Episcopalians—the Royalists—had left Parliament when the war broke out.
The Presbyterians were in complete command. London, which held the
purse-strings of the Parliamentary cause, was strongly Presbyterian.
Now, the Presbyterians, as the war went on, had grown more and more
afraid of their allies, and, indeed, of too decisive a victory over the
King. They were just as much bent upon an intolerant uniformity in
Church matters as was Laud, though they wished to substitute a different
form of Church government, which should rest upon a broader and more
popular basis. They wished to make Parliament supreme, but they had no
idea of dispensing with the King, and they were exceedingly distrustful
of a popular movement which would extend liberty beyond and beneath the
classes from which they drew their strength. On the contrary, the army,
which represented the Independent movement, was strongly democratic in
its tendencies, and was filled with sullen wrath against the King.
Cromwell himself was no theorist; in fact, he was altogether too little
of one. He wished to do away with concrete acts of oppression and
injustice; he sought to make life easier for any who suffered tangible
wrong. Though earnestly bent upon doing justice as he saw it, and
desirous to secure the essentials of liberty for the people as a whole,
he failed to see that questions of form—that is, of law—in securing
liberty might be themselves essential instead of, as they seemed to him,
non-essential. He was reluctant to enter into general schemes of
betterment, especially if they seemed in any way visionary. But when his
feelings were greatly roused over specific cases of wrong-doing or
oppression, he sometimes became so wrought up as to advocate reform in
language so sweeping that he seemed to commit himself, not only to
absolute religious toleration, but to complete political equality. Thus
when he broke with Lord Manchester he told him that he hoped “to live to
see never a nobleman in England.” In open Parliament he denounced
“monarchical government.” He advocated entire religious freedom. In
dealing with the army he declared his readiness to maintain the doctrine
that “the foundation and the supremacy is in the people—radically in
them—and to be set down by them in their representations”—that is, by
their representatives in Parliament.
Of course, to make his conduct square with these various utterances,
Cromwell would have had to strive for precisely such a government as
Washington was able to inaugurate a century and a half later; a
government in which there should be complete religious toleration, in
which all differences of rank and title should be abolished, and in
which the basis of representation in Parliament would have to approach
more or less closely to manhood suffrage. Doubtless, there were times
when Cromwell ardently wished for such a Government; but it was wholly
out of the question to realize it in the middle of the seventeenth
century, even in England. Generations had to pass before men could grasp
the true principles of religious toleration and political equality in
all their bearings; and, like every other man who actually works out
great reforms, who actually does signal service in the world, Cromwell
had to face facts as they were, and not as bodies of extremists—no
matter how good—thought they ought to be.
The best and most high-minded of the Puritan party were now growing to
fear lest the Presbyterians should try to perpetuate the old religious
oppression under a new name. Milton—with but one exception the greatest
poet of the English tongue, a man whose political and social ideas were
at least two centuries in advance of his time, but who had the good
sense to accept, no matter with what heart-burning, the best possible
when he could not get the best—Milton expressed the convictions of his
whole party when he said that if “Presbyter was but Priest writ large”
the people were no better off than before.
The army began to show openly its spirit of fierce unrest. A very
considerable portion avowed extreme republican theories. The Levellers,
as they were called, were looked upon in that day, even by advocates of
freedom like Cromwell, with great distrust, although the principles they
advocated—such as manhood suffrage—are now the commonplaces of American
politics. Of course, then they were not commonplaces; they were
revolutionary ideas, for the reception of which the mind of the English
people was not ready, and therefore it was the duty of men who sought
practical reform to refuse to put these schemes into operation.
There were much more extreme and dangerous groups than the mere
Republicans; groups of men in whom the desire for religious, political,
and moral reform had overstepped the broad, but not always clearly
marked, border line which divides sane and healthy fervor from
fanaticism. In such troublous times small sects and parties of
extremists swarm. Already the foundations were laid for the Fifth
Monarchy men, the men who believed that the times were ripe for the
installation of the last great world monarchy, the monarchy of which the
Saviour himself was to be Ruler; the men who shouted for King Jesus, and
were ferociously opposed to everybody who would not advocate the
immediate introduction into all mundane affairs of Heaven’s law, as the
Fifth Monarchy men chose to interpret it. Of course, men of this type
are always to be found in every free government, and aside from their
peculiar notions, they may have excellent traits. In peaceful times and
places like the United States at the present day, they merely join
little extreme parties, and run small, separate tickets on election-day,
thereby giving aid, comfort, and amusement to the totally unregenerate.
In times of great political convulsion, when the appeal to arms has been
made, these harmless bodies may draft into their ranks—as the Fifth
Monarchy men did—fierce and dangerous spirits, ever ready to smite down
with any weapons the possible good, because it is not the impossible
best. When this occurs they need to be narrowly watched.
There are many good people who find it difficult to keep in mind the
obvious fact that, while extremists are sometimes men who are in advance
of their age, more often they are men who are not in advance at all, but
simply to one side or the other of a great movement, or even lagging
behind it, or trying to pilot it in the wrong direction.
The seething unrest of the army found expression in the creation of a
regular political organization to oppose the organized Parliament. The
officers formed a Council, and the rank and file chose delegates, two
for each company or troop, known as “agitators.” In short, the army
became an organized political body whose scarcely acknowledged function
was to control or supersede the Parliament; just as, prior to the
outbreak of the American Revolution, Committees of Correspondence were
formed, in the various colonies, out of which there sprang the
Continental Congress, which superseded the loyalist colonial
legislatures.
Cromwell, like every other great leader who rises in a period of storm
and convulsion, could partly direct the forces around him, and in part
had to be directed by them. He did not sympathize with the extreme
position of the army about the King—the “man of blood,” as the Puritan
zealots called him, whose life they already demanded; nor yet with their
radical political aspirations. But it was the army alone through which
he could act, which gave him his strength; and in return he was the one
man who could in any way check or control it, for its loyalty to, and
admiration of, the great leader at whose hands it had drained the cup of
victory, were the only emotions strong enough to offset its fierce zeal
for its own theories of Church and State.
Cromwell was most earnestly desirous of getting a working compromise
between the King, the Presbyterian Parliament, and the Independent army;
a compromise which would allow the King to reign, exercising such
executive powers as the Parliament felt he should possess, and which
should leave the supreme control to Parliament, but with sufficient
guarantees for political and religious freedom to insure justice to the
Independents and the soldiers. He strove so hard to accomplish his
purpose as to excite angry mutterings against himself among his own
followers in the army; and the first steps of the impending revolution
were seemingly taken by him only because he was irresistibly pushed
onward by the army itself. When, however, he had once made up his mind
that there was no other path possible, he trod it as a leader, with all
his wonted firmness and decision.
The effort for reconciliation was hopeless, chiefly because the King was
an utterly impossible person with whom to deal. He had many bitter foes;
but they could not prevail against him until he convinced some of his
would-be friends that he was absolutely and utterly untrustworthy. He
never for a moment entertained the idea of accepting his defeat, of
abandoning the effort to rule as a despot, and of acting with good faith
toward the people. His purpose was to play off the Presbyterians,
together with the Scotch, against the Independents; as he wrote to a
friend, he hoped to get either the one party or the other “to side with
me for extirpating one another, and I shall be really King again.”
Meanwhile, the Presbyterian Parliament was determined not to tolerate
the “sectaries” of the Congregationalist and Baptist Churches, and was
drawing closer and closer to the Scotch Covenanters, who were even more
intolerant; and finally it grew ready to accept the King himself on
almost any terms, if it could overcome the army.
But the army could not be overcome. It had perfected its political
organization, and had begun to work through Ireton—Cromwell’s other
self. The army was genuinely reluctant to break with the Parliament,
for, after all, it was deeply permeated with the English respect for law
and order; and in the elections to fill the vacancies in the House, very
many Independents—men like Ireton, Fairfax, and Blake, the after-time
admiral—had been returned, so that there was in the Parliament a party
which strongly sympathized with the army.
[Illustration:
General Sir Thomas Fairfax.
From the Portrait by Robert Walker at Althorp.
By permission of Earl Spencer, K.G.
]
The majority in Parliament, however, remained steadfast in its own
views, and by its refusal to give the soldiers their arrears of pay it
added a very tangible, material grievance to those of an ethical
character. In January, 1647, the Scottish army delivered King Charles to
the agents of the Parliament, and quitted England, having received part
of the sum of money due them.
The most complicated and devious negotiations followed between the King,
the Parliament, and the army. Cromwell tried to get the army in touch
with the Parliament, but found the Parliament hopelessly obstinate. He
tried to get it in touch with the King, but found the King hopelessly
false. Yet, neither could the King and Parliament come together. Then
the army threatened mutiny, whereupon the Parliament began to negotiate
for bringing back the Scottish force to overawe the New Model, and
attempted the disbandment of the latter. The army struck back with great
decision and sent Cornet Joyce to seize the person of the King and take
him away from the Presbyterians. Parliament attempted to proceed with
the disbandment of the army, but was forced to abandon the effort when
it became evident that to pursue it meant war. No one knew quite what
the outcome would be, or, indeed, what his own course would be.
Cromwell, like the rest, was drifting; he seriously thought of leaving
England and going to Germany to fight for the Protestant cause, as the
Thirty Years’ War had not yet come quite to an end. To the French
ambassador, who sounded him on the object of his ambition, he answered:
“No one rises so high as he who knows not whither he is going.” He was
certainly at this time making the most honest efforts to come to an
agreement, either with the King, or the Parliament, or with both,
provided only liberty of conscience should be granted, the power of
Parliament guaranteed against the despotism of the King, and the rights
of the people guaranteed as against the despotism of Parliament. But,
when Parliament began to negotiate with the Scots on its account, and
Charles secretly sought to enter into a separate agreement with the
Scots on his account, to bring about an invasion of England, while the
city mob, which was rabidly Presbyterian, forced the hand of the House
of Commons and compelled its members to defy the army, it became evident
that Oliver had to choose his course. Reluctantly he was pushed along
the road of military revolution. The speaker and the Independent members
of Parliament, in fear of the London mob, took refuge with the army,
whither Cromwell himself had already gone. On June 10th the army issued
a manifesto, demanding a settlement of the difficulties upon terms which
it approved. Early in August it marched in formidable and orderly parade
through the city, overawing resistance by its mere appearance, and
Parliament submitted. This was the real beginning of the military
interference which terminated in the military dictatorship of one man.
If Cromwell is to be blamed for what he did to the Long Parliament, this
is the step for which he is to be blamed most; yet it was a step
approved by Milton, Fairfax, Ireton, and the great majority of the best
and most high-minded believers in English liberty who were then alive.
The conduct of the King and the Parliament had been such that it is
difficult to see how any other course was possible.
Cromwell did his best to stop the Revolution at the point it had now
reached. For months he endeavored to make terms with the King on the
conditions outlined above; and he not only put a stop to the extreme
democratic agitation of the Levellers and refused to further the plan
for a republican commonwealth, but, with prompt severity, repressed a
mutiny that broke out under the cry of “England’s Freedom and Soldiers’
Rights.” He disregarded the grumbling of the army until he became
convinced that Charles was incurably false, incurably treacherous and
untrustworthy, and was fomenting a counter-revolution. Then Cromwell
turned from him with loathing, and made up his mind to trust to the
sword, and to strike down anyone, even the King himself, if the need
warranted it.
It was high time for action. In Ireland the Royalists, the Catholics,
and even the Presbyterians, were uniting against the Parliament. The
Scotch, under the lead of Hamilton and the Presbyterian Royalists,
declared for the King; the English Presbyterians were for him to the
extent that they were against the army; and throughout England the
Cavaliers were arming for an uprising. Dark indeed seemed the peril. It
had taken four years for the English Presbyterians, the Scotch, and the
New Model, the army of the Independents, to conquer the Royalists, and
now the New Model was pitted single-handed against the Scotch and the
Royalists, while the Presbyterians were at best lukewarm. Nevertheless,
exactly as in the French Revolution, the victory lay with the Mountain
when it was brought face to face not only with hostile parties in France
but with the rest of armed Europe, so now the fierce energy of the New
Model, with the greatest of Englishmen at its head, was destined to
prove too much for its foes. The grim Ironsides rallied to their cause
with the devotion of fanatics, and the well-ordered discipline of
splendid soldiers. With fierce exhortations and sermons, with internal
searchings of spirit, with outpourings of prayer, they made ready for
battle, and in each dark Puritan heart welled the determination not only
to put down armed resistance, but to take the last great vengeance upon
the King, the cause of the blood-guiltiness.
[Illustration:
John Milton.
From the drawing in crayon by Faithorne at Bayfordbury.
By permission of William Clinton-Baker, Esq., J.P.
]
In April, 1648, the Second Civil War broke out. The gentry of Wales were
a unit for the King, and the commonalty followed them. The Cavaliers
rose in force in the North, and the Scotch prepared to send a formidable
army across the border to their aid; and there were Royalist outbreaks
everywhere, even in the southern and eastern counties. Berwick, Carlyle,
Chester, Pembroke, Colchester, were seized and held for the King. The
Presbyterians of London were in commotion; the Presbyterians in
Parliament itself were half-hearted and divided; but the Independents
and the army had no doubts. Fairfax marched into Kent and Essex, and,
after some hard fighting, trampled under foot the insurrection. One
Parliamentary Colonel whipped the Welsh at St. Fagan’s; another crushed
out a Royalist rising in Lancashire; General Lambert was sent to the
North, where Sir Marmaduke Langdale—Oliver’s old foe at Naseby—had
raised Yorkshire for the King. Oliver himself marched to the siege of
Pembroke, which, owing to lack of cannon, he could not take until July
11th. This ended the Welsh War. The risings in the south and centre had
been thoroughly stamped out; the fleet, which had partially revolted,
was for the most part brought back to loyalty; and there remained only
to deal with the Northern Royalists and the Scotch army under the Duke
of Hamilton, which had by this time crossed the border.
The composition of Hamilton’s army and the history of events in both
Scotland and Ireland at this moment, are alike sufficient to show the
tangle in which politics then were—the kaleidoscopic changes in the
relations of factions and parties, and the seeming minuteness of the
points of difference over which these same parties waged ferocious and
resolute war. Hamilton’s cavalry was commanded by Munro, who had come
over from Ulster to take part in the invasion of England. Munro and the
Scotch Presbyterians of Ulster had, during the years immediately
succeeding the great Irish uprising, been the formidable and merciless
opponents of the Irish of the North. But when the English Civil War was
fairly on, the English Royalists in Ireland—Episcopalians and Catholics
alike—gradually lost their animosity toward their Irish foes, in their
greater animosity toward the Puritans, and finally the Presbyterians
followed suit. This resulted in the release of Munro and a large part of
the Presbyterian force in Ulster, who went to the aid of Hamilton.
Hamilton’s own government was Presbyterian and ostentatiously devoted to
the Covenant. It is very difficult for a modern observer to see any
essential point of difference, either in their attitude toward the
Covenant, toward the King, or toward England; between the party that at
the moment controlled Scotland, and the party which was soon to drive it
out of power. Yet the bitterness between them was intense. The bulk of
the Presbyterian ministers, and the fiercest and most intense
Presbyterian zealots, hated Hamilton and his fellows with mortal hatred,
and were only waiting their chance to rise against them.
Cromwell advanced to the encounter with entire confidence, and sternly
anxious to get at his foes. He was a thorough Englishman at a time when,
to the thorough Englishman, the Scotch were classed with other aliens.
Bitterly though he hated the Royalists, he yet acknowledged them as
fellow-countrymen; but he made no such acknowledgment in the case of the
Scots. He explained that he preferred the Cavalier interest to the
Scottish interest, just as he preferred the Scottish to the Irish; and
he now moved against enemies whom he regarded not merely as enemies to
his cause, but as enemies to his country.
There seemed every reason for the Scots to be confident. Even with their
help the Parliamentarians had been able to put down the Royalists only
at the cost of four years of hard fighting; and now the Scotch and the
Royalists were to act together. They were to be pitted against Cromwell,
the best Parliamentary commander, to be sure; but the Scotch had done at
least as well as the average of the allies at the victory of Marston
Moor, and still had in mind the memory of their easy successes against
their English foes in the two Bishops’ Wars.
The great victories of the Parliamentary army had hitherto been won when
the odds in numbers were in their favor; now, they were about to fight
with the odds over two to one against them. Hamilton’s army was about
21,000 strong, including 3,000 Yorkshire Royalists under Langdale.
Cromwell had only some 9,000 men; but the great bulk of them were
veterans, who under his leadership had become the finest soldiers of the
age.
Hamilton moved slowly south toward Preston, his army scattered in a long
line, Langdale at the head, and Munro bringing up the rear. Cromwell
abandoned his heavy baggage-train that it might not encumber his
movements; Lambert joined him, and he marched with fiery speed to strike
his foes. The Scotch, confident in their numbers, and ignorant of the
movements of their speedy antagonist, advanced in loose order. On August
17th Cromwell struck their army; by which time Hamilton’s straggling
march had resulted in Langdale’s taking position to cover its left
flank. The Scotch were partially aware of their danger and were uneasily
trying to concentrate. Langdale was left to bear the shock of the first
attack single-handed. Cromwell appreciated, as well as any commander
that ever lived, the vital element of time; the need for taking full
advantage of what the moment brought forth. His headlong march had
resulted in some of his soldiers lagging behind the others, but he had
gained what he wanted; he had surprised his foes when they were
unprepared to use their superiority of force, and he dashed at them as
soon as his foremost men came up, determined to destroy them in detail.
Langdale made a stiff fight, and owing to the character of the
country—the fields were small, and the fences strong and high—the
cavalry was not able to do much, so that the decisive fighting was done
by the infantry, which was not usually the case in these wars. The
struggle took place about four miles from Preston, near which town, but
south of the river Ribble, the bulk of the Scotch foot were gathered.
For four hours Langdale’s men clung to their hedges and buildings,
regiment after regiment of the Cromwellians fighting to dislodge them.
Says Cromwell: “Our men fought with incredible valor and resolution ...
often coming to push of Pike, and to close Fire, and always making the
Enemy to recoil ... the Enemy making, though he was still worsted, very
stiff and sturdy resistance. Colonel Dean’s and Colonel Pride’s,
outwinging the enemy, could not come to so much share of the Action ...
the Enemy shogging down toward the Bridge, and keeping almost all in
reserve that so he might bring fresh commands often to fight.”
The Scotch sent some men and ammunition to Langdale, but made no serious
effort to help him, and continued their march. At last he was
overpowered and driven into the town. As soon as his men were dislodged
from the hedges and enclosures, the Cromwellian horse fell furiously
upon them, utterly routing and scattering them; at the same time, the
Cromwellian foot, pushing forward, drove back the Scotch foot, which had
been posted near the bridge to secure a passage for Langdale across the
Ribble, and cut off the fugitives from the rest of the army.
The Ironsides thundered into the streets of Preston at the heels of
Langdale and the flying remnants of his forces. Hamilton led one or two
charges, and for a moment checked the pursuit, but it was now too late
to retrieve matters, and soon afterward the whole of his army was again
in panic rout. The beaten cavalry fled north, goaded by the Cromwellian
sword, until they reached the rear guard under Munro. Most of the
Yorkshire and Scotch infantry north of the Ribble were killed, captured,
or scattered; a few only escaped to the Scotch army south of the Ribble
by swimming across it.