as guilty of high treason, and enemies to the army. The members accused were the very leaders of the presbyterian party, the very men who had prescribed such rigorous measures to the king, and now, in their turn, were threatened with popular resentment. As they were the leading men in the house, the commons were willing to protect them; but the army insisting on their dismission, they voluntarily left the house, rather than be compelled to withdraw.
At last, the citizens of London, who had been ever foremost in sedition, began to open their eyes, and to perceive that the constitution was totally overturned. They saw an oppressive parliament now subjected to a more oppressive army; they found their religion abolished, their king a captive, and no hopes of redress but from another scene of slaughter. In this exigence, therefore, the common-council assembled the militia of the city; the works were manned, and a manifesto published, aggravating the hostile intentions of the army. Finding that the house of commons, in compliance with the request of the army, had voted that the city militia should be disbanded, the multitude rose, besieged the door of the house, and obliged them to reverse that vote which they had passed so lately.
In this manner was this wretched house intimidated on either side, obliged at one time to obey the army, at another, to comply with the clamours of the city rabble. This assembly was, in consequence, divided into parties, as usual, one part siding with the seditious citizens; while the minority, with the two speakers at their head, were for encouraging the army. In such an universal confusion, it is not to be expected that any thing less than a separation of the parties could take place; and accordingly the two speakers, with sixty two members, secretly retired from the house, and threw themselves under the protection of the army, that were then at Hounslow-heath. They were received with shouts and acclamations, their integrity was extolled, and the whole body of the soldiery, a formidable force of twenty-thousand men, now moved forward to reinstate them in their former seats and stations.
In the mean time, that part of the house that was left behind, resolved to act with vigour, and resist the encroachments of the army. They chose new speakers, they gave orders for enlisting troops, they ordered the trainbands to man the lines; and the whole city, boldly resolved to resist the invasion. But this resolution only held while the enemy was thought at a distance, for when the formidable force of Cromwell appeared, all was obedience and submission; the gates were opened to the general, who attended the two speakers, and the rest of the members, peaceably to their habitations. The eleven impeached members, being accused as causes of the tumult, were expelled, and most of them retired to the continent. The mayor, sheriff, and three aldermen, were sent to the Tower; several citizens, and officers of militia, were committed to prison, and the lines about the city were levelled to the ground. The command of the Tower was given to Fairfax, the general; and the parliament ordered him their hearty thanks for having disobeyed their commands.
It now only remained to dispose of the king, who had been sent by the army a prisoner to Hampton-Court. The independent army, at the head of whom was Cromwell, on one hand; and the presbyterians in the name of either house, on the other hand, treated separately with him in private. He had at one time even hopes, that in these struggles for power, he might have been chosen mediator in the dispute; and he expected that the kingdom, at last sensible of the miseries of anarchy, would, like a froward child, hushed with its own importunities, settle into its former tranquil constitution. However, in all his miseries and doubts, though at first led about with the army, and afterwards kept a prisoner by them at Hampton, such was his admirable equality of temper, that no difference was perceived in his countenance and behaviour. Though a captive in the hands of his most inveterate enemies, he still supported the dignity of a monarch; and he never one moment sunk from the consciousness of his own superiority.
It is true, that at first he was treated with some flattering marks of distinction; he was permitted to converse with his old servants, his chaplains were admitted to attend him, and celebrate divine service their own way. But the most exquisite pleasure he enjoyed was in the company of his children, with whom he had several interviews. The meeting on these occasions was so pathetic, that Cromwell himself, who was once present, could not help being moved; he was heard to declare, that he had never beheld such an affecting scene before; and we must do justice to this man's feelings, as he was himself a tenderfather.
But those flattering instances of respect and submission were of no long continuance. As soon as the army had gained a complete victory over the house of commons, the independents began to abate of their expressions of duty and respect. The king therefore was now more strictly guarded: they would hardly allow his domestics to converse with him in private, and spies were employed to mark all his words and actions. He was every hour threatened with false dangers of Cromwell's contrivance; by which he was taught to fear for his personal safety. The spies and creatures of that cunning man, were sedulously employed in raising the king's terrors, and representing to him the danger of his situation. These, therefore, at length prevailed, and Charles resolved to withdraw himself from the army. Cromwell considered, that if he should escape the kingdom, there would be then a theatre open to his ambition; if he should be apprehended, the late attempt would aggravate his guilt, and apologize for any succeeding severity.
Early in the evening the king retired to his chamber, on pretence of being indisposed; and about an hour after midnight, he went down the back-stairs, attended by Ashburnham and Legg, both gentlemen of his bedchamber. Sir John Berkeley waited for him at the garden-gate with horses, which they instantly mounted, and travelling through the Forest all night, arrived at Tichfield, the seat of the earl of Southampton. Before he arrived at this place, had gone towards the shore, and expressed great anxiety that a ship, which Ashburnham had promised to be in readiness, was not to be seen. At Tichfield he deliberated with his friends upon his next excursion, and they advised him to cross over to the Isle of Wight, where Hammond was governor; who, though a creature of Cromwell's, was yet a nephew of one doctor Hammond, the king's chaplain. To this inauspicious protector it was resolved to have recourse; Ashburnham and Berkeley were sent before to exact a promise from this officer, that if he would not protect the king, he would not detain him. Hammond seemed surprised at their demand; expressed his inclination to serve his majesty, but at the same time alledged his duty to his employers. He therefore attended the king's gentlemen to Tichfield, with a guard of soldiers, and staid in a lower apartment while Ashburnham went up to the king's chamber. Charles no sooner understood that Hammond was in the house with a body of troops, than he exclaimed,
"O Jack! thou hast undone me!"
Ashburnham shed a flood of tears, and offered to go down and dispatch the governor, but the king repressed his ardour. When Hammond came into his presence, he repeated his professions of regard; Charles submitted to his fate; and, without further delay, attended him to Carisbrook castle, in the Isle of Wight, where at first he found himself treated with marks of duty and respect.
While the king continued in this forlorn situation, the parliament, new modelled as it was by the army, was every day growing more feeble and factious. Cromwell, on the other hand, was strengthening the army, and taking every precaution to repress any tendency to factious division among them. Nor were his fears without just cause; for had it not been for the quickness of his penetration, and the boldness of his activity, the whole army would have been thrown into a state of ungovernable frenzy.
Among the independents, who, in general, were for having no ecclesiastical subordination, a set of men grew up called
Levellers,
who disallowed all subordination whatsoever, and declared that they would have no other chaplain, king, or general, but Christ. They declared that all men were equal; that all degrees and ranks should be levelled, and an exact partition of property established in the nation. This ferment spread through the army; and as it was a doctrine well suited to the poverty of the daring soldiery, it promised every day to become more dangerous and fatal. Several petitions were presented, urging the justice of a partition, and threatening vengeance in case of refusing redress.
Cromwell now saw that he was upon the point of losing all the fruits of his former schemes and dangers, and dreaded this new faction still more, as they turned his own pretended principles against himself. Thus finding all at stake, he resolved, by one resolute blow, to disperse the faction, or perish in the attempt. Having intimation that the levellers were to meet at a certain place, be unexpectedly appeared before the terrified assembly, at the head of his red regiment, which had been hitherto invincible. He demanded, in the name of God, what these meetings and murmurings meant; he expostulated with them upon the danger and consequence of their precipitate schemes, and desired them immediately to depart. But instead of obeying, they returned an insolent answer; wherefore, rushing on them in a fury, he laid, with his own hands, two of them dead at his feet. His guards dispersing the rest, he caused several of them to be hanged upon the spot, he sent others prisoners to London; and thus dissipated a faction, no otherwise criminal than in having followed his own example.
This action served still more to encrease the power of Cromwell in the camp, and in the parliament; and while Fairfax was nominally general of the troops, he was invested with all the power. But his authority soon became irresistible, in consequence of a new and unexpected addition to his successes. The Scotch, perhaps ashamed of the reproach of having sold their king, and stimulated farther by the independents, who took all occasions to mortify them, raised an army in his favour, and the chief command was given to the earl of Hamilton; while Langdale, who professed himself at the head of the more bigotted party, who had taken the covenant, marched at the head of his separate body, and both invaded the North of England. Their two armies amounted to above twenty thousand men. But Cromwell, at the head of eight thousand of his hardy veterans, feared not to give them battle; he attacked them one after the other, routed and dispersed them, took Hamilton prisoner; and, following his blow, entered Scotland, where he settled the government entirely to his satisfaction. An insurrection in Kent, was quelled by Fairfax, at the same time with the same ease; and nothing but success attended all this bold usurper's criminal attempts.
During these contentions, the king, who was kept a prisoner at Carisbrook, continued to negociate with the parliament for settling the unspeakable calamities of the kingdom. The parliament saw no other method of destroying the military power, but to depress it by the kingly. Frequent proposals for an accommodation passed between the captive king and the commons; but the great obstacle which had all along stood in the way, still kept them from agreeing. This was the king's refusing to abolish episcopacy, though he consented to destroy the liturgy of the church. However, the treaty was still carried on with vigour, as the parliament had more to apprehend from the designs of their generals, than from the attempts of the king; and, for the first time, they seemed in earnest to conclude their negociations.
But all was now too late; their power was soon totally to expire, for the rebellious army, crowned with success, was returned from the destruction of their enemies; and, sensible of their own power, with furious remonstrances began to demand vengeance on the king. At the same time they advanced to Windsor; and sending an officer to seize the king's person, where he was lately sent under confinement, they conveyed him to Hurst-castle, in Hampshire, opposite the Isle of Wight. It was in vain that the parliament complained of this harsh proceeding, as being contrary to their approbation; it was in vain that they began to issue ordinances for a more effectual opposition; they received a message from Cromwell, that he intended paynig them a visit the next day with his army; and in the mean time, ordered them to raise him forty thousand pounds upon the city of London.
The commons, however, though destitute of all hopes of prevailing, had still courage to resist, and attempted, in the face of the whole army, to close their treaty with the king. They had taken into consideration the whole of his concessions; and though they had formerly voted them unsatisfactory, they now renewed the consultation with fresh vigour. After a violent debate, which had lasted three days, it was carried in the king's favour by a majority of an hundred and twenty-nine against eighty-three, that his concessions were a foundation for the houses to proceed upon in the settlement of the kingdom. This was the last attempt in his favour; for the next day Colonel Pride, at the head of two regiments, blockaded the house, and seized in the passage forty-one members of the presbyterian party; and sent them to a low room belonging to the house, that passed by the denomination of Hell. Above an hundred and sixty members more were excluded: and none were allowed to enter but the most furious and determined of the independents, in all not exceeding sixty. This atrocious invasion of the parliamentary rights, commonly passed by the name of Pride's purge, and the remaining members were called the Rump. These soon voted, that the transactions of the house a few days before were entirely illegal, and that their general's conduct was just and necessary.
Nothing now remained after the constitution had been destroyed, after the parliament had been ejected, after the religion of the country had been abolished, after the bravest and the best of its subjects had been slain, but to murder the king! This vile parliament, if it now deserves the name, was composed of a medley of the most obscure citizens, and the officers of the army. In this assembly, therefore, a committee was appointed to bring in a charge against the king; and, on their report, a vote passed, declaring it treason in a king to levy war against his parliament. It was therefore resolved that an High Court of Justice should be appointed to try his majesty for this newinvented treason. For form sake they desired the concurrence of the few remaining lords in the other house; but here there was virtue enough left unanimously to reject the horrid proposal.
But the commons were not to be stopped by so small an obstacle. They voted, that the concurrence of the house of lords was unnecessary; they voted, that the people were the origin of all just power, a fact which, though true, they could never bring home to themselves. To add to their zeal, a woman of Herefordshire, illuminated by prophetical visions, desired admittance, and communicated a revelation which she had received from heaven. She assured them that their measures were consecrated from above, and ratified by the sanction of the Holy Ghost. This intelligence gave them great comfort, and much confirmed them in their present resolutions.
Colonel Harrison, the son of a butcher, was commanded to conduct the king from Hurst castle to Windsor, and from thence to London. His afflicted subjects, who ran to have a sight of their sovereign, were greatly affected at the change that appeared in his face and person. He had allowed his beard to grow; his hair was become venerably grey, rather by the pressure of anxiety than the hand of time; while the rest of his apparel bore the marks of misfortune and decay. Thus he stood a solitary figure of majesty in distress, which even his adversaries could not behold without reverence and compassion. He had been long attended only by an old decrepid servant, whose name was Sir Philip Warwick, who could only deplore his master's fate, without being able to revenge his cause. All the exterior symbols of sovereignty were now withdrawn; and his new attendants had orders to serve him without ceremony. The duke of Hamilton, who was reserved for the same punishment with his master, having leave to take a last farewell as he departed from Windsor, threw himself at the king's feet crying out,
"My dear master."
The unhappy monarch raised him up, and embracing him tenderly, replied, while the tears ran down his cheeks,
"I have indeed been a dear master to you."
These were severe distresses; however, he could not be persuaded that his adversaries would bring him to a formal trial; but he every moment expected to be dispatched by private assassination.
From the sixth, to the twentieth of January, was spent in making preparations for his extraordinary trial. The court of justice consisted of an hundred and thirty-three persons named by the commons; but of these never above seventy met upon the trial. The members were chiefly composed of the chief officers of the army, most of them of very mean birth, together with some of the lower house, and a few citizens of London. Bradshaw, a lawyer, was chosen president, Coke was appointed sollicitor for the people of England, Dorislaus, Steele and Aske, were named assistants. The court sat in Westminster-Hall.
The king was now conducted from Windsor to St. James's, and the next day was brought before the high court to take his trial. While the crier was calling over the names of the commissioners for trying him, no body answering for lord Fairfax, a female voice from the gallery was heard to cry out,
"He has more wit than to be here."
When the impeachment was read in the name of the people of England, the same voice exclaimed,
"No, nor a tenth part of them."
Axtel, the officer who guarded the court, giving orders to fire into the box from whence the voice proceeded, it was discovered that these bold answers came from the lady Fairfax, who alone had courage to condemn their proceedings.
When the king was brought forward before the court, he was conducted by the macebearer to a chair placed within the bar. Tho' long detained a prisoner, and now produced as a criminal, he still sustained the dignity of a king; he surveyed the members of the court with a stern haughty air, and, without moving his hat, sat down, while the members also were covered. His charge was then read by the sollicitor, accusing him of having been the cause of all the bloodshed which followed since the commencement of the war; at that part of the charge he could not suppress a smile of contempt and indignation. After the charge was finished, Bradshaw directed his discourse to the king, and told him, that the court expected his answer.
The king with great temper entered upon his defence, by declining the authority of the court. He represented, that having been engaged in treaty with his two houses of parliament, and having finished almost every article, he expected a different treatment from that he now received. He perceived, he said, no appearance of an upper house, which was necessary to constitute a just tribunal. That he was himself the king and fountain of law, and consequently could not be tried by laws to which he had never given his assent; that having been entrusted with the liberties of the people, he would not now betray them, by recognizing a power founded in usurpation; that he was willing before a proper tribunal to enter into the particulars of his defence; but that before them he must decline any apology for his innocence, lest he should be considered as the betrayer of, and not a martyr for the constitution.
Bradshaw, in order to support the authority of the court, insisted, that they had received their power from the people, the source of all right. He pressed the prisoner not to decline the authority of the court, that was delegated by the commons of England, and interrupted, and over-ruled the king in his attempts to reply.
In this manner the king was three times produced before the court, and as often persisted in declining its jurisdiction. The fourth and last time he was brought before this self-created court, as he was proceeding thither, he was insulted by the soldiers and the mob, who exclaimed,
"Justice! justice! execution! execution!"
but he continued undaunted. His judges having now examined some witnesses, by whom it was proved that the king had appeared in arms against the forces commissioned by parliament, they pronounced sentence against him. He seemed very anxious at this time to be admitted to a conference with the two houses; and it was supposed that he intended to resign the crown to his son; but the court refused compliance, and considered his request as an artifice to delay justice.
The conduct of the king under all these instances of low-bred malice was great, firm, and equal; in going through the hall from this execrable tribunal, the soldiers and rabble were again instigated to cry out justice and execution. They reviled him with the most bitter reproaches. Among other insults, one miscreant presumed to spit in the face of his sovereign. He patiently bore their insolence.
"Poor souls, cried he, they would treat their generals in the same manner for six pence."
Those of the populace, who still retained the feelings of humanity, expressed their sorrow in sighs and tears. A soldier more compassionate than the rest, could not help imploring a blessing upon his royal head. An officer overhearing him, struck the honest centinel to the ground before the king, who could not help saying, that the punishment exceeded the offence.
At his return to Whitehall, he desired the permission of the house to see his children, and to be attended in his private devotions by doctor Juxon, late bishop of London. These requests were granted, and also three days to prepare for the execution of the sentence. All that remained of his family now in England were the princess Elizabeth, and the duke of Gloucester, a child of about three years of age. After many seasonable and sensible exhortations to his daughter, he took his little son in his arms, and embracing him,
"My child, said he, they will cut off thy father's head, yes they will cut off my head, and make thee a king. But mark what I say; thou must not be a king as long as thy brothers Charles and James are alive. They will cut off their heads when they can take them, and thy head too they will cut off at last, and therefore I charge thee do not be made a king by them."
The child, bursting into tears, replied,
"I will be torn in pieces first."
Every night during the interval between his sentence and execution, the king slept sound as usual, though the noise of the workmen, employed in framing the scaffold, continually resounded in his ears. The fatal morning being at last arrived, he rose early; and calling one of his attendants, he bad him employ more than usual care in dressing him, and preparing him for so great and joyful a solemnity. The street before Whitehall was the place destined for his execution; for it was intended that this would encrease the severity of his punishment. He was led through the Banquetting House to the scaffold adjoining to that edifice, attended by his friend and servant bishop Juxon, a man endowed with the same mild and steady virtues with his master. The scaffold, which was covered with black, was guarded by a regiment of soldiers, under the command of colonel Tomlinson, and on it were to be seen the block, the ax, and two executioners in masques. The people in great crowds stood at a greater distance, in dreadful expectation of the event. The king surveyed all these solemn preparations with calm composure; and as he could not expect to be heard by the people at a distance, he addressed himself to the few persons who stood round him. He there justified his own innocence in the late fatal wars; and observed, that he had not taken arms till after the parliament, had shewn him the example. That he had no other object in his warlike preparations than to preserve that authority entire, which had been transmitted to him by his ancestors: but, though innocent towards his people, he acknowledged the equity of his execution in the eyes of his Maker. He owned that he was justly punished for having consented to the execution of an unjust sentence upon the earl of Strafford. He forgave all his enemies, exhorted the people to return to their obedience, and acknowledge his son as his successor, and signified his attachment to the protestant religion, as professed in the church of England. So strong was the impression his dying words made upon the few who could hear him, that colonel Tomlinson himself, to whose care he had been committed, acknowleged himself a convert.
While he was preparing himself for the block, bishop Juxon called out to him:
"There is, Sir, but one stage more, which, though turbulent and troublesome, is yet a very short one. It will soon carry you a great way. It will carry you from earth to heaven, and there you shall find, to your great joy, the prize to which you hasten, a crown of glory."
"I go, replied the king, from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance can have place."
"You exchange, replied the bishop, a temporal for an eternal crown, a good exchange."
Charles having taken off his cloak delivered his George to the prelate, pronouncing the word
"Remember."
Then he laid his neck on the block, and stretching out his hands as a signal, one of the executioners severed his head from his body at a blow, while the other, holding it up, exclaimed,
"This is the head of a traitor."
The spectators testified their horror at that sad spectacle in sighs, tears, and lamentations; the tide of their duty and affection began to return, and each blamed himself either with active disloyalty to his king, or a passive compliance with his destroyers. The very pulpits, that used to resound with insolence and sedition, were now bedewed with tears of unfeigned repentance; and all united in their detestation of those dark hypocrites, who, to satisfy their own enmity, involved a whole nation in the guilt of treason.
Charles was executed in the forty-ninth year of his age,
and the twenty-fourth of his reign. He was of a middling stature, robust, and well proportioned. His visage was pleasing, but melancholy; and it is probable that the continual troubles in which he was involved might have made that impression on his countenance. As for his character, the reader will deduce it with more precision and satisfaction to himself from the detail of his conduct, than from any summary given of it by the historian. It will suffice to say, that all his faults seem to have arisen from the error of his education; while all his virtues, and he possessed many, were the genuine offspring of his heart. He lived at a time when the spirit of the constitution was at variance with the genius of the people; and governing by old rules and precedents, instead of accommodating himself to the changes of the times, he fell, and drew down as he sunk the constitution in ruins round him. Many kings before him expired by treasons or assassinations; but never since the times of Agis the Lacedemonian was there any other sacrificed by his subjects with all the formalities of justice. Many were the miseries sustained by the nation in bringing this monarch to the block, and more were yet to be endured previous to the settlement of the constitution; yet these struggles in the end were productive of domestic happiness and security, the laws became more precise, the monarch's privileges better ascertained, and the subjects duty better delineated; all became more peaceable, as if a previous fermentation in the constitution was necessary for its subsequent refinement.
OLIVER CROMWEL.
Hull sculp.
CHAP. XXXIII. THE COMMONWEALTH▪
CROMWELL,
A.D.
1649
who had secretly sollicited, and contrived the king's death, now began to feel wishes to which he had been hitherto a stranger. His prospects widening as he rose, his first principles of liberty were all lost in the unbounded stretch of power that lay before him. When the peers met on the day appointed in their adjournment, they entered upon business, and sent down some votes to the commons, of which the latter deigned not to take the least notice. In a few days after the commons voted, that the house of lords was useless and dangerous, and therefore was to be abolished. They voted it high treason to acknowledge Charles Stuart, son of the late king, as successor to the throne. A great seal was made, on one side of which were engraven the arms of England and Ireland, with this inscription:
"The great seal of England."
On the reverse was represented the house of commons sitting, with this motto:
"On the first year of freedom, by God's blessing restored, 1648."
The forms of all public business were changed from the king's name, to that of the keepers of the liberties of England.
The next day they proceeded to try those gallant men, whose attachment to their late sovereign had been the most remarkable. The duke of Hamilton and lord Capel were condemned and executed, the earl of Holland lost his life by a like sentence, the earl of Norwich and Sir John Owen were condemned, but afterwards pardoned by the commons.
The Scotch, who had in the beginning shewn themselves so averse to the royal family, and having, by a long train of successes, totally suppressed all insurrections in its favour, now first began to relent from their various persecutions. Their loyalty began to return; and the insolence of the independents, with their victories, served to enflame them still more. The execution of their favourite duke Hamilton also, who was put to death not only contrary to the laws of war, but of nations, was no small vexation; they, therefore, determined to acknowlege prince Charles for their king. But their love of liberty was still predominant, and seemed to combat with their manifold resentments. At the same time that they resolved upon raising him to the throne, they abridged his power with every limitation which they had attempted to impose on their late sovereign.
Charles, after the death of his father, having passed some time at Paris, and finding no likelihood of assistance from that quarter, was glad to accept of any conditions. He possessed neither the virtues nor the constancy of his father; and being attached to no religion as yet, he agreed to all their proposals, being satisfied with even the formalities of royalty. It is remarkable, that while the Scotch were thus inviting their king over, they were, nevertheless, cruelly punishing those who had adhered to his cause. Among others, the earl of Montrose, one of the bravest, politest, and most finished characters of that age, was taken prisoner, as he endeavoured to raise the Highlanders in the royal cause; and being brought to Edinburgh was hanged on a gibbet thirty feet high, then quartered, and his limbs stuck up in the principal towns of the kingdom. Yet notwithstanding all this severity to his followers, Charles ventured into Scotland, and had the mortification to enter the gate of Edinburgh, where the limbs of that faithful adherent were still exposed.
Being now entirely at the mercy of the gloomy and austere zealots, who had been the cause of his father's misfortunes, he soon found that he had only exchanged exile for imprisonment. He was surrounded, and incessantly importuned by the fanatical clergy, who obtruded their religious instructions, and obliged him to listen to long sermons, in which they seldom failed to stigmatize the late king as a tyrant, to accuse his mother of idolatry, and himself of an untoward disposition. Six sermons a day were his usual allowance; and though they laboured to out-go each other in absurdity, yet he was denied the small consolation of laughter. In short, the clergy having brought royalty under their feet, were resolved to keep it still subservient, and to trample upon it with all the contumely of successful upstarts. Charles for a while bore all their insolence with hypocritical tranquility, and even pretended to be highly edified by their instructions. He once, indeed, attempted to escape from among them; but being brought back, he owned the greatness of his error, he testified repentance for what he had done, and looked about for another opportunity of escaping.
In the mean time, Cromwell, who had been appointed to the command of the army in Ireland, prosecuted the war in that kingdom with his usual success. He had to combat against the Royalists, commanded by the duke of Ormond, and the native Irish, led on by O'Neal. But such ill connected and barbarous troops could give very little opposition to Cromwell's more numerous forces, conducted by such a general, and emboldened by long success. He soon over-ran the whole country; and after some time, all the towns revolted in his favour, and opened their gates at his approach. But in these conquests, as in all the rest of his actions, there appeared a brutal ferocity, that could tarnish the most heroic valour. In order to intimidate the natives from defending their towns, he, with a barbarous policy, put every garrison that made any resistance to the sword. He entered the city of Drogheda by storm, and indiscriminately butchered men, women, and children, so that only one escaped the dreadful carnage to give an account of the massacre. He was now in the train of speedily reducing the whole kingdom to subjection, when he was called over by the parliament to defend his own country against the Scotch, who, having espoused the royal cause, had raised a considerable army to support it.
After Cromwell's return to England, upon taking his seat, he received the thanks of the house, by the mouth of the speaker, for the services he had done the commonwealth in Ireland. They then proceeded to deliberate upon chusing a general for conducting the war in Scotland, which Fairfax refusing upon principle, as he had all along declined opposing the presbyterians, the command necessarily devolved upon Cromwell. Fairfax, from that time forward declined meddling in public affairs; but sending his commission of generalissimo to the house, he retired to spend the remainder of his life in peace and privacy. Cromwell, eager to pursue the path of ambition that now lay before him, and being declared captain-general of the forces, boldly set forward for Scotland, at the head of an army of sixteen thousand men.
The Scotch, in the mean time, who had invited over their wretched king to be a prisoner, not a ruler, among them, prepared to meet the invasion. They had given the command of their army to general Lesley, a good officer, who formed a proper plan for their defence. This prudent commander knew, that though superior in numbers, his army was much inferior in discipline and experience to the English; and he kept himself carefully within his entrenchments. After some previous motions on one side and the other, Cromwell, at last, saw himself in a very disadvantageous post near Dunbar, and his antagonist waiting deliberately to take advantage of his situation.
A.D.
1650
But the madness of the Scotch clergy saved him from the imminent disgrace that was likely to attend him, and to their vain inspirations he owed his security. These had it seems been night and day wrestling with the Lord in prayer, as they termed it; and they at last fancied that they had obtained the superiority. Revelations they said were made them, that the heretical army, together with Agag their general, would be delivered into their hands. Upon the assurances of these visions, they obliged their general, in spite of all his remonstrances, to descend into the plain, and give the English battle.
The English had their visions and their assurances on their side also. Cromwell, in his turn, had been wrestling with the Lord, and had come off with success. When he was told that the Scotch army were coming down to engage, he assured his soldiers that the Lord had delivered the enemy into his hands; and he ordered his army to sing psalms, as already possessed of a certain victory. The Scotch, though double the number of the English, were soon put to flight, and pursued with great slaughter, while Cromwell did not lose above forty men in all.
The unfortunate king, who hated all the Scotch army, and only dreaded Cromwell, was well enough pleased at the defeat, which belied all the assurances of his oppressors. It was attended also with this good consequence to him, that it served to introduce him to a greater share of power than he had hitherto been permitted to enjoy. He now, therefore, put himself at the head of the small part of the Scotch army that had survived the defeat; and these he still further strengthened by the royalists, whom the covenanters had some time before excluded from his service. Cromwell, however, still followed his blow, pursued the king's forces towards Perth, and cutting off the provisions of the Scotch army, made it impossible for Charles to maintain his forces in that country any longer.
In this terrible exigence he embraced a resolution worthy a prince, who was willing to hazard all for empire. Observing that the way was open to England, he resolved immediately to march into that country, where he expected to be reinforced by all the royalists in that part of the kingdom. His generals were persuaded to enter into the same views; and with one consent the Scotch army, to the number of fourteen thousand men, made an irruption southwards.
But Charles soon found himself disappointed in the expectation of encreasing his army. The Scotch, terrified at the prospect of so hazardous an enterprize, fell from him in great numbers. The English, affrighted at the name of his opponent, dreaded to join him; but his mortifications were still more encreased as he arrived at Worcester, when informed, that Cromwell was marching with hasty strides from Scotland, with an army encreased to forty thousand men. The news scarce arrived, when that active general himself appeared; and falling upon the town on all sides, broke in upon the disordered royalists. The streets were strewed with slaughter, the whole Scotch army was either killed or taken prisoners, and the king himself, having given many proofs of personal valour, was obliged to fly.
Imagination can scarce conceive adventures more romantic, or distresses more severe, than those which attended the young king's escape from the scene of slaughter. After his hair was cut off, the better to disguise his person, he wrought for some days in the habit of a peasant, cutting faggots in a wood. He next made an attempt to retire into Wales, under the conduct of one Pendrel, a poor farmer, who was sincerely attached to his cause. In this attempt, however, he was disappointed, every pass being guarded to prevent his escape. Being obliged to return, he met one colonel Careless, who, like himself, had escaped the carnage at Worcester; and it was in his company that he was obliged to climb a spreading oak, among the thick branches of which they passed the day together, while they heard the soldiers of the enemy in pursuit of them below. From thence he passed, with imminent danger, feeling all the varieties of famine, fatigue, and pain, till he arrived at the house of one colonel Lane, a zealous royalist in Staffordshire. There he deliberated about the means of escaping into France; and Bristol being supposed the properest port, it was agreed that he should ride thither, before this gentleman's sister, on a visit to one Mrs. Norton, who lived in the neighbourhood of that city. During this journey he every day met with persons, whose faces he knew; and at one time passed through a whole regiment of the enemy's army.
When they arrived at Mrs. Norton's, the first person they saw was one of his own chaplains sitting at the door, amusing himself with seeing people play at bowls. The king, after having taken proper care of his horse in the stable, was shewn to an apartment, which Mrs. Lane had provided for him, as it was said he had the ague. The butler, however, being sent to him with some refreshment, no sooner beheld his face, which was very pale with anxiety and fatigue, then he recollected his king and master; and falling upon his knees, while the tears streamed down his cheeks, cried out,
"I am rejoiced to see your majesty."
The king was alarmed, but made the butler promise that he would keep the secret from every mortal, even from his master; and the honest servant punctually obeyed him.
No ship being found that would for a month set sail from Bristol, either for France or Spain, the king was obliged to go elsewhere for a passage. He therefore repaired to the house of colonel Wyndham, in Dorsetshire, where he was cordially received; that gentleman's family having ever been loyal. His mother, a venerable matron, seemed to think the end of her life nobly rewarded, in having it in her power to give protection to her king. She expressed no disatisfaction at having lost three sons, and one grand-child in the defence of his cause, since she was honoured in being instrumental to his own preservation.
Pursuing from thence his journey to the seaside, he once more had a very providential escape from a little inn, where he set up for the night. The day had been appointed by parliament for a solemn fast; and a fanatical weaver, who had been a soldier in the parliament army, was preaching against the king in a little chapel fronting the house. Charles, to avoid suspicion, was himself among the audience. It happened, that a smith of the same principles with the weaver had been examining the horses belonging to the passengers, and came to assure the preacher that he knew by the fashion of the shoes, that one of the strangers horses came from the north. The preacher immediately affirmed that this horse could belong to no other than Charles Stuart, and instantly went with a constable to search the inn. But Charles had taken timely precautions, and had left the inn before the constable's arrival.
At Shoreham, in Sussex, a vessel was at last found, in which he embarked. He was known to so many, that if he had not set sail in that critical moment, it had been impossible for him to escape. After one and forty days concealment, he arrived safely at Feschamp in Normandy. No less than forty men and women had, at different times, been privy to his escape.
In the mean time, Cromwell, crowned with success, returned in triumph to London, where he was met by the speaker of the house, accompanied by the mayor of London, and the magistrates, in all their formalities. His first care was to take advantage of his late successes, by depressing the Scotch, who had so lately withstood the work of the Gospel, as he called it. An act was passed for abolishing royalty in Scotland, and annexing that kingdom, as a conquered province, to the English commonwealth. It was impowered, however, to send some members to the English parliament. Judges were appointed to distribute justice; and the people of that country, now freed from the tyranny of the ecclesiastics, were not much disatisfied with their present government. The prudent conduct of Monk, who had was left by Cromwell to complete their subjection, served much to reconcile the minds of the people, harrassed with dissensions, of which they never well understood the cause.
In this manner the English parliament, by the means of Cromwell, spread their uncontested authority over all the British dominions. Ireland was totally subdued by Ireton and Ludlow. All the settlements in America, that had declared for the royal cause, were obliged to submit; Jersey, Guernsey, Scilly, and the Isle of Man, were brought easily under subjection. Thus mankind saw, with astonishment, a parliament composed of sixty or seventy obscure and illiterate members, governing a great empire with unanimity and success. Without any acknowledged subordination, except a council of state consisting of thirty-eight, to whom all addresses were made, they levied armies, maintained fleets, and gave laws to the neighbouring powers of Europe. The finances were managed with oeconomy and exactness. Few private persons became rich by the plunder of the public: the revenues of the crown, the lands of the bishops, and a tax of an hundred and twenty thousand pounds each month, supplied the wants of the government, and gave vigour to all their proceedings.
The parliament, having thus reduced their native dominions to perfect obedience, next resolved to chastise the Dutch, who had given but very slight causes of complaint. It happened that one doctor Dorislaus, who was of the number of the late king's judges being sent by the parliament as their envoy to Holland, was assassinated by one of the royal party, who had taken refuge there. Some time after also Mr. St. John, appointed their ambassador to that court, was insulted by the friends of the prince of Orange. These were thought motives sufficient to induce the commonwealth of England to declare war against them. The parliament's chief dependence lay in the activity and courage of Blake, their admiral; who, though he had not embarked in naval command till late in life, yet surpassed all that went before him in courage and dexterity. On the other side, the Dutch opposed to him their famous admiral Van Tromp, to whom they never since produced an equal. Many were the engagements between these celebrated admirals, and various was their success. Sea-fights, in general, seldom prove decisive; and the vanquished are soon seen to make head against the victors. Several dreadful encounters, therefore, rather served to shew the excellence of the admirals, than to determine their superiority. The Dutch, however, who felt many great disadvantages by the loss of their trade; and by the total suspension of their fisheries, were willing to treat for a peace; but the parliament gave them a very unfavourable answer. It was the policy of that body, to keep their navy on foot as long as they could; rightly judging, that while the force of the nation was exerted by sea, it would diminish the power of general Cromwell by land, which was now become very formidable to them.
This great aspirer, however, quickly perceived their designs; and from the first saw that they dreaded his growing power, and wished its diminution. All his measures were conducted with a bold intrepidity that marked his character; and he now saw, that it was not necessary to wear the mask of subordination any longer. Secure, therefore, in the attachment of the army, he resolved to make another daring effort; and persuaded the officers to present a petition for payment of arrears and redress of grievances, which he knew would be rejected with disdain. The petition was soon drawn up and presented, in which the officers, after demanding their arrears, desired the parliament to consider how many years they had sat;
A.D.
1653
and what professions they had formerly made of their intentions to new model the house, and establish freedom on the broadest basis. They alledged, that it was now full time to give place to others; and however meritorious their actions might have been, yet the rest of the nation had some right, in turn, to shew their patriotism in the service of their country.
The house was highly offended at the presumption of the army, although they had seen, but too lately, that their own power was wholly founded on that very presumption. They appointed a committee to prepare an act, ordaining that all persons who presented such petitions, for the future, should be deemed guilty of high treason. To this the officers made a very warm remonstrance, and the parliament as angry a reply; while the breach between them every moment grew wider. This was what Cromwell had long wished, and had well foreseen. He was sitting in council with his officers, when informed of the subject on which the house was deliberating; upon which he rose up in the most seeming fury, and turning to major Vernon, cried out,
"That he was compelled to do a thing that made the very hair of his head stand on end."
Then hastening to the house with three hundred soldiers, and with the marks of violent indignation on his countenance he entered, took his place, and attended to the debates for some time. When the question was ready to be put, he suddenly started up, and began to load the parliament with the vilest reproaches for their tyranny, ambition, oppression, and robbery of the public. Upon which, stamping with his foot, which was the signal for the soldiers to enter, the place was immediately filled with armed men. Then addressing himself to the members:
"For shame, said he, get you gone. Give place to honester men; to those who will more faithfully discharge their trust. You are no longer a parliament; I tell you you are no longer a parliament; the Lord has done with you."
Sir Harry Vane exclaiming against this conduct:
"Sir Harry, cried Cromwell with a loud voice, O Sir Harry Vane, the Lord deliver me from Sir Harry Vane."
Taking hold of Martin by the cloak, thou art a whore master; to another, thou art an adulterer; to a third, thou art a drunkard; and to a fourth, thou art a glutton.
"It is you, continued he to the members, that have forced me upon this. I have sought the Lord night and day that he would rather slay me than put me upon this work."
Then pointing to the mace,
"Take away, cried he, that bauble."
After which, turning out all the members, and clearing the hall, he ordered the doors to be locked, and putting the key in his pocket, returned to Whitehall.
Thus, by one daring exploit, the new republic was abolished, and the whole command, civil and military, centered in Cromwell only. The people, however, that were spectators in silent wonder of all these precipitate transactions, expressed no disapprobation at the dissolution of a parliament that had overturned the constitution, and destroyed the king. On the contrary, the usurper received congratulatory addresses from the fleet, the corporations, and the army, for having dismissed a parliament that had subjected them to the most cruel impositions.
But this politic man was too cautious to be seduced by their praise, or driven on by their exhortations. Unwilling to put forth all his power at once, he resolved still to amuse the people with the form of a commonwealth, which it was the delusion of the times to admire, and to give them a parliament that would be entirely subservient to his commands. For this purpose, consulting with some of the principal officers, it was decreed, that the sovereign power should be vested in one hundred and forty-four persons, under the denomination of a parliament; and he undertook himself to make the choice.
The persons pitched upon for exercising this seemingly important trust, were the lowest, meanest, and the most ignorant among the citizens, and the very dregs of the fanatics. He was well apprized that during the administration of such a groupe of characters he alone must govern, or that they must soon throw up the reins of government, which they were unqualified to guide. Accordingly, their practice justified his sagacity. To go further than others into the absurdities of fanaticism was the chief qualification which each of these valued himself upon. Their very names, composed of cant phrases borrowed from Scripture, and rendered ridiculous by their misapplication, served to shew their excess of folly. Not only the names of Zerobabel, Habbakuk, and Mesopotamia were given to those ignorant creatures, but sometimes whole sentences from Scripture. One of them particularly, who was called Praise God Barebone, a canting leatherseller, gave his name to this odd assembly, and it was called Barebone's parliament.
Their attempts at legislation were entirely correspondent to their stations and characters. As they were chiefly composed of antinomians, a sect that, after receiving the spirit, supposed themselves incapable of error, and of fifth monarchy men, who every hour expected Christ's coming on earth, they began by chusing eight of their tribe to seek the Lord in prayer, while the rest calmly sat down to deliberate upon the suppression of the clergy, the universities, the courts of justice; and instead of all this it was their intent to substitute the law of Moses.
To this hopeful assembly was committed the treaty of peace with the Dutch; but the ambassadors from that nation, though themselves presbyterians, were quite carnal minded to these. They were regarded by the new parliament as worldly men, intent on commerce and industry, and therefore not to be treated with. They insisted that the man of sin should be put away, and a new birth obtained by prayer and meditation. The ambassadors finding themselves unable to converse with them in their own way, gave up the treaty as hopeless.
The very vulgar began now to exclaim against so foolish a legislature; and they themselves seemed not insensible of the ridicule which every day was thrown out against them. Cromwell was probably well enough pleased to find that his power was likely to receive no diminution from their endeavours; but began to be ashamed of their complicated absurdities. He had carefully chosen many persons among them entirely devoted to his interests, and these he commanded to dismiss the assembly. Accordingly, by concert, they met earlier than the rest of their fraternity; and observing to each other that this parliament had sat long enough, they hastened to Cromwell, with Rouse their speaker at their head, and into his hands they resigned the authority with which he had invested them.
Cromwell accepted their resignation with pleasure; but being told that some of the number were refractory, he sent colonel White to clear the house of such as ventured to remain there. They had placed one Moyer in the chair by the time that the colonel had arrived; and he being asked by the colonel
"What they did there?"
Moyer replied very gravely, that they were seeking the Lord.
"Then you may go elsewhere, cried White; for to my certain knowlege the Lord has not been here these many years."
This shadow of a parliament being dissolved, the officers, by their own authority, declared Cromwell protector of the commonwealth of England. Nothing now could withstand his authority; the mayor and aldermen were sent for to give solemnity to his appointment; and he was instituted into his new office at Whitehall, in the palace of the kings of England. He was to be addressed by the title of highness; and his power was proclaimed in London, and other parts of the kingdom. Thus an obscure and vulgar man, at the age of fifty-three, rose to unbounded power, first by following small events in his favour, and at length by directing great ones.
It was, indeed, in a great measure necessary that some person should take the supreme command; for affairs were brought into such a situation by the furious animosities of the contending parties, that, nothing but absolute power could prevent a renewal of former bloodshed and confusion. Cromwell, therefore, might have said with some justice upon his installation, that he accepted the dignity of protector merely that he might preserve the peace of the nation; and this it must be owned he effected with equal conduct, moderation, and success. The government of the kingdom was adjusted in the following manner. A council was appointed, which was not to exceed twenty-one, nor to be under thirteen persons. These were to enjoy their offices for life, or during good behaviour; and, in case of a vacancy, the remaining members named three, of whom the protector chose one. The protector was appointed the supreme magistrate of the commonwealth, with such powers as the king was possessed of. The power of the sword was vested in him jointly with the parliament when sitting, or with the council at intervals. He was obliged to summon a parliament every three years, and to allow them to sit five months without adjournment. A standing army was established of twenty thousand foot, and ten thousand horse, and funds were assigned for their support. The protector enjoyed his office during life; and on his death the place was immediately to be supplied by the council. Of all those clauses the standing army was alone sufficient for Cromwell's purpose; for while possessed of that instrument, he could mould the rest of the constitution to his pleasure at any time.
Cromwell chose his council among his officers, who had been the companions of his dangers and his victories, to each of whom he assigned a pension of one thousand pounds a year. He took care to have his troops, upon whose fidelity he depended for support, paid a month in advance; the magazines were also well provided, and the public treasure managed with frugality and care: while his activity, vigilance, and resolution were such, that he discovered every conspiracy against his person, and every plot for an insurrection before they took effect.
His management of foreign affairs, though his schemes were by no means political, yet well corresponded with his character, and, for a while, were attended with success. The Dutch having been humbled by repeated defeats, and totally abridged in their commercial concerns; were obliged at last to sue for peace, which he gave them upon terms rather too favourable. He insisted upon their paying deference to the British flag. He compelled them to abandon the interests of the king, and to pay eighty-five thousand pounds as an indemnification for former expences, and to restore the English East India company a part of those dominions of which they had been dispossessed by the Dutch during the former reign, in that distant part of the world.
He was not less successful in his negotiations with the court of France. Cardinal Mazarine, by whom the affairs of that kingdom were conducted, deemed it necessary to pay deference to the protector; and desirous rather to prevail by dexterity than violence, submitted to Cromwell's imperious character, and thus procured ends equally beneficial to both.
The court of Spain was not less assiduous in its endeavours to gain his friendship, but was not so successful. This vast monarchy, which but a few years before had threatened the liberties of Europe, was now reduced so low as to be scarce able to defend itself. Cromwell, however, who knew nothing of foreign politics, still continued to regard its power with an eye of jealousy, and came into an association with France to depress it still more. He lent that court a body of six thousand men to attack the Spanish dominions in the Netherlands; and upon obtaining a signal victory by his assistance at Dunes, the French put Dunkirk, which they had just taken from the Spaniards, into his hands, as a reward for his attachment.
But it was by sea that he humbled the power of Spain with still more effectual success. Blake, who had long made himself formidable to the Dutch, and whose fame was spread over Europe, now became still more dreadful to the Spanish monarchy. He sailed with a fleet into the Mediterranean, whither, since the time of the crusades, no English fleet had ever ventured to advance. He there conquered all that ventured to oppose him. Casting anchor before Leghorn, he demanded and obtained satisfaction for some injuries which the English commerce had suffered from the duke of Tuscany. He next sailed to Algiers, and compelled the Dey to make peace,
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and to restrain his pyratical subjects from farther injuring the English. He then went to Tunis, and having made the same demands, he was desired by the Dey of that place to look at the two castles, Porto Farino, and Goletta, and do his utmost. Blake shewed him that he was not slow in accepting the challenge; he entered the harbour, burned the shipping there, and then sailed out triumphantly to pursue his voyage. At Cadiz, he took two galleons valued at near two million pieces of eight. At the Canaries, he burned a Spanish fleet of sixteen ships, and returning home to England to enjoy the same of his noble actions, as he came within sight of his native country he expired. This gallant man, though he fought for an usurper, yet was averse to his cause; he was a zealous republican in principle, and his aim was to serve his country, not to establish a tyrant.
"It is still our duty, he would say to the sea-men, to fight for our country into whatever hands the government may fall."
At the same time, that Blake's expeditions were going forward, there was another carried on under the command of admiral Pen and Venables, with about four thousand land-forces, to attack the Island of Hispaniola. Failing however, in this, and being driven off the place by the Spaniards, they steered to Jamaica, which was surrendered to them without a blow. So little was thought of the importance of this conquest, that, upon the return of the expedition, Pen and Venables were sent to the Tower, for their failure in the principal object of their expedition.
All these successes might rather be ascribed to the spirit of the times, than the conductor of them. Cromwell was possessed of but two arts in perfection, that of managing the army, by which he ruled; and obtaining the secrets of his enemies that were plotting against him. For the first, his valour and canting zeal were sufficient; for the latter, it is said he paid sixty thousand pounds a year to his spies to come by his intelligence. But he took care to make the nation refund those extraordinary sums which he expended for such information. One or two conspiracies entered into by the royalists, which were detected and punished, served him as a pretext to lay an heavy tax upon all of that party, of a tenth penny on all their possessions. In order to raise this oppressive imposition, ten major-generals were instituted, who divided the whole kingdom into so many military jurisdictions. These men had power to subject whom they pleased to a payment of this tax, and to imprison such as denied their jurisdiction. Under colour of these powers, they exercised the most arbitrary authority; the people had no protection against their exactions; the very mask of liberty was thrown off, and all property was at the disposal of a military tribunal. It was in vain that the nation cried out for a free parliament; Cromwell assembled one in consequence of their clamours; but as speedily dissolved it, when he found it refractory to his commands.
In this state of universal dejection, in which Scotland and Ireland were treated as conquered provinces, in which the protector issued his absolute orders without even the mask of his former hypocrisy, and in which all trust and confidence were lost in every social meeting, the people were struck with a new instance of the usurper's ambition. As parliaments were ever dear to the people, it was resolved to give them one; but such as should be entirely of the protector's chusing, and chiefly composed of his own creatures. Lest any of a different complexion should presume to enter the house, guards were placed at the door, and none admitted but such as produced a warrant from his council. The principal design of convening this assembly was, that they should offer him the crown, with the title of king, and all the other ensigns of royalty.
His creatures, therefore, took care to infuse into this assembly the merits of the protector; the confusion there was in legal proceedings without the name of a king; that no man was acquainted with the extent or limits of the present magistrate's authority, but those of a king had been well ascertained by the experience of ages. At last the motion was made in form in the house, by alderman Pack, one of the city members, for investing the protector with the regal dignity. The majority of the house being Cromwell's creatures, it may easily be supposed that the bill was voted according to his secret wishes; and nothing now remained but his own consent to have his name enrolled among the kings of England.
Whether it was his original intention by having this bill carried through the house, to shew that he was magnanimous enough to refuse the offer, or whether finding some of those on whom he most depended averse to his taking the title, cannot now be known. Certain it is his doubts continued for some days; and the conference which he carried on with the members who were sent to make him the offer, seems to argue that he was desirous of being compelled to accept what he feared openly to assume. The obscurity of his answers, the absurdity of his speeches on this occasion (for they still remain) shew plainly a mind at variance with itself, and combatting only with a wish to be vanquished.
"I confess, said he, for it behoves me to deal plainly with you, I must confess, I would say I hope I may be understood in this; for indeed I must be tender what I would say to such an audience as this; I say I would be understood, that in this argument I do not make a parallel between men of a different mind, and a parliament which shall have their desires. I know there is no comparison; nor can it be urged upon me that my words have the least colour that way, because the parliament seems to me to give liberty to me to say any thing to you. As that is a tender of my humble reasons and judgment and opinion to them, and if I think they are such, and will be such to them, and are faithful servants, and will be so to the supreme authority and the legislative, wheresoever it is. If I say I should not tell you knowing their minds to be so, I should not be faithful if I should not tell you so, to the end that you may report it to parliament."
In this manner did this most unaccountable of all characters answer their petitions for his assuming the kingly name and dignity; however the conference ended in his refusing their offer.
But it must not be supposed that his situation, with all these offered honours, was at this time enviable? Perhaps no station, however mean, or loaded with contempt, could be more truly distressful than his, at a time the nation was loading him with congratulations and addresses. He had by this,
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rendered himself hateful to every party; and he owed his safety to their mutual hatred and diffidence of each other. His arts of dissimulation had been long exhausted; none now could be deceived by them, those of his own party and principles, disdaining the use to which he had converted his zeal and professions. The truth seems to be, if we may use a phrase taken from common life, he had began with being a dupe to his own enthusiasms, and ended with being a sharper.
The whole nation silently detested his administration, but he had not still been reduced to the extreme of wretchedness, if he could have found domestic consolation. Fleetwood, his son in-law, actuated with the wildest zeal, detested that character which could use religious professions for the purposes of temporal advancement. His eldest daughter, married to Fleetwood, had adopted republican principles so vehemently, that she could not behold even her own father entrusted with uncontrolable power. His other daughters were no less sanguine in favour of the royal cause; but above all, Mrs. Claypole, his favourite daughter, who, upon her death-bed, upbraided him with all those crimes that led him to trample on the throne.
Every hour added some new disquietude. Lord Fairfax, Sir William Waller, and many of the heads of the presbyterians, had secretly entered into an engagement to destroy him. His administration, so expensive both at home and abroad, had exhausted his revenue, and he was left considerably in debt. One conspiracy was no sooner detected, but another rose from its ruins; and to encrease his calamity, he was now taught, upon reasoning principles, that his death was not only desirable, but his assassination would be meritorious. A book was published by colonel Titus, a man who had formerly been attached to his cause, entitled
Killing no Murder.
Of all the pamphlets that came forth at that time, or perhaps of those that have since appeared, this was the most eloquent and masterly. Shall we, said this popular declaimer, who would not suffer the lion to invade us, tamely stand to be devoured by the wolf. Cromwell read this spirited treatise, and was never seen to smile more.
All peace was now for ever banished from his mind. He now found, that the grandeur to which he had sacrificed his former peace, was only an inlet to fresh inquietudes. The fears of assassination haunted him in all his walks, and was perpetually present to his imagination. He wore armour under his cloaths, and always kept pistols in his pockets. His aspect was clouded by a settled gloom; and he regarded every stranger with a glance of timid suspicion. He always travelled with hurry, and was ever attended by a numerous guard. He never returned from any place by the road he went; and seldom slept above three nights together in the same chamber. Society terrified him, as there he might meet an enemy; solitude was terrible, as he was there unguarded by every friend.
A tertian ague kindly came at last to deliver him from this life of horror and anxiety. For the space of a week no dangerous symptoms appeared; and in the intervals of the fits he was able to walk abroad. At length the fever encreased, and he himself began to dread his approaching fate; but he was taught to consider his present disorder as no way fatal, by his fanatic chaplains, on whom he entirely relied. When his chaplain Goodwin told him that the elect would never be damned, then
"I am sure, said he, that I am safe; for I was once in a state of grace."
His physicians were sensible of his dangerous case; but he was so much encouraged by the revelations of his preachers, that he considered his recovery as no way doubtful.
"I tell you, cried he to the physicians, that I shall not die of this distemper; I am well assured of my recovery. Favourable answers have been returned from heaven, not only to my own supplications, but likewise to those of the godly, who have a closer correspondence with God than I. Ye may have skill in your profession; but nature can do more than all the physicians in the world; and God is far above nature."
Upon a fast day appointed on account of his sickness, his ministers thanked God for the undoubted pledges they had received of his recovery. Notwithstanding these assurances the fatal symptoms every hour encreased; and the physicians were obliged to declare that he could not survive the next fit. The council now therefore came to know his last commands concerning the succession; but his senses were gone, and he was just able to answer yes to their demand, whether his son Richard should be appointed to succeed him. He died on the third day of September, that very day which he had always considered as the most fortunate of his life; he was then fifty-nine years old,
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and had usurped the government nine years.
CHAP. XXXIV. From the Death of OLIVER CROMWELL to the RESTORATION.
WHATEVER might have been the differences of interest after the death of the usurper, the influence of his name was still sufficient to get Richard his son proclaimed protector in his room. It was probably owing to the numerous parties that were formed in the kingdom, and their hatred of each other, that Richard owed his peaceable advancement to this high station. He was naturally no way ambitious, being rather mild, easy, and good-natured; and honour seemed rather to pursue, than to attract him. He had nothing active in his disposition; no talents for business, no knowledge of government, no influence among the soldiery, no importance in council.
It was found necessary, upon his first advancement, to call a parliament, to furnish the supplies to carry on the ordinary operations of government. The house of commons was formed legally enough; but the house of lords consisted only of those persons of no real title, who were advanced to that dignified station by the late protector. But it was not on the parliament that the army chose to rely. A great number of the principal malecontents of the army, established a meeting at general Fleetwood's, which, as he dwelt in Wallingford-house, was called the Cabal of Wallingford. The result of their deliberations was a remonstrance that the command of the army should be entrusted to some person in whom they might all confide; and it was plainly given to understand that the young protector was not that person.
A proposal so daring and dangerous did not fail to alarm Richard; he applied to his council, and they referred it to the parliament. Both agreed to consider it as an audacious attempt, and a vote was passed that there should be no meeting, or general council of officers, without the protector's permission. This brought affairs immediately to a rupture. The palace of the protector was the next day surrounded by a body of officers; and one Desborow, a man of a clownish brutal nature, penetrating into his apartment with an armed retinue, threatened him if he should refuse. Richard wanted resolution to defend what had been conferred upon him; he dissolved the parliament then, and soon after he signed his own abdication in form.
Henry Cromwell, his younger brother, who was appointed to the command in Ireland, followed the protector's example, and resigned his commission without striking a blow. Richard lived several years after his resignation, at first on the continent, and afterwards upon his paternal fortune at home. He was thought by the ignorant to be unworthy of the happiness of his exaltation; but he knew by his tranquility in private, that he had made the most fortunate escape.
The officers being once more left to themselves, determined to replace the remnant of the old parliament which had beheaded the king, and which Cromwell had so disgracefully turned out of the house. This was called the good old cause from their attachment to republican principles; and to the members of this, the cabal of officers for a while delivered up their own authority. The members, who had been secluded by colonel Pride's purge, as it was called, attempted, but in vain, to resume their seats among them.
The Rump parliament, for that was the name it went by, although reinstated by the army, was yet very vigorous in its attempts to lessen the power by which it was replaced. The members began their design of humbling the army by new modelling part of the forces, by cashiering such of the officers as they feared, and appointing others, on whom they could rely, in their room. These attempts, however, were not unobserved by the officers; and their discontent would have broke out into some resolution, fatal to the parliament, had it not been checked by apprehensions of danger from the royalists, or presbyterians, who were considered as the common enemy.
In this exigence, the officers held several conferences together, with a design to continue their power. They at length came to a resolution, usual enough in these times, to dissolve that assembly, by which they were so vehemently opposed. Accordingly Lambert, one of the general officers, drew up a chosen body of troops; and placing them in the streets which led to Westminster-hall, when the speaker Lenthall proceeded in his carriage to the house, he ordered the horses to be turned, and very civily conducted him home. The other members were likewise intercepted, and the army returned to their quarters to observe a solemn fast, which generally either proceeded, or attended their outrages.
The officers having thus resumed the power they had given, resolved not to part with it for the future upon easy terms. They elected a committee of twenty-three persons, of whom seven were officers; these they called a committee of safety, and pretended to invest them with sovereign authority. Fleetwood, a weak zealot, was made commander in chief; Lambert, an artful ambitious man, major-general; Desborow, lieutenant-general; and Monk, who had been invested by Cromwell with the government of Scotland, was appointed major-general of the foot. A military government was now established, which gave the nation the melancholy prospect of endless servitude, and tyranny without redress: a succour came to relieve the nation from a quarter on which it was the least expected.
During these transactions, general Monk was at the head of eight thousand veterans in Scotland, and beheld the distraction of his native country with but slender hopes of relieving it. This personage, to whom the nation owes such signal obligations, was at first a soldier of fortune. After some time spent abroad, he was intrusted with a regiment in the service of king Charles, and was usually called by the soldiery, for his good nature, honest George Monk. He was, however, taken prisoner at the siege of Nantwich, by Fairfax, and soon after sent to the Tower. He did not recover his liberty till after the total overthrow of the royal party, when Cromwell took him into favour and protection, and sent him to oppose the Irish rebels, against whom he peformed signal services. Upon the reduction of that kingdom he was sent over into Scotland, and there entrusted with the supreme command, in which station he was not less esteemed by the Scotch, than loved and adored by his own army.
This general, upon hearing that the officers had, by their own authority, dissolved the parliament, protested against the measure, and resolved to defend their invaded privileges. But deeper designs, either in the king's favour or his own, were suspected to be the motive of his actions from the beginning. Whatever might have been his designs, it was impossible to cover them with greater secrecy than he did. As soon as he put his army into motion, to enquire into the causes of the disturbances in the capital, his countenance was eagerly sought by all the contending parties. His own brother, a clergyman, who was a zealous royalist, came to him with a message from lord Granville, in the name of the king. The general asked him if he had ever communicated the contents of his commission to any other person. His brother replied, to none except to Mr. Price, the general's own chaplain, a man of probity, and in the royal interests. The general altering his countenance, at once changed the discourse, and would enter into no further conference with him. The same deep reserve was held thro' all his subsequent proceedings.
Hearing that the officers were preparing an army to oppose him; and that general Lambert was actually advancing northward to meet him, Monk sent three commissioners to London, with very earnest professions of an accommodation, by which means he relaxed their preparations. His commissioners even proceeded so far as to sign a treaty, which he refused to ratify. Still, however, he made proposals for fresh negociations; and the committee of officers again accepted his fallacious offers.
In the mean time, the people perceiving that they were not entirely defenceless, began to gather spirit, and to exclaim loudly against the tyranny of the army. Hazlerig, and Moreley, while Lambert was absent, took possession of Portsmouth, and declared for the parliament. The city apprentices rose in a tumult, and demanded a free parliament. Admiral Lawson came into the river with his squadron, and declared for the parliament; and even the regiments that had been left in London, being solicited by their old officers, who had been cashiered, revolted again to the parliament. The Rump, thus being invited on all hands, again ventured to resume their seats, and to thunder their votes in turn against the officers, and that part of the army by which they had been ejected. Without taking any notice of Lambert, they sent orders to the troops he conducted, immediately to repair to the garrisons they appointed for them. The soldiers were not slow in obeying the parliamentary orders; and Lambert at last found himself deserted by his whole army. He was soon after committed to the Tower; several of his brother-officers cashiered, and the parliament seemed now to stand on a firmer basis than before.
But they were far from being so secure as they imagined. Monk, though he had heard of their restitution, and therefore might be supposed to have nothing more to do, still continued to march his army towards the capital; all the world equally in doubt as to his motives, and astonished at his reserve. The gentry, on his march, flocked round him with entreaties and addresses, expressing their desire of a new parliament. Fairfax brought him a body of troops, with which he offered to assist in the work of restoration; but Monk continued his inflexible taciturnity, and at last came to St. Alban's, within a few miles of London.
He there sent the parliament a message, desiring them to remove such forces as remained in London to country quarters. With this, some of the regiments refused to comply, but Monk was resolved to be obeyed; he entered London the next day, turned the soldiers out, and, with his army, took up his quarters in Westminster. He then waited upon the house, which was ready enough to vote him their sincere thanks for the services he had done his country. But he, in a blunt manner, assured them, that his only merit was a desire to restore peace to the community; and, therefore, he entreated them that they would permit a free parliament to be called, as the only balm that could heal the wounds of the constitution. He observed also, that many oaths of admission upon this occasion were unnecessary; and the fewer the obligations of this kind, the clearer would their consciences be.
The hope of being insolent with security, soon inspired the citizens to refuse submission to the present government. They resolved to pay no taxes, until the members, formerly excluded by colonel Pride, should be replaced. But the parliament found their general willing to give them the most ready instances of his obedience; he entered the city with his troops, arrested eleven of the most obnoxious of the common-council, and began to destroy the gates. Then he wrote a letter to the parliament, telling them what he had done; and begging they would moderate the severity of their orders. But being urged by the house to proceed, he, with all possible circumstances of contempt, broke the gates and port-cullises; and having exposed the city to the scorn and derision of all who hated it, he returned in triumph to his quarters in Westminster. But the next day he began to think he had proceeded too vigorously in this act of obedience; he therefore marched into the city again, and desired the mayor to call a common-council, where he made many apologies for his conduct the day before. He assured them of his perseverance in the cause of freedom; and that his army would, for the future, co-operate only in such schemes as they should approve.
This union of the city and the army caused no small alarm in the house of commons. They knew that a free and general parliament was desired by the whole nation; and in such a case, they were convinced that their own power must have an end. But their fears of punishment were still greater than their uneasiness at dismission; they had been instrumental in bringing their king to the block, in loading the nation with various taxes, and some of them had grown rich by the common plunder; they resolved, therefore, to try every method to gain off the general from his new alliance; even some of them, desperate with guilt and fanaticism, promised to invest him with the dignity of supreme magistrate, and to support his usurpation. But Monk was too just, or too wise to hearken to such wild proposals; he resolved to restore the secluded members, and by their means to bring about a new election, which was what he desired.
There was no other method to effect this, but by force of arms: wherefore, having previously secured the consent of his officers, and exacted a promise from the excluded members, that they would call a full and free parliament, he accompanied them to Whitehall. From thence, with a numerous guard, he conducted them to the house of commons, the other members of which were then sitting. They were surprised to see a large body of men entering the place; but soon recollected them for their ancient brethren, who had been formerly tumultuously expelled, and were now as tumultuously restored. The number of the new comers was so superior to that of the rump, that the chiefs of this last party now, in their turn, thought proper to withdraw.
The restored members began by repealing all those orders by which they had been excluded. They renewed and enlarged the general's commission; they fixed a proper stipend for the support of the fleet and the army; and having passed these votes for the composure of the kingdom, they dissolved themselves, and gave orders for the immediate assembling a new parliament. Mean while Monk new modelled his army to the purposes he had in view. Some officers, by his direction, presented him with an address, in which they promised to obey implicitly the orders of the ensuing parliament. He approved of this engagement, which he ordered to be signed by all the different regiments; and this furnished him with a pretence for dismissing all the officers by whom it was rejected.
In the midst of these transactions his endeavours were very near being defeated by an accident as dangerous as unexpected. Lambert had escaped from the Tower, and began to assemble forces; and as his activity and principles were sufficiently known, Monk took the earliest precautions to oppose his measures. He dispatched colonel Ingoldsby with his own regiment against Lambert, before he should have time to assemble his dependents. That officer had taken possession of Daventry with four troops of horse; but the greater part of them joined Ingoldsby, to whom he himself surrendered, not without exhibiting marks of pusillanimity, that ill agreed with his former reputation.
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1660
As yet the new parliament was not assembled, and no person had hitherto dived into the designs of the general. He still persevered in his reserve; and although the calling a new parliament was but, in other words, to restore the king, yet his expressions never once betrayed the secret of his bosom. Nothing but a security of confidence at last extorted the confession from him. He had been intimate with one Morrice, a gentleman of Devonshire, of a sedentary studious disposition, and with him alone did he deliberate upon the great and dangerous enterprize of the restoration. Sir John Granville, who had a commission from the king, applied for access to the general; but he was desired to communicate his business to Morrice. Granville refused, though twice urged, to deliver his message to any but the general himself; so that Monk now finding he could depend upon this minister's secrecy, he opened to him his whole intentions; but with his usual caution still scrupled to commit any thing to paper. In consequence of these the king left the Spanish territories, where he very narrowly escaped being detained at Breda by the governor, under pretence of treating him with proper respect and formality. From thence he retired into Holland, where he resolved to wait for further advice.
In the mean time the elections in parliament went every where in favour of the king's party. The presbyterians had long been so harrassed by the falshood, the folly, and the tyranny of their independent coadjutors, that they longed, for nothing so ardently as the king's restoration. These, therefore, joined to the royalists, formed a decisive majority on every contest, and without noise, but with steddy resolution, determined to call back the king. Though the former parliament had voted that no one should be elected, who had himself, or whose father had borne arms for the late king, yet very little regard was any where paid to this ordinance; and in many places the former sufferings of the candidate were his best recommendation.
At length the long expected day for the sitting of a free parliament arrived; and they chose Sir Harbottle Grimstone for their speaker, a man, though at first attached to the opposing party, yet a royalist in his heart. The affections of all were turned towards the king; yet such were their fears, and such dangers attended a freedom of speech, that no one dared for some days to make any mention of his name. They were terrified with former examples of cruelty; and they only shewed their loyalty in their bitter invectives against the late usurper, and in execrations against the murderers of their king. All this time Monk, with his usual reserve, tried their tempers, and examined the ardour of their wishes; at length he gave directions to Annesley, president of the council, to inform them that one Sir John Granville, a servant of the king's, had been sent over by his majesty, and was now at the door with a letter to the commons.
Nothing could exceed the joy and transport with which this message was received. The members for a moment forgot the dignity of their situations, and indulged in a loud exclamation of applause. Granville was called in, and the letter eagerly read. A moment's pause was scarce allowed; all at once the house burst out into an universal assent at the king's proposals; and to diffuse the joy more widely, it was voted that the letter and declaration should immediately be published.
The king's declaration was highly relished by every order of the state. It offered a general amnesty to all persons whatsoever, and that without any exceptions, but such as should be made by parliament. It promised to indulge scrupulous consciences with liberty in matters of religion; to leave to the examination of parliament the claims of all such as possessed lands with contested titles; to confirm all these concessions by act of parliament; to satisfy the army under general Monk with respect to their arrears, and to give the same rank to his officers when they should be received into the king's service.
This declaration was not less pleasing to the lords than to the people. After voting the restitution of the ancient form of government, it was resolved to send the king fifty thousand pounds, the duke of York his brother ten thousand, and the duke of Gloucester half that sum. Then both houses erased from their records all acts that had passed to the prejudice of royalty. The army, the navy, the city of London, were eager in preparing their addresses to be presented to his majesty; and he was soon after proclaimed with great solemnity at Whitehall, and at Temple Bar. The people, now freed from all restraint, let loose their transports without bounds. Thousands were seen running about frantic with pleasure; and, as lord Clarendon says, such were the numbers of the loyalists that pressed forward on this occasion, that one could not but wonder where those people dwelt who had lately done so much mischief.
Charles took care to confirm the substance of his declarations to the English commissioners, who were dispatched to attend him into his native dominions. Montague, the English admiral, waited upon his majesty to inform him that the fleet expected his orders at Scheveling. The duke of York immediately went on board, and took the command as lord high-admiral. The king went on board, and landing at Dover, was received by the general, whom he tenderly embraced. Very different was his present triumphant return from the forlorn state in which he left the English coast at Sussex. He now saw the same people that had ardently sought his life, as warmly expressing their pleasure at his safety, and repentance for their past delusions. He entered London on the twenty-ninth of May, which was his birth-day. An innumerable concourse of people lined the way wherever he passed, and rent the air with their acclamations. They had been so long distracted by unrelenting factions, oppressed and alarmed by a succession of tyrannies, that they could no longer suppress these emotions of delight to behold their constitution restored; or rather, like a phoenix, appearing more beautiful and vigorous from the ruins of its former conflagration.
Fanaticism, with its long train of gloomy terrors, fled at the approach of freedom; the arts of society and peace began to return; and it had been happy for the people if the arts of luxury had not entered in their train.
CHARLES II
Hull sculp.
CHAP. XXXV. CHARLES II.
THIS is one of the most extraordinary epochas in English history, in which we see the people tossed into opposite factions, and, as the sea after a storm, still continuing those violent motions by which they were first impelled. We see them at one period of the following reign, with unbounded adulation solliciting the shackles of arbitrary power; at another, with equal animosity banishing all the emissaries of unbounded power from the throne; now courting the monarch, and then threatening those on whom he most depended. There seems a clue that can unravel all these inconsistencies. While the people thought the king a protestant, they were willing to entrust him with their lives and fortunes; but when they supposed that he was more inclining to popery, all their confidence vanished, and they were even willing to punish papists, as the properest method of shewing their resentment against himself.
When Charles came to the throne he was thirty years of age, possessed of an agreeable person, an elegant address, and an engaging manner. His whole demeanor and behaviour was well calculated to support and encrease popularity. Accustomed during his exile to live chearfully among his courtiers, he carried the same endearing familiarities to the throne; and from the levity of his temper no injuries were dreaded from his former resentments. But it was soon found that all these advantages were merely superficial. His indolence and love of pleasure made him averse to all kinds of business; his familiarities were prostituted to the worst as well as the best of his subjects; and he took no care to reward his former friends, as he had taken no steps to be avenged of his former enemies.
It required some time before the several parts of the state, disfigured by war and faction, could come into proper form; a council was composed, into which church of England men and presbyterians indiscriminately were admited; and the king's choice of his principal ministers was universally pleasing to the people. Sir Edward Hyde, who had attended him in his exile, was now created a peer by the title of lord Clarendon, and appointed lord-chancellor, and first minister of state. This excellent man is better known now by his merits as an historian, than as a statesman; but his integrity and wisdom were equally excellent in both. The marquis, afterwards created duke of Ormond, was appointed lord-steward of the houshold, the earl of Southampton high treasurer, and Sir Edward Nicholas secretary of state. These men, combined by private friendship, and pursuing one common aim, laboured only for the public, and supported its interests with their own.
But though the joy of the people was unbounded, yet something was thought to be due to justice, and some vengeance was necessary to be taken upon those who had lately involved the nation in its calamities. Though an act of indemnity was passed, those who had an immediate hand in the king's death were excepted. Even Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw, though dead, were considered as proper objects of resentment; their bodies were dug from their graves, dragged to the place of execution, and, after hanging some time, buried under the gallows. Of the rest, who sat in judgment on the late monarch's trial, some were dead, and some were thought worthy of pardon. Ten only, out of fourscore, were devoted to immediate destruction. These were enthusiasts, who had all along acted from principle, and who, in the general spirit of rage excited against them, shewed a fortitude that might do honour to a better cause.
General Harrison, who was first brought to his trial, pleaded his cause with that undaunted firmness which he had shewn through life. What he had done, he said, was from the impulses of the spirit of God. He would not, for any benefit to himself, hurt an hair of the poorest man or woman upon earth; and during the usurpation of Cromwell, when all the rest of the world acknowledged his right, or bowed down to his power, he had boldly upbraided the usurper to his face; and all the terrors of imprisonment, and all the allurements of ambition, had not been able to bend him to a compliance to that deceitful tyrant. Harrison's death was marked with the same admirable constancy which he shewed at his his trial; so that the greatness of some virtues which he possessed, in some measure counterbalanced the greatness of his guilt.
Carew, Coke, Peters, Scot, Clement, Scrope, Jones, Hacker, and Axtel, shared the same fate. They bore the scorn of the multitude, and the cruelty of the executioner, not simply with fortitude, but with the spirit and confidence of martyrs, who suffered for having done their duty. Some circumstances of scandalous barbarity attended their execution. Harrison's entrails were torn out, and thrown into the fire before he expired. His head was fixed on the sledge that drew Coke and Peters to the place of execution, with the face turned towards them. The executioner having mangled Coke approached Peters, besmeared with the blood of his friend, and asked how he liked that work. Peters viewed him with an air of scorn:
"You have butchered a servant of God in my sight; but I defy your cruelty."
This was all the blood that was shed in so great a restoration. The rest of the king's judges were reprieved, and afterwards dispersed into several prisons. Charles being directed in all things by Clarendon, gave universal satisfaction as well by the lenity as the justice of his conduct. The army was disbanded that had for so many years governed the nation; prelacy, and all the ceremonies of the church of England, were restored; at the same time that the king pretended to preserve an air of moderation and neutrality. In fact, with regard to religion, Charles, in his gayer hours, was a professed deist, and attached to none; but in the latter part of his life, when he began to think more seriously, he shewed an inclination to the catholic persuasion, which he had strongly imbibed in his exile.
But this toleration, in which all were equally included, was not able to remove the fears, or quell the enthusiasm of a few desperate men, who, by an unexampled combination, were impelled by one common phrenzy. One Venner, a desperate enthusiast, who had often conspired against Cromwell, and had as often been pardoned, had by this time persuaded his followers, that if they would take arms, Jesus would come to put himself at their head. With these expectations, to the number of sixty persons, they issued forth into the streets of London in complete armour, and proclaimed king Jesus where ever they went. They believed themselves invulnerable and invincible, and expected the same fortune which had attended Gideon, and the other heroes of the Old Testament. Every one at first fled before them; one unhappy man being asked who he was for, answering that he was for God and the king, they slew him upon the spot. In this manner they went from street to street, and made a desperate resistance against a body of the train bands that was sent to attack them. After killing many of the assailants, they made a regular retreat into Cane wood, near Hampstead. Being dislodged from thence, the next morning they returned to London, and took possession of an house, in which they defended themselves against a body of troops, until the majority was killed. At last the troops, who had untiled the house, and were tired of slaughter, rushed in, and seized the few that were left alive. They were tried, condemned, and executed; and to the last they declared, that if they were deceived, it was the Lord himself that was their deceiver.
The absurdity, and even ridicule which attended the professions and expectation of these poor deluded men, struck the people very strongly; and from the gloomy moroseness of enthusiasm, they now went over into the opposite extreme of riot and debauchery. The court itself set them the example; nothing but scenes of gallantry and festivity were to be seen; the horrors of the late war were become the subject of ridicule; the formality and ignorance of the sectaries were displayed upon the stage, and even laughed at from the pulpit. But while the king thus rioted, the old faithful friends and followers of his family were left unrewarded. Numbers who had fought for him and his father, and had lost their whole fortunes in his service, still continued to pine in want and oblivion. While, in the mean time, their persecutors, who had profited by the times, had acquired fortunes during the civil war, and were still permitted to enjoy them without molestation. The sufferers petitioned in vain: the family of the Stuarts were never remarkable for their gratitude; and the amusers, the flatterers, and the concubines of this monarch, enjoyed all his consideration. The wretched royalists murmured without redress; he fled from their gloomy expostulations to scenes of mirth, riot, and festivity.
Nevertheless his parliaments, both of England and Scotland, seemed willing to make reparation for their former disobedience, by their present concessions.
A.D.
1661
In the English house, monarchy and episcopacy were carried to as great splendour, as they had suffered misery and depression. The bishops were permitted to resume their seats in the house of peers; all military authority was acknowledged to be vested in the king; and he was empowered to appoint commissioners for regulating corporations, and expelling such members as had intruded themselves by violence, or professed principles dangerous to the constitution. An act of uniformity in religion was passed, by which it was required that every clergyman should be re-ordained, if he had not before received episcopal ordination; that he should declare his assent to every thing contained in the Book of Common Prayer, and should take the oath of canonical obedience. In consequence of this law, above two thousand of the presbyterian clergy relinquished their cures in one day, to the great astonishment of the nation; thus sacrificing their interest to their religion.
But the Scotch parliament went still greater lengths in their prostrations to the king. It was there that his divine, indefeasible, and hereditary right, was asserted in the fullest and most positive terms. His right was extended to their lives and possessions, and from his original grant was said to come all that his subjects might be said to enjoy. They voted him an additional revenue of forty thousand pounds; and all their former violences were treated with a degree of the utmost detestation.
This was the time for the king to have made himself independent of all parliaments; and it is said that Southampton, one of his ministers, had thought of procuring his master from the commons the grant of a revenue of two millions a year, which would effectually render him absolute; but in this his views were obstructed by the great Clarendon, who, tho' attached to the king, was still more the friend of liberty and the laws. Charles, however, was no way interested in these opposite views of his ministers; he only desired money, in order to prosecute his pleasures; and provided he had that, he little regarded the manner in which it was obtained.
It was this careless and expensive disposition that first tended to disgust his subjects, and to dispel that intoxication of loyalty, which had taken place at his restoration. Tho' the people were pleased with the mirth and pleasantry of their monarch, yet they could not help murmuring at his indolence; his debaucheries, and profusion. They could not help remembering the strict frugality and active diligence that marked the usurper's administration; they called to mind the victories they had gained under him, and the vast projects he had undertaken. But they now saw an opposite picture; a court sunk in debauchery, and they taxes of the nation only employed in extending vice, and corrupting the morals of the people. The ejected clergy did not fail to enflame these just resentments in the minds of the audience; but particularly when the nation saw Dunkirk, which had been acquired during the late vigorous administration, now basely sold to the French, for a small sum to supply the king's extragance, they could put no bounds to their complaints. From this time,
A.D.
1662
he found the wheels of government clogged with continual obstructions, and his parliaments reluctantly granting those supplies, which he as meanly condescended to implore.
His continual exigences drove him constantly to measures no way suited to his inclination. Among others, was his marriage, celebrated at this time with Catharine, the Infanta of Portugal, who, though a virtuous princess, possessed as it should seem but few personal attractions. It was the portion of this princess that the needy monarch was enamoured of, which amounted to three hundred thousand pounds, together with the fortress of Tangier in Africa, and of Bombay in the East Indies. The chancellor Clarendon, the dukes of Ormond, and Southampton, urged many reasons against this match, particularly the likelihood of her never having any children; the king disregarded their advice, and the inauspicious marriage was celebrated accordingly.
But still his necessities were greater than his supplies. He never much loved the steady virtue of lord Clarendon, and imputed to him some of those necessities to which he was reduced. It is said also that this great minister prevented him from repudiating the queen, which he had thoughts of doing, in order to marry one Mrs. Stuart, on whom he had placed his affections, by procuring that lady to be privately married to the duke of Richmond. However this be, he was now willing to give him up to the resentment of the parliament, to whom he was become obnoxious, in order to obtain some farther supplies. For this purpose he assembled the commons in the Banquetting-house; and, in the close of a flattering speech, replete with professions of eternal gratitude, and the warmest affection, he begged a supply for his present occasions, which he said were extremely pressing. They could not resist his humble supplications; they granted him four subsidies; and the clergy, in convocation, followed their example. On this occasion lord Bristol ventured to impeach the chancellor in the house of peers; but not supporting his charge for this time, the affair dropped, only in order to be revived again the next sessions with greater animosity.
It was probably with a view of recruiting the supply for his pleasures, that he was induced to declare war against the Dutch, as the money appointed for that purpose, would go through his hands. A vote, by his contrivance, was procured in the house of commons, alledging, that the wrongs, affronts, and indignities offered by the Dutch in several quarters of the globe, had in a great measure obstructed the trade of the nation. This was enough for his majesty to proceed upon. As his prodigality always kept him necessitous, he foresaw that he should be able to convert a part of the supplies to his private amusements. His brother also, the duke of York, longed for an opportunity of signalizing his courage and conduct, as high admiral, against a people he hated, not only for their republican principles, but also as being one of the chief bulwarks of the protestant religion.
This war began on each side with mutual depredations. The English, under the command of Sir Robert Holmes, not only expelled the Dutch from Cape Corse castle, on the coast of Africa, but likewise seized the Dutch settlements of Cape Verde, and the Isle of Goree. Sailing from thence to America, the admiral possessed himself of Nova Belgia, since called New York; a country that has since continued annexed to the English government. On the other hand, de Ruyter, the Dutch admiral, sailed to Guinea, dispossessed the English of all their settlements there, except Cape Corse. He then sailed to America, attacked Barbadoes, but was repulsed. He afterwards committed hostilities on Long Island. Soon after, the two most considerable fleets of each nation met, the one under the duke of York, to the number of an hundred and fourteen sail, the other commanded by Opdam, admiral of the Dutch navy, of nearly equal force. The engagement began at four in the morning, and both sides fought with their usual intrepidity. The duke of York was in the hottest part of the engagement, and behaved with great spirit and composure, while his lords and attendants were killed beside him. In the heat of the action, when engaged in close fight with the duke, the Dutch admiral's ship blew up: this accident much discouraged the Dutch, who fled towards their own coast; they had nineteen ships sunk and taken, the victors lost only one. This disaster threw the Dutch into consternation; and de Wit, their great minister, whose genius and wisdom were admirable, was obliged to come on board, and take the command of the fleet upon himself. This extraordinary man quickly became as much master of naval affairs, as if he had been from his infancy educated in them. He even improved some parts of the naval art, beyond what expert mariners had ever expected to attain.
The success of the English naturally excited the jealousy of the neighbouring states, particularly France and Denmark, who resolved to protect the Dutch against the superior power of their opposers. The Dutch, being thus strengthened by so powerful an alliance, resolved to face their conquerors once more. De Ruyter, their great admiral, was returned from his expedition to Guinea; and was appointed, at the head of seventy-six sail, to join the duke of Beaufort, the French admiral, who, it was supposed, was then entering the British channel from Toulon. The duke of Albemarle and prince Rupert now commanded the English fleet, which did not exceed seventy-four sail. Albemarle, who from his successes under Cromwell had learned too much to despise the enemy, proposed to detach prince Rupert with twenty ships to oppose the duke of Beaufort. Sir George Ayscue, well acquainted with the force of his enemies, protested against the temerity of this resolution; but Albemarle's authority prevailed. The English and Dutch, thus engaging upon unequal terms, a battle ensued, the most memorable in the annals of the ocean. The battle began with incredible fury: the Dutch admiral Evertzen was killed by a cannon ball, and one vessel of their fleet was blown up, while one of the English ships was taken: darkness parted the combatants for the first day. The second day they renewed the combat with encreased animosity; sixteen fresh ships joined the Dutch, and the English were so shattered, that their fighting ships were reduced to twenty-eight. Upon retreating towards their own coast, the Dutch followed them, where another dreadful conflict was beginning, but parted by the darkness of the night as before. The morning of the third day, the English were obliged to continue their retreat, and the Dutch persisted in pursuing. Albemarle, who still kept in the rear, and presented a dreadful front to the enemy, made a desperate resolution to blow up his ship rather than submit to the enemy; when he happily found himself reinforced by prince Rupert with sixteen ships of the line. By this time it was night; and the next morning, after a distant cannonading, the fleets came to a close combat, which was continued with great violence, till they were parted by a mist. Sir George Ayscue, in a ship of one hundred guns, had the misfortune to strike on the Galoper Sands, where he was surrounded and taken. The English retired first into their harbours; both sides claimed the victory, but the Dutch certainly obtained the advantage, though not the glory of the combat.
A second engagement, equally bloody, followed soon after, with larger fleets on both sides, commanded by the same admirals; and in this the Dutch were obliged to own themselves vanquished, and retreat into their own harbours. But they soon were in a capacity to out-number the English fleet, by the junction of Beaufort the French admiral. The Dutch fleet appeared in the Thames, conducted by their great admiral; and threw the English into the utmost consternation: a chain had been drawn across the river Medway; some fortifications had been added to the forts along the banks, but all these were unequal to the present force: Sheerness was soon taken, the Dutch passed forward, and broke the chain, though fortified by some ships, sunk there by Albemarle's orders. Destroying the shipping in their passage, they advanced still onward, with six men of war, and five fire-ships, as far as Upnore castle, where they burned three men of war. The whole city of London was in consternation; it was expected that the Dutch might fail up next tide to London bridge, and destroy, not only the shipping, but even the buildings of the metropolis. But the Dutch were unable to prosecute that project, from the failure of the French, who had promised to give them assistance; spreading, therefore, an alarm along the coast, and having insulted Norwich, they returned to their own ports, to boast their insult on the British glory.
A.D.
1667
Nothing could exceed the indignation felt by the people at this disgrace. But they had lately sustained some accidental calamities, which in some measure moderated their rage and their pride. A plague had ravaged the city the year before, which swept away more than an hundred thousand of its inhabitants. This calamity was soon after followed by another still more dreadful, as more unexpected: a fire breaking out at a baker's house, who lived in Pudding-lane, near the bridge, it spread with such rapidity, that no efforts could extinguish it till it laid in ashes the most considerable party of the city. The conflagration continued three days; while the wretched inhabitants fled from one street, only to be spectators of equal calamities in another. At length, when all hope vanished, and a total destruction was expected, the flames ceased unexpectedly, after having reduced thousands from affluence to misery. As the streets were narrow, and mostly built of wood, the flames spread the faster; and the unusual dryness of the season prevented the proper supplies of water. But the people were not satisfied with these obvious motives; having been long taught to impute their calamities to the machinations of their enemies, they now ascribed the present misfortune to the same cause, and imputed the burning of the city to a plot laid by the papists. But happily for that sect, no proofs were brought of their guilt, though all men were willing to credit them. The magistracy, therefore, contented themselves with ascribing it to them, on a monument raised where the fire began; and which still continues as a proof of the blind credulity of the times. This calamity, though at first it affected the fortunes of thousands, in the end proved both beneficial and ornamental to the city. It rose from its ruins in greater beauty than ever; and the streets being widened, and built of brick instead of wood, became thus more wholesome and more secure.
These complicated misfortunes did not fail to excite many murmurs among the people; fearful of laying the blame on the king, whose authority was formidable, they very liberally ascribed all their calamities to papists, jesuits, and fanatics. The war against the Dutch was exclaimed against, as unsuccessful and unnecessary; as being an attempt to humble that nation, who were equal enemies of popery with themselves. Charles himself also began to be sensible that all the ends for which he had undertaken the Dutch war, were likely to prove entirely ineffectual. Whatever projects he might have formed for secreting the money granted him by parliament for his own use, he had hitherto failed in his intention; and instead of laying up, he found himself considerably in debt. Proposals were, therefore, thrown out for an accommodation, which, after some negociation, the Dutch consented to accept. A treaty was concluded at Breda, by which the colony of New York was ceded by the Dutch to the English, and has continued a most valuable acquisition to the present time.
Upon the whole of this treaty, it was considered as inglorious to the English, as they failed in gaining any redress upon the complaints which gave rise to it. Lord Clarendon, therefore, gained a share of blame, both for having first advised an unnecessary war, and then for concluding a disgraceful peace. He had been long declining in the king's favour, and he was no less displeasing to the majority of the people. His severe virtue, his uncomplying temper, and his detestation of factious measures, were unlikely to gain him many partizans in such a court as that of Charles, that had been taught to regard every thing serious as somewhat criminal. There were many accusations now therefore brought up against him; the sale of Dunkirk, the bad payment of the seamen, and disgrace at Chatham, were all added to the accumulation of his guilt. But particularly his imputed ambition was urged among his crimes. His daughter had, while yet in Paris, commenced an amour with the duke of York; and had permitted his gallantries to transgress the bounds of virtue. Charles, who then loved Clarendon, and who was unwilling that he should suffer the mortification of a parent, obliged the duke to marry his daughter; and this marriage, which was just in itself, became culpable in the minister. A building likewise of more expence than his slender fortune could afford, had been undertaken by him; and this was regarded as a structure raised by the plunder of the public. Fewer accusations than these would have been sufficient to disgrace him with Charles; he ordered the seals to be taken from him, and given to Sir Orlando Bridgeman.
This seemed the signal for Clarendon's enemies to step in, and effect his entire overthrow. The house of commons, in their address to the king, gave him thanks for his dismission of that nobleman; and immediately a charge was opened against him in the house, by Mr. Seymour, consisting of seventeen articles. These, which were only a catalogue of the popular rumours before-mentioned, appeared at first sight false or frivolous. However Clarendon finding the popular torrent, united to the violence of power, running with impetuosity against him, thought proper to withdraw to France. The legislature then passed a bill of banishment and incapacity, while Clarendon continued to reside in a private manner at Paris, where he employed his leisure in reducing his history of the civil war into form, for which he had before collected materials.
A confederacy of great importance, which goes by the name of the Triple Alliance, was formed by Charles, soon after the fall of this great statesman, as if to shew that he could still supply his place. It was conducted by Sir William Temple, one of the great ornaments of English literature; who united the philosopher and the statesman, and was equally great in both. This alliance was formed between England, Holland, and Sweden, to prevent the French king from completing his conquests in the Netherlands. That monarch had already subdued the greater part of that delightful country; when he was unexpectedly stopped in the midst of his career by this league; in which it was agreed by the contracting powers, that they would constitute themselves arbiters of the differences between France and Spain, and check the inordinate pretensions of either.
To this foreign confederacy succeeded one of a domestic nature, that did not promise such beneficial effects as the former. The king had long been fluctuating between his pride and his pleasures; the one urged him to extend his prerogative, the other to enjoy the good things that fortune threw in his way. He therefore would be likely to find the greatest satisfaction in those ministers, who could flatter both his wishes at once. He was excited by the active spirit of his brother, to rise above humble solicitations to his parliament; and was beset by some desperate counsellors, who importuned and encouraged him to assert his own independence. The principal of those were, Clifford, Ashley, Buckingham, Arlington, Lauderdale, a junto distinguished by the appellation of the Cabal, a word containing the initial letters of their names. Never was there a more dangerous ministry in England, nor one more fitted to destroy all that liberty which had been establishing for ages.
Sir Thomas Clifford, was a man of a daring and impetuous spirit, rendered more dangerous by eloquence and intrigue. Lord Ashley, soon after known by the name of lord Shaftesbury, was the most extraordinary man of his age; he had been a member of the long parliament, and had great influence among the presbyterians; he was a favourite of Cromwell, and afterwards had a considerable hand in the restoration; he was turbulent, ambitious, subtle, and enterprising; well acquainted with the blind attachment of parties, he surmounted all shame; and while he had the character of never betraying any of his friends, yet he changed his party as it suited his convenience. The duke of Buckingham was gay, capricious, of some wit, and great vivacity, well fitted to unite, and harmonize the graver tempers of which this junto was composed. Arlington was a man but of very moderate capacity, his intentions were good, but he wanted courage to persevere in them. Lastly, the duke of Lauderdale, who was not defective in natural, and still less in acquired talents, but neither was his address graceful, nor his understanding just; he was ambitious, obstinate, insolent, and sullen. These were the men to whom Charles gave up the conduct of his affairs; and who plunged the remaining part of his reign in difficulties,
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1670
which produced the most dangerous symptoms.
A secret alliance with France, and a rupture with Holland, were the first consequences of their advice. The duke of York had the confidence boldly to declare himself a catholic; and to alarm the fears of the nation still more, a liberty of conscience was allowed to all sectaries, whether dissenters, or papists. These measures were considered by the people as destructive, not only of their liberties, but of their religion, which they valued more. A proclamation was issued, containing very rigorous clauses in favour of pressing; another full of menaces against those who ventured to speak undutifully of his majesty's measures; and even against those who heard such discourses, unless they informed in due time against the offenders. These measures, though still within bounds, were yet no way suitable to that legal administration, which upon his restoration he had promised to establish.
The English now saw themselves engaged in a league with France against the Dutch; and consequently, whether victorious or vanquished, their efforts were like to be equally unsuccessful. The French had for some years been growing into power; and now, under the conduct of their ambitious monarch, Lewis XIV. they began to threaten the liberties of Europe, and particularly the protestant religion, of which Lewis had shewn himself a determined enemy. It gave the people, therefore, a gloomy prospect, to see an union formed, which, if successful, must totally subvert that balance of power, which the protestants aimed at preserving; nor were they less apprehensive of their own sovereign, who, though he pretended to turn all religion to ridicule in his gayer hours, yet was secretly attached to the catholics, or was very much suspected of being so. The first events of this war, therefore, were very correspondent to their fears of French treachery. The English and French combined fleets, commanded by the duke of York, and the mareschal d'Etrees, met the Dutch fleet to the number of ninety sail, commanded by admiral de Ruyter, and a furious battle ensued. In this engagement, the gallant Sandwich, who commanded the English van, drove his ship into the midst of the enemy, beat off the admiral that ventured to attack him, sunk another ship that attempted to board him, and sunk three fire-ships that endeavoured to grapple with him. Tho' his vessel was torn with shot, and out of a thousand men, there only remained four hundred, he still continued to thunder in the midst of the engagement. At last a fire-ship, more fortunate than the former, having laid hold of his vessel, her destruction was now inevitable. Sandwich however refused to quit his ship, though warned by Sir Edward Haddock his captain; he perished in the flames, while the engagement continued to rage all around him. Night parted the combatants; the Dutch retired, and were not followed by the English. The loss sustained by the two maritime powers was nearly equal; but the French suffered very little, not having entered into the heat of the engagement. It was even supposed that they had orders for this conduct, and to spare their own ships, while the Dutch and English should grow weak by their mutual animosities.
The combined powers were much more successful against the Dutch by land. Lewis conquered all before him, crossed the Rhine, took all the frontier towns of the enemy, and threatened the new republic with a final dissolution. Terms were proposed to them by the two conquerors. Lewis offered them such as would have deprived them of all power of resisting an invasion from France by land. Those of Charles exposed them equally to every invasion from sea. At last, the murmurs of the English at seeing this brave and industrious people, the supporters of the protestant cause, totally sunk, and on the brink of destruction, were too loud not to impress the king. He was obliged to call a parliament to take the sense of the nation upon his conduct;
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1673
and he soon saw how his subjects stood affected.
The eyes of all men, both abroad and at home, were fixed upon this new parliament, which, after many prorogations, continued sitting for near two years. Before the commons entered upon business, there lay before them an affair, which discovered, beyond a possibility of doubt, the arbitrary projects of the king. It had been a constant practice in the house for many years, in case of any vacancy, to issue out writs for new elections; but, by Shaftesbury's advice, several members had taken their seats upon more irregular writs issued by the chancellor; so that the whole house in time might be filled with members clandestinely called up by the court. The house was no sooner therefore assembled, and the speaker placed in his chair, than a motion was made against this method of election; and the members themselves, thus called to parliament, had the modesty to withdraw.
The king's late declaration of indulgence to all sectaries was next taken into consideration, and a remonstrance drawn up against that exercise of the prerogative. The commons persisted in their opposition to it; and represented that such a practice, if admitted, might tend to interrupt the free course of the laws, and alter the legislative power, which had always been acknowledged to reside in the king and the two houses. Charles, therefore, found himself obliged, reluctantly, to retract his declaration; but that he might do it with a better grace, he asked the opinion of the house of peers, who advised him to comply. The commons expressed the utmost satisfaction with this measure, and the most entire duty to the king. He on his part assured them, that he would willingly pass any law which might tend to give them satisfaction in all their just grievances.
Having abridged the king's stretches of power in these points, they went still farther, and resolved to make the conformity of national principles still more general. A law was passed, entitled the Test act, imposing an oath on all who should enjoy any public office. Besides the taking the oaths of allegiance, and the king's supremacy, they were obliged to receive the sacrament once a year in the established church, and to abjure all belief in the doctrine of transubstantiation. As the dissenters also had seconded the efforts of the commons against the king's declaration for indulgence, a bill was passed for their ease and relief, which, however, went with some difficulty through the house of peers.
But still the great object of their meeting was to be enquired into; for the war against the Dutch continued to rage with great animosity. Several sea engagements succeeded each other very rapidly, which brought on no decisive action; both nations claiming the victory after every battle. The commons, therefore, weary of the war, and distrustful even of success, resolved that the standing army was a grievance. They next declared, that they would grant no more supplies to carry on the Dutch war, unless it appeared that the enemy continued so obstinate as to refuse all reasonable conditions. To cut short these disagreeable altercations, the king resolved to prorogue the parliament; and, with that intention, he went unexpectedly to the house of peers, and sent the usher of the black-rod to summon the house of commons to attend. It happened that the speaker and the usher nearly met at the door of the house; but the speaker, being within, some of the members suddenly shut the door, and cried To the chair! Upon which the following motions were instantly made in a tumultuous manner. That the alliance with France was a grievance; that the evil counsellors of the king were a grievance; that the duke of Lauderdale was a grievance; and then the house rose in great confusion. The king soon saw that he could expect no supply from the commons for carrying on the war, which was so odious to them; he resolved, therefore, to make a seperate peace with the Dutch, on terms which they had proposed through the channel of the Spanish ambassador. For form sake, he asked the advice of his parliament, who, concurring heartily in his intentions, a peace was concluded accordingly.
This turn in the system of the king's politics was very pleasing to the nation in general; but the Cabal quickly saw that it would be the destruction of all their future attempts and power. Shaftesbury, therefore, was the first to desert them, and go over to the country party, who received him, with open arms, and trusted him with unbounded reserve. Clifford was dead. Buckingham was desirous of imitating Shaftesbury's example. Lauderdale and Arlington were exposed to all the effects of national resentment. Articles of impeachment were drawn up against the former, which, however, were never prosecuted; and as for the other, he every day grew more and more out of favour with the king, and contemptible to the people. This was an end of the power of a junto, that had laid a setled plan for overturning the constitution, and fixing unlimited monarchy upon its ruins.
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1674
In the mean time, the war between the Dutch and the French went on with the greatest vigour; and although the latter were repressed for a while, they still continued making encroachments upon the enemies territories. The Dutch forces were commanded by the prince of Orange, who was possessed of courage, activity, vigilance, and patience; but he was inferior in genius to those consummate generals opposed to him. He was, therefore, always unsuccessful; but still found means to repair his losses, and to make head in a little time against his victorious enemies. These ineffectual struggles for the preservation of his country's freedom, interested the English strongly in his favour; so that from being his opposers, they now wished to lend him assistance. They considered their alliance with France as threatening a subversion to the protestant, religion; and they longed for an union with him, as the only means of security. The commons, therefore, adressed the king, representing the danger to which the kingdom was exposed from the growing greatness of France; and they assured him, in case of a war, that they would not be backward in their supplies. Charles was not displeased with the latter part of their address, as money was necessary for his pleasures. He therefore told them, that unless they granted him six hundred thousand pounds, it would be impossible for him to give them a satisfactory answer. The commons refused to trust to his majesty's professions; his well known profusion was before their eyes. The king reproved them for their diffidence, and immediately ordered them to adjourn.
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1677
The marriage of the duke of York's eldest daugther, the princess Mary, heir apparent to the crown, with the prince of Orange, was a measure that gave great satisfaction in these general disquietudes about religion. The negotiation was brought about by the king's own desire; and the protestants now saw an happy prospect before them of a succession, that would be favourable to their much loved reformation. A negotiation for peace between the French and the Dutch followed soon after, which was rather favourable to the latter. But the mutual animosities of these states not being as yet sufficiently quelled, the war was continued for some time longer. The king, therefore, to satisfy his parliament, who declared loudly against the French, sent over an army of three thousand men to the continent, under the command of the duke of Monmouth, to secure Ostend. A fleet also was fitted out with great diligence; and a quadruple alliance was projected between England, Holland, Spain, and the Emperor. These vigorous measures brought about the famous treaty of Nimeguen, which gave a general peace to Europe.
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1678
But though peace was secured abroad, the discontents of the people still continued at home.
CHAP. XXXVI. CHARLES II. (Continued.)
THIS reign presents the most amazing contrasts of levity and cruelty, of mirth and gloomy suspicion. Ever since the fatal league with France, the people had entertained violent jealousies against the court. The fears and discontents of the nation were vented without restraint; the apprehensions of a popish successor, an abandoned court, and a parliament which, though sometimes assertors of liberty, yet continuing for seventeen years without change; these naturally rendered the minds of mankind timid and suspicious, and they only wanted objects on which to wreck their ill humour.
When the spirit of the English is once roused, they either find objects of suspicion or make them. On the twelfth of August, one Kirby, a chemist, accosted the king as he was walking in the Park.
"Sir, said he, keep within the company, your enemies have a design upon your life, and you may be shot in this very walk."
Being questioned in consequence of this strange intimation, he offered to produce one doctor Tongue, a weak credulous clergyman, who had told him that two persons, named Grove and Pickering, were engaged to murder the king; and that Sir George Wakeman, the queen's physician, had undertaken the same task by poison. Tongue was introduced to the king with a bundle of papers relating to this pretended conspiracy, and was referred to the lord treasurer Danby. He there declared that the papers were thrust under his door; and he afterwards declared, that he knew the author of them, who desired that his name might be concealed, as he dreaded the resentment of the Jesuits.
This information appeared so vague and unsatisfactory, that the king concluded the whole was a fiction. However Tongue was not to be repressed in the ardour of his loyalty; he went again to the lord treasurer, and told him, that a pacquet of letters, written by Jesuits concerned in the plot, was that night to be put into the post-house for Windsor, directed to one Bedingfield, a Jesuit, who was confessor to the duke of York, and who resided there. These letters had actually been received a few hours before by the duke; but he had shewn them to the king as a forgery, of which he neither knew the drift nor the meaning. This incident still farther confirmed the king in his incredulity. He desired, however, that it might be concealed, as it might raise a flame in the nation; but the duke, sollicitous to prove his innocence, insisted upon a nicer discussion, which turned out very different from his expectations.
Titus Oates, who was the fountain of all this dreadful intelligence, was produced soon after, who, with seeming reluctance, came to give his intelligence. This man affirmed that he had fallen under the suspicion of the Jesuits, and that he had concealed himself, in order to avoid their resentment. This Titus Oates was an abandoned miscreant, obscure, illiterate, vulgar, and indigent. He had been once indicted for perjury, was afterwards chaplain on board a man of war, and dismissed for unnatural practices. He then professed himself a Roman catholic, and crossed the sea to St. Omer's, where he was for some time maintained in the English seminary of that city. The fathers of that college sent him with some dispatches to Spain; but after his return, when they became better acquainted with his character, they would not suffer him to continue among them; so that he was obliged to return to London, where he was ready to encounter every danger for his support. At a time that he was supposed to have been entrusted with a secret involving the fate of kings, he was allowed to remain in such necessity, that Kirby was obliged to supply him with daily bread.
He had two methods to proceed, either to ingratiate himself by this information with the ministry, or to alarm the people, and thus turn their fears to his advantage. He chose the latter method. He went, therefore, with his two companions to Sir Edmondsbury Godfrey, a noted and active justice of peace, and before him deposed to a narrative dressed up in terrors fit to make an impression on the vulgar. The pope, he said, considered himself as entitled to the possession of England and Ireland, on account of the heresy of the prince and people, and had accordingly assumed the sovereignty of these kingdoms. This, which was saint Peter's patrimony, he had delivered up to the Jesuits, and Oliva, the general of that order, was his delegate. Several English catholic lords, whose names he mentioned, were appointed by the pope to the other offices of state; lord Arundel was created chancellor, lord Powis treasurer, Sir William Godolphin privy-seal, Coleman, the duke's secretary, was made secretary of state, Langhorne attorney-general, lord Belasis general of the forces, lord Peters lieutenant-general, and lord Stafford pay-master. The king, whom the Jesuits called the Black Bastard, was solemnly tried by them, and condemned as an heretic. He asserted that father Le Shee, meaning the French king's confessor La Chaise, had offered ten thousand pounds to any man who should kill the king. Ten thousand pounds had been offered to Sir George Wakeman to poison him; but he was mercenary, and demanded fifteen thousand, which demand was complied with. Lest these means should fail, four Irish ruffians had been employed by the Jesuits at the rate of twenty guineas a piece to stab the king at Windsor. Colman, late secretary to the dutchess of York, was deeply involved in the plot, and had given a guinea to the messenger, who carried them orders for the assassination. Grove and Pickering, to make sure work, were employed to shoot the king, and that too with silver bullets. The former was to receive fifteen hundred pounds for his pains, and the latter, being a pious man, thirty thousand masses. Pickering would have executed his purpose, had not the flint dropped out of his pistol at one time, and at another the priming. Oates went on to say that he himself was chiefly employed in carrying notes and letters among the Jesuits, all tending to the same end of murthering the king. A wager of an hundred pound was made, and the money deposited, that the king should eat no more Christmass pyes. The great fire of London had been the work of the Jesuits; several other fires were resolved on, and a paper model was already framed for firing the city anew. Fire-balls were called among them Tewksbury mustard-pills. Twenty thousand catholics in London were prepared to rise; and Coleman had remitted two hundred thousand pounds to assist the rebels in Ireland. The duke of York was to be offered the crown in consequence of the success of these probable schemes, on condition of extirpating the protestant religion. Upon his refusal
"To pot James must go,"
as the Jesuits were said to express it.
In consequence of this dreadful information, sufficiently marked with absurdity, vulgarity, and contradiction, Titus Oates became the favourite of the people, notwithstanding during his examination before the council, be so betrayed the grossness of his impostures, that he contradicted himself in every step of his narration. While in Spain he had been carried, he said, to Don John, who promised great assistance to the execution of the catholic designs. The king asked him what sort of a man his old acquaintance Don John was. Oates replied that he was a tall lean man, which was directly contrary to the truth, as the king well knew. Though he pretended great intimacies with Coleman, yet he knew him not when placed very near him, and had no other excuse but that his sight was bad by candle-light. He was guilty of the same mistake with regard to Sir George Wakeman.
But these improbabilities had no weight against the general wish, if I may so express it, that they should be true. The violent animosity which had been excited against the catholics in general, made the people find a gloomy pleasure in hoping for an opportunity of satiating their hatred. The more improbable any account seemed, the more unlikely it was that any impostor should invent improbabilities, and therefore appeared more like truth.
A great number of the Jesuits mentioned by Oates were immediately taken into custody. Coleman, who was said to have acted so strenuous a part in the conspiracy, at first retired; but next day surrendered himself to the secretary of state, and some of his papers, by Oates's directions, were secured. These papers, which were such as might be naturally expected from a zealous catholic in his situation, were converted into very dangerous evidence against him. He had, without any doubt, maintained a close correspondence with the French king's confessor, with the pope's nuncio at Brussels, and with many other catholics abroad, in which there was a distant project on foot for bringing back popery upon the accession of the duke of York. But these letters contained nothing that served as proof in the present information; and their very silence in that respect, though they appeared imprudent enough in others, was a proof against Oates's pretended discovery. However, when the contents of those letters were publicly known, they diffused the panic which the former narrative had begun. The two plots were brought to strengthen each other, and confounded into one. Coleman's letters shewed there had actually been designs on foot, and Oates's narrative was supposed to give the particulars.
In this fluctuation of passions, an accident served to confirm the prejudices of the people, and to put it beyond a doubt that Oates's narrative was nothing but the truth. Sir Edmondsbury Godfrey, who had been so active in unravelling the whole mystery of the popish machinations, after having been missing some days, was found dead in a ditch by Primrose-hill, in the way to Hampstead. His own sword was thrust though his body; but no blood had flowed from the wound; so that it appeared he was dead some time before this method was taken to deceive the public. He had money in his pockets, and there was a broad livid mark quite round his neck, which was dislocated. The cause of his death remains, and must still continue, a secret; but the people, already enraged against the papists, did not hesitate a moment to ascribe it to them. No farther doubt remained of Oates's veracity; the voice of the whole nation united against them; and the populace were exasperated to such a degree, that moderate men began to dread a general massacre of that unhappy sect. The body of Godfrey was carried through the streets in procession, preceded by seventy clergymen; and every one who saw it made no doubt that his death could be only caused by the papists. Even the better sort of people were infected with this vulgar prejudice; and such was the general conviction of popish guilt, that no person, with any regard to personal safety, could express the least doubt concerning the information of Oates, or the murther of Godfrey.
It only remained for the parliament to repress these delusions, and to bring back the people to calm and deliberate enquiry. But the parliament testified greater credulity than even the vulgar. The cry of plot was immediately echoed from one house to the other; the country party would not let slip such an opportunity of managing the passions of the people; the courtiers were afraid of being thought disloyal, if they should doubt the innocence of the pretended assassins of their king. Danby, the prime minister, himself entered into it very furiously; and though the king told him that he had thus given the houses a handle to ruin himself, and to disturb the affairs of government, yet this minister persevered, till he found the king's prognostic but too true.
The king himself, whose safety was thus threatened and defended, was the only person who treated the plot with becoming contempt. He made several efforts for stifling an enquiry, which was likely to involve the kingdom in confusion, and must at any rate hurt his brother, who had more than once professed his resolution to defend the catholic religion.
In order to continue and propagate the alarm, an address was voted for a solemn fast. It was requested that all papers tending to throw light upon so horrible a conspiracy might be laid before the house, that all papists should remove from London, that access should be denied at court to all unknown and suspicious persons, and that the train-bands in London and Westminster should be in readiness to march. They voted, after hearing Oates's evidence, that there was a damnable and hellish plot, contrived and carried on by the popish recusants, for assassinating and murdering the king, and for rooting out the protestant religion. Oates, who had acknowleged the accusations against his morals to be true, was, however, recommended by parliament to the king. He was lodged in Whitehall, and encouraged by a pension of twelve hundred pounds a-year to proceed in forging new informations.
The encouragement given to Oates did not fail to bring in others also, who hoped to profit by the delusion of the times William Bedloe, a man, if possible, more infamous than Oates, appeared next upon the stage. He was, like the former, of very low birth, had been noted for several cheats and thefts, had travelled over many parts of Europe under borrowed names, and had frequently passed himself for a man of quality. This man, at his own desire, was arrested at Bristol, and conveyed to London, where he declared before the council that he had seen the body of Sir Edmondsbury Godfrey at Somerset-house, where the queen lived. He said that a servant of lord Bellasis offered to give him four thousand pounds if he would carry it off. He was questioned about the plot, but utterly denied all knowlege of it, and also asserted that he had no acquaintance with Oates. Next day, however, he thought it would be better to share the emoluments of the plot, and he gave an ample account of it. This narrative he made to tally as well as he could with the information of Oates, which had been published; but to render it the more acceptable, he added some circumstances of his own, still more tremendous, and still more absurd, than those of Oates. He said that ten thousand men were to be landed from Flanders in Burlington-bay, and were immediately to seize Hull. He affirmed that the lords Powis and Petre had undertaken to raise an army in Radnorshire; that fifty thousand men were ready to rise in London; that he himself had been tampered with to murder a
man,
and was to receive four thousand pounds for that service, beside the pope's blessing; that the king was to be assassinated, the protestants butchered, and the kingdom offered to One, if he would consent to hold it of the church; if not, the pope should continue to govern without him. He likewise accused the lords Carrington and Brudenell, who were committed to custody by order of parliament. But the most terrible part of all was that Spain was to invade England with forty thousand men, who were ready at St. Jago in the character of pilgrims; though at this time Spain was actually unable to raise ten thousand men to supply her own garrisons in Flanders.
These narrations carry their own refutation; the infamy of the witnesses, the contradiction in their testimony, the improbability of it, the low vulgarity of the information, unlike what men trusted with great affairs would be apt to form, all these serve to raise our horror against these base villians, and our pity at the delusion of the times that could credit such reports. In order to give a confident air to the discovery, Bedloe published a pamphlet, with this title.
"A Narrative and impartial Discovery of the horrid Popish Plot, carried on for the burning and destroying the Cities of London and Westminster, with their suburbs, &c. by Captain William Bedloe, lately engaged in that horrid design, and one of the Popish committees for carrying on such fires."
The papists were thus become so obnoxious, that vote after vote passed against them in the house of commons. They were called idolaters; and such as did not concur in acknowleging the truth of the epithet, were expelled the house without ceremony. Even the duke of York was permitted to keep his place in the house by a majority of only two.
"I would not, said one of the lords, have so much as a popish man or a popish woman to remain here, not so much as a popish dog, or a popish bitch, not so much as a popish cat to mew, or pur about our king."
This was wretched eloquence; but it was admirably suited to the times.
Encouraged by the general voice in their favour, the witnesses, who all along had enlarged their narratives, in proportion as they were greedily received, went a step farther, and ventured to accuse the queen. The commons, in an address to the king, gave countenance to this scandalous accusation; the lords rejected it with becoming disdain. The king received the news of it with his usual good humour.
"They think, said he, that I have a mind to a new wife; but for all that I will not suffer an innocent woman to be abused."
He immediately ordered Oates to be strictly confined, seized his papers, and dismissed his servants. But his favour with parliament soon procured his release.
Edward Coleman, secretary to the duke of York, was the first who was brought to trial, as being most obnoxious to those who pretended to fear the introduction of popery. His letters were produced against him. They plainly testified a violent zeal for the catholic cause, and that alone at present was sufficient to convict him. But Oates and Bedloe came in to make his condemnation sure. The former swore that he had sent fourscore guineas to a ruffian, who undertook to kill the king. The date of the transaction he fixed in the month of August, but would not fix the particular day. Coleman could have proved that he was in the country the greatest part of that month, and therefore the witness would not be particular. Bedloe swore that he had received a commission, signed by the superior of the Jesuits, appointing him papal secretary of state, and that he had consented to the king's assassination. After this unfortunate man's sentence, thus procured by these vipers, many members of both houses offered to interpose in his behalf, if he would make an ample confession; but as he was, in reality, possessed of no treasonable secrets, he would not procure life by falsehood and imposture. He suffered with calmness and constancy, and to the last persisted in the strongest protestations of his innocence.
The trial of Coleman was succeeded by those of Ireland, Pickering, and Grove. Ireland, a Jesuit, was accused by Oates and Bedloe, the only witnesses against him, that he was one of the fifty Jesuits who had signed the great resolve against the king. Ireland affirmed, and proved, that he was in Staffordshire all the month of August, a time when Oates asserted he was in London. The jury brought him in guilty, and the judge commended their verdict. It was in the same manner sworn that Pickering and Grove had bound themselves by an oath to assassinate the king; that they had provided themselves with screwed pistols and silver bullets. They both protested their innocence, and were found guilty. All these unhappy men went to execution protesting their innocence, a circumstance which made no impression on the spectators; their being Jesuits banished even pity from their sufferings.
The animosities of the people, however, seemed a little appeased by the execution of these four; but a new train of evidence was now discovered, that kindled the flame once more. One Miles Prance, a goldsmith, and a professed Roman catholic, had been accused by Bedloe of being an accomplice in Sir Edmondsbury's murder; and, upon his denial, had been loaded with heavy irons, and thrown into the condemned hole, a place cold, dark, and noisome. There the poor wretch lay groaning and exclaiming that he was not guilty; but being next day carried before Lord Shaftesbury, and there threatened with severer punishment in case of obstinacy, he demanded if a confession would procure his pardon. Being assured of that, he had no longer courage to resist, but confessed himself an accomplice in Godfrey's murder. He soon after, however, retracted his evidence before the king; but the same rigours being employed against him, he was induced once more to confirm his first information. The murder he said was committed in Somerset-house, by the contrivance of Gerrard and Kelly, two Irish priests. That Lawrence Hill, footman to the queen's treasurer, Robert Green, cushion-keeper to her chapel, and Henry Berry, porter of the palace, followed Sir Edmondsbury at a distance, from ten in the morning till seven in the evening; but that passing by Somerset-house, Green throwing a twisted handkerchief over his head, he was soon strangled, and the body carried to a high chamber in Somerset-house, from whence it was removed to another apartment, where it was seen by Bedloe.
Hill, Green, and Berry, were tried upon this evidence, though Bedloe's narrative, and Prance's information, were totally irreconcileable, and though their testimony was invalidated by contrary evidence, all was in vain, the prisoners were condemned and executed. They all denied their guilt at execution; and as Berry died a protestant this circumstance was regarded as very considerable. But instead of stopping the torrent of credulity, it only encreased the people's animosity against a protestant, who could at once be guilty of a popish plot, of murder, and of denying it in his last moments.
This frightful persecution continued for some time; and the king, contrary to his own judgment, was obliged to give way to the popular fury. Whitebread, provincial of the Jesuits, Fenwick, Gavan, Turner, and Harcourt, all of them of the same order, were brought to their trial: Langhorne soon after. Besides Oates and Bedloe, Dugdale, a new witness, appeared against the prisoners. This man spread the alarm still farther, and even asserted, that two hundred thousand papists in England were ready to take arms. The prisoners proved, by sixteen witnesses from St. Omers, that Oates was in that seminary at the time he swore he was in London. But as they were papists, their testimony could gain no manner of credit. All pleas availed them nothing; both the Jesuits and Langhorne were condemned and executed, with their last breath denying the crimes for which they died.
The informers had less success on the trial of Sir George Wakeman, the queen's physician, who, though they swore with their usual animosity, was acquitted. His condemnation would have involved the queen in his guilt; and it is propable the judge and jury were afraid of venturing so far.
The earl of Stafford, near two years after, was the last man that fell a sacrifice to these bloody wretches; the witnesses produced against him were Oates, Dugdale, and Tuberville. Oates swore that he saw Fenwick, the Jesuit, deliver Stafford a commission from the general of the Jesuits, constituting him pay-master of the papal army. Dugdale gave testimony that the prisoner had endeavoured to engage him in the design of murdering the king. Turberville affirmed, that the prisoner, in his own house at Paris, had made him the same proposal. The clamour and out-rage of the populace against the prisoner was very great; he was found guilty and condemned to be hanged and quartered; but the king changed the sentence into that of beheading. He was executed on Tower-hill, where even his persecutors could not forbear shedding tears at that serene fortitude which shone in every feature, motion, and accent of this aged nobleman. Some other lords, who were taken up and imprisoned upon the former evidence, were tried and acquitted some time after, when the people began to recover from their phrenzy.
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1679
But while these prosecutions were going forward, raised by the credulity of the people, and seconded by the artifice of the parliament, other designs equally vindictive, were carried on. The lord treasurer Danby was impeached in the house of commons, by Seymour his enemy. The principal charge against him was, his having written a letter to Montague, the king's ambassador at Paris, directing him to sell the king's good offices at the treaty of Nimeguen, to the king of France for a certain sum of money; contrary to the general interests of the confederates, and even those of his own kingdoms. This was a charge he could not deny; and though the king was more culpable than the minister, yet the prosecution was carried on against him with vigour. But he had the happiness to find the king resolved to defend him. Charles assured the parliament, that as he had acted in every thing by his orders, he held him as entirely blameless; and though he would deprive him of all his employments, yet he would positively insist on his personal safety. The lords were obliged to submit; however they went on to impeach him, and Danby was sent to the Tower, but no worse consequences ensued.
These furious proceedings had been all carried on by an house of commons that had now continued undissolved for above seventeen years; the king, therefore, was resolved to try a new one, which he knew could not be more unmanageable than the former. However, the new parliament did not in the least abate of the activity and obstinacy of their predecessors. The king, indeed, changed his council, by the advice of Sir William Temple, and admitted into it several of both parties, by which he hoped to appease his opponents; but the antipathy to popery had taken too fast a possession of men's minds, to be removed by so feeble a remedy. This house resolved to strike at the root of the evil, which threatened them from a popish successor; and, after some deliberations a bill was brought in for the total exclusion of the duke of York from the crown of England and Ireland. It was by that intended, that the sovereignty of these kingdoms, upon the king's death or resignation, should devolve to the person next in succession to the duke; and that all acts of royalty, which that prince should afterwards perform, should not only be void, but deemed treason. This important bill passed the lower house, by a majority of seventy nine.
Nor did their efforts rest here, the commons voted the king's standing army and guards to be illegal. They proceeded to establish limits to the king's power of imprisoning delinquents at will. It was now that the celebrated statute, called the Habeas Corpus act, was passed, which confirms the subject in an absolute security from oppressive power. By this act, it was prohibited to send any one to prisons beyond the sea: no judge, under severe penalties, was to refuse to any prisoner his writ of habeas corpus; by which the gaoler was to produce in court the body of the prisoner, whence the writ had its name, and to certify the cause of his detainer and imprisonments. If the goal lie within twenty miles of the judge, the writ must be obeyed in three days, and so proportionably for greater distances. Every prisoner must be indicted the first term of his commitment, and brought to trial the subsequent term. And no man after being enlarged by court, can be recommitted for the same offence.
This law alone, would have been sufficient to endear the parliament that made it to posterity; and it would have been well if they had rested there. The duke of York had retired to Brussels during these troubles; but an indisposition of the king led him back to England, to be ready, in case of any sinister accident, to assert his right to the throne. After prevailing upon his brother to disgrace the duke of Monmouth, a natural son of the king's, by one Mrs. Waters, and now become very popular, he himself retired to Scotland, under pretence of still quieting the apprehensions of the English nation; but in reality, to strengthen his interests there. This secession served still more to enflame the country party, who were strongly attached to the duke of Monmouth, and were resolved to support him against the duke of York. Mobs, petitions, pope burnings, were artifices employed to keep up the terrors of popery, and alarm the court. The parliament had shewn favour to the various tribes of informers, and that served to encrease the number of these miscreants; but plots themselves also became more numerous. Plot was set up against plot; and the people kept still suspended in dreadful apprehension.
The Meal-Tub Plot, as it was called, was brought forward to the public on this occasion. One Dangerfield, more infamous, if possible, than Oates and Bedloe, a wretch who had been set in the pillory, scourged, branded, and transported for felony and coining, hatched a plot in conjunction with a midwife, whose name was Cellier, a Roman catholic, of abandoned character. Dangerfield began by declaring, that there was a design on foot to set up a new form of government, and remove the king and the royal family. He communicated this intelligence to the king and the duke of York, who supplied him with money, and countenanced his discovery. He hid some seditious papers in the lodgings of one colonel Mansel; and then brought the custom-house officers to his apartment, to search for smuggled merchandize. The papers were found, and the council having examined the affair, concluded they were forged by Dangerfield. They ordered all the places he frequented to be searched; and in the house of Cellier, the whole scheme of the conspiracy was discovered upon paper, concealed in a meal-tub, from whence the plot had its name. Dangerfield being committed to Newgate, made an ample confession of the forgery, which, though probably entirely of his own contrivance, he ascribed to the earl of Castlemain, the countess of Powis, and the five lords in the Tower. He said that the design was to suborn witnesses to prove a charge of sodomy and perjury upon Oates, to assassinate the earl of Shaftesbury, to accuse the dukes of Monmouth and Buckingham, the earls of Essex, Hallifax and others, of having been concerned in the conspiracy against the king and his brother. Upon this information, the earl of Castlemain and the countess of Powis were sent to the Tower, and the king himself was suspected of encouraging this imposture.
But it was not by plots alone the adverse parties endeavoured to supplant each other. Tumultuous petitions on the one hand, and flattering addresses on the other, were sent up from all quarters. Wherever the country party prevailed, petitions filled with grievances and apprehensions, were sent to the king with an air of humble insolence. Whereever the church, or the court party prevailed, addresses were framed, containing expressions of the highest regard to his majesty, and the deepest
abhorrence
of those who endeavoured to disturb the public tranquility. Thus the nation came to be distinguished into
Petitioners
and
Abhorrers.
Whig and Tory also were first used as terms of mutual reproach at this time. The Whigs, were so denominated from a cant name given to the sour Scotch conventiclers, (Whig being milk turned sour.) The Tories were denominated from the Irish banditti so called, whose usual manner of bidding people deliver, was by the Irish word Toree, or give me.
As this parliament seemed even to surpass the former in jealousy and resentment, the king was induced to dissolve it; and could willingly have never applied to another. But his necessities, caused by his want of oeconomy, and his numberless needy dependents, obliged him to call another. However every change seemed only to inflame the evil;
A.D.
1680
and his new parliament seemed willing to out do even their predecessors. Every step they took, betrayed that zeal with which they were animated. They voted the legality of petitioning to the king; they fell with extreme violence on the Abhorrers, who; in their addresses to the crown, had expressed their disapprobation of those petitions. Great numbers of these were seized by their order, from all parts of England, and committed to close custody: the liberty of the subject, which had been so carefully guarded by their own recent law, was every day violated by their arbitrary and capricious commitments. One Stowel of Exeter, was the person that put a stop to their proceedings; he refused to obey the serjeant at arms, who was sent to apprehend him; he stood upon his defence, and said he knew no law by which they pretended to commit him. The house, finding it equally dangerous to proceed or to recede, got off by an evasion. They inserted in their votes, that Stowel was indisposed; and a month's time was allowed him for his recovery. It is happy for the nation, that should the commons at any time overleap the bounds of their authority, and order men capriciously to be committed to prison; there is no power, in case of resistance, that can compel the prisoner to submit to their decrees.
But the chief point which the commons laboured to obtain, was the
Exclusion Bill,
which, though the former house had voted, was never passed into a law. Shaftesbury, and many considerable men of the party, had rendered themselves so obnoxious to the duke of York, that they could find safety in no measure but his his ruin. Monmouth's friends hoped that the exclusion of James would make room for their own patron. The duke of York's professed bigotry to the catholic superstition influenced numbers; and his tyrannies, which were practised without controul, while he continued in Scotland, rendered his name odious to thousands. In a week, therefore, after the commencement of the sessions, a motion was made for bringing in an exclusion bill, and a committee was appointed for that purpose. The debates were carried on with great violence on both sides; the bill was defended by lord Russel, who had now resigned his office of attorney general, by Sir William Jones, Sir Francis Winnington, Sir Harry Capel, Sir William Pultney, colonel Titus, Treby, Hambden, and Montague. It was opposed by Sir Leoline Jenkins, secretary of state, Sir John Ernely, chancellor of the exchequer; by Hyde, Seymour, and Temple: the bill passed by a great majority in the house of commons, but was opposed in the house of peers with better success. Shaftesbury, Sunderland, and Essex, argued for it. Halifax chiefly conducted the arguments against it. The king was present during the whole debate; and had the pleasure of seeing the bill thrown out by a very great majority. All the bishops, except three, voted against it; for they were of opinion that the church of England was in much greater danger from the prevalence of presbyterianism, than of popery.
The commons were extremely mortified and enraged at the rejection of their favourite bill; and to shew how strongly they resented the indulgence which was shewn to popery, they passed a bill for easing the protestant dissenters, and for repealing such acts as tended to their persecution. They proceeded to bring in bills, which, though contributing to secure the liberty of the subject, yet probably at that period only calculated to excite them to insurrection. They had thoughts of renewing the triennial act; of continuing the judges in their offices during good behaviour; of ordering an association for the defence of his majesty's person, and the security of the protestant religion. They voted, that till the exclusion bill was passed, they could not, consistent with the trust reposed in them, grant the king any manner of supply; and to prevent his taking other methods to get money, they voted that whoever should hereafter lend, by way of advance, any money upon any branches of the king's revenue, should be responsible to parliament for his conduct. The king, therefore, finding that there were no hopes of extorting either money or obedience from the commons, came to a resolution of once more dissolving the parliament. His usher of the black rod accordingly came to dissolve them, while they were voting that the dissenters should be encouraged, and that the papists had burned the city of London.
The parliament thus dissolved, it was considered as a doubt, whether the king would ever call another: however, the desire he had of being supplied with money, surmounted his fears from every violence a parliament might offer. But it had always been supposed that the neighbourhood of London, at once both potent and factious, was an improper place for assembling a parliament that would be stedfast in the king's interests; he therefore resolved at once to punish the Londoners, by shewing his suspicions of their loyalty; and to reward the inhabitants of Oxford, by bringing down his parliament to that city. Accordingly a parliament was ordered to assemble at Oxford,
A.D.
1681
and measures taken on both sides to engage the partizans to be strenuous in their resolutions. In this, as in all former parliaments, the country party predominated: the parliamentary leaders came to that city, attended not only by their servants but with numerous bands of their retainers. The four London members were followed by great multitudes, wearing ribbons, in which were woven these words,
"No Popery! No Slavery!"
The king was not behind them in the number and formidable appearance of his guards; so that the parliament rather bore the appearance of a military congress, than of a civil assembly.
This parliament trod exactly in the steps of the former. The commons having chosen the same speaker, who filled the chair last parliament, ordered the votes to be printed every day, that the public might be acquainted with the subject of their deliberations. The bill of exclusion was more fiercely urged than ever. Ernely, one of the king's ministers, proposed that the duke should be banished during life, five hundred miles from England; and that upon the king's death, the next heir should be constituted regent with regal power. Yet even this expedient, which left the duke the bare title of king, could not obtain the attention of the house. Nothing but a total exclusion could satisfy them.
Each party had now for some time reviled and ridiculed each other in pamphlets and libels; and this practice, at last, was attended with an incident, that deserves notice. One Fitzharris, an Irish papist, dependent on the dutchess of Portsmouth, one of the king's mistresses, used to supply her with these occasional publications. But he was resolved to add to their number by his own endeavours; and employed one Everhard, a Scotchman, to write a libel against the king and the duke of York. The Scot was actually a spy for the opposite party; and supposing this a trick to entrap him, he discovered the whole to Sir William Waller, an eminent justice of peace; and to convince him of the truth of his information, posted him, and two other persons, privately, where they heard the whole conference between Fitzharris and himself. The libel composed between them was replete with the utmost rancour and scurrility. Waller carried the intelligence to the king, and obtained a warrant for committing Fitzharris, who happened at that very time to have a copy of the libel in his pocket. Seeing himself in the hands of a party, from which he expected no mercy, he resolved to side with them, and throw the odium of the libel upon the court, who, he said, were willing to draw up a libel, which, should be imputed to the exclusioners, and thus render them hateful to the people. He enchanced his services with the country party, by a new popish plot, still more tremendous than any of the foregoing. He brought in the duke of York as a principal accomplice in this plot, and as a contriver in the murder of Sir Edmondsbury Godfrey.
The king imprisoned Fitzharris; the commons avowed his cause. They voted that he should be impeached by themselves, to screen him from the ordinary forms of justice; the lords rejected the impeachment; the commons asserted their right; a commotion was likely to ensue; and the king, to break off the contest, went to the house, and dissolved the parliament, with a fixed resolution never to call another.
This vigorous measure was a blow that the parliament had never expected; and nothing but the necessity of the times could have justified the king's manner of proceeding. From that moment, which ended the parliamentary commotions, Charles seemed to rule with despotic power; and he was resolved to leave the succession to his brother, but clogged with all the faults and misfortunes of his own administration. His temper, which had always been easy and merciful, now became arbitrary, and even cruel; he entertained spies and informers round the throne, and imprisoned all such as he thought most daring in their designs.
He resolved to humble the presbyterians; these were divested of their employments and their places; and their offices given to such as held with the court, and approved the doctrine of non-resistance. The clergy began to testify their zeal and their principles by their writings and their sermons; but though among these, the partizans of the king were the most numerous, those of the opposite faction were the most enterprizing. The king openly espoused the cause of the former; and thus placing himself at the head of a faction, he deprived the city of London, which had long headed the popular party, of their charter. It was not till after an abject submission that he restored it to them, having previously subjected the election of their magistrates to his immediate authority.
Terrors also were not wanting to confirm this new species of monarchy. Fitzharris was brought to his trial before a jury, and condemned, and executed. The whole gang of spies, witnesses, informers, suborners, which had long been encouraged and supported by the leading patriots, finding now that the king was entirely master, they turned short upon their ancient drivers, and offered their evidence against those who had first put them in motion. The king's ministers, with an horrid satisfaction, gave them countenance and encouragement; so that soon the same cruelties, and the same injustice, was practised against presbyterian schemes, that had been employed against catholic treasons.
The first person that fell under the displeasure of the ministry, was one Stephen College, a London joiner, who had become so noted for his jeal against popery, that he went by the name of the Protestant Joiner. He had attended the city members to Oxford, armed with sword and pistol; he had sometimes been heard to speak irreverently of the king, and was now presented by the grand jury of London as guilty of sedition. The sheriffs of London were in strong opposition to the court; and the grand jury, named by them, rejected the bill against College. However, the court were not to be foiled so; they sent the prisoner to Oxford, where the treason was said to have been committed, and there tried before a partial judge, and a packed jury. He was accused by Dugdale, Turberville, and others, who had already given evidence against the catholics; and the nation saw themselves reduced to a ridiculous dilemna upon their testimony. The jury, who were royalists, could not accept their evidence, as they believed them, to be abandoned liars, nor yet could they rejct it, as they were taught by their opponents to think them sufficient evidence for conviction. College defended himself with great presence of mind, and invalidated all their testimonies. But all was in vain. The jury, after half an hour's deliberation, brought him in guilty, and the spectators testified their inhuman pleasure, with a shout of applause. He bore his fate with unshaken fortitude; and at the place of execution denied the crime for which he had been condemned.
But higher vengeance was demanded by the king, whose resentment was chiefly levelled against the earl of Shaftesbury, and not without reason. No sums were spared to seek for evidence, and even to suborn witnesses against this intriguing and formidable man. A bill of indictment being presented to the grand jury, witnesses were examined, who swore to such incredible circumstances, as must have invalidated their testimony, even if they had not been branded as perjured villains. Among his papers, indeed, a draught of an association was found, which might have been construed into treason; but it was not in the earl's hand writing, nor could his adversaries prove that he had ever communicated this scheme to any body, or signified his approbation of any such project. The sheriffs had summoned a jury, whose principles coincided with those of the earl, and that probably, more than any want of proof, procured his safety.
The power of the crown by this time became irresistible,
A.D.
1683
the city of London having been deprived of their charter, which was restored only upon terms of submission, and the giving up the nomination of their own magistrates was so mortifying a circumstance, that all the other corporations in England soon began to fear the same treatment, and were, successively induced to surrender their charters into the hands of the king. Considerable sums were exacted for restoring these charters and all the offices of power and profit were left at the disposal of the crown. Resistance now, however justifiable, could not be safe; and all prudent men saw no other expedient, but peaceably submiting to the present grievances. But there was a party in England that still cherished their former ideas of freedom, and were resolved to hazard every danger in its defence.
This, like all other combinations, was made up of men, some guided by principle to the subversion of the present despotic power, some by interest, and still many more by revenge. Some time before, in the year 1681, the king had been seized with a fit of sickness at Windsor, which gave a great alarm to the public. Shaftesbury had even then attempted to exclude the duke of York from the succession, and united with the duke of Monmouth, lord Russel, and lord Grey, in case of the king's death, they conspired to rise in arms, and vindicate their opinions by the sword. Shaftesbury's imprisonment and trial for some time put a stop to these designs; but they soon revived with his release. Monmouth engaged the earl of Macclesfield, lord Brandon, Sir Gilbert Gerrard, and other gentlemen in Cheshire. Lord Russel fixed a correspondence with Sir William Courtney, Sir Francis Rowles, and Sir Francis Drake, who promised to raise the West. Shaftesbury, with one Ferguson, an independent clergyman, and a restless plotter, managed the city, upon which the confederates chiefly relied. It was now that this turbulent man found his schemes most likely to take effect. After the disappointment and destruction of an hundred plots, he at last began to be sure of this. But this scheme, like all the former, was disappointed. The caution of lord Russel, who induced the duke of Monmouth to put off the enterprize, saved the kingdom from the horrors of a civil war; while Shaftesbury was so struck with a sense of his impending danger that he left his house, and lurking about the city attempted, but in vain, to drive the Londoners into open insurrection. At last, enraged at the numberless cautions and delays which clogged and defeated his projects, he threatened to begin with his friends alone. However after a long struggle between fear and rage, he abandoned all hopes of success, and fled out of the kingdom to Amsterdam, where he ended his turbulent life soon after, without being pitied by his friends, or feared by his enemies.
The loss of Shaftesbury, though it retarded the views of the conspirators, did not suppress them. A council of six was erected, consisting of Monmouth, Russel, Essex, Howard, Algernon Sidney, and John Hambden, grandson to the great man of that name. These corresponded with Argyle and the malcontents in Scotland, and resolved to prosecute the scheme of the insurrection, though they widely differed in principles from each other. Monmouth aspired at the crown; Russel and Hambden proposed to exclude the duke of York from the succession, and redress the grievances of the nation; Sidney was for restoring the republic, and Essex joined in the same wish. Lord Howard was an abandoned man, who, having no principles, sought to embroil the nation, to gratify his private interest in the confusion.
Such were the leaders of this conspiracy, and such their motives. But there was also a set of subordinate conspirators, who frequently met together, and carried on projects quite unknown to Monmouth and his council. Among these men was colonel Rumsey, an old republican officer, together with lieutenant-colonel Walcot of the same stamp, Goodenough, under-sheriff of London, a zealous and noted party-man, Ferguson, an independent minister, and several attornies, merchants, and tradesmen of London. But Rumsey and Ferguson were the only persons that had access to the great leaders of the conspiracy. These men in their meetings embraced the most desperate resolutions. They proposed to assassinate the king in his way to Newmarket; Rumbal, one of the party, possessed a farm upon that road called the Rye-house, and from thence the conspiracy was denominated the Rye-house Plot. They deliberated upon a scheme of stopping the king's coach by overturning a cart on the high-way at this place, and shooting him through the hedges. The house in which the king lived at Newmarket took fire accidentally, and he was obliged to leave Newmarket eight days sooner than was expected, to which circumstance his safety was ascribed.
Among the conspirators was one Keiling, who finding himself in danger of a prosecution for arresting the lord-mayor of London, resolved to earn his pardon by discovering this plot to the ministry. Colonel Rumsey, and West, a lawyer, no sooner understood that this man had informed against them, than they agreed to save their lives by turning king's evidence, and they surrendered themselves accordingly. Sheppard, another conspirator, being apprehended, confessed all he knew, and general orders were soon issued out for apprehending the rest of the leaders of the conspiracy. Monmouth absconded; Russel was sent to the Tower; Grey escaped; Howard was taken concealed in a chimney; Essex, Sidney, and Hambden, were soon after arrested, and had the mortification to find lord Howard an evidence against them.
Walcot was first brought to trial and condemned, together with Hone and Rouse, two associates in the conspiracy, upon the evidence of Rumsey, West, and Sheppard. They died penitent, acknowledging the justice of the sentence by which they were executed. A much greater sacrifice was shortly after to follow. This was the lord Russel, son of the earl of Bedford, a nobleman of numberless good qualities, and led into this conspiracy from a conviction of the duke of York's intentions to restore popery. He was liberal, popular, humane, and brave. All his virtues were so many crimes in the present suspicious disposition of the court. The chief evidence against him was lord Howard, a man of very bad character, one of the conspirators, who was now contented to take life upon such terms, and to accept of infamous safety. This witness swore that Russel was engaged in the design of an insurrection; but he acquitted him, as did also Rumsey and West, of being privy to the assassination. His own candour would not allow him to deny the design in which he really was concerned; but his own confession was not sufficient to convict him. To the fact which principally aimed at his life there was but one witness, and the law required two; this was over ruled; for justice, during this whole reign, was too weak for the prevailing party. The jury, who were zealous royalists, after a short deliberation brought the prisoner in guilty. After his condemnation the king was strongly sollicited in his favour. Even money, to the amount of two hundred thousand pounds, was offered to the dutchess of Portsmouth, by the old earl of Bedford, lord Russel's father. The king was inexorable. He dreaded the principles and popularity of this nobleman, and resented his former activity in promoting the bill of exclusion. Lord Cavendish, the intimate friend of Russel, offered to effect his escape by exchanging apparel with him, and remaining a prisoner in his room. The duke of Monmouth sent a message to him, offering to surrender himself, if he thought that step would contribute to his safety. Lord Russel generously rejected both these expedients, and resigned himself to his fate with admirable fortitude. His consort, the daughter and heiress of the earl of Southampton, finding that all supplications were vain, took leave of her husband without shedding a tear; while, as he parted from her, he turned to those about him,
"Now, said he, the bitterness of death is over."
A little before the sheriffs conducted him to the scaffold, he wound up his watch.
"I have now, done with time, said he, and must henceforth think of eternity."
The scaffold for his execution was erected in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields; he laid his head on the block without the least change of countenance, and at two strokes it was severed from his body.
The celebrated Algernon Sidney, son to the earl of Leicester, was next brought to his trial. He had been formerly engaged in the parliamentary army against the late king, and was even named on the high court of justice that tried him, but had not taken his seat among the judges. He had ever opposed Cromwell's usurpation, and went into voluntary banishment upon the restoration. His affairs, however, requiring his return, he applied to the king for a pardon, and obtained his request. But all his hopes and all his reasonings were formed upon republican principles. For his adored republic he had written and fought, and went into banishment, and ventured to return. It may easily be conceived how obnoxious a man of such principles was to a court that now was not even content with limitations to its power. They went so far as to take illegal methods to procure his condemnation. The only witness that deposed against Sidney was lord Howard, and the law required two. In order, therefore, to make out a second witness, they had recourse to a very extraordinary expedient. In ransacking his closet, some discourses on government were found in his own hand writing, containing principles favourable to liberty, and in themselves no way subversive of a limited government. By overstraining some of these they were construed into treason. It was in vain he alledged that papers were no evidence; that it could not be proved they were written by him; that, if proved, the papers themselves contained nothing criminal. His defence was overruled; the violent and inhuman Jefferies, who was now chief-justice, easily prevailed on a partial jury to bring him in guilty, and his execution followed soon after. One can scarce contemplate the transactions of this reign without horror. Such a picture of factious guilt on each side, a court at once immersed in sensuality and blood, a people armed against each other with the most deadly animosity, and no single party to be found with sense enough to stem the general torrent of rancour and factious suspicion.
Hambden was tried soon after; and as there was nothing to affect his life, he was fined forty thousand pounds. Holloway, a merchant of Bristol, who had fled to the West-Indies, was brought over, condemned, and executed. Sir Thomas Armstrong also, who had fled to Holland, was brought over, and shared the same fate. Lord Essex, who had been imprisoned in the Tower, was found in an apartment with his throat cut; but whether he was guilty of suicide, or whether the bigotry of the times might not have induced some assassin to commit the crime, cannot now be known.
This was the last blood that was shed for an imputation of plots or conspiracies, which continued during the greatest part of this reign. Nevertheless the cruelty, and the gloomy suspicion of the duke of York, who, since the dissolution of the last parliament, daily came into power, was dreadful to the nation. Titus Oates was fined an hundred thousand pounds, for calling him a popish traitor, and he was imprisoned till he could pay it, which he was utterly incapable of. A like illegal sentence was passed upon Dutton Colt for the same offence. Sir Samuel Barnardiston was fined ten thousand pounds, for having, in some private letters, reflected on the government. Of all those who were concerned in the late conspiracy, scarce one escaped the severity of the court, except the duke of Monmouth, and he was the most culpable of any.
At this period, the government of Charles was as absolute as that of any monarch in Europe; but to please his subjects by an act of popularity, he judged it proper to marry the lady Anne, his niece, to prince George, brother to the king of Denmark. This was the last transaction of this extraordinary reign. The king was seized with a sudden fit, which resembled an apoplexy; and though he was recovered from it by bleeding, yet he languished only for a few days, and then expired, in the fifty-ninth year of his age, and the twenty-fifth of his reign. During his illness, some clergymen of the church of England attended him, to whom he discovered a total indifference. Catholic priests were brought to his bed-side, and from their hands he received the rites of their communion. Two papers were found in his closet, containing arguments in favour of that persuasion. These were soon after published by James his successor, by which he greatly injured his own popularity, and his brother's memory.
INDEX.
A
ABHORRERS,
who, 432—many of them committed to prison, 438
Agitators
of the army, what, 290
Anjou,
duke of, pays his addresses to queen Elizabeth, 109—a day fixed for the marriage, ib.—dismissed by that princess, ib.
Antinomians,
what, 337
Arlington,
lord, minister to Charles II. 396
Armada,
the invincible, account of, 132—shattered by a tempest, 134—attacked by the English, 135—totally defeated, 136—dispersed by a storm, ib.
Arundel,
Humphry, heads the insurgents in Devonshire, 16—besieges Exeter, ib.—taken prisoner and executed, 17
—, sir Thomas, executed for treason, 28
Ascham,
tutor to queen Elizabeth, his remarkable anecdote of lady Jane Gray, 36
B
BABINGTON,
Anthony, joins in a conspiracy for murdering Elizabeth, 112—informs Mary of the design, 113—apprehended and committed to prison, 115
Bacon,
lord keeper, presides in a public disputation, 74 regulates the finances of the kingdom, 76
Ballard,
John, resolves to destroy Elizabeth, 112—gains over Babington to his party, ib.—betrays his accomplices, 114—is apprehended, 115
Barebone's
parliament, what, 337
Barnwell,
joins in a conspiracy to destroy Elizabeth, 113
Bastwick,
Dr. punished by the court of Star-chamber, 221—released from his imprisonment, 240
Bedloe,
William, account of his plot, 417
Benevolence,
what, 195
Blake,
admiral of the fleet, some account of, 332—his intrepid behaviour in the Mediterranean, 343—his death and character, 344
Bonner,
bishop, sent to the Tower, 12—reinstated by Mary, 43—made the instrument of persecution, 53— his inhuman cruelty, 55—blames the court for his severities, 61
Bothwell,
earl of, becomes the favourite of Mary queen of Scots, 85—account of, 86—accused of Darnley's murder, 88—seizes the person of the queen, ib.— marries that princess, 89—taken prisoner, ib.—escapes to Denmark, and dies miserably, 90
Buckingham,
duke of, one of Charles II. ministers, his conduct, 396
Burton,
a clergyman, punished by the court of Starchamber, 221—released from his imprisonment, 240
C
CABAL
of Wallingford, what, 355
—, under Charles II. what, 395
Calais,
town of, its fortifications, 65—taken by the French 66
Capel,
lord, condemned and executed, 318
Carre,
Robert, becomes the favourite of James I. 173— created viscount Rochester, and earl of Somerset, 174 —marries the countess of Essex, 175—causes Sir Thomas Overbury to be murdered, ib.—tried and sound guilty, 176—pardoned, ib.—dies in obscurity, 177
Catesby,
Robert, contrives the powder-plot, 164—slain in battle, 170
Cavalier
,
who, 251
Cecil,
sir William, principal counsellor to queen Elizabeth, 73 — his wife regulations, 76 — created lord Burleigh, 101—defeats the designs of the insurgents, 102—his abilities as a statesman, 106—created earl of Salisbury, 153—his artful conduct, ib.
Chalgrave-field,
battle of, 267
Charles
I. ascends the English throne, 192—his high notions of prerogative, 193—resolves to prosecute the war with vigour, 194—dissolves the parliament, 195 —orders a benevolence to be exacted, ib.—assembles the parliament, 196—is resolved to support Buckingham, 197—orders the commons not to concern themselves with that favourite, 198—commits two members of the lower house to prison, ib.—releases them, 199—dissolves the parliament, ib.—resolves to keep up a standing army, ib.—agrees to a dispensation of the penal laws against the papists, 200—borrows a sum of the nobility, ib.—levies ship-money, ib.—confines those who refuse to pay this imposition. ib.—embroiled with the parliament, how, 202—declares war against France, 203—calls a third parliament, 204—threatens them, ib.—gives the royal assent to the petition of right, 206—prorogues the parliament, 208—dissolves it, 209 —commits several members of the lower house to prison, 210—grieves for the loss of Buckingham, 214— concludes a peace with France and Spain, ib.—countenances the proceedings of Laud, 218—resolves to call no more parliaments, 219—issues a proclamation, ib.—levies tonnage and poundage by his regal authority alone, 220—questions the judges concerning his power, 223—endeavours to establish episcopacy in Scotland, 225—a rebellion formed against him in that nation, 226 —demands forces of the nobility, 227—enters into a treaty with the Scots, ib.—endeavours to raise money for carrying on a war against that people, 228—is obliged to assemble a parliament, 229—his difficulties, ib. —dissolves the parliament, 230—sues the citizens in the Star-chamber, ib.—extorts a loan from the Spanish merchants, 231—his schemes for raising money, ib.— ill state of his army, 232—summons a council of peers, ib.—calls a parliament, ib.—defends the earl of Strafford, 236—receives a letter from that nobleman, ib.— consents to his death, 237—alarmed at the proceedings of parliament, 241—goes into Scotland, 243—sollicits the Scots to assist the protestants in Ireland, 247—refused assistance by his parliament, ib.—orders an accusation of high-treason to be entered against lord Kimbolton, &c. 252—goes to the house of commons, and demands five of their members, 253—complains to the common council of the city, 254—retires to Windsor, 255—writes to the parliament, ib.—his reply to the petition of the lower house, relative to a militia, 256 —his peremptory refusal to the insolent request of the commons, 257—resolves to have recourse to arms, ib. —retires to York, ib.—offers proposals to the commons, 258—rejects nineteen propositions made him by the lower house, ib.—his speech on this occasion, ib.—his distressed situation, 260—adhered to by the greater part of the nobility, 261—erects the royal standard at Nottingham, ib.—his protestation before the army, ib.—retires to Derby and Shrewsbury, 263—is refused admittance into Hull, ib.—accepts the services of prince Rupert and prince Maurice, 264—engages the parliamentary army, 265—receives soldiers and ammunition from Holland, 266—enters into several negociations with the parliament, 267—reduces Cornwall, ib.—his great success, ib.—assembles a parliament at Oxford, 270—prorogues it, ib.—his army receives a severe defeat, 272—fails in a treaty which he began at Uxbridge, ib.—makes a truce with the Irish, 277—receives some of the natives of Ireland into his service, ib.—his army defeated by Fairfax, ib.—retires to Oxford, 278—is totally defeated, 279—his cabinet of letters seized, 281—retreats to Oxford, 282—makes concessions to the parliament, ib.—surrenders his person to the Scots general, 283—is insolently treated by their preachers, 284—is delivered up to the parliament by the persidious Scots, 286—is confined in Holmby castle, 287—treated with the utmost severity, ib —his person seized by order of Cromwell, 291—is conducted to the army, 292—confined by them at Hampton-court, 295 — has hopes of being made mediator between the parliament and the army, ib. — his noble fortitude, 296—escapes from Hampton-court, 297—goes to Carisbrook castle, 299 enters into a treaty with the parliament, 302—his person seized by the army, 303—an attempt made in his favour by the parliament, ib.—is conveyed to Windsor, 306—is conducted to St. James's, 307—brought to his trial, 308—enters upon his defence, ib.—insulted by the mob, 310—sentence pronounced against him, ib.—his resignation, ib.—desires to see his children, 311—his exhortations to them, ib.—his calm behaviour on the morning of his execution, 312—his address to the people, 313—his reply to Juxon, 314— his death, ib.—his character, 315
Charles
II. accompanies his father to York, 257—is invited from France by the Scotch, 319—enters Edinburgh, 320—his disagreeable situation there, ib.— endeavours to escape, 321—heads the Scotch army, 324—marches into England, 325—is abandoned by numbers of the Scotch, ib.—is defeated, and obliged to fly, 326—cuts faggots for several days, ib.—endeavours to escape into Wales, ib.—meets with colonel Careless, ib.—conceals himself in an oak, ib.— retires to the house of colonel Lane, 327—goes to Bristol, ib.—recognized by the butler of the family he is with, ib.—goes to Dorsetshire, 328—is in danger of being discovered by a smith, ib —embarks on board a small vessel at Shoreham in Sussex, 329—lands in Normandy, ib.—his interest in England favoured by general Monk, 366—his proposals accepted by the parliament, 369—is proclaimed king, 370—embarks at Scheveling, 471—lands at Dover, ib.—enters London in triumph, ib.—his age and character at the time he ascended the throne, 373—his prudent choice of his ministers, 374—disbands the army, 377—restores the ceremonies of the church, ib.—his dissolute conduct, 379—receives great power from the parliaments of England and Scotland, 380—his excessive pleasures, 381—marries Catharine, 382—gives lord Clarendon up to parliament, 383—begs a supply of the commons, 384—declares war against the Dutch, ib.—concludes a treaty of peace with that republic, 392 —takes the seals from lord Clarendon, 393—forms the triple alliance, 394—enters into a secret alliance with France, 397—declares war against Holland, ib. —issues several proclamations, ib.—calls a parliament, 400—retracts his declaration of indulgence, 401— dissolves the parliament, 402—concludes a peace with Holland, 403—sends an army of three thousand men over to the continent, 406—enters into the quadruple alliance, ib.—receives intelligence of a plot being formed against his life, 407—treats the design with contempt, 416—orders Titus Oates to be confined, and his papers seized, 421—changes the sentence of the earl of Stafford, 426—defends lord Danby against the parliament, 427—changes his council, ib.—disgraces the duke of Monmouth, 429—summons a parliament to meet at Oxford, 437—imprisons Fitzharris, 439—dissolves the parliament, ib.—resolves never to call another, 440—alteration in his temper, ib.— humbles the presbyterians, ib.—deprives the city of London of their charter, ib.—incensed against the earl of Shaftesbury, 443—a conspiracy formed against him, 448—refuses to extend his mercy to lord Russel, 449—marries his niece to prince George of Denmark, 453—his death, ib.
Charnock,
joins in a conspiracy to destroy Elizabeth, 113
Civil War,
account of, 260
Clarendon,
lord, appointed chancellor of England, 374 —deprived of the seals, 393—impeached by the commons, 394—banished the kingdom, ib.
Clifford,
lord, minister of state to Charles II. some account of, 396
Coleman,
Edward, secretary to the duke of York, tried and executed, 421
College,
Stephen, called the Protestant Joiner, who, 441 tried, and executed at Oxford, 442
Committee
of safety, what, 358
Covenant
of Scotland, what, 225
Cranmer,
archbishop of Canterbury, thrown into prison, 44 —condemned for high-treason, ib.—signs his recantation, 58—his great distress, 59—recants the paper he had signed, 60—his constancy at the stake, ib.
Cromwell,
Oliver, embarks for North America, 222— the ship detained by order of council, ib.—deseats the royalists at Marston Moor, 272 — reforms the army, 278—defeats the king's army at Naseby, 280—heads the independants, 287—account of his family, 288— gains the affections of the army, 289—forms a military parliament, 290—becomes one of the agitators, ib.—invested with the chief command, 292—advances to St. Alban's, ib.—accuses eleven members of treason, 293—replaces the two speakers, 295— instance of his tenderness, 296—disperses the levellers, 301—defeats the Scottish army, ib,—successfully prosecutes the war in Ireland, 321—his barbarous policy, 322—recalled by the parliament, ib.—made general of the army, ib.—totally defeats the Scottish army, 324—routs the enemy at Worcester, 326— enters London in triumph, 329—becomes formidable to the parliament, 332—drives the commons from their house, 334—forms a new parliament, 336 dissolves them, 339—declared protector of the commonwealth of England, ib.—his power, 340—his politic measures, 341—makes a peace with the Dutch, 342—oppresses the royalists, 345—refuses the crown, 349—detested by his own family, 350—his dreadful situation, 351—his death, 353
Cromwell,
Richard, proclaimed protector, 354—calls a parliament, ib.—dissolves it, 355—signs his own abdication, 356—leads a private life for the future, ib.
D
DANBY,
lord-treasurer, impeached by Seymour, 426—sent to the Tower, 427
Dangerfield,
his plot, 430
Darnley,
lord, son to the earl of Lenox, marries Mary queen of Scots, 80—his estates seized by Elizabeth, ib.—his character, 81—causes Rizzio to be murdered, 84—retires to Glasgow, 86—visited by the queen, 87—attends her to Edinburgh, ib.—put to death, ib.
Davison,
secretary of state, draws the warrant for Mary's execution, 124—sends it to the chancellor, and then delivers it to Beale, ib.—committed to prison, 130
Day,
bishop of Chichester, deprived of his see, 24— restored to his bishopric, 43
Delinquents,
who, 238
Digby,
sir Everard, attempts to seize the princess Elizabeth, 170—taken, and put to death, ib.
Douglas,
George, murders Rizzio, 84—driven out of the kingdom, 85—obtains liberty to return, ib.
Drake,
Sir Francis, attacks the Spaniards in America, 108—sails round the globe, ib.—commands a squadron under lord Howard, 134
Dunkirk
sold to the French, 382
E
EDGE-Hill,
battle of, 265
Edward
VI. ascends the English throne, 1— grants a patent to enable his uncle to sit in parliament on the right hand of the throne, 4—creates bishops by letters patent, 5—is prevailed on to sign a death-warrant against Joan Boucher, 12—is sent to Windsor by the protector, 20—receives an address against Somerset favourably, 21—remits the fine on Somerset's estate, 22—greatly attached to the reformation, 25—is prepossessed against his uncle, 27— consents to his execution, ib.—writes circular letters to all the sheriffs, 28—agrees to have the succession submitted to council, 29—his ill state of health, 30— his physicians dismissed by Northumberland, 31 —his cure confidently undertaken by an old woman, ib.— his death and character, 32
Elizabeth,
her right to the crown set aside by Edward VI. 31—hated by Mary, 67—her prudent conduct, ib.— declines an offer of marriage made her by the king of Spain, ib.—eludes all questions relative to religion, ib.—her life in danger, 68—ascends the throne, 71— her accomplishments, ib.—her observations on entering the Tower, 72—receives a proposal of marriage from Philip, ib.—endeavours to reform the church, ib.—forms her privy-council, 73—recalls all exiles on a religious account, ib.—forbids all preaching without a special licence, ib.—orders great part of the service to be read in English, ib.—forbids the host to be elevated in her presence, ib.—her embarrassed situation, 75—is incensed against Mary queen of Scots, 76 —sends an ambassador to France, 77—refuses a request made her by Mary, 78—gains the affection of the Scottish reformers, ib.—her duplicity of conduct, 80—interposes between Mary and her subjects, 90—refuses to admit Mary to her presence, 93—appoints commissioners to examine the conduct of that queen, 94— sends her to Tutbury-castle, 96—sends an army into Scotland, 97 — her deceit towards Mary, ib.—is exasperated against the duke of Norfolk, 98—releases him from the Tower, 100—signs a warrant for his execution, 102—accepts the offer of the Hugonots, 105—her excellent government, 106—accepts a banquet from sir Francis Drake, 108—her behaviour to the duke of Anjou, 109—several conspiracies set on foot against her, ib. —puts the queen of Scots into the custody of sir Amias Paulett, &c. 111—commands Mary to submit to a trial, 116—her behaviour after the condemnation of that queen, 121 —her answer to the Scotch ambassador, 123—her irresolute conduct, ib.—orders a warrant to be secretly made out for Mary's execution, 124—signs it, ib.—her grief on hearing the sentence was executed, 130—her resentment against her ministers, ib.—her intrepid behaviour, 133—her speech to the army, ib.—her partiality for Essex, 138—strikes him, 139—restores him to her favour, ib.—enraged at the earl's conduct in Ireland, 141—confines him to his own house, 142 —her answer to his message, ib.—her extreme vanity, 144 —a conspiracy formed against her by Essex, 145—her irresolute behaviour, 150—her melancholy situation, 151 —reproves the countess of Nottingham, ib. — names her successor, 152—her death and character, ib.
Essex,
earl of, employed against Spain, 137—his character, 138—becomes the favourite of queen Elizabeth, ib. — his great ascendancy over her, 139—his contemptuous treatment of her, ib.—receives a blow from her, ib —is again re-instated in his sovereign's favour, ib.—his unguarded temper, 140—is appointed to command the forces sent into Ireland, ib.—his mistaken conduct there, ib.—exasperates the queen, 141—returns from Ireland without her permission, ib. —is confined to his house, 142—resolves to give up all thoughts of ambition, ib.—his: message to the queen, ib.—does not decline an examination of his conduct, ib. — is sentenced to resign his employments, and confined to his own house, 143—his request to the queen refused, ib.—becomes furious, ib.—his ill-timed hospitality, ib.—duplicity of his conduct, 144 —speaks disrespectfully of the queen, ib.—assembles a number of malcontents, 145—forms a scheme for securing the palace-gates, ib.—his presence required before the council, ib.—his perplexed situation, ib.— receives offers of assistance from the citizens, 146— discovers his scheme for raising the city to his friends, ib.—his plot discovered, ib.—attempts to make an insurrection in the city, 147—is deceived in his expectations, ib.—with difficulty escapes to Essex-house, 148—is refused hostages, ib —surrenders at discretion, ib.—is committed to the Tower, 149—is condemned, ib.—his behaviour afterwards, ib.—has hopes of the queen's pardon, ib.—his death, 150
Essex,
earl of, appointed to command the parliament's forces, 264—leads his troops towards Northampton, ib — resigns his command, 278
Exclusion
bill, account of, 428—revived, 434—thrown out by the lords, 435
F
FAIRFAX,
one of the parliament's generals, routs a body of Irish, 277—reforms the army, 278—gains the victory at Naseby, 280—takes Exeter, 281—made lieutenant of the Tower, 295—quells an insurrection in Kent, 302—resigns his command, 322—enters into an engagement to destroy Cromwell, 350
Falkland,
lord, his death and character, 268
Fawkes,
Guy, one of the conspirators in the gun-powder-plot, 164—seized by order of the lord-chamberlain, 169—discovers his accomplices, ib.
Felton,
some account of, 211—assassinates the duke of Buckingham, 212—his intrepid constancy, 213
Fifth-monarchy-men,
who, 337
Finch,
lord keeper, impeached by the commons, 237— —escapes into Holland, ib.
Fire
of London, account of, 390
Fitzharris,
writes a libel against the government, 438— committed to prison by the king, 439—discovers a pretended plot, ib.—his cause supported by the commons, ib —condemned and executed, 441
Fletcher,
dean of Peterborough, his impertinent zeal, 127
Forbisher,
commands a squadron under lord Howard, 134—attacks the Spanish Armada, 137
Foulis,
sir David, fined by the court of Star-chamber, 120
G
GARDINER,
bishop of Winchester, opposes the reformation, 3—defends the use of images, &c. ib. —sent to the Fleet-prison, 4—removed to the Tower, 12—deprived of his see, 24—treated with great rigour, ib. — reinstated by Mary, 43 — his occasional conformity, 52—his brutality to Rogers, 54
Godfrey,
sir Edmundsbury, murdered, 415
Garnet,
a jesuit, executed for being concerned in the powder-plot, 170—considered as a martyr, 171
Great Seal
of the commonwealth, 318
Gray,
lady Jane, married to lord Guilford Dudley, 30— appointed successor to the crown, 31 — claims the crown, 36 — her great learning, ib. — ascends the throne, 37—resigns her royalty, 40—made prisoner, 41—her behaviour at meeting the corps of Guilford, 49—her execution, 50
Guilford,
lord Dudley, married to lady Jane Gray, 30 —made prisoner, 41—executed, 49
Guise,
duke of, takes Calais, 66
H
HABEAS Corpus
act, what, 428
Hamden,
John, embarks for North America, 222 —the ship detained by order of council, ib.—refuses to pay the tax of ship-money, 223—loses his cause, 224—accused of high treason, 252—slain in battle. 68
Hamilton,
duke of, his last interview with Charles I. 306—condemned and executed, 318
Harrison,
general, one of the regicides, his trial, 375— found guilty and executed, 376
Hastings,
lord, marries Northumberland's daughter, 30 —deserts with his forces to Mary, 39
Hauks,
Thomas, condemned to the stake, 57 — his great constancy, ib.
Havre,
surrendered to the English, 105—retaken by the French, 106
Hawkins,
commands a squadron under lord Howard, 134 — attacks the Spanish Armada, 135
Hazlerig,
sir Arthur, embarks for North America, 222 —the ship detained by order of council, ib.—accused of high-treason, 252
Heathe,
bishop of Worcester, deprived of his see, 24—restored to his bishopric, 43
High-commission
court abolished, 242
Holland,
earl of, condemned and executed, 318
Hooper,
bishop of Gloucester, condemned to the flames, 53 — his inflexible constancy, 54
Hotham,
sir John, appointed governor of Hull, 263
Howard,
lord, commands the English navy against the Spanish Armada, 134—totally defeats that powerful fleet, 136
I
JAMAICA,
taken by the English, 344
James
I. proclaimed king of Scotland, by the title of James VI. 91—conjures Elizabeth to spare the life of his mother, 122—ascends the throne of England, 156—his despotic sentiments, 157—disgusts the people, ib.—prostitutes titles of honour, 158—dismisses lord Grey, &c. from, their employments, 159—condemns them to death, ib. — pardons Cobham and Grey, ib.—confines sir Walter Raleigh, ib.—endeavours to unite England and Scotland, ib.—resolves to govern by the English laws, 160—his disputes with parliament, 161 —grants a toleration to the teachers of different religions throughout the kingdom, 162—a horrid plot formed against him, 163—discovers the meaning of some dark expressions, in a letter sent to lord Mounteagle, 168—his moderation, 171—ill consequences resulting from his liberality to his favourites, 172—his attachment to Robert Carre, 173—advances him to the highest honours, 174—confines sir Thomas Overbury, 175—cools in his affection for Somerset, 176—commands sir Edward Coke to enquire into Somerset's conduct, ib.—his behaviour on parting with that nobleman, 177 — attaches himself to George Villiers, 178—creates him duke of Buckingham, ib.—confers numerous honours on this new favourite and his family, 179—agrees to accept a third part of the money due to him from the Dutch, 180— grants sir Walter Raleigh permission to go to Guiana, 181—signs a warrant for the execution of that great man, 183—is desirous that his son should marry a princess of Spain, 184—consents that the prince should go to Spain, 185—agrees to a marriage between the prince and Henrietta of France, 187—sells his prerogative to the commons, ib.—struggles between him and his parliament, ib —declares war against Spain and the emperor, 189—is seized with an ague, ib. —exhorts the prince to persevere in the protestant religion, 190—his death and character, ib.
James,
duke of York, takes the command of the fleet at Scheveling, 370—is appointed high-admiral, 385— engages, and defeats the Dutch fleet, ib.—is obliged to marry a daughter of the earl of Clarendon's, 393—declares himself a catholic, 397—engages the Dutch, 398 —marries his daughter Mary to the prince of Orange, 405—receives letters concerning a conspiracy, 408— insists upon an enquiry into that affair, 409 — is in danger of being excluded the throne by parliament, 428— returns from Brussels, whither he had retired, 429— prevails on Charles II. to disgrace the duke of Monmouth, ib.—goes to Scotland, ib.—incenses the country party, ib.—supplies Dangerfield with money, 430 —is accused of being concerned in a plot against the king, and of the murder of sir Edmundsbury Godfrey, 439—is opposed by Shaftesbury, 444—publishes two papers which were found in the kings closet, 454
Images,
removed from the churches, 5
Independents,
who, 275—form a majority, in the army, 276
Inquisition,
attempted to be introduced in England, 61
Joan
of Kent, account of, 12—burnt for her opinions, 13
Joyce,
seizes the king at Holmby-castle, 291
Juxon,
bishop of London, attends Charles I. after sentence was pronounced, 311
Irish
massacre, 245
K
KET,
a tanner, heads the insurgents in Norfolk, 17— erects his tribunal under an oak, ib.—makes himmaster of Norwich, ib.—defeated and executed, 18
Killing no Murder,
a pamphlet, some account of, 350
L
LANGSIDE,
battle of, 92
Latimer,
bishop of Worcester, condemned to the flames, 55—his great piety, 56—his execution, 57
Laud,
archbishop of Canterbury, acts as one of the ministers of state, 215—his character, ib —treats the puritans with rigour, 217—introduces new ceremonies, 218—impeached by the commons, 237—tried and executed, 273
Lauderdale,
duke of, minister to Charles II. 396—impeached by the commons, 404
Leicester,
Robert Dudley, earl of, chief minister to Elizabeth, 76—engrosses the queen's favour, 107
Levellers,
who, 299
Lewis
XIV. his conquests, 399
Liturgy,
a new one drawn up, 11—abolished, 274
London
laid in ashes, 390
Lords,
house of, abolished, 318
M
MARSTON-Moor,
battle of, 271
Mary,
queen, her strong attachment to the popish superstitions, 36—a party formed against her by Northumberland, 37 — sends circular letters to all the great towns and nobility of the kingdom, 38—retires to Framlingham-castle, ib.—receives homage from the men of Suffolk, ib.—promises them to defend the laws and religion of her predecessors, ib.—is joined by several of the nobility, 39—is proclaimed queen by the duke of Northumberland, 41—orders the duke of Northumberland to be arrested, ib.—enters London, 42 — resolves to restore the clergy to their former power, 43—releases Gardiner, Bonner, &c. and reinstates them in their sees, ib.—silences all preachers, ib.—is exasperated against Cranmer, 44—her affection placed on the earl of Devonshire, 46—her marriage with Philip, ib.—grants a pardon to four hundred rebels, 48—assembles a parliament, 51—her endeavours to please Philip, ib.—persecutes heretics, 51 —revives the old sanguinary laws, ib.—appoints commissioners to examine Hooper and Rogers, 53—exhorts Bonner to persecute the protestants without pity, 55—orders Ridley and Latimer to be burnt, ib.—orders Cranmer to be punished for heresy, 58—favours an ill founded report of her pregnancy, 62—deserted by Philip, 63—her extreme sorrow, ib.—raises money by loans, &c. 64—declares war against France, ib.— her speech concerning Calais, 66—her extreme hatred to the princess Elizabeth, 67—her cruel designs towards her, 68—her death, ib.
Mary,
queen of Scots, excites the resentment of Eliza-76—who she was, 77—determines to return to Scotland, ib.—is refused a safe passage through England, 78—considered by the Scotch as their persecutor, 79— difference between her and her people, ib.—her title to the crown of England not granted by Elizabeth, 80 — marries lord Darnley, 81—is disgusted with her husband, 82—her attachment to Rizzio, ib.—creates him her secretary, 83—her favourite murdered in her presence, 84—resolves to revenge his death, 85—induces her husband to give up his accomplices, ib. — obliges the conspirators to sly, ib.—treats her husband with disdain, 86—her shameful attachment to Bothwell, ib.—her dissembled tenderness to Darnley, 87— suspected of being an accomplice with Bothwell in murdering her husband, 88—her ill judged conduct on that occasion, ib.—seized by Bothwell, ib.—marries him, 89—her subjects exasperated against her, ib.— escapes from the castle of Borthwick; ib. —is taken and conducted to Edinburgh, ib. —sent prisoner to the castle of Lochlevin, ib. —treated with great severity, 90—assisted by Elizabeth, ib.—obliged to resign the crown in favour of her son, ib.—ill-treated by the earl of Murray, 91 —escapes from her confinement, ib — a bond of association is signed by the nobility for her defence, 92—heads an army of six thousand men, ib. — is defeated by the earl of Murray, ib.—embarks in a fishing-boat, and lands in England, ib.—sends a messenger to Elizabeth, ib.—great marks of respect shewn her, 93 — she is refused admittance to the queen's presence, ib.—admits Elizabeth an umpire in her cause, ib —appoints nine commissioners, 94 — her guilt proved, ib.—is desirous of an interview with Elizabeth, 95—her request to the queen, ib.—sent to Tutbury-castle, 96 — her party in Scotland gains strength, ib.—subdued by Elizabeth, 97 — offers of marriage made her by the duke of Norfolk, 98 —engages that nobleman in a rebellion, 101—her pitiable situation, 102—is suspected of being concerned in several conspiracies against Elizabeth, 110—is committed to the care of sir Amias Paulett, &c. 111—receives information of a conspiracy formed in her favour, 113— declares her approbation of it, ib.— is conducted to Fotheringay-castle, 116—receives orders from Elizabeth to submit to the trial, ib.—her answer on this occasion, 117—consents to her trial, 118 — her defence, 119 —her accusation of Walsingham, ib.—all her requests rejected, 120—sentence of death pronounced against her, ib.—her behaviour on receiving this melancholy news, 122—writes to Elizabeth, ib.— her great resignation, 124—denies her being privy to any conspiracy against Elizabeth, 125—is refused the assistance of her confessor, ib.—comforts her attendants, ib.—tender behaviour to her servants, ib.—her behaviour the morning of her execution, 126—her speech to sir Andrew Melvil, ib.—declares her resolution of dying a papist, 128 — forgives her executioners, ib.—her death, 129
Mass
restored in England, 52
Massacre
of the French Hugonots at Paris, 107—in Ireland, 245
Maurice,
prince, commands under Charles I. 264
Meal-tub-plot,
what, 430
Melvil,
sir Andrew, his affection for his mistress, 126— attends Mary in her last moments, 127
Monk,
general, left in Scotland by Cromwell, 330—his prudent conduct, ib.—made a major general of foot, 358—some account of, ib.—his deep reserve, 360— drives the army from the capital, 362—demolishes the gates, &c. of London, 363—conducts the excluded members to the house, 365—new models his army, ib. takes Lambert prisoner, 366—declares his intention to restore the king, 367—receives the king at Dover, 371
Monmouth,
duke of, commands an army at Ostend, 406 —engages with Shaftesbury, &c. to exclude the duke of York, 444—aspires to the crown, 446
Montrose,
earl of, executed, 320
Murray,
earl of, declared regent of Scotland, 92—totally defeats the queen's forces, ib.—accuses the queen of Scots, 93—assassinated by Hamilton, 94
Musselborough,
battle of, 4
N
NEVIL,
joins Parry in the attempt to murder Elizabeth, 110—betrays the secret, 111
Norfolk,
duke of, his great character, 97—his duplicity to Elizabeth, 98—committed to the Tower, 99—an insurrection in his favour, ib.—released from his confinement, 100 — supports Mary's interests, 101—condemned and executed, 102
Northumberland,
earl of, joined in a party to release the duke of Norfolk, 99—obliged to disperse, 100—taken and committed to the castle of Lochlevin, ib.—tried and executed, 102
Nottingham,
countess of, her insiduous conduct to Essex, 149—harshly used by Elizabeth, 151
O
OAK
of reformation, what, 17
Oates,
Titus, account of his plot, 409—becomes the people's favourite, 412—encouraged by a pension, 417—severely punished, 433
Oliver
Cromwell. See
Cromwell.
Overbury,
sir Thomas, poisoned in the Tower, 175
Oxford,
a parliament assembled at, 270—another summoned to meet at, by Charles II. 437
P
PARIS,
Van, burnt for Arianism, 13—massacre of, 107
Parry,
Catharine, marries lord Thomas Howard, 6—dies in child-bed, 8
Parry,
William, engages in a conspiracy against Elizabeth, 110—betrayed by his accomplice, 111—condemned and executed, ib.
Patridge,
sir Miles, executed for treason, 28
Persecution,
the bloody, under queen Mary, 53—number of persons who suffered, 62
Petition
of right, what, 205—enacted into a law, 206
Petitioners,
who, 432
Philip
of Spain, his marriage treaty with Mary of England, 46—excites the queen to cruelty, 51—endeavours to throw off the odium of the persecution, 61— his power limited by the English parliament, 63—retires to Flanders, ib.—persuades the queen to declare war against France, 64—makes a proposal of marriage to Elizabeth, 72—vows destruction to the English, 131 —his prodigious preparations, ib.—his Armada totally defeated, 136
Plague,
a dreadful one, 105—another in London, 390
Piercy,
Thomas, joins in the powder-plot, 164—his letter to lord Mounteagle, 167—killed in battle, 172
Poinings,
sir Edward, commands at Havre, 105—is obliged to capitulate, 106
Pole,
cardinal, account of, 52—sent over as legate, ib.— declares for toleration, 53—his death, 69
Pride,
col. blockades the parliament house, 303—his purge, what, ib.
Prynne,
degraded by the court of Star-chamber, 221— punished a second time by that court, ib.—released from his imprisonment, 240
Purge
of col. Pride, what, 303
Puritans,
some account of, 216—retire to America, 222
Pym,
accuses the earl of Strafford, 233 —appointed of the committee of the commons, 243—accused of high-treason, 252
Q
QUINTIN,
St. battle of, 65
R
RALEIGH,
sir Walter, imprisoned by James I. 159 —becomes the favourite of the people, 180—his voyage to Guiana, 181 —is disappointed in his scheme, 182—his execution, 183
Reformation,
carried on under Edward VI. 2—the cup restored to the laity, 4—almost completed, 12—established in England, 74—in Scotland, 78
Rigicides,
trials of, 375—their constancy, 376
Ridley,
bishop of London, his great abilities, 55—condemned to the flames, ib.—his remarkable serenity of mind, 56—his dreadful tortures, 57
Right,
petition of, what, 205 — enacted into a law, 206
Rizzio,
account of, 82—gains the affections of Mary, ib. made secretary for French dispatches, ib.—is murdered in the queen's presence, 84
Rogers,
prebendary of St. Paul's, condemned to the flames, 53—his serenity at his execution, 54
Roundaway-down,
battle of, 267
Roundheads,
who, 251
Rump-parliament,
account of, 356—turned out by the army, 357—resume their seats, 361
Rupert,
prince, commands under Charles I. 264—gains an advantage under col. Sandys, 265—defeated by Cromwell, 272—defeated at Naseby, 280
Russel,
lord, supports the exclusion bill, 434—joins with Shaftesbury and Monmouth to exclude the duke of York, 444—sent to the Tower, 448—his character ib.—tried and condemned, 449—his execution, 450
Rye-house-plot,
account of, 447
S
SANDWICH,
admiral, his gallant behaviour, 398
Savage,
John, his detestable resolution, 113—joins in a confederacy to assassinate Elizabeth, ib.
Saunders,
a clergyman, condemned to the flames, 54
Scrope,
lady, sent to attend the queen of Scots, 91
Self-denying
ordinance, what, 278
Seymour,
lord Thomas, opposes his brother, 6—marries the queen dowager, ib.—forms a party among the nobility, 7—ingratiates himself with his sovereign, ib.— desires to be reconciled to his brother, 8—loses his wife, ib.—engages sir John Sharrington in his interest, 9—deprived of his post and committed to the Tower, 10—condemned and executed, ib.
Shaftesbury,
lord, account of, 396—deserts the Cabal, 403 —becomes the head of the country party, ib.—supports the exclusion bill, 434—tried and acquitted, 443 —joins with Monmouth, &c. to exclude the duke of York, 444—flies to Amsterdam, 445 — his death, 446
Sharrington,
sir John, joins lord Thomas Seymour, 9
Ship-money,
account of, 200
Sidney,
Algernon, account of, 460—unlawful methods used for his conviction, 451—executed, 452
Somerset,
duke of, made guardian of the kingdom, 2— declares for the reformed religion, ib.—his character, 3—defeats the Scots at Musselborough, 4—impeaches his brother of high-treason, 10—applies himself to the reformation of religion, 11—espouses the cause of the poor, 15—becomes obnoxious to a very powerful party, 19—sent to the Tower, 21—recovers his liberty and power, 22—committed to the Tower, 26—condemned and executed, 27
Spanish
invasion, account of, 132
Stafford,
earl of, tried and executed, 425
Standard,
the royal, erected at Nottingham, 261
Stanhope,
sir Michael, executed for treason, 28
Star-chamber,
court of, its arbitrary decisions, 220—abolished, 242
Stowel,
Mr. opposes the serjeant at arms, 438
Strafford,
earl of. See
Wentworth,
sir Thomas.
Stratton-hill,
battle of, 267
T
TAYLOR,
a clergyman, condemned to the flames, 54 — his patience in torture, 55
Temple,
sir William, conducts the triple-alliance treaty, 394
Test-act,
what, 401
Thomas,
St. vicar of, hanged in his robes on the top of his own steeple, 17
Throgmorton,
sir Nicholas, sent ambassador to Scotland, 90 —persuades Mary to resign her power, 91
Tonnage
and poundage, what, 208
Tories,
a party so called, 432
Triple
alliance, what, 394
Tromp,
Van, account of, 332
V
VANE,
sir Ralph, executed for treason, 28
Venner,
his enthusiastic rebellion, 377
Villiers,
George, becomes the favourite of James I. 178— created duke of Buckingham, ib.—carries the prince of Wales to Spain, 185—his impolitic conduct, 186 —censured by the parliament, 195—defended by the king, 198—fails in his expedition to Rochelle, 204— fits out another fleet, 211—is assassinated by Felton, 212
Voisy,
bishop of Exeter, deprived of his see, 24—restored to his bishoprick, 43
Votes
of the commons ordered to be printed, 437
W
WALSINGHAM,
secretary of state, discovers Babington's plot, 114—his protestation on Mary's trial, 119
War,
civil, account of, 260
Warwick,
Dudley, earl of, defeats the Norfolk rebels, 18 —some account of, ib.—heads a party against the protector, 21—assumes the reins of government, ib.—deprives Gardiner of his see, 24—obtains the estates and title of the late duke of Northumberland, 25—arrests the duke of Somerset, 26—recommends lady Jane Gray to the king as the most lawful heir to the crown, 29—procures the title of duke of Suffolk for the marquis of Dorset, ib.—marries his son to the lady Jane Gray, 30—betroths his daughter to lord Hastings, ib. —his tyrannical behaviour to the judges, 31—attempts to seize the person of Mary, 37—proclaims lady Jane Gray, 38—takes the command of the army, 39—his pusilanimous behaviour, 40—sent to the Tower, 41— condemned and executed, 42
Wentworth,
lord, his brave defence of Calais, 66 — obliged to capitulate, ib.
—, sir Thomas, made a minister of state, 215— created earl of Strafford, ib.—his great abilities, ib.— manages the civil affairs of the nation, 219—impeached by the commons, 233—tried before the house of peers, ib.—substance of the articles of impeachment, 234—his noble defence, 235—found guilty by his peers, 236—his generous letter to the king, 237—his behaviour at his execution, ib.
Westmorland,
earl of, joins in a party to release the duke Norfolk, 99—obliged to disperse, 100—escapes to Flanders, ib.—dies in exile, 111
Whigs,
party so called, 432
Wimbleton,
lord, commands a fleet of ships sent against Cadiz, 196—miscarries in his attempt, ib.
Winter,
Thomas, engages in the powder-plot, 164—taken and executed, 170
Women
of London demand a peace, 271
Worcester,
battle of, 326
Wyat,
sir Thomas, heads the Kentish insurgents, 47— taken prisoner and executed, 48
Y
YORK,
duke of. See
James,
duke of York.
END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.