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.