Chapter XXV.

Charles I. And Cromwell. Captivity, Trial, And Death Of The King.

While the Presbyterians were discussing and voting, Cromwell and his friends were acting. On the 4th of June, news arrived in London that on the preceding day the king had been taken away from Holmby by a detachment of seven hundred men, and that the army held him in its power.

It was a cornet named Joyce, of the regiment of the guards of Fairfax, who had performed the feat. Arriving secretly with his detachment of cavalry, he at first introduced himself alone into the castle, then he returned at midnight with his soldiers, demanding to speak with the king. Colonel Greaves and the commissioners of Parliament residing with his Majesty refused; they desired to close the iron portcullises, but the new comers dismounted and chatted with the garrison. Colonel Greaves's men declared that they would not be separated from the rest of the army. At midday Joyce was master of the castle. He retired after having stationed sentinels in various parts. In the evening he caused the king to be awakened in order to speak to him. "I will go with you, Mr. Joyce," said Charles, after a rather long conference, "if your soldiers confirm what you have promised."

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On the morrow, at six o'clock in the morning, Joyce's troopers were grouped in battle-array in the courtyard. "Mr. Joyce," said the king, appearing upon the steps, "by what authority do you intend to take me from here?" "Sire, by the authority of the army, to prevent the designs of its enemies, who would once more plunge the kingdom in blood." "That is not a legal authority. I know no other in England but mine, and after mine that of Parliament. Have you a commission written by Sir Thomas Fairfax?" "I have the orders of the army, and the general is included in the army." "That is not a reply; where is your commission?" "There it is, Sire." "Where?" "There, behind me," and he pointed to his soldiers. "Never," said the king, smiling, "have I yet seen such a commission. It is written, I admit, in fair characters, legible without spelling; but know that, to take me away, you will have to use force, if you do not promise me that nothing will be required of me which may wound my conscience and honor." "It is not our manner," said Joyce, "to constrain the conscience of any one, still less that of our king." "Now, gentlemen, whither will you conduct me?" "To Oxford, Sire, if you please." "No, the air is not good." "To Cambridge?" "No, I prefer Newmarket; it is an air that has always suited me." "As you will, Sire." And they departed, notwithstanding a last protest from the commissioners of Parliament.

When the news of the capture of the king reached headquarters, it threw Fairfax into extreme agitation. "I do not like this," he said to Ireton; "who gave such orders?" "I ordered," said Ireton, "that the king should be secured in Holmby, but not that he should be made to depart thence." "It was quite necessary," said Cromwell, who had arrived from London, "otherwise the king would have been taken and brought back to Parliament." {159} Charles received the staff of the army at Childersley, near Cambridge. The majority, Fairfax taking the initiative, kissed his hand with respect. Cromwell and Ireton held aloof. Fairfax protested to the king that he was a stranger to the project of his removal. "I do not believe you," said the king, "unless you hang Joyce." Joyce was sent for. "I have told the king," he said, "that I had no commission from the general. I acted by order of the army. Let it be assembled again; if three-fourths do not approve of the act, I consent to be hanged at the head of the regiment." Joyce was not hanged. "Sir," said the king to Fairfax on leaving him, "I have as good interest in the army as you." And continuing to complain of the violence which he had suffered, but satisfied in his heart at changing his prison and seeing discord break out among his enemies, he established himself at Newmarket under the care of Colonel Whalley.

Cromwell returned to London. He found the House of Commons a prey to the most violent agitation. Every one imputed to him the audacious stroke of seizing upon the king. He passionately resented the suspicions, taking God, the angels, and men to witness that, before that day, Joyce was as much a stranger to him as the light of the sun to the child in the womb of its mother. All these protestations did not convince the Presbyterians. Hollis and Grimstone sought everywhere for proofs against Cromwell, being determined to demand his arrest. Two officers came to see Grimstone. "Lately," they said to him, "at a meeting of officers it was discussed whether it would not be advisable to purge the army. 'I am sure of the army,' the lieutenant-general said; 'but there is another body which it is more urgent to purge, that is the House of Commons, and the army alone can do it.'" {160} Grimstone took them to Westminster; they repeated their speech before the House. Cromwell rose, then fell upon his knees, bursting into tears, with a vehemence of speech, sobs, and gestures which overcame with emotion and surprise all present; praying the Lord to wreak upon his head all His vengeance if any man in all the kingdom was more faithful than he to the House. Then, rising, he spoke for two hours, being humble and audacious, prolix and impassioned, with so much success that, when he sat down, the paramount influence had passed over to his friends, and that, "if he had wished," Grimstone himself said, thirty years afterwards, "the House would have sent us to the Tower, the officers and myself, as calumniators." On that very evening Cromwell secretly quitted London, and, repairing to the army assembled at Triploe Heath, near Cambridge, he openly placed himself at the head of the Independents and soldiers.

A few days after his arrival the army was marching towards London, and consternation reigned in the Houses which had received the "humble remonstrance" of the soldiers. It was no longer a question of the exposition of their own grievances, it was the haughty expression of their demands regarding the general reform of the state. They demanded, besides, the expulsion of eleven members of the Commons, including Hollis, Stapleton, Maynard, the enemies, they said, of the army. They advanced, complaining as they went. They were already at St. Alban's, when the Common Council of the city wrote to Fairfax to demand that the army should remain forty miles from London. It was too late, the general replied; they wanted a month's pay. The Houses granted the pay, persisting that the army should go away. The troops continued their march.

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Parliament meanwhile redoubled its concessions. All the reproaches which were addressed, all the requests which were made met with a friendly reception. Remedies were granted for the grievances complained of; the king was invited to reside at Richmond under the sole custody of Parliament. They did all they could to escape the necessity of mutilating their body, by expelling the eleven members designated by the army; but, on the 26th of June, the headquarters were at Uxbridge. The shops were closed, and people spoke openly of the obstinacy and selfishness of the eleven members. At length they offered to retire. Their devotion was accepted with such satisfaction that, on the very day of their retirement, the Commons voted that they approved of the army in everything, and would provide for its maintenance while commissioners should settle, in co-operation with others from the soldiers, the affairs of the kingdom. Fairfax consented to withdraw a few miles.

The king was informed that it was no longer desired that he should go to Richmond. "Since my Houses ask me to go to Richmond," he said, "if any one claim to prevent me therefrom it will have to be by force and by seizing the bridle of my horse; and if there be a man who dares attempt it, it will not be my fault if it be his last act." He was informed that the Houses themselves opposed his departure, and that they had yielded in everything to the army. He smiled disdainfully, happy at seeing his first adversaries thus humiliated, and he followed unresistingly the movements of the army. {162} He was carefully guarded, but he enjoyed a liberty which the commissioners of Parliament had not allowed him till recently. He had chaplains, a certain number of his friends were admitted into his presence, he was even permitted to see his children, the Dukes of York and Gloucester, with the Princess Elizabeth, and he was enabled to keep them with him for two days. Some few of the leaders of the army, Cromwell and Ireton especially, asked each other whether the favor of the king, restored by their hands, would not be the best guarantee for their party, and for themselves the surest means of obtaining fortune and power.

The king resolutely forebore from any negotiation with the army, but he was not ignorant of the relations which, with the approval of the queen, his valet-de-chambre, Ashburnham, and the former royalist governor of Exeter, Sir John Berkeley, maintained with Cromwell. The manœuvres of the latter, among the army, were not without effect: the general council of officers was preparing proposals to remit to the king. Charles appeared cold and not very eager when Berkeley joyfully brought the project entrusted to him by Ireton. Never had anything so moderate been asked of a vanquished monarch. It was required that he should surrender for ten years the nominations to the great offices and the command of the soldiery. The political reforms were numerous, but he was not asked to abolish the Episcopal Church, or to ruin with fines the faithful servants who had fought for him, and the exceptions to the armistice numbered only seven. The king appeared so haughty that Berkeley was confounded. "If they really wished to conclude with me," he said, "they would propose things which I might accept." Then, abruptly breaking up the interview, he said, "You will soon see them only too happy themselves to accept conditions more equitable."

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Berkeley retired, endeavoring to guess the secret of so much confidence, when he learned that a riot had broken out in the city. Westminster was besieged by bands of citizens and apprentices, loudly demanding the return of the king. A petition, consisting of a pledge to do everything in order that the king might return to London with honor and liberty, was instantly covered with a mass of signatures. Everywhere the officers of the army, but recently remodelled by the Independents, united themselves with the people. The Presbyterians, defeated both in military operations and in the Houses, felt themselves supported by the popular movement, and resumed the control of the trainbands of London, which had been taken from them. The House of Commons, finding its doors forced open by a furious mob, voted the return of the king. Parliament was besieged both by the people and the army.

The king and his confidants triumphed, for insurrection had broken out according to their wish and at their instigation. They were suspected among the army, and the haughtiness displayed by Ashburnham, who had arrived three days after his master, redoubled the ill-humor of the representatives of the soldiers, with whom he forbore negotiating. "I have always lived in good company," he said to Berkeley; "I can have nothing in common with those fellows. We must secure the officers, and, through them, we shall have the whole army." The officers themselves began to distrust the double-dealing which Charles was carrying on. {164} "Sire," Ireton said to him, "do you claim to constitute yourself arbitrator between us and Parliament? It is we who wish to be the arbitrators between Parliament and you." They, however, officially presented their proposals to him. The king listened to them in silence, with an ironical smile, then he rejected them nearly all in few words, and as Ireton was beginning to support them with warmth, Charles abruptly interrupted him: "You cannot be without me (he said); you will fall to ruin if I do not sustain you." The officers looked in astonishment at Berkeley; the latter approached the king. "Sire," he said to him in a whisper, "your Majesty speaks as if you had some secret strength and power which I do not know of. Since your Majesty hath concealed it from me, I wish you had concealed it from these men too." The king endeavored to mitigate his words, but the majority of the officers had already adopted their course. It was said everywhere among the army, that there was no possibility of placing reliance on the king. Charles confidently awaited intelligence from London.

News was brought to headquarters by messengers of distinction. More than sixty members of the two Houses, with Lord Manchester and Speaker Lenthall at their head, arrived unexpectedly in the army, coming, they said, to seek the security and liberty which were denied to them by the fury of the populace. For a week Cromwell and his friends had been laboring, through the medium of Vane and St. John, to bring about this division among Parliament. They affected, however, to partake of the general surprise. Parliament, the real Parliament, with its legal chiefs and faithful members, was henceforth united with the army and under its protection. Joy shone on every countenance: the Lord was loudly praised.

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Berkeley was not satisfied. He hastened to bring to the king news so fatal to the success of his negotiations; and urged him to write to the chiefs of the army a letter which should cause a better reception of their proposals to be hoped for. At this price, Cromwell and Ireton still answered for the inclinations of the army. But the king also had news from London. The members of Parliament remaining in the capital were more numerous than those who had quitted it. They had elected a new speaker; they had given orders to form new regiments; the city was full of ardor, and was preparing to defend itself. The king was formally invited to return to London. The vote proclaimed in the streets might reach him at any moment. "I will wait," said Charles to Berkeley. "There will be yet time to write that letter."

The king waited, then wrote; but it was too late. Every day more members of Parliament proceeded to join their colleagues at headquarters. Popular exasperation gave way to fear and uneasiness; compromises were spoken of. Cromwell caused the king to be pressed; he continued to hesitate still. Ashburnham and Berkeley arrived at length at headquarters, the bearers of the letter so often demanded. The submission of the city had preceded them, and the alliance of the king was no longer of any value to the conquerors. Two days afterwards, on the 6th of August, the army, bringing back the fugitive members in triumph, entered London without one single excess characterizing their march, and Fairfax took possession of the Tower, of which the Houses had nominated him governor. All the acts passed by Parliament in the absence of the members who had taken refuge in the army, were declared null in law, for the troops were encamped around Westminster. Everywhere the army triumphed. Parliament was now a docile and humbled instrument in its hands.

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It was in the very midst of the army that fresh difficulties were about to arise. Intoxicated with their triumph, the obscure enthusiasts, fanatics of religion or liberty, thought that they had become masters, and aspired to alter not only the State, but society itself, and the face of the world. Possessed of a blind but pure ambition, intractable to any one who appeared to them weak or interested, they constituted in turn the strength and terror of the different parties who were all successively compelled to make use of and deceive them.

Cromwell had formerly found among them a few of his most useful agents, but they began to distrust him. The Lord had delivered into the hands of His servants all their enemies. Meanwhile, they continued to live upon good terms with the "delinquents," even with the greatest of all, who had been permitted to establish himself at Hampton Court, where he was served with idolatrous pomp. His most dangerous councillors were allowed to approach him, and the generals themselves saw them frequently. Rumors were in circulation at the meetings of the soldiers, and Lilburne, still indomitable even in the prison in which the Upper House had caused him to be incarcerated on account of his pamphlets, wrote to Cromwell, "If you despise my warnings as you have hitherto done, know that I will set forth against you all that I have of strength and influence, in order to produce changes in your fortune, which will be very little to your liking."

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Cromwell did not remain insensible to all these tokens. He begged the king that he would place their relations under more reserve. "As I am an honest man," he said, "I have said enough to convince his Majesty of the sincerity of my intentions, otherwise nothing will suffice." But with an increase of prudence, the relations of Cromwell with the king did not become less active. The great and firm mind of the general doubted the success of the republicans; the desires of the enthusiasts appeared to him chimerical, and his genius was irritated by disorder. Charles lavished promises, more personal now than political or general. To Ireton was offered the command of Ireland, to Cromwell the command of the armies, the Order of the Garter, and the title of Earl of Essex. Silence was not maintained throughout as to these negotiations, and rumors of them reached the army, every day more resentful and defiant. Two great Scottish noblemen, Lord Lauderdale and Lord Lanark, arrived at Hampton Court, to urge the king once more to unite himself finally with the Presbyterians and the Scotch, who alone were sincere in the desire of saving him. This, for the duplicity natural to Charles, was a new power. Everything was made known in the council of the agitators. The soldiers separated themselves from their leaders. A few officers and members of the Commons placed themselves at their head. It was announced that a Scotch army was about to march to the aid of the king; the English cavaliers were preparing an insurrection. Cromwell became more and more perplexed. All his skill did not suffice to divine the schemes of the king. He saw the army, the instrument upon which he had counted, upon the point of slipping from his grasp. The day had come for adopting a final course of action.

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It was the king himself who caused the scale to incline towards his ruin. Cromwell had been informed by one of the spies whom he kept at Hampton Court, that a confidential letter from the king to the queen was to be forwarded concealed in a saddle which a man who was not in the secret would carry upon his head. At the time indicated, Cromwell and Ireton, clad like simple troopers, were at the Blue Boar Inn, in Holborn, awaiting the messenger. He appeared; both issued forth sword in hand, seized the saddle, broke open the sides, took therefrom the letter, then returned the saddle to the messenger, saying to him in a good-humored tone that he was a worthy fellow, and that he might proceed on his way.

The letter was indeed confidential. Charles had written to the queen that the two factions were courting him equally, and that he thought of treating rather with the Scotch Presbyterians than with the army. "Besides," he said, "rest entirely easy as to whatever concessions I shall make them, for I shall know in due time how to deal with the rogues, who, instead of a silken garter, shall be fitted with a hempen cord." The two generals eyed each other, and, with all their distrust thus confirmed, they immediately departed on their return to their quarters at Windsor, henceforth without uncertainty regarding their designs towards the king and his belongings.

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It was time that their policy should cease to be embarrassed and undecided. The wrath of the enthusiasts was bursting forth. On the 9th of October, five regiments of cavalry, among which figured that of Cromwell himself, caused to be drawn up by fresh agitators, under the name of "Situation of the Army," a long declaration of their principles and demands, which was presented to the general. On the 1st of November, a second pamphlet, entitled "Agreement of the People," was addressed to the whole nation in the name of the sixteen regiments. In each paper the soldiers accused the officers of treason and the Houses of extortion. The most senseless and most anarchical theories were mingled with a few noble ideas. No more royalty and no more Upper House; the House of Commons alone to be elected for two years. Such was the abstract of the popular demands which threw the leaders into agitation and uneasiness. The two Houses voted prosecutions against the authors of the pamphlets, but at the same time decided that the king was obliged to accept all that Parliament proposed. The committee of officers was compelled to promise the agitators that the question of the preservation of the royal office should be freely discussed at a general meeting of the army, which would then be able collectively to display its sentiments.

When the day fixed upon arrived (November the 6th), all discussion was prohibited. The officers and agitators received orders to return to their regiments. Three partial meetings were appointed in the cantonments of the principal corps. Meanwhile the council of officers was to suspend its sittings, to allow the general and Parliament to act alone. Cromwell had decided on his course. He had determined not to be separated from the army, or to allow it to be destroyed by disunion and want of discipline. The soldiers desired to have no more to do with the king. That man alone could dispose of their obedience and their power, who would accept their common will and make himself its executor. Cromwell was resolved to be that man.

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Thenceforth the situation of the king underwent a sudden change. The friends who surrounded him received orders to depart. His most trustworthy servants, Ashburnham and Berkeley, were withdrawn from him. The guards were doubled around them, and from all parts arrived sinister warnings of abduction and assassination.

Charles was oppressed by a growing anxiety. His susceptible and ardent, though grave imagination, was shaken. Projects of flight began to spring up in his mind; but where was he to take refuge? The Scotch commissioners caused an offer to be made him to facilitate his escape, but the Scots had already delivered him up once to Parliament. Mention was made of the island of Jersey. It was far off, and the king would not quit English soil. Cromwell meanwhile, by all kinds of means, caused it to be insinuated that flight was a necessity. The Isle of Wight was proposed, the governor of which, Colonel Hammond, was the nephew of the chaplain of the king. This proposal pleased Charles, but he continued to hesitate, notwithstanding the anonymous letters which warned him that the danger was urgent. A nocturnal council of the agitators had resolved to get rid of him. At length, on the 11th of November, at nine o'clock in the evening, the king left the palace by a secret staircase, with one single valet-de-chambre, and, crossing the park, reached the forest, where Ashburnham and Berkeley, who had been hurriedly warned, awaited him. {171} The night was dark, and the fugitives lost their way. Not till daybreak did they arrive at the little town of Sutton in Hampshire, where a relay had been got ready. When they reached Southampton, opposite the Isle of Wight, Ashburnham and Berkeley embarked, to go and sound the governor. The king retired to the neighboring castle of Titchfield, inhabited by the mother of Lord Southampton. The two messengers met the governor on horseback upon the road. They informed him of the motive of their coming. Hammond turned pale; the reins of his horse slipped from his grasp. "Gentlemen," he said, "you have undone me by bringing the king into this island, if you have brought him. If he is not here yet, I implore you do not let him come. ..." A long conversation began; the governor at length appeared to give way. "The king," he said, "shall have no cause to complain of me. I will perform whatever can be expected from a man of honor and honesty. Let us go to him together." They arrived at Titchfield. Ashburnham ascended alone to the king. After his account, "Ah! John, John," exclaimed Charles, "you have undone me by bringing the governor here. Do you not see that I can no longer stir?" Ashburnham protested the good intentions of Hammond. The king was disconsolate, walking hurriedly about the apartment, with an expression of the keenest anguish. "Sire," said Ashburnham, in his turn agitated, "the colonel is here with one man only; nothing is so easy as to secure him." "What?" replied the king. "Do you mean to kill him? Would you have it said that I infamously deprived him of the life he hazarded for me? No, no; it is too late to adopt another course. {172} We must resign ourselves to the will of God," And he sent for Hammond and received him with an open and confident air. The day began to wane; they embarked for the island. A rumor had been spread abroad that the king was to arrive. The inhabitants set out to meet him. It was affirmed that they were all devoted to him. The terrors of the unhappy Charles subsided on the morrow morning, at the contemplation of the magnificent sight which presented itself to his gaze from the windows of Carisbrooke Castle. "After all," he said to Ashburnham, "this governor is a gallant man. I am here protected from agitators. I shall, I think, only have to congratulate myself upon my resolve."

The news of the flight of the king caused great consternation at Westminster. It was soon known that he had taken refuge in the Isle of Wight. Colonel Hammond hastened to write to the Houses and to the lieutenant-general, protesting his devotion and asking for instructions. Cromwell gave notice of the event to Parliament with a gayety which astonished the less suspicious, but of which the most shrewd in vain sought the cause.

Two days later, he repaired with Fairfax to the first of the three appointed _rendezvous_ of the army. This was near Ware, in Hertfordshire. Seven of the most reasonable of the regiments only had been convoked for that day. But, upon arriving at the place of meeting, the generals found nine regiments instead of seven; that of Harrison (cavalry) and that of Robert Lilburne (infantry) had come without orders.

[Image] Portrait Of Lord Fairfax.

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Suffering from the most violent agitation, they bore, affixed to their caps, _Liberty for England_, and from time to time their shouts resounded in the plain, excited by those of the officers and members of the House of Commons who had placed themselves at the head of the fanatics. The generals advanced; calm and grave, and caused to be read a remonstrance, reproaching the new negotiators with their culpable conspiracies, the soldiers with their want of discipline, and distrustfulness. Seven regiments greeted the reading with their acclamations. Fairfax advanced towards the regiment commanded by Harrison. Scarcely had the horsemen heard his voice, when they tore from their caps the _Liberty for England_, vowing to live and die with their general. Cromwell marched straight up to the regiment of Lilburne, which remained isolated and was uttering seditious cries. "Take that paper from your hats," he said to the soldiers, and as they refused, he abruptly entered the ranks and ordered fourteen of the most mutinous to be seized. Immediately, a council of war was formed, and three soldiers were condemned to death. "Let lots be drawn to determine the fate of one of them," the council ordered, "and let him be shot upon the spot." Richard Arnold, a fiery agitator, condemned by this means, was executed in front of the regiment; and the thirteen other prisoners were put in irons. Silence reigned in the plain. All the troops returned to their quarters without a murmur. The army appeared to be once more in the hands of its leaders.

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Cromwell, however, did not abuse his victory. Scarcely recovered from their stupor, officers, sub-officers, and private soldiers came in a mass to declare to the lieutenant-general that no severity could turn them aside from their designs; that they were determined to rid themselves of the king and to establish a republic; and that they would divide the army rather than abandon their undertaking. Cromwell did not feel inclined to reduce them to this extremity. Without giving them a positive answer, he allowed it to be understood that he also was dissatisfied with the king, that he might have permitted himself to be dazzled for a moment by worldly glories, but that he had recognized his error. He dwelt at the same time upon the necessity for discipline in the army. The agitators confessed their transgressions like their general. While the Houses were voting their thanks to Fairfax and Cromwell for the firmness with which they had quelled the insurrection, a great gathering and a solemn banquet, at which were present, in common, officers, agitators, and preachers, sealed that reconciliation, the price of which was the destruction of the king.

Meanwhile, Charles, informed of the result of the rendezvous at Ware, had hastened to despatch Berkeley to the generals, to remind them of their promises. On arriving, Berkeley felt some uneasiness. The trial of the king was spoken of. He was, however, introduced to the council of the officers; and he delivered his letters. "We are the army of Parliament," said Fairfax, in a severe tone. "We have nothing to reply to the proposals of his Majesty. It is for him to decide." Berkeley, in astonishment, eyed Cromwell and Ireton; they remained impassive. The letters of the king intended for them were handed them; no answer was given. "I will do my best to continue to serve the king," was the only message sent, "but let him not expect me to undo myself for love of him." Trustworthy advices counselled the king to fly to the Continent if possible. {175} A vessel sent by the queen was cruising about, it was said, in the vicinity of the island, but a fresh intrigue revived the king's hopes. Parliament voted four propositions or bills. If the king should accept them, he was to be admitted to negotiate in person with the Houses. These bills were a justification of the war which had brought Charles to imprisonment. On his part, they involved a veritable abdication. He was determined not to accept them, but he did not say so, for the proposals of Parliament would be of use to him, he thought, in the secret relations which he had renewed with the Scotch commissioners. "We must wait," he said to Berkeley, on his return; "I wish to conclude with the Scotch before quitting the kingdom. If they were to see me out of the hands of the army, they would be much more exacting."

A few days subsequently. Lords Lauderdale, Lowden, and Lanark, having arrived at Carisbrooke at the same time as the commissioners of Parliament, the treaty with Scotland was concluded, signed, and buried in a garden. The king, about to fly from the Isle of Wight, in order to take refuge upon the borders of Scotland, definitively refused the proposals of Parliament, demanding to negotiate in person without being pledged to accept anything. The commissioners made no effort to induce him to alter his mind; they departed, and a few hours after their departure, as the king was conferring with his confidants upon the means of escape for the following night, the gates of the castle were closed, the guards were doubled, and the servants of the king received orders to quit the island. The wrath and reproaches of the king were powerless to move Hammond. All hope of flight was at an end.

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In Parliament, Ireton bluntly proposed to settle public affairs without the king. "The king," he said, "has denied safety and protection to his people; it is for us to settle the kingdom without him." The Presbyterians rose against the measure. "Mr. Speaker," said Cromwell, "the king is a man of great parts, but so false that no one can trust him. While he protests his love of peace, he is engaged in secret treaties with the Scotch commissioners to embroil the nation into a new war. The time has arrived for Parliament to govern and defend the kingdom by its own power and resolution. The men who have defended Parliament from so many dangers with the expense of their blood, will defend it herein with fidelity and courage against all opposition. Teach them not by neglecting your own and the kingdom's safety to think themselves betrayed, lest despair teach them to seek their safety by some other means than adhering to you who will not stick to yourselves: and how destructive such a resolution in them will be to you all I tremble to say, and I leave you to judge!" He resumed his seat, with his hand upon his sword. The motion was voted without further opposition. After some hesitation, it passed on the 15th of January, 1648, in the House of Lords. Warwick and Manchester alone protested against the measure.

Violent indignation burst forth in all parts of the kingdom; a multitude of voices, up to this time uncertain, now united to those of the cavaliers in cursing this detestable treason. Never had so many rumors of royalist plots, never had so many or such violent pamphlets threatened Westminster. The Presbyterians, vanquished in Parliament as well as in the army, raised their heads again at these tokens of public wrath. {177} Cromwell, always prudent and sensible, endeavored to unite himself with this party, urging them at least to postpone their quarrels and to face in concert the new perils which it was easy to foresee. They would agree to nothing. Cromwell encountered the same resistance among the republican party which had manifested itself in the House. Ludlow, Vane, Hutchinson, Sydney, Haselrig loudly declared themselves opposed to the continuance of the monarchy, which was condemned, they said, by the Bible. Ardent in their fanaticism, they troubled themselves little about the external dangers which menaced their cause. Hamilton was in the ascendant in Scotland. The Parliament at Edinburgh voted the raising of an army of forty thousand men for the defence of the country, it was said; while in the north of England, in the west, in Wales, and even as far as the counties of Kent and Essex, the cavaliers openly set up the royal standard, boldly recruiting for the king, with the support, in various places, of almost the entire population. The Presbyterians took advantage of the breeze which was blowing, and obtained a vote of the House of Commons, on the 28th of April, 1641, that they would not change the form of government by a king, lords, and commons. Notwithstanding the vote which prohibited any address to the king, every member was to be at liberty to propose what the interest of the country should appear to him to require. A few days later, Cromwell, weary of inaction and the perplexity of affairs, suspected by some for his attempts to bring about an arrangement, by others for the hastiness of his measures, resolved to fight the insurgents in the west and to seize once more by the sword the ascendancy which was slipping from him. He had scarcely set out for Wales when the insurrection burst forth in all parts, and Fairfax and Lambert were also taking the field, the former to defend the environs of London, the latter to march towards the north.

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The Scotch were hastening, being forewarned by the heedless ardor of the cavaliers. Hamilton had only been able to gather together fourteen thousand men when he crossed the border on the 8th of July. The news of the invasion caused great commotion at Westminster. Fairfax promptly reduced the insurgents of the south, but they took refuge in Colchester, and the general was detained before the town by their courageous resistance. Cromwell in the same manner besieged Pembroke Castle, the bulwark of the royalists in the west. Lambert had great difficulty in holding in check the cavaliers of Langdale and Musgrave in the north; he could not struggle alone against so many enemies. Alarm was taken; it was resolved to press forward the new negotiations opened up with the king. This time, the Commons abandoned the three bills, the condition of which they had wished to make the preliminary of any negotiation. Meanwhile, the committee of war, sitting at Derby House, where the Independents prevailed, sent money and reinforcements to Lambert, urging Cromwell to join him, secretly writing him to fear nothing, to act with vigor, and to count upon his friends, whatever distrust he might formerly have encountered from them.

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Cromwell waited neither for orders nor promises. Being well informed of the movements of the Scotch army, he had written a month before to Lambert to fall back as soon as it should appear necessary, and to avoid any engagement until he should be able to join him. "Send me some shoes for my poor tired soldiers," he wrote to the committee of Derby House; "they have a long march to make." Pembroke Castle capitulated, and Cromwell set out for the north with extraordinary rapidity. On the 7th of August, Langdale, who marched with the English cavaliers in front of the Scotch army, caused the Duke of Hamilton to be advised of the approach of Cromwell. Everything indicated upon his part an intention of beginning the attack. "Impossible," replied the duke; "he has not had time to be here. If Cromwell be near, of a certainty it is with a small army; he will be very careful not to attack us;" and he transferred his headquarters to Preston. But the cavaliers of Langdale were already fighting with the enemy; reinforcements were asked for; the duke promised them, but did not send them. After a desperate resistance, Langdale was compelled to fly, and Cromwell marched direct towards Hamilton, whom he defeated without difficulty. Three battles and three successive defeats soon cooled the ardor of the Scotch. A tumultuous despair took possession of the army; the infantry surrendered in its entirety. Hamilton, at the head of the cavalry, altered his course and proceeded towards the north-east, endeavoring to reach Scotland. He was pursued; his troops mutinied; he surrendered, accepting the conditions imposed by Lambert. After a campaign of five days, Cromwell in his turn entered Scotland, determined to wrest from the royalist Presbyterians all means of action and salvation. Scarcely had he arrived when an insurrection took place in his favor, against the influence of the vanquished Hamilton. {180} Argyle and his friends, borne back into power, received Cromwell in Edinburgh with the greatest honors. He left there Lambert and two regiments to protect their government; then he set out for London, where the great game was being played. The negotiations with the king had begun; fifteen commissioners of Parliament had set out to treat with Charles in the Isle of Wight.

The king disputed the ground step by step; he was urged to accept everything by those who assured him that the treaty being once concluded, Satan himself could not dissolve it. "Consider if you call this a treaty," said Charles, "whether it be not like the fray in the comedy, where the man comes out and says, 'There has been a fray and no fray;' and being asked how that could be, 'Why,' says he, 'there hath been three blows given, and I had them all.' Look, therefore, whether this be not a parallel case. Observe whether I have not granted absolutely most of your propositions, and with great moderation limited only some few of them: nay, consider whether you have made me any one concession." The concessions of the king were more apparent than real. He wrote to Ormond, "Obey my wife's orders, not mine, until I shall let you know I am free from all restraint; nor trouble yourself about my concessions as to Ireland; they will lead to nothing;" and to Sir William Hopkins, after consigning to the Houses for twenty years the command of the forces, "But for the hope of an early escape never would I have yielded in such a way. My captivity at present would break my heart, for I have done what my escape alone can justify."

{181}

The day had in fact arrived when escape alone could save the king. Cromwell was approaching London, and already the energy of the resolutions made his influence felt. Charles was informed that troops were landing in the island, and that he would be carried off during the night. The guards were numerous; sentinels were stationed in all parts. Meanwhile, Colonel Cook, an officer devoted to the king, possessed the watchword. He proposed to pass Charles with him; the friends of the king pressed him. His sensitive dignity took alarm. "No," he said; "they have given me their word; I have given them mine; I will not betray it." "But, Sire, I presume that by 'they' and 'their' your Majesty means Parliament; but all is changed; it is the army that desires to cast your Majesty in prison." "No matter, I will not betray my word. Good night. I am going to sleep as long as I can." "Sire, I fear that it will not be long." "As it pleases God." It was one o'clock in the morning. The king sought his couch. In the early morning he was carried off by a detachment of cavalry under the orders of Lieutenant-general Cobbett and transported to Hurst Castle, in an apartment so dark that at midday torches were required to light it. "They could not name a worse," said the unhappy prisoner when he was informed of his destination.

At this news anger and terror agitated Parliament. It was proposed to vote that the replies of the king were suitable for a basis of peace. The discussion lasted for a long time, and was passionate and ardent; the royal cause was defended by Prynne, who had, twelve years before, sustained the severest contest against the tyranny of Laud and the court. "I am accused of apostasy, Mr. Speaker," he said. "Here are all the favors that I have ever received from his Majesty or his party. {182} They caused my ears to be cut off in the most barbarous fashion; they placed me three times in the pillory; they caused my works to be burnt before my eyes, and by the hand of the executioner; they inflicted upon me two fines each of five thousand pounds sterling ...;" and continuing with agitated eloquence the picture of his grievances, he dwelt nevertheless upon the evils which threatened the nation if it should not be reconciled with the king; "notwithstanding (he said) the threats of the army and whatever may happen, _fiat justitia et ruat cœluin_, let us do our duty and leave the event to God." The House accepted the resolution by a hundred and forty votes against a hundred and four. Once more the Independents were defeated.

They had arrived at the point at which lawful defeats of right are met by force. The republican statesmen, Ludlow and Hutchinson, allied themselves with the army. Fairfax was left ignorant of all that was passing. On the 6th of December, the infantry regiment of Colonel Pride, and the cavalry regiment of Colonel Rich, occupied the courtyard and avenues of the palace of Westminster. As the members arrived, Pride, standing at the entrance, was examining a list which he held in his hand. "You shall not enter," he said to those whose names were inscribed upon his document, and he even ordered those who were most obnoxious to be seized. It was found necessary to drag Prynne to the foot of the staircase. Two members only, among those who were designated, contrived to enter the Hall; these were Mr. Stephens and Colonel Birch. They were induced to come out by false pretexts, and were arrested like the others. {183} The House in vain endeavored to resist; the sergeant-at-arms, whom it sent, was unable to reach the captive members whose exclusion the army caused to be solemnly demanded. The prisoners asked to see Colonel Pride. "I have not time," said the rough soldier, "I have something else to do." More politely put off by Fairfax, they saw him no more. On the 7th, forty more members suffered the fate of their predecessors. When the House, mutilated and subjugated, at length voted that it would take into consideration the proposals of the army, the twenty-eight members who had protested against this act of suicide retired of their own accord. Voluntarily or under coercion a hundred and forty-three members of the House of Commons had ceased to sit upon its benches. The army and the republicans at length found themselves in full possession of power. Cromwell proceeded to resume his seat at Westminster. "God be my witness," he repeated everywhere, "that I had not been acquainted with this design; yet since it is done I am glad of it, and will endeavor to maintain it." He established himself at Whitehall, in the very apartments of the king.

On the 17th of December, in the middle of the night, Charles was awakened by the noise of the drawbridge, and a troop of horsemen were heard entering the courtyard of the castle. Before daybreak, he sent his groom of the chamber, Herbert, to ascertain who had arrived. "It is Major Harrison, Sire," the faithful servant announced. The king appeared agitated; he had tears in his eyes. "Your pardon. Sire," said Herbert; "I am dismayed at perceiving your Majesty so much troubled and concerned at this news." {184} "I am not afraid," replied Charles; "but do not you know that this is the same who intended to assassinate me, as by letter I was informed during the late treaty? I would not be surprised; this is a place fit for such a purpose. Go again and make further inquiry into his business," Herbert returned to say that Harrison was commissioned to take the king to Windsor. "With all my heart!" said Charles, joyfully; "they are becoming more tractable. Windsor is a spot where I have always found pleasure. I shall there be compensated for what I have suffered here." A few days later, the king arrived in Windsor, delighted to return to one of his palaces, to occupy his usual apartment there, with the customary ceremonies. He almost forgot that he was a prisoner.

On the same day, at the same moment, the Commons voted that the king should be impeached, and entrusted a committee to prepare the charge. The rigid and enthusiastic republicans desired a public and solemn trial, which would prove their power and proclaim their right. No one had been more ardent than Cromwell in bringing about this step; but he never forgot his prudent measures. "Should any one have voluntarily proposed," he said, "to bring the king to punishment, I should have regarded him as the greatest traitor; but since Providence and necessity have cast us upon it, I will pray to God for a blessing on your counsels, though I am not prepared to give you any advice on this important occasion." It was voted that the king had rendered himself guilty of high treason by waging war with Parliament. A High Court, composed of a hundred and fifty commissioners, was immediately constituted to try him. All the important men of the party were to form part of it, save St. John and Vane, who formally declared that they disapproved of the act and would take no part in it. {185} The House of Lords protested. Some feeling of pride appeared to revive in its bosom. "There is no Parliament without the king," maintained Lord Manchester. "The king cannot be a traitor towards Parliament." The order was rejected. The Commons declared that the people being, after God, the origin of all just power, the Commons of England, representing the people, are alone the supreme authority. The High Court, reduced to a hundred and thirty-eight members, received from the Commons orders to assemble without delay, to settle the preparations for the trial.

It met in fact for this object from the 8th to the 19th of January, under the presidency of John Bradshaw, a cousin of Milton and an esteemed lawyer, grave and gentle in his character, but of a narrow and harsh mind, a sincere and ambitious fanatic. Already division sprang up in the very midst of the court; on no occasion did more than fifty-eight members attend the preparatory sittings. Fairfax attended the first time and then appeared there no more. Others presented themselves to proclaim their opposition. Algernon Sidney, the son of Lord Leicester, feared the aversion which such an act would inspire in the people towards the Commonwealth. "No one will stir," exclaimed Cromwell, annoyed by such forebodings. "I tell you that we will cut his head off with the crown upon it." "Do as you please," replied Sidney; "I cannot prevent you; but, of a surety, I will have no hand in this matter," and he went out, to return no more. The king was summoned to appear, on the 20th of January, before the court, at Westminster Hall. On the 17th, as if the condemnation had already been pronounced, a committee was entrusted to take an exact inventory of the furniture in all the royal palaces, henceforth to be the property of Parliament.

{186}

The king lived at Windsor in a strange security, more merry than his servants had seen him for a long while. "I have three cards to play," he said, "and the worst may enable me to regain all." A significant sign, however, troubled his repose. Hitherto he had been served upon bended knees, with all the forms used at court. Suddenly, upon an order coming from headquarters, the ceremony disappeared, and the canopy which surmounted the royal chair was taken away. Charles was keenly affected at this. "Is there anything more contemptible than a despised prince?" he said; and he desired henceforth to take his meals in his apartment, in order to escape the contrast between the present and the past, in this same Windsor Castle.

On the 19th of January, the king was transferred to London, and lodged in St. James's palace. "God is everywhere," he said, when attendants came to prepare him for departure, "and everywhere the same in power and goodness." Nevertheless he was visibly affected.

On the morrow, the 20th, towards noon, it was announced to the high court that the king, borne in a close sedan-chair between two rows of soldiers, was about to arrive. Cromwell hastened to the window, pale, but nevertheless very animated. "He is come! he is come!" he said, "and now we are doing that great work that the whole nation will be full of; therefore I desire you let us resolve here what answer we shall give the king when he comes before us: for the first question he will ask us will be by what authority and commission we do try him." {187} No one spoke. "In the name of the Commons and Parliament assembled, and of all the good people of England," said Henry Martyn. The doors opened; the mob rushed into the Hall. "Sergeant," said Bradshaw, "let the prisoner be brought in."

The king appeared under the custody of Colonel Hacker and thirty-two officers. He advanced, cast a long and severe look upon the tribunal, and sat down, without removing his hat, upon the chair prepared for him at the bar; then, rising, he looked behind him at the guard placed upon the left, and the crowd of spectators on the right of the hall; he resumed his seat, looked again at the judges, and waited.

Bradshaw immediately arose. "Charles Stuart, King of England," he said, "the Commons of England, assembled in Parliament, being deeply sensible of the calamities that have been brought upon this nation which are fixed upon you as the principal author of them, have resolved to make inquisition for blood. You are about to hear the charges which weigh upon you."

The solicitor-general. Coke, immediately read the indictment, which, imputing to the king all the evils arising at first from his tyranny, afterwards from the war, demanded that justice should be done to him as a tyrant, a traitor, and a murderer. The king remained calm, casting quiet glances upon his judges. For a moment he rose again, turned his back to the tribunal to look behind him, then sat down again, with an air of mingled indifference and curiosity. At the words, "Charles Stuart, tyrant, traitor, and murderer," he smiled, albeit he still preserved silence.

"Sir," said Bradshaw, "you have heard your charge read; the court expects your answer."

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The King.--"I would know by what power I am called hither. I was, not long ago, in the Isle of Wight, in treaty with both Houses of Parliament, with as much public faith as is possible to be had. We were upon a conclusion of the treaty. I would know by what authority, I mean lawful, for there are many unlawful authorities in the world, as of thieves and robbers by the highways; but I would, I say, know by what authority I was brought from thence and carried from place to place, and I know not what. When I know by what lawful authority, I shall answer."

Bradshaw.--"The court requires you, in the name of the people of England, of which you are elected king, to answer them."

The King.--"I deny that England was ever an elective kingdom. It has been for these thousand years an hereditary one. Therefore tell me by what authority I am called hither. I will stand as much for the privileges of the House of Commons rightly understood as any man here. I see no House of Lords here that may constitute a Parliament; and the king too should have been. Is this the bringing the king to his Parliament?"

Bradshaw became impatient. The court was adjourned to the following Monday. On retiring the king touched with his staff the sword resting upon the table. "I do not fear that," he said. As he descended the staircase, a few voices were heard crying "Justice! justice!" but a much greater number exclaimed, "God save the king! God save your Majesty!"

The same scene was enacted at the second sitting. "We are not sitting here to reply to your questions," said Bradshaw to the king. "Plead to the charge, guilty or not guilty."

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The King.--"Show me that jurisdiction where reason is not to be heard."

Bradshaw.--"Sir, we show it to you here--the Commons of England. Sergeant, take away the prisoner."

The king turned abruptly towards the people. "Remember," said he, "that the King of England is condemned without being suffered to give his reasons for the liberty and freedom of the subject." An almost general cry arose of "God save the king!"

The same cry resounded incessantly around Westminster, stifling the voices demanding "Justice, execution!" One day, as the king was passing by, coming from the sitting, a soldier exclaimed, "God bless you, sir!" An officer struck him with his cane. "Sir," said the king, who was being brought forth, "the punishment exceeds the offence." The proceedings of Queen Henrietta-Maria, of the Prince of Wales, of the commissioners of Scotland, maintained the public indignation and sympathy, which were every day manifested more clearly in favor of Charles. Announcement was made of the early arrival of an embassy extraordinary from the States-general of Holland to intervene in favor of the king. This was the signal for the catastrophe.

On the 24th and 25th of January, the Court heard the depositions of thirty-two witnesses. On the latter day, at the close of the sitting, and almost without discussion, the condemnation of the king as a tyrant, a traitor, a murderer, and a public enemy, was voted. Scott, Martyn, Harrison, Ireton, and three others were entrusted to draw up the sentence, which was adopted on the morrow with closed doors.

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On the 27th, at midday, as the sitting was being opened by a call of the House, the name of Fairfax was uttered. "He has too much wit to be here," said the voice of a woman from the end of a gallery. After a moment's silence and hesitation the proceedings were resumed; sixty-seven members were present. When the king entered the Hall, a violent cry was raised among the soldiers of "Execution, justice, execution!" The crowd, in consternation, remained silent.

"Sir," said the king to Bradshaw before seating himself, "I shall desire a word; and I hope I shall give no occasion of interruption."

Bradshaw.--"Sir, you may answer in your time. Hear the court first."

The King.--"Sir, I desire ... It will be in order to what the court, I believe, the court will say. Sir, a hasty judgment is not so soon recalled."

Bradshaw.--"Sir, you shall be heard before the judgment be given." The king sat down.

"Gentlemen," said Bradshaw, "it is well known that the prisoner here at the bar has been brought before the court in the name of the people of England. ..."

"Not half the people!" exclaimed the same voice which had answered to the name of Fairfax. "Where are the people and their consents? Oliver Cromwell is a traitor!" The whole assembly shuddered; all looks were turned towards the gallery. "Fire upon her, soldiers!" exclaimed Axtell. Lady Fairfax was recognized.

{191}

The tumult increased. The king endeavored to speak. "I desire," he said, when Bradshaw had ended his speech, "that I may have a conference with a committee of Lords and Commons, upon a proposal which is of far more consequence to the peace of the kingdom and the liberty of my subjects than to my own preservation."

A violent agitation spread throughout the court and the assembly. Friends and enemies alike endeavored to guess what the king might have to propose in this conference with the two Houses. Many persons thought that he desired to abdicate in favor of his son. The embarrassment of the court was extreme; the soldiers loudly complained, lighting their pipes and blowing the smoke into the face of the king. The latter desired to speak; the cries of "Justice, execution!" redoubled around him. Agitated and beside himself, he at length exclaimed, "Hear me! hear me!" The agitation reached the members of the tribunal. One of them, Colonel Downs, was restrained with great difficulty by his two neighbors. "Have we hearts of stone?" he said; "are we men?" "You will undo us all," he was told. "It matters not," replied Downs, "were I to die for it I must do it." At these words Cromwell, who sat below him, turned around abruptly. "Are you in your senses, colonel?" he said. "Can you not be silent?" "No," replied Downs, "I cannot;" and immediately rising, "My Lord," he said to the President, "my conscience is not sufficiently clear to allow me to deny the request of the prisoner. I demand that the court shall retire to deliberate upon it." "Since one of the members desires it," Bradshaw gravely replied, "the court must retire," and they all proceeded to the adjacent hall.

{192}

Alone in the presence of all his colleagues, Downs was soon overcome. The court resumed the sitting. Bradshaw declared to the king that it rejected his proposal. "I will add nothing, sir," replied the king, visibly overwhelmed; "I would only desire that what I have said may be recorded." And he listened to the judgment in silence, with a serious gravity which only belied itself towards the end. He appeared agitated, and endeavored to speak. The whole court rose to give its assent to the sentence. "Sir," said the king abruptly, "will you hear me, a word?"

Bradshaw.--"Sir, you are not to be heard after the sentence."

The King.--"No, sir?"

Bradshaw.--"No, sir, by your favor. Guard, withdraw your prisoner."

The King.--"I may speak after the sentence. By your favor, sir, I may speak after the sentence. ... By your favor ... hold ... The sentence, sir ... I say, sir ... that ... I am not permitted to speak; expect what justice other people will have."

At this moment some soldiers surrounded him, and dragged him violently to the spot where his close chair awaited him. On descending the staircase he was insulted; lighted pipes were thrown under his feet; tobacco smoke was blown in his face. The same threatening cry still resounded in his ears, "Justice! execution!" With these exclamations, however, the people at times mingled their own: "God save your Majesty! God deliver your Majesty from the hands of your enemies!" As long as he was not shut up in his chair the bearers remained bareheaded, notwithstanding the threats and even the blows of Axtell. Whitehall being reached, the king regained his composure; he shrugged his shoulders at the cries of the soldiers. "Poor men," he said, on getting out of his chair, "for a little money they would do as much against their commanders."

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Having entered his apartment, "Herbert," said the king to his faithful servant, "my nephew, the Prince Elector, will endeavor to visit me, and some other lords that love me, which I would take in good part, but my time is short and precious, I am desirous to improve it the best I may in preparation. I hope they will not take it ill that none have access unto me but my children. The best office they can now do is to pray for me;" and he sent for the Bishop of London, Juxon. As the latter, upon approaching him, gave way to his grief, "Let us leave that, my lord," said Charles, "we have no time to spare. Let us think of our great affair. I must resign myself to meet my God. We will not talk of those rogues in whose hands I am. They thirst for my blood, and they will have it, and God's will be done. I thank God I heartily forgive them, and I will talk of them no more!" He remained all day closeted with the Bishop, receiving none of those who presented themselves to see him.

On the morrow, the 29th, his children were brought to him. The Princess Elizabeth, who was twelve years of age, burst into tears at the sight of her father. The Duke of Gloucester, who was but eight years old, cried on looking at his sister. The king took them, upon his knees, and shared a few jewels between them. He consoled his daughter, appointing some pious reading for her. He enjoined her to tell her brothers that he had pardoned his enemies; and to say to her mother that, to the last moment, he would love her as on the first day. {194} Then, turning towards the little duke, "Sweetheart," he said to him, "Now they will cut off thy father's head." The child looked fixedly at him with a very serious air. "Mark, child, what I say! They will cut off my head, and perhaps make thee king; but thou must not be king as long as thy brothers Charles and James are alive; for they will cut off thy brothers' heads when they can catch them, and thy head too they will cut off at last. Therefore, I charge thee, do not be made a king by them." "I will be torn in pieces first," replied the child, greatly disturbed. The king embraced him with delight, put him down, kissed his daughter, and blessed them both; then suddenly rising, "Have them taken away," he said to Juxon. The children went away in tears. Charles took them back into his arms, and blessed them once more; then, tearing himself from their caresses, he fell upon his knees and resumed his prayers with the Bishop and Herbert, the only witnesses of these sad farewells.

While the king was thus tasting the bitterness of death, his judges met to sign the warrant for the execution. Great difficulty was experienced in assembling the commissioners. Nearly all were agitated and affected. Their signatures were scarcely legible. Cromwell alone, gay, clamorous, and bold, besmeared with ink the face of Martyn, who was seated beside him, and held the hand of Colonel Ingoldsby to compel him to sign. The ambassadors of the States-general of Holland, who had arrived five days previously, and had been received by the Houses, saw the preparations for the execution commence before Whitehall, and when, on the morrow, they issued forth after a visit to General Fairfax, who had promised them to cause a respite to be solicited, they beheld the cavalry, which was clearing all the avenues of Whitehall, and among the mob which overflowed into the adjacent street they heard it repeated that all was ready, and that the king would not delay long.

[Image] King Charles' Children.

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The king had risen early.[Footnote 1]

[Footnote 1: The day of the death of Charles I. is celebrated on the 30th of January, because England had not yet adopted the Gregorian Calendar. The 30th of January, 1648, corresponds with the 9th of February, 1649.]

[Transcriber's note: From Wikipedia article "Gregorian calendar"; "In common usage, 1 January was regarded as New Year's Day and celebrated as such, but from the 12th century until 1751 the legal year in England began on 25 March (Lady Day). So, for example, the Parliamentary record lists the execution of Charles I. on 30 January as occurring in 1648 (as the year did not end until 24 March), although later histories adjust the start of the year to 1 January and record the execution as occurring in 1649.]

"I have a great work to do," he said to Herbert, and he began his toilet. The hands of the faithful servant trembled in arranging his hair. "Take, I pray you, the same pains as usual," said the king; "although my head is not to remain long upon my shoulders, I would be as trim to-day as a bridegroom. Let me have a shirt on more than ordinary," he added, "the season is so sharp as probably may make me shake, which some observers will imagine proceeds from fear." The bishop had arrived and opened the Gospel. He began the 27th chapter of St. Matthew, the narrative of the passion of Our Lord. The king asked him, "if he had made choice of that chapter, being so applicable to his present condition?" "It is the proper lesson for the day," said the bishop, touched by the coincidence. The king was at prayers; it was ten o'clock. A light knock was heard at the door: it was Colonel Hacker. He said in a low tone of voice, and almost tremblingly, "It is time to go to Whitehall; your Majesty will have there some further time to rest." "I will come presently," said Charles, and, after a moment's meditation, he descended with the bishop, traversing the Park between the two lines of soldiers drawn up along his passage, with a serene aspect, a bright countenance, a firm step, walking even faster than the troop and marvelling at their slowness. Arriving at Whitehall, he refused the services of the Independent ministers who desired to pray with him. "No," said Charles; "they have too often prayed against me and without any reason to pray with me during my agony. If they wish to pray for me, I shall be grateful to them."

{196}

He received the communion from the hands of the bishop, and, rising again, with alacrity, "Now," he said, "let those rogues come. I have forgiven them from the bottom of my heart. I am ready for all that is about to befall me." He would eat nothing; Juxon insisted. "Your Majesty has fasted for a long time. It is cold, perhaps upon the scaffold, some weakness ..." "You are right," said the king. He ate a piece of bread and drank a glass of wine. It was one o'clock; Hacker knocked at the door. Juxon and Herbert fell upon their knees; it was the king who raised them. He traversed the banqueting-hall; behind the line of soldiers, a crowd of men and women, pale, motionless, praying for the king as he passed. The soldiers did not use him roughly. At the extremity of the hall, an opening made on the day previous led to the scaffold, level with it and hung with black. Two men stood near the axe, each in a sailor's attire and masked. The king arrived, with head erect, endeavoring to catch the eye of the people, to speak to them; but the troops alone covered the spot. None could approach, and it was to Juxon and the colonel of the guard, Tomlinson, that Charles addressed the little speech which he had prepared. It was calm and grave even to coldness, while maintaining that he had always been in the right in his conduct as king. While he spoke, some one touched the axe. {197} He turned abruptly around: "Do not hurt the axe that it may hurt me," he said. His speech was ended; the most profound silence reigned in the open space. The king himself arranged his hair under a silken cap; then, turning towards the bishop, "I have a good cause and a gracious God on my side." "Yes, Sire, there is but one stage more; this stage is turbulent and troublesome. It is a short one, but you may consider it will soon carry you a very great way. It will carry you from earth to heaven." The king replied, "I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance can be, no disturbance in the world." He had taken off his collar of St. George and consigned it to the bishop, saying to him, "Remember." Then he looked at the block. "Be careful that it is set fast," he said to the executioner. "It is fast, Sire." "I will offer up a short prayer, and when I put my hands out this way (stretching them out), then." He collected his thoughts, said a few words in a low tone of voice, raised his eyes to heaven and knelt down, placing his head upon the block. The executioner touched his hair to rearrange it under his cap. The king thought he was about to strike. "Stay for the sign," he said. "Yes I will, and until it please your Majesty." A moment after the king stretched out his hands, and his head fell at the first blow. "This is the head of a traitor," exclaimed the executioner, showing it to the people; but a prolonged shudder alone answered him, and the cavalry, advancing slowly through the crowd, had great difficulty in dispersing the people, who had rushed to the foot of the scaffold to steep their handkerchiefs in the blood of the martyred king.

{198}

The coffin remained exposed for seven days at Whitehall. Cromwell caused it to be opened, and, taking the head in his hands, as though to assure himself that it was really separated from the trunk, "It appeared sound," he said, "and well made for a long life."

On the 8th of February, a few faithful servants accompanied the remains of their master to the tomb. It was at Windsor, in St. George's Chapel, where the body of Henry VIII. reposed, that Charles I. was to be buried. The sky was cloudless; but suddenly, as the coffin crossed the courtyard of the castle, a heavy fall of snow took place, and the pall of black velvet was completely covered with it. The servants of the king saw therein the heavenly sign of the innocence of their unhappy master. Juxon prepared to officiate according to the rites of the Anglican Church. Hacker opposed this. "The liturgy decreed by Parliament is obligatory for the king as for all," he said. Juxon submitted, and the coffin was lowered into the vault without any religious ceremony. Those who were present prayed in their hearts.

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