THE FIVE MEMBERS
The commotion at Westminster was intense; never, even at the arrest of
Sir John Eliot or at the impeachment of the Earl of Strafford, or at
the passing of the Great Remonstrance, had excitement run so high.
For the King, without acquainting his new advisers, in direct violation
of his recent promises, to the astonishment and dismay of his friends,
the rage and horror of his enemies, had made a move which put his legal
position in the wrong and showed at once and for ever that alliance
between him and the popular party was impossible. He had sent the
Attorney-General to the Bar of the House of Lords to impeach Lord
Kimbolton and five members of the Lower Chamber--Pym, Strode, Holles,
Haselrig, and Hampden.
Immediately afterwards a guard was sent from Whitehall to arrest the
five members. The Commons refused to deliver them, and sent a message
to the King to say that the gentlemen charged were ready to answer any
legal accusation. They also ordered the arrest of the officers who had
been sent to search the rooms of the five members and seize and seal up
their papers.
This was the answer of the House to the challenge cast down by the
King, and all England thrilled to it; all England waited too, in a kind
of passionate suspense, the answer that would come from Whitehall. Was
the King, who had so suddenly declared himself an enemy of the nation,
baffled, checked or only further enraged? What would he do next?
Few slept that night of the 3rd of January; and from thousands of
Puritan households prayers and lamentations ascended.
It was now clear that not by gentle means could the people of England
hope to regain their cherished liberty, and that neither consideration
nor fair dealing was to be hoped from a King who had so contemptuously
disregarded faith and the law.
Falkland, Culpeper, Hyde, and their following were utterly confounded
and dismayed, ashamed and humiliated, but in the stern hearts of
Pym, Hampden, Holles, Haselrig, Strode, and Cromwell was a certain
exultation.
Their enemy (for so by now these men had come to regard the King)
had put himself in the wrong, and alienated that vast mass of the
nation which in all great crises long remains neutral, and which had,
hitherto, declared for neither King nor Parliament.
But the recent action of the King, after his open promise before
Parliament, caused the least reflective and humble of men to entertain
a jealousy of their liberties, and a strong murmur of indignation arose
over the whole country, which was a good help and encouragement to
these men at Westminster.
Added to this satisfaction, the popular leaders, who had already dared
so much and ventured so far, felt a deep, if stern, gratification,
which was not, perhaps, shared by their followers, that affairs were
coming at length to a conclusion. Charles had now raised the issue, and
it was their task to answer his challenge as decisively as he had given
it. Three at least of the Commoners--Pym, Hampden, and Cromwell--did
not shrink from the immense responsibilities which this involved on
them, nor from the high stakes on which they had to play.
Pym and Hampden already stood as near to death as had Pym the year
before, when Strafford had come glooming to Westminster to impeach
him, for there could be little doubt of the King's intention to appease
that proud blood of his forsaken minister by the blood of those who had
sent him to his death.
Cromwell, one of a younger generation and of no such importance in the
eyes of either King, his own party, or the nation, ran no such risk as
his leaders and incurred no such responsibility. He was, however, their
able and indefatigable lieutenant, and Pym at least thought highly
of him as a driving force of courage and fortitude, enthusiasm and
resolution.
On the morning of the 4th of January, the House met in an incredible
state of tension and excitement, but during the morning hours nothing
untoward occurred, and the Commons adjourned at midday without there
having been any sign or message from Whitehall.
It was a dun day, the river ran slate-coloured between grey houses,
the sky was murk and low, an east wind blew gusts of icy rain along
the streets, and at midday the light was obscure and dismal; the mild,
hopeful winter had changed after Christmas, and now had the full
Northern bitterness.
Mr. Cromwell returned to the House early, as did most, and when Mr. Pym
was in his place the benches were again crowded. Denzil Holles, Strode,
Hampden, and Haselrig were near the entrance, talking earnestly with
Lord Kimbolton, the Member of the House of Lords who had been impeached
with them.
Mr. Cromwell looked at them with some admiration and even envy; they
had a splendid chance to exercise all those qualities which he felt
strongly burning in himself.
He rose up and made his way to Mr. Pym, who was sitting silent, and
looked ill and fatigued. But his calm, resolute expression, the light
of energy, command, and courage in his glance showed him to be, as
always, the intrepid, prompt leader of men--the leader of wit and
resource and vigour.
"Any news yet to hand?" asked Mr. Cromwell eagerly. "You have gathered
nothing either in the lobbies or the streets?"
Mr Pym smiled.
"What is to be gathered but wild, bottomless rumours such as are to be
looked for in these divided times? I have some of our own people posted
near Whitehall that we may know as soon as possible the action of His
Majesty."
"Maybe," said Mr. Cromwell, "he will do no more, finding his threats
have failed."
"You do not know the King as well as I," returned John Pym. "He is the
very haughtiest and most revengeful of men, and is not like to suffer
in silence such an affront (for so he will call it) as hath been put on
him."
"What, then, will he do?" asked the Member for Cambridge. "What can he
do?"
"I have tried for many years," replied John Pym, "to work with His
Majesty to form a ministry of loyal men proven by the Parliament--but
it could never be, as you know--and all my dealings with the King,
down to this last interview when I saw him face to face, have taught
me his variableness, his unstability, his pride, and his insincerity.
Therefore I cannot judge nor guess what he will do."
The four members talking at the entrance had now returned to their
places, and Oliver Cromwell hastened to meet his friend, Lord
Kimbolton, who was about to leave for the Upper House. The Member for
Cambridge accompanied him into the antechamber, and while they were
there, talking on the one absorbing topic of the moment, a fellow with
his face pinched by the wind and a little breathless, came up asking
for Mr. Pym, and, showing his credentials, was admitted into the
Chamber.
Mr. Cromwell, taking a hasty leave of Lord Kimbolton, hurried back to
his place in the House.
He found the Members already in a state of deep emotion and
excitement, for the most momentous of news was flashing from mouth to
mouth.
Mr. Pym's messenger had brought word that the King himself, accompanied
by some hundreds of armed men, was riding down to Westminster. There
was no time to lose; the royal party had been issuing from Whitehall
gates when the man had seen them, and, though some little delay might
be caused by the dense crowd thronging the street, it could not be long.
Deep cries of "The city! safety in the city! To the river!" echoed
through Westminster Hall, and the five members were pushed from their
places by friendly hands and hurried from the Hall to the lobbies, from
the lobbies to the Thames, and there into the first boat available with
directions to hasten to the sanctuary of the city.
The thing was done with desperate swiftness, but if it had lacked this
haste it would have been too late, for the House was scarcely returned
to wonted order when the King with his cavalcade of ruffling Cavaliers
arrived at Westminster.
A deep hush fell on the Chamber, as if every man held his breath. Mr.
Cromwell leant forward in his seat, every line in his powerful face
tense, like a great mastiff on the watch, entirely absorbed by the
movements of his foe.
The King's men now filled Westminster Hall, and on the threshold of the
inviolable Chamber itself the King appeared.
When he first saw these rows of hostile faces, darkened, silent
countenances of men who had defied him and whom he hated and scorned,
he paused for a moment full in the doorway and calmly and deliberately
gazed round him.
There was something awful in the moment; the two opponents, King and
Parliament, so suddenly and violently brought together, seemed like
actors pausing before they enter on a tragedy.
The King, in rose-coloured cloth and a crimson cloak, great boots with
gilt spurs, his hat in his left hand, and his right pressed to his
heart, the bleak light of the wintry day falling over his fair head and
melancholy face, looked a frail figure to be opposed to these gathered
ranks of gentlemen who had the whole strength and feelings of a great
nation behind them, while he was only armed with the intangible weapons
of traditional authority and such virtue as he might find in the royal
blood of his unfortunate race.
Beside him was his nephew, the young Elector Palatine, whose dark,
haughty features expressed mingled curiosity and doubt. He had known
exile and wandering, misfortunes and defeat, and it might be that he
thought his uncle was daring those disasters which had broken his
father's heart. His own presence there was an additional outrage on the
Commons, but neither he nor Charles thought of this, so completely had
they in common the family recklessness.
The two Princes, Charles slightly before his nephew, advanced down the
floor of the House. Mr. Cromwell, turning in his seat, watched him;
there was a deep silence.
The King mounted the step of the chair and faced the Speaker; his
voice, very pleasant and slow as always, rose clearly through the
crowded, still Chamber.
"Sir," he said, "we demand certain of your Members--Mr. Pym, Mr.
Strode, Mr. Haselrig, Mr. John Hampden, and Mr. Denzel Holles."
There was a second's pause, then the King added in a voice slightly
varied and strained with anger--
"Where are these men?"
"Your Majesty," replied the Speaker, "I have neither ears nor eyes in
this place save as the House may be pleased to direct."
A low, deep murmur followed these words, and the blood ran up from the
King's fair beard to his fair curls, and remained there, a fixed red in
his haughty face.
"It is no matter," he replied. "I think my eyes are as good as
another's."
He turned and glanced round the House and scrutinized the packed
benches in which were those five notable empty places; through the
open doors his own followers peered in with a show of pike and pistol.
Oliver Cromwell looked at them and smiled. When the King's swift glance
for one instant rested on him, that grim smile was still on his lips;
he turned and looked down full into the flushed face of the King.
Charles smiled also with a bitterness beyond words.
"I perceive that my birds are flown," he said; "but I shall take my own
course to find them."
The Speaker neither moved nor spoke; a few deep cries of "Privilege!"
rose from the benches, and the King seemed to suddenly lose that proud
composure he had hitherto maintained. His painful colour deepened and
his countenance was confused and troubled, as if he realized how many
and powerful his enemies were and how completely he was now encompassed
by them.
"Hold us excused that we thus disturb you," he stammered, and he took
his hand from his heart, where he had hitherto kept it, and caught his
nephew by the arm as if to assure himself of the presence of one friend
in the midst of this hostile assembly.
"God save you, sire!" muttered the Elector Palatine. "Do not give these
rogues the power of disconcerting you."
Charles replied something that was lost in the ever deepening and
growing murmur from the benches, and, turning on his heel, passed
with his usual dignity of carriage through the ranks of the angry and
triumphant Commons, and joined his own followers in the lobby.
As the rose-coloured habit flashed out of sight, a great murmur arose,
and the Members turned passionately one to the other. There was neither
noise nor disorder; they were the very flower of English gentlemen,
nearly all of famous names and ancient lineage, and they had not acted
lightly nor for a trivial cause, but with full gravity and weight and
for the sake of civic liberty.
"His Majesty," said Mr. Cromwell to his neighbour, "is as great a
blunderer as any I have ever seen."
Further down the benches a member remarked--
"The die is cast. Now there is no turning back."
The next day the Parliament moved into the city for safety, and there
went into committee on the state of affairs in the kingdom. Mr.
Cromwell moved the consideration of means to put the kingdom in a state
of armed defence.
The King left Whitehall and sent his Queen from Dover to gain help from
France, and to pledge the Crown jewels in Holland.
So was the die cast indeed, as all men began to see as the stormy
spring merged into the stormy summer.