CHAPTER V

THE TREATY WITH THE IRISH NATIONALISTS

About the middle of February, 1649, Dr. Winstad, a worthy English Catholic physician residing at Rouen, went to welcome his friend, Sir Kenelm Digby, who had just ridden into the town on his way from Paris with several young gentlemen in his company. He was surprised to find amongst the party a "wry-necked fellow" with manners to match, and was pained to see his respected friend making a great fuss of the stranger although he did not scruple to "openly dispute against the blessed Trinity." He was certainly not fit company for Catholic gentlemen. But worse was yet to come. The doctor was soon informed that the wry-necked scoffer was none other than Scoutmaster-general Watson, the Head of the Intelligence Department of the New Model Army, and the whole party were possessed of passes to go into England, which he had procured for them from headquarters.

Thoroughly alarmed, the doctor wrote off to Secretary Nicholas to warn him that a desperate plot was on foot. Lord Byron happened to be there, too, on his way to Paris to urge the King's departure for Ireland, and just as he was getting into the saddle the news came to his ears. Sir Kenelm and his young gentlemen had kept their secret ill, and so soon as Byron reached Caen he was able to send off post-haste to Ormonde a warning that the ultra-Catholics were conspiring with the Independents to abolish hereditary monarchy in return for toleration of their own religion. He begged him to keep his eyes open in Ireland, where the plot might have very serious consequences. Secretary Nicholas caught the alarm and warned Ormonde of a possible alliance between O'Neill and the English officers.

At a moment when the great Presbyterian body was in the last stage of exasperation at the expulsion of its members from the House by Cromwell it seemed almost incredible that the Independents should dare to try and strengthen their position by the very scheme which ruined Charles. Yet it was all true. In spite of the storm which Glamorgan's attempt had raised less than three years ago, the Council of State was secretly holding out its hand to the blood-stained savages who were the very authors of the massacres about to be avenged. Such at least was the sentiment which the name of O'Neill and the Ulster Nationalists called up in England, and yet the risk must be run.

Ever since the preceding August, Jones had been in communication with O'Neill. An emissary of Monk's had been caught in secret negotiation with an officer from the Irish army. In October the Nuncio had announced to his superiors that there was a danger of the Nationalists joining with the Independents and "steeping the kingdom in blood." How far the proceedings were authorised from headquarters it is impossible to say. All we know is that for some time past there had been strange rumours about in London and mysterious goings and comings of Catholic gentlemen whose passports were always in order. But now Ormonde had got definite information to go upon, and he acted with his usual address. His attempts to gain Jones and Coote were redoubled, and offers were made which seem to have shaken O'Neill himself. Monk was not spared. The Ulster Presbyterians, who had revolted from him, were set on to appeal to him with the only reasons to which his ears were open, and he found himself face to face with the moral dilemma that was to haunt him year after year till the Restoration brought him rest. To whom was the duty of his place? The Presbyterians argued that they could not recognise any authority but that of a covenanted Parliament, and urged Monk to join them in supporting their position. Monk replied that he considered himself bound by his commission to stand by the _de facto_ authority in England, which was the Purged Parliament and the Council of State, and demanded why they refused to do the same. They replied that the _de facto_ government was not a lawful authority. It existed merely by virtue of its coercion of the lawful authority which was Parliament as it existed before Pride's Purge; and as an ultimatum they required him to take the Covenant and obey no orders but those of the Council of War at Belfast. Monk flatly refused. It was a difficult question. But his notions of duty pointed clearly to the thorny path of resistance, and he determined to defend Dundalk to the last.

Meanwhile the Independent plot had been maturing. Towards the end of March an agent from O'Neill had appeared in London and managed, probably through Jones's recommendation, to communicate with the Council of State. The Council refused to receive him, but appointed a secret committee to hear what he had to say. The effect of their report was that the game was too dangerous, and the agent was ordered to leave London. Still if the game were too dangerous for the Council, Cromwell knew it was too good not to carry on a while longer, and there is little doubt that Jones received from him some secret instructions to that effect, which were communicated to Monk. It was absolutely necessary for the success of the coming expedition to Ireland that the Scotch and northern Royalists should be kept from joining hands with Ormonde, Clanrickarde, and Inchiquin, and so completing the investment of Dublin. The maimed and shattered forces of Monk and O'Neill were all that held them apart.

O'Neill for some time had been in receipt of ammunition and supplies from the English officers, and Cromwell either now or not long afterwards was giving him regular pay; but this would no longer do. At the end of April O'Neill wrote a Latin letter to Monk urging him to press the Council once more to conclude a treaty on the terms his agent had unsuccessfully offered. But for this there was no time. A strong force was advancing upon O'Neill under Lord Castlehaven. It was a crisis in view of which Monk may or may not have had his instructions. At any rate he replied to O'Neill's letter asking what his terms were, and then after a short negotiation concluded with him on May 8th an armistice for three months, in order to give time for communication with England. The convention included a general defensive and offensive alliance between them against Ormonde for the time, provided always that no agreement was to be made by either with any one in arms against the Parliament.

The effect was immediate. The Scots lost heart and ceased to press Monk, and he had leisure to forward O'Neill's new terms to England. How far he knew Cromwell was behind "the special friends and well-wishers to this service" who were advising him is uncertain. At any rate he was aware the Council must not know all, and that Cromwell was the man to address. So he sat down and wrote a long letter thanking the general for his many favours, and telling him the whole story of how his own desperate position and the necessity of keeping O'Neill from accepting Ormonde's terms had decided him to take the step he had. "I do not think fit," he continues, "to signify this to the Council of State, but do wholly refer the business to you either to make further use of it, or else to move it, or as you conceive most fit to be done. Since there was great necessity for me to do it, I hope it will beget no ill construction." And so he concludes beseeching Cromwell "to continue his good opinion" towards him.

It was well for Monk he took the cautious line he did. Up to the end of the first week in May the Council had been sending him flattering letters of encouragement and promises of ships, provisions, and everything he asked for. A large sum of money was actually on shipboard consigned to him. When suddenly the day before the armistice was concluded a messenger was galloping down to the coast to stop it. Special precautions were taken to prevent the reason of this sudden order being known, and we can only guess that something of Monk's purpose or secret instructions had leaked out. But some one there was to smooth things over, and before the week was out the money was on its way again with a letter addressed by the Council to Monk thanking him for his services and integrity.

Whatever it was that Cromwell thought most fit to be done, it was not to reprimand Monk. His vast preparations for the conquest of Ireland were approaching completion, and by the armistice he gained the delay he required. All that was wanted was to keep the treaty secret till he was well on his way, and then he could do without it. Meanwhile Monk was allowed to believe that his conduct was approved by the authorities at home, and told to keep the whole matter a profound secret.

It was not long before he had to test the value of his treaty. Early in June Ormonde had concentrated all his forces and advanced to Dublin. Taking up a position there he detached Inchiquin to take Drogheda and Trim, and so open up communication with his allies in the north. At the end of the month Drogheda fell and Inchiquin advanced to besiege Dundalk. Monk at once sent to O'Neill to come to his assistance. O'Neill replied that he could do nothing for want of ammunition. Monk was ready to supply the want, and told his ally to send up a strong convoy to receive it. All went well till the party was returning laden with supplies. So hospitably had they been treated in Dundalk that most of them were drunk. Indeed no precautions seem to have been taken to prevent a surprise, possibly because O'Neill was still coquetting with Ormonde, and had some understanding that he should be allowed to get ammunition from Monk. At any rate before his men reached their camp a detachment of Inchiquin's army fell upon them and cut them to pieces. Hardly a man escaped, the whole of the train was captured, and so great was the panic in O'Neill's quarters when the news of the disaster came, that the whole army fled in disorder to Longford and left Dundalk to its fate.

It was a trying moment for Monk, and one in which the blunt narrow-minded soldier of fortune stands out in his fearlessness and staunch self-reliance a figure almost heroic. The end for which he had been striving so long was nearly gained. Any time within the next few weeks Cromwell might set foot in Ireland. The army was gathered at Milford. The Lord Lieutenant had left London. The race for the key of England was now neck and neck. One more struggle and success might still be won. So like a true man Monk resolved at all hazards to cling to his charge till he could cling no more.

His troops were his only fear. Arrears and the O'Neill treaty had been a sore trial to their devotion, but still they were the only tools he had. Calling them about him he told them what he meant to do, and begged that, if any there feared to stand by him, he would be gone. A single man stepped from the ranks and said he could not fight by the side of Popish rebels red with Protestant blood. He was dismissed with a safe-conduct, and the rest pledged themselves to stand by their beloved commander till the last.

It is sad to tell how night cooled their courage. Next day when Inchiquin appeared before the walls the sight was more than their conscientious scruples and empty pockets could endure. Wholesale they deserted to the enemy, till Monk at last was left with but seventeen faithful out of all his force. Still he would have held out, though resistance then meant certain death. Fortunately the seventeen faithful were not so obstinate, and he was but one against them. By main force they compelled him to surrender. Inchiquin gave him handsome terms. They were simply that he should be allowed to dispose of himself and his property as he pleased, and in pursuance of them he presently sailed for England.

But his troubles instead of being ended were only begun. No sooner was he landed at Chester than he found public opinion in a high state of agitation over his armistice. He was interviewed by excited politicians: he was eagerly asked what induced him to make so monstrous an alliance; but little could be made of him. The cautious, taciturn soldier must have been a difficult man to interview, and to every inquisitive attack he replied that he had the warrant of his superiors for what he had done. He had obeyed his orders, he had done his duty, and he had no fear of the consequences; nor did it concern him whether the treaty was justifiable or not.

Once ashore he lost no time in hurrying on to Milford Haven to report himself to Cromwell, who as Lord Lieutenant was his immediate superior. There he found matters worse even than at Chester. The soldiers had got wind of the unlucky armistice and were deserting in large numbers. They had enlisted to avenge innocent Protestant blood, and found themselves asked to join hands with the monsters who had shed it. The stories of the massacres were still believed, and feeling ran very high. One of Milton's first commissions from the Government had been aimed at involving their opponents in the execration with which Ormonde's peace with the Irish Papists was regarded, and men's ears were still ringing with his tremendous invective against the Ulster Scots for joining hands with a man who had so stained himself with the touch of Antichrist. It was a time when Cromwell must have repented his patriotic resolve to command the Irish army. He well knew the danger he ran in leaving London. He was sure his Presbyterian and Cavalier enemies would leave no stone unturned to damage him and his party. And here at the very outset the weapon which Milton had been wielding with such deadly effect was placed within their reach. The connection between the Independents and the Papists once exposed, there would be a resistless outcry such as had greeted the Glamorgan disclosures, and the cause of individual liberty, of toleration, of independency would be lost for ever. Whatever the cost the truth must not transpire.

Such must have been Cromwell's thoughts as Monk was announced. What would we not give to see that meeting now, to see those two men, so alike and yet so widely different, face to face at a moment so dramatic! Cromwell with the fierce earnestness that carried all before it telling his friend that no more must be said about the warrant of his superiors, that on his own shoulders he must for the sake of the good cause take the blame; telling him how he had laid his confidential letter and O'Neill's terms before the Council, and how they had voted entire disapproval of the whole scheme, and had not even dared to put it before Parliament. And then the honest soldier, hurt to be so deserted, but yet borne down by the resistless personality of his commander, consenting at last for high reasons of state to lie. He who, as Clarendon said, was never suspected of dissimulation in all his life passed his word to lie, and Cromwell knew--none better than he--a man that was to be trusted.

So much is all we can gather of that meeting on which so much depended. No sooner was it over than the scapegoat was hurried off to London. No time was to be lost. The rising storm must be allayed before it got beyond control, and Cromwell could not sail till he knew the end. There was a magic sword lying almost in his enemies' grasp, and till it was removed he could not leave--no, not for all Ireland.

Armed with letters to Cromwell's friends Monk arrived in London early in August. "They should commit him to the Tower," said one when he knew he had come. "Better commit the Tower to him," was the reply, for Cromwell's letters made friends plentiful. It would even appear that Oliver's partisans in the Council had a hint to make things as smooth for Monk as was consistent with their own safety, and very cleverly they went about it.

It was of course now necessary that they should make a report of the whole affair to Parliament. The secrecy which had been ordered in reference to the matter was removed by vote. Monk was sent for and examined as to his reasons for taking the course he had. He replied without hesitation that it was an act of military necessity, and what he had done was entirely on his own responsibility in expectation of the Council's confirmation. Nothing could be more satisfactory. He was ordered to draw up a report explaining the position and to attend the House with it on the following Wednesday. He was further informed that the Council disapproved of the whole matter from beginning to end; all which things were next day embodied in formal resolutions for report to the House, and it is worth remarking that this was the only occasion during the whole month on which Lord Lisle attended the Council.

On the 10th Monk went down to the House with his report. Jones's despatch announcing his great victory over Ormonde and the safety of Dublin had just arrived. After it had been read Monk was called to the bar and presented his report. But the House was not so easily satisfied as the Council. The Opposition were still strong, and they felt they were being hoodwinked. Monk's letter to Cromwell had been laid on the table with the rest of the papers, and in it was the fatal admission that he had been advised by some well-wishers to the cause. The House demanded to know who those persons were.

It must have been an anxious moment for many there as the Speaker's voice ceased and silence fell upon the eager throng while they listened for Monk's reply. Who could tell he would stand staunch at that trying moment?

"I did it," said Monk with his stolid air, "on my own score without the advice of any other persons. Only formerly I had some discourse of Colonel Jones, and he told me if I could keep off Owen Rowe and Ormonde from joining it would be a good service."

"Had you any advice or direction," continued the Speaker, "from Parliament, or the Council, or the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, or any person here to do it?"

"Neither from Parliament," answered Monk categorically, "nor the Council, nor the Lord Lieutenant, nor any person here had I any advice or direction. I did it on my own score for the preservation of the English interest there, and it has had some fruits accordingly."

There was no denying that. Lying on the table before them was Jones's despatch, in which he attributed his great victory to the fact that Ormonde had been compelled to detach Inchiquin to oppose O'Neill. Monk was ordered to withdraw, and a long debate ensued. The Opposition felt their weapon was being filched from their hands, and they argued long for a vote of censure, while Monk waited anxiously without. At last the question was put, "That this House do approve the proceeding of Colonel Monk?" The House divided, and the motion was lost. Then it was put that "the House do utterly disapprove, and that the innocent blood which hath been shed is so fresh in the memory of this House that the House doth detest and abhor the thoughts of any closing with any party of Popish rebels there who have had their hands in shedding that blood." But an amendment was moved by adding words to the motion that Monk's conduct was excusable on the ground of necessity. In this form it was carried, and Monk was safe.

Cromwell had won. He was still lying in Milford Haven. The money for which he had stayed had been sent off a fortnight ago: the corn-ships had gone some days before; yet still he tarried. On August 12th the news of the momentous vote reached him, and next day he sailed. If it was not this that loosed his moorings the good tidings came at least with strange opportuneness, and permitted him to leave England with his greatest anxiety allayed.

The victory was indeed complete. At the end of the week the official press came out full of flattering expressions about Monk. A full account was published by authority for the information or delusion of the public. In vain the opposition "Man in the Moon" railed, and said the whole thing was a "blindation." The public were satisfied with the result, and the incident was at an end.[5]

And now for the last time in his life Monk knew what it was to be out of employment. His brother, Colonel Thomas Monk, the zealous Cavalier, had recently been killed by a fall from his horse, and George seems to have used his leisure to go down to Potheridge and take possession of the family estates, which fell to him as heir-in-tail. It was probably at this time that he became fully impressed with the abilities of his kinsman Mr. Morice, who was afterwards to influence his career so profoundly. This remarkable man, scholar, historian, recluse, and man of business, had been managing the Grenville property with great skill ever since Monk's uncle, Sir Bevil, had been killed at the battle of Lansdowne, and the colonel found he could not do better than commit his own property to the same stewardship.

But that it was not only in this manner that he enjoyed his repose and consoled himself for the way the Government had treated him is only too clear. For it was in this year that the frail Mrs. Ratsford was separated from her husband.