THE BLOODLESS CAMPAIGN
By the middle of November the Scotch army was thoroughly remodelled and
placed on its war-footing. Certain of the failure of the negotiations
and regardless of the hardships of a winter campaign, on the 18th Monk
began to move for the front. In his rear all was secure in spite of
the denudation of the garrisons. Their fortifications had been freely
dismantled, and by calling a Convention Parliament under the presidency
of Glencairn he had come to a definite understanding with the Scots.
So excellent were the relations he had established with them by his
just and sympathetic government, severe as it was, that without holding
out the slightest hope of a restoration he had received from them an
undertaking that the country would not only remain quiet, but even
assist him with a large force. The last offer he was prudent enough to
refuse, fearing it would bring him under suspicion of Royalism.
The first halt was at Haddington. Everything had gone well, and the
general was sitting down to supper with his officers amidst the hopeful
excitement that marks the first move to the front. Hardly, however,
had grace been said when some officers from London were announced.
They presented the general with a packet. He tore it open where he sat,
read it through, and then tossing it to his officers abruptly left the
room without a word. With cries of rage they found it was a treaty
into which their commissioners had been cheated and coerced, and which
conceded to the Committee of Safety every point upon which the Scotch
army had insisted.
It was a blow heavy enough to crush the stoutest heart, and at daybreak
the general returned to Edinburgh, where the news had already raised a
storm of fury. Officers crowded to head-quarters with despair and anger
on their faces, and eagerly waited till Monk had done his breakfast.
At last he strode into the ante-room and began talking up and down in
sullen silence. Not a word was spoken till his confidant, Dr. Gumble,
ventured to accost him. "What do you think of this agreement?" said the
general abruptly. The doctor replied at once by asking leave to escape
into Holland, for whatever the rest might hope he knew his life was
not safe. "What!" cried Monk angrily, "do you lay the blame on me? If
the army will stick to me I will stick to them." A burst of enthusiasm
greeted his words. Every officer present vowed he would live and die
with him, and shout after shout of joy re-echoed through the city as
the news spread through the ranks of the soldiers.
A confidential council was called in the afternoon, and it was decided
instead of repudiating the treaty to prolong the negotiations. To this
end it was resolved to request a conference at Alnwick to explain
doubtful points in the articles on the ground that they appeared to
be inconsistent with the commissioners' instructions. Next morning
a general advance to the Border was ordered, and by the end of the
month the head-quarters were at Berwick. Another delay was gained,
and to prevent the possibility of a premature collision Monk withdrew
his outpost in Northumberland. Every day some encouraging news added
a fresh value to the armistice. Clarges had returned to London, but
before he left Edinburgh Monk had told him that if he restored the
Parliament he should not feel it his duty to prevent the secluded
members resuming their seats. With this the astute commissary had
been able to satisfy Lord Fairfax on his way south, and was now able
to announce that the Yorkshire gentlemen would be ready to rise for
a free Parliament by the middle of January. The old Council of State
had met in secret at the capital, and sent down to Monk a commission
as general of all the forces in England and Scotland. Fleetwood was
growing more suspicious of Lambert every hour, and in his anxiety to
come to an understanding with Monk agreed to the proposed conference.
Lambert was in despair. His army at Newcastle was showing signs of
insubordination. Money was running short. The ranks were full of
sectaries devoted to Fleetwood. He knew that further delay meant ruin,
and he despatched Colonel Zankey to Berwick with fresh proposals on his
own account to hasten the ratification of the treaty. Zankey arrived
early in December, in company with the retreating outpost from Alnwick.
In high spirits at this new sign of discord in the enemy's camp the
Council met. A long bantering discussion ensued. Every argument which
Zankey could urge was made light of, his terms refused, and Monk, well
satisfied with the day's work, went to bed--but not to rest.
At one o'clock in the morning he was aroused with alarming news.
A strong brigade of Lambert's cavalry with two guns had seized
Chillingham Castle, which was but twenty miles from the Border. Furious
to think that the precious armistice was broken, and still more that
Lambert should have taken advantage of the withdrawal of the outposts
to cover an advance with a flag of truce, he ordered Zankey's instant
arrest. It was a fearful night. The darkness was impenetrable and a
storm was raging. But at such a moment nothing mattered to the tough
old campaigner. In an hour his orders for the army were written, and he
was galloping away recklessly to inspect the fords uphill and downhill
along the frozen roads, regardless of the protests of his staff. "It
was God's infinite mercy we had not our necks broke," wrote one of
them afterwards. At Norham the storm had increased to such a fury that
he was compelled to take shelter in the castle. By daylight, however,
he had visited every pass over the Tweed, and a little before noon he
reached Coldstream, where he intended to make his head-quarters. Here
was the best ford over the river, and he had ordered a strong force to
muster for its protection. So well had his orders been obeyed that he
found his troops had already consumed everything that was fit for food
or drink in the place. But "old George" was as indifferent to hunger
as he was to fatigue. In dismay his staff saw him sit down in a small
cottage and quietly take out a quid of tobacco. It was for him all that
Captain Bobadil boasted. His staff stole away to hunt for a dinner, and
when they returned the general was still serenely chewing where they
had left him.
Lambert's supposed advance had proved a false alarm. It was but an
unauthorised raid for plunder. But it was enough to show the old
strategist his danger. If Lambert had the sense or power to make a dash
over the Border with his thousands of horse and mounted infantry, Monk
was so weak in those arms that he would be compelled to retreat, and
retreat meant ruin. Everything depended on a strong defensive position,
and with consummate skill he marked one out. The bulk of the little
army was stationed on the right at Kelso, and intrusted to Morgan, who
had orders to exercise it daily in the general's pet formation of mixed
files of horse and foot. From Kelso as far as Berwick every pass was
occupied, and the troops quartered in the neighbouring villages and
farmsteads. Yet within four hours, so nicely was every detail adjusted,
the whole force could be concentrated on a given point. The position
was practically impregnable. The desolate character of the country
in its front rendered an attack in force impossible. Even if Lambert
could have induced his pampered army to move, he could not have fed
them for the time a concentration would take in the fearful weather
that prevailed. If he attempted a turning movement by the Carlisle road
Monk would get three days' start in London, and the Scotch army was too
strong to be checked by any force that Lambert could safely detach from
his main body.
To perfect his masterly disposition Monk established himself in the
centre at Coldstream. His quarters were a smoky little thatched cottage
with but one room. His bed was so small that he used it as a pillow,
with his legs and body resting uneasily on benches. Indeed he and his
officers suffered here every hardship that bad lodging, worse food,
and intense cold could inflict; but such was the spirit which the
general's example infused that the only effect of their sufferings was
to arouse a cheery spirit of freemasonry among them. Till their dying
day it was their pride to be called Coldstreamers. They never ceased to
bore their friends with Coldstream stories, nor tired of joking about
the chapel in the cowhouse and the beer that went bad before it got
cold.
Severe as were their privations, for the rest of the year they had
to bear them with as much of the general's equanimity as they could
attain. As for him, he never left his quarters for a night except once,
to meet the delegates of the Scots Convention at Berwick for the final
settlement of the affairs of the interior while he was away. For the
rest comfort was not wanting. The colder it grew the more difficult
it was for Lambert to move, and if good liquor was scarce, good news
flowed in plenty through the secret channels which Clarges had laid.
In London riots were being suppressed with bloodshed, and mutiny was
threatening at Newcastle. The Fanatics of Fleetwood's party, of whom
the army was full, began to distrust Lambert's ambition, while Monk's
judicious refusal to allow the Scots to arm restored the confidence of
those who had hitherto suspected him of malignancy. The Irish regiments
had not forgotten him; the Parliament's guards were plainly inclined to
its champion; at head-quarters mutinies daily alarmed the Council; and
Fleetwood's only idea of restoring discipline was to fall on his knees
at the head of the disaffected regiments and say his prayers.
Still the negotiations could not be prolonged for ever, ingenious
as was the committee which Monk had appointed to carry them on.
It was therefore an immense relief when tidings came that the
governor of Portsmouth had opened his gates to Haslerig, Morley,
and Walton. Monk at once sent to Lambert to say that as three of
his fellow-commissioners had returned to their duty he could not
continue the negotiation without consulting them. "He has not used me
well," said poor Lambert, and refused to grant a pass to Portsmouth.
Monk's messenger had to return, but not empty. He came bursting with
news. Vice-Admiral Lawson had declared for Monk's programme, and the
fleet was threatening to blockade the Thames. In the same hour from
Portpatrick arrived an officer to tell how the general's old comrades
had seized Dublin Castle, and that the Irish army was ready to assist
him actively. In the midst of the thanksgivings for these mercies a
kinsman of Lord Fairfax stole over the hills to announce that the
Yorkshire gentlemen would be ready to fall on Lambert's rear by New
Year's Day, and at the Yorkshire general's request Monk promised
to watch Lambert "as a cat did a mouse," and to advance to their
assistance the moment there was a sign of a movement against them.
Indeed things were going almost too well. Price grew alarmed that the
Rump was going to triumph completely, and though his dangerous presence
was tabooed by Monk he stole into head-quarters in the dead of night.
Rousing the weary soldier from his uneasy couch he implored him to
remember the "old known laws." "Mr. Price," said Monk passionately, "I
know your meaning, and I have known it. By the grace of God I will do
it if ever I can find it in my power; and I do not much doubt but that
I shall." Then seizing both his chaplain's hands he said again, "By
God's help I will do it." It is perfectly clear that Monk's love for
his country inspired him with a desire to see monarchy re-established
by a free Parliament as the only durable settlement, and that at this
moment he was very hopeful about it.[9] It is equally certain he did
not intend to restore Charles by force; and even if a Stuart were in
his eyes worth a drop of English blood, even if he had had any faith
in a settlement that was founded in civil war, his creed was still
unshaken, and he meant so far as in him lay to keep the army from
meddling with the civil power. He held the commission of the Rump, and
had signified his intention to be loyal to it by signing a manifesto of
the army by which he bound himself to restore the Parliament as it was
before the late _coup d'état_.
Price's anxiety was but too well justified. On the last day of the
year a messenger came ploughing through the snow to Coldstream with
startling news. Fleetwood's army had mutinied. "The Lord had spit in
his face." He had given up the game, and the Rump was sitting again at
Westminster. Fortunately it was not the end of the tidings. Fairfax had
been compelled to rise prematurely, owing to the discovery of his plot,
and Monk promptly issued orders for the little army to concentrate
on Coldstream. Despatch after despatch interrupted his preparations.
Lilburne's regiment had deserted to Fairfax, and the whole Irish
Brigade had followed its example. It was clear that Lambert's only
chance was a swift back-stroke at Fairfax, and Monk determined to
anticipate the intelligence he hourly expected. As the first gray
beams of the year 1660 began to streak the leaden sky they lit up a
memorable picture. Erect in his saddle amidst the trampled snow sat the
warlike figure of the great soldier of fortune, on whose sagacity hung
the destiny of Britain; and past him filed rank after rank the vanguard
of his toil-stained troops as they strode cheerily on to cross the
white plain of the frozen Tweed.
The famous movement had begun. Colonel Knight, by a splendid march
through the snow, reached Morpeth with the vanguard the same evening.
Finding Lambert had fallen back against Fairfax, he continued his
advance, and the following morning surprised and seized Newcastle at
break of day. The general followed with the rest of the army. All
told it consisted of but four weak regiments of horse and six fine
ones of foot. It was divided into two brigades, one under himself
and the other under Morgan. The first night they reached Wooler, and
heard officially from the Speaker of the restoration of the Rump, and
unofficially that Lambert, deserted by his army, had disappeared. The
Speaker's letter contained an acknowledgment of Monk's services, but no
orders. He therefore ignored his unofficial intelligence and continued
his advance. On the 4th he reached Morpeth, where he was received by
the Sheriff of Northumberland. Next day arrived from London the City
Sword-bearer with a petition from the Lord Mayor and Corporation that
he would declare for a full Parliament, as they were unrepresented in
the Rump. A deputation from the Newcastle municipality invited him
to the town, and accordingly he entered it amidst the first of those
ovations which were to mark every step of his memorable march.
Yet in spite of the enthusiasm that his soldierly figure excited
whenever it appeared in the streets, Monk could not congratulate
himself on his position. He had practically failed. Instead of giving
his country a free Parliament he had restored the Rump. For England
he saw nothing but new political troubles, for himself a repetition
of the suspicion and ingratitude he had already experienced. Still
he held their commission, and felt bound to do his duty to them. All
else was dark before him. So Dr. Gumble was sent to London to convey
his compliments and humble advice to the authorities, and as secretly
as possible to see what could be made out of the situation. Nor did
he depart further from the path of duty than to allow an officer to
proceed to his old comrades in Ireland, suggesting that the Irish army
should petition for a free Parliament.
From Coldstream, as soon as he heard the Rump was sitting, he had
written to the Speaker for orders. As yet none had arrived, and he
determined, in pursuance of his new authority as commander-in-chief,
to advance to York. There he arrived on the 11th, to find no trace
of Fairfax or his party. They had disappeared, and the city was in
the hands of troops who had gone over to the Parliament. The rest
of Lambert's deserters had joined the Yorkshire gentlemen, but had
sent to the right-about every Cavalier that had shown himself at the
rendezvous. Buckingham himself, Fairfax's own son-in-law, had had to
go in spite of his irreproachable professions. York had refused to
receive any of Fairfax's partisans. Lord Fairfax himself, sensible of
a fiasco, had made a fit of the gout an excuse for retiring to his
own house. However, on Monk's arrival he entered the city in state
to see him. With every argument he urged him to stay where he was and
declare for the King. Monk of course refused, but he could not prevent
his association with Fairfax arousing the old suspicions. No means was
omitted to clear himself. An officer was heard to say that Monk would
at last bring in Charles Stuart, and the old general, in a fit of
exasperation, publicly gave him a sound thrashing for his pains.
Still these suspicions were not without their value. The Rump shared
them. They dare not leave him with Fairfax; they dare not order him
to retreat. There was no course but to tell him to advance, and Monk
obeyed with alacrity. Sending Morgan back to keep Scotland quiet, and
leaving Colonel Fairfax to occupy York, he marched on the 16th with
an army increased, by a careful selection from Lambert's deserters,
to nearly six thousand men. His progress was a triumph. The peasantry
thronged to the highway to stare at the deliverer as he passed. The
church-bells rang. The gentry came in troops with addresses, urging
on him the necessity of a full Parliament. Silent as a sphinx, the
harassed soldier rode on through it all, while all the world watched
him. Every eye, every ear, was strained for a sign; and a safe
platitude or two about his country's welfare and the duty of his place
was all that could be dragged from his impenetrable reserve.
As he advanced his perplexities and his silence increased. On the 18th
Gumble met him at Mansfield to say that already half the House were
his declared enemies. An oath for the abjuration of the Stuart dynasty
had been imposed upon the new Council of State, of which he had been
made a member. An attempt, however, to order its administration to
the House had led to a determined resistance from the best of the old
Commonwealth men. The House was split into two factions, and Monk's
popularity with the non-abjurers was but adding to the suspicions
of the abjurers. At Nottingham Clarges arrived to confirm and add
to Gumble's intelligence. A deputation, consisting of Scot, the new
Secretary of State, and Robinson, another abjuring member of the
Government, was on its way to offer him the congratulations of the
House, but with secret instructions to watch his every movement and
endeavour to entrap him into abjuring. The London garrison, too, had by
no means acquiesced in Fleetwood's surrender, and was still in a state
of sullen hostility. It was clear that the crisis was not yet at an
end, and there was still hope for Monk, that if he could once establish
himself in London and keep things quiet, one party or the other would
force on a general election. The chief difficulty was Fleetwood's army.
It was stronger than Monk's, and out of its entire roll only two foot
regiments, Morley's and Fagg's, could be trusted. Ashley Cooper had a
regiment of horse, but it certainly would not obey him. Fortunately
in the House the non-abjurers were in the majority, and at Clarges's
suggestion Monk used his few remaining hours of liberty to prepare a
letter to the Speaker pointing out the advisability of removing from
about the Parliament the regiments which were as yet hardly cool from
rebellion.
On Monday the 22nd he continued his march, and before Leicester was
reached Scot and Robinson appeared. From that moment he could not call
his soul his own. By day they had him to ride in their coach, by night
they bored holes in the partitions that separated their room from
his. They got up discussions at meals and stood at his elbow while he
received the endless deputations and addresses that were showered in
his path. All was of no avail. The old soldier stuck to the plain rule
that had served him so well through life, and was not to be caught.
Finding the situation was getting beyond him, he patiently resumed his
unassailable position of the obedient and disinterested soldier of
fortune. He received the commissioners as his superior officers. The
troops had orders to halt and present arms whenever their coach passed,
and in every way they were treated with the ceremony reserved for a
commander-in-chief. The commissioners were delighted, and sent glowing
accounts to the Speaker. They even accepted the general's excuse for
not at once taking the Oath of Abjuration. He had understood, he said,
that some members of the Government had refused it, and he felt it was
better to wait till he got to London and could hear both sides.
The deputations from the city and the counties that met him at every
town as he proceeded knew not what to make of it. The general received
them with the utmost civility, and the commissioners railed at their
petitions. The principal points they variously urged were a full and
free Parliament, a dissolution, and the admission of the members
secluded in 1648 without any previous oath or engagement. Sometimes
the general found himself compelled to answer them. If the Parliament
were not yet free, he told them, he would endeavour to remove the
restraint that remained. The House had already decided to fill up the
vacant places, and then it would be full. It had agreed to dissolve
itself of its own accord, and as for admitting members to sit without
any engagement to the Government, such a thing was never heard of, and
besides, the House had decided not to readmit them. And he politely
expressed his surprise that they thought him capable of so far
forgetting his duty to his commission as to question the resolution.
Thoroughly disheartened the deputations retired to fall into the hands
of enthusiastic staff-officers, who filled them with new wonder.
Monk seems to have told his friends to do their best to remove any
bad impression his reception of the addresses might arouse, and they
interpreted their instructions with some freedom. Lavish promises were
made in the general's name, and every one was told to proceed actively
with the petitioning without paying the slightest attention to what
Monk pretended to think of them.
So the people only shouted more loudly and the bells rang more merrily
as the triumph went on through Harborough, Northampton, Dunstable,
till on the 28th St. Albans was reached. Here a halt was made to
allow the columns to close up and for the crucial request to be
made. For Monk determined from here to despatch the letter which had
been prepared at Nottingham. Clarges was sent on before to pave the
way for its reception. It was a critical moment. The House had just
confirmed Monk's commission of general. It was a rank then considered
so dangerously exalted as to be hardly ever conferred. Indeed before
the Revolution it had seldom been borne except by the sovereign,
and already the _quidnuncs_ began to talk of his alliance with the
Plantagenets. It was the very point upon which the leaders of the army
had finally broken with Parliament, and the first act of Monk in his
new capacity was to request that the whole of Fleetwood's troops might
be removed from the capital to make way for his own.
A violent debate ensued. Haslerig opposed it with all his weight, but
so well organised were the non-abjurers and so favourable had been
Scot's reports that the request was granted. The great difficulty was
overcome, and on February 2nd Monk moved to Barnet. That night for the
first time the commissioners slept in another house. Apparently they
intended to make one despairing effort on the part of the abjurers to
keep Monk from peacefully occupying the capital. At all events about
midnight the Secretary of State rushed into Monk's quarters in his
night-shirt and slippers crying that the apprentices were out and the
garrison in mutiny. He implored, he commanded Monk to march on the spot
and restore order, but the old general was perfectly unmoved. He grimly
told him he would undertake to be in London early enough in the morning
to prevent mischief, and Scot had to go back to bed. Some considerable
disturbance there had been, but before Monk marched next day it had
been easily suppressed by a few troops of horse and something on
account of arrears.
Next night there was high feasting at Westminster. Weeks ago at
Holyrood Monk's butler had promised the staff a bottle of wine at
Whitehall on Candlemas Day. He was a wag whom Charles the First had
mock-knighted one evening at supper with his table-knife in the old
days at Oxford. It was only a day late, and "Sir" Ralph Mort was
called on to pay his wager as the general sat with the Coldstreamers
in the "Prince's Apartment" rejoicing at the success of their move.
Everything had gone well. Days before at Nottingham the details of the
occupation had been arranged, and the troops had quietly marched to
their quarters without a hitch. True the Coldstreamers' reception had
not been enthusiastic. In vain had Monk ridden down Chancery Lane and
the Strand at the head of his army, with trumpeters and led horses and
all the pomp of a general in the field. In vain was his staff swelled
by a brilliant crowd of gaily-dressed gentlemen. For the thoughtful
the general's intentions were too dark: for the thoughtless his troops
were too shabby; and the entry was made with the cold precision of an
operation of war.