THE EXECUTION OF KING CHARLES.
The news of the failure of the Welsh insurrection and the Scotch
invasion, while the risings in Kent and Essex were crushed out, showed
Harry Furness that, for the time at least, there was no further fighting
to be done. Cromwell, after the defeat of the Scotch, marched with his
army to Edinburgh, where he was received with enthusiasm by Argyll and
the fanatic section, who were now again restored to power, and
recommenced a cruel persecution of all suspected of Royalist opinions.
Now that the Scotch had been beaten, and the Royalist rising everywhere
crushed out, the Parliament were seized with fear as to the course which
Cromwell and his victorious army might pursue. If they had been so
arrogant and haughty before, what might not be expected now.
Negotiations were at once opened with the king. He was removed from
Carisbrook to a good house at Newport. Commissioners came down there,
and forty days were spent in prolonged argument, and the commissioners
returned to London on the 28th of November with a treaty signed. It was
too late. The army stationed at St. Albans sent in a remonstrance to
Parliament, calling upon them to bring the king to trial, and stating
that if Parliament neglected its duty the army would take the matter
into its own hands. This remonstrance caused great excitement in the
Commons. No steps were taken upon it however, and the Commons proceeded
to discuss the treaty, and voted that the king's concessions were
sufficient. On the 29th a body of soldiers went across to the Isle of
Wight, surrounded the king's house, seized him and carried him to Hurst
Castle. The next day Parliament voted that they would not debate the
remonstrance of the army, and in reply the army at Windsor marched on
the 2d of December into London. On the 5th the Commons debated all day
upon the treaty.
Prynne, formerly one of the stanchest opposers of King Charles, spoke
with others strongly in his favor, and it was carried by a hundred and
twenty-nine to thirty-eight. The same day some of the leaders of the
army met, and determined to expel from the house all those opposed to
their interests. On the 7th the Trained Bands of the city were withdrawn
from around the House, and Colonel Pride with his regiment of foot
surrounded it. As the members arrived forty-one of them were turned
back. The same process was repeated on the two following days, until
over a hundred members had been arrested. Thus the army performed a
revolution such as no English sovereign has dared to carry out. After
this it is idle to talk of the Parliament as in any way representing
the English people. The representatives who supported the king had long
since left it. The whole of the moderate portion of those who had
opposed him, that is to say, those who had fought to support the
liberties of Englishmen against encroachments by the king, and who
formed the majority after the Royalists had retired, were now expelled;
there remained only a small body of fanatics devoted to the interests of
the army, and determined to crush out all liberties of England under its
armed heel. This was the body before whom the king was ere long to
undergo the mockery of a trial.
King Charles was taken to Hurst Castle on the 17th of December, and
three days later carried to Windsor. On the 2d of January, 1649, the
Commons voted that in making war against the Parliament the king had
been guilty of treason, and should be tried by a court of a hundred and
fifty commissioners. The Peers rejected the bill, and the Commons then
voted that neither the assent of the Peers nor the king was necessary
for a law passed by themselves.
All the encroachments of King Charles together were as nothing to this
usurpation of despotic power.
In consequence of the conduct of the Peers, the number of commissioners
was reduced to a hundred and thirty-five; but of these only sixty-nine
assembled at the trial. Thus the court which was to try the king
consisted only of those who were already pledged to destroy him. Before
such a court as this there could be but one end to the trial. When,
after deciding upon their sentence, the king was brought in to hear it,
the chief commissioner told him that the charges were brought against
him in the name of the people of England, when Lady Fairfax from the
gallery cried out, "It's a lie! Not one-half of them." Had she said not
one hundredth of them, she would have been within the mark.
On the 27th sentence was pronounced. On the 29th the court signed the
sentence, which was to be carried out on the following day.
From the time when Harry Furness left Brentwood at the end of August
until the king was brought to London, he had lived quietly at
Southampton. He feared to return home, and chose this port as his
residence, in order that he might, if necessary, cross into France at
short notice. When the news came that the king had been brought up from
Windsor, Harry and his friends at once rode to London, Every one was so
absorbed in the great trial about to take place that Harry had little
fear of attracting attention or of being molested should any one
recognize in the young gentleman in sober attire the rustic who had led
the rising in the spring. To London, too, came many other Cavaliers from
all parts of the country, eager to see if something might not be
attempted to rescue the king. Throughout London the consternation was
great at the usurpation by the remnant of the Commons of all the rights
of the Three Estates, and still more, at the trial of the king. The
army, however, lay in and about London, and, with Cromwell at its head,
it would, the people felt, easily crush out any attempt at a rising in
the city. Within a few hours of his arrival in London, Harry saw that
there was no hope from any effort in this direction, and that the only
possible chance of saving the king was by his arranging for his escape.
His majesty, on his arrival from Windsor, had been lodged in St. James'
Palace, and as this was completely surrounded by the Roundhead troops,
there was no chance of effecting an invasion thence. The only possible
plan appeared to be a sudden attack upon his guards on his way to
execution.
Harry gathered round him a party of thirty Cavaliers, all men ready like
himself to sacrifice their lives for the king. Their plan was to gather
near Whitehall, where the execution was to take place, to burst through
the soldiers lining the way, to cut down the guards, and carry the king
to a boat in readiness behind Whitehall, This was to convey him across
to Lambeth, where fleet horses were to be stationed, which would take
him down to the Essex coast.
The plan was a desperate one, but it might possibly have succeeded,
could the Cavaliers have gained the position which they wished. The
whole of the army was, however, placed in the streets and passages
leading to Whitehall, and between that place and the city the cavalry
were drawn up, preventing any from coming in or going out. When they
found that this was the case, the Cavaliers in despair mounted their
horses, and rode into the country, with their hearts filled with grief
and rage.
On the 30th, an hour after the king's execution, proclamation was made
that whoever should proclaim a new king would be deemed a traitor, and a
week later, the Commons, now reduced to a hundred members, formally
abolished the House of Peers. A little later Lord Capel, Lord Holland,
and the Duke of Hamilton were executed.
Had the king effected his escape, Harry Furness had determined to return
to Abingdon and live quietly at home, believing that now the army had
grasped all power, and crushed all opposition, it was probable that they
would abstain from exciting further popular animosity by the persecution
of those who had fought against them. The fury, however, excited in his
mind by the murder of the king after the mockery of a trial, determined
him to fight to the last, wherever a rising might be offered, however
hopeless a success that rising might appear. He would not, however,
suffer Jacob and William Long any longer to follow his fortunes,
although they earnestly pleaded to do so. "I have no hope of success,"
he said. "I am ready to die, but I will not bring you to that strait. I
have written to my father begging him, Jacob, to receive you as his
friend and companion, and to do what he can, William, to assist you in
whatever mode of life your wishes may hereafter lead you to adopt. But
come with me you shall not."
Not without tears did Harry's faithful companions yield themselves to
his will, and set out for Abingdon, while he, with eight or ten comrades
as determined as himself, kept on west until they arrived at Bristol,
where they took ship and crossed to Ireland. They landed at Waterford,
and journeyed north until they reached the army, with which the Marquis
of Ormonde was besieging Dublin. Nothing that Harry had seen of war in
England prepared him in any way for the horrors which he beheld in
Ireland. The great mass of the people there were at that time but a few
degrees advanced above savages, and they carried on their war with a
brutal cruelty and bloodshed which could now only be rivaled in the
center of Africa. Between the Protestants and the English and Scotch
settlers on the one hand, and the wild peasantry on the other, a war of
something like extermination went on. Wholesale massacres took place, at
which men, women, and children were indiscriminately butchered, the
ferocity shown being as great upon one side as the other. In fact,
beyond the possession of a few large towns, Ireland had no claim
whatever to be considered a civilized country. As Harry and his comrades
rode from Waterford they beheld everywhere ruined fields and burned
houses; and on joining the army of the Marquis of Ormonde, Harry felt
even more strongly than before the hopelessness of the struggle on which
he was engaged. These bands of wild, half-clad kernes, armed with pike
and billhook, might be brave indeed, but could do nothing against the
disciplined soldiers of the Parliament. There were with Ormonde, indeed,
better troops than these. Some of the companies were formed of English
and Welsh Royalists. Others had been raised by the Catholic gentry of
the west, and into these some sort of order and discipline had been
introduced. The army, moreover, was deficient in artillery, and not more
than one-third of the footmen carried firearms. Harry was, a day or two
after reaching the camp of Lord Ormonde, sent off to the West to drill
some of the newly-raised levies there. It was now six years since he had
begun to take an active part in the war, and he was between twenty-one
and twenty-two. His life of active exertion had strengthened his
muscles, broadened his frame, and given a strength and vigor to his tall
and powerful figure.
Foreseeing that the siege of Dublin was not likely to be successful,
Harry accepted his commission to the West with pleasure. He felt already
that with all his devotion to the Royalist cause he could not wish that
the siege of Dublin should be successful; for he saw that the vast
proportion of the besieging army were animated by no sense of loyalty,
by no interest in the constitutional question at stake, but simply with
a blind hatred of the Protestant population of Dublin, and that the
capture of the city would probably be followed by the indiscriminate
slaughter of its inhabitants.
He set out on his journey, furnished with letters from Ormonde to
several influential gentlemen in Galway. The roads at first were fairly
good, but accustomed to the comfortable inns in England, Harry found the
resting-places along the road execrable. He was amused of an evening by
the eagerness with which the people came round and asked for news from
Dublin. In all parts of England the little sheets which then did service
as newspapers carried news of the events which were taking place. It is
true that none of the country population could read or write; but the
alehouses served as centers of news. The village clerk, or, perhaps, the
squire's bailiff, could read, as could probably the landlord, and thus
the news spread quickly round the country. In Ireland news traveled only
from mouth to mouth, often becoming strangely distorted on the way.
Harry was greatly struck by the bareness of the fields and the poverty
of the country; and as he journeyed further west the country became
still wilder and more lonely. It was seldom now that he met any one who
could speak English, and as the road was often little more than a track,
he had great difficulty in keeping his way, and regretted that he had
not hired a servant knowing the country before leaving the army. He
generally, however, was able to obtain a guide from village to village.
The loneliness of the way, the wretchedness of the people, the absence
of the brightness and comfort so characteristic of English life, made
the journey an oppressive one, and Harry was glad when, five days after
leaving Dublin, he approached the end of his ride. Upon this day he had
taken no guide, being told that the road was clear and unmistakable as
far as Galway.
He had not traveled many hours when a heavy mist set in, accompanied by
a keen and driving rain, in his face. With his head bent down, Harry
rode along, paying less attention than usual to his way. The mist grew
thicker and thicker. The horse no longer proceeded at a brisk pace, and
presently came to a stop. Harry dismounted, and discovered that he had
left the road, Turning his horse's head, and taking the reins over his
arm, he tried to retrace his steps.
For an hour he walked along, the conviction growing every moment that he
was hopelessly lost. The ground was now soft and miry and was covered
with tussocks of coarse grass, between which the soil was black and
oozy. The horse floundered on for some distance, but with such
increasing difficulty that, upon reaching a space of comparatively solid
ground, Harry decided to take him no further.
The cold rain chilled him to the bone, and after awhile he determined to
try and make his way forward on foot, in hopes of finding, if not a
human habitation, some walls or bushes where he could obtain shelter
until the weather cleared. He fastened the reins to a small shrub, took
off the saddle and laid it on the grass, spread the horse rug over the
animal to protect it as far as possible, and then started on his way. He
had heard of Irish bogs extending for many miles, and deep enough to
engulf men and animals who might stray among them, and he felt that his
position was a serious one.
He blamed himself now for not having halted immediately he perceived
that he had missed the road. The only guide that he had as to the
direction he should take was the wind. On his way it had been in his
face, and he determined now to keep it at his back, not because that was
probably the way to safety, but because he could see more easily where
he was going, and he thought by continuing steadily in one direction he
might at last gain firm ground. His view extended but a few yards round
him, and he soon found that his plan of proceeding in a straight line
was impracticable. Often quagmires of black ooze, or spaces covered with
light grass, which were, he found, still more treacherous, barred his
way, and he was compelled to make considerable detours to the right or
left in order to pass them. Sometimes widths of sluggish water were met
with. For a long time Harry continued his way, leaping lightly from tuft
to tuft, where the grass grew thickest, sometimes wading knee-deep in
the slush and feeling carefully every foot lest he should get to a depth
whence he should be unable to extricate himself. Every now and then he
shouted at the top of his voice, in hopes that he might be heard by some
human being. For hours he struggled on. He was now exhausted with his
efforts, and the thickening darkness told him that day was fading. From
the time he had left his horse he had met with no bush of sufficient
height to afford him the slightest shelter.
Just as he was thinking whether he had not better stop where he was,
and sit down on the firmest tuft he could find and wait for morning,
when perhaps the rainstorm might cease and enable him to see where he
was, he heard, and at no very great distance, the sudden bray of a
donkey. He turned at once in the direction of the sound, with renewed
hopes, giving a loud shout as he did so. Again and again he raised his
voice, and presently heard an answering shout. He called again, and in
reply heard some shouts in Irish, probably questions, but to these he
could give no answer. Shouting occasionally, he made his way toward the
voice, but the bog seemed more difficult and treacherous than ever, and
at last he reached a spot where further advance seemed absolutely
impossible. It was now nearly dark, and Harry was about to sit down in
despair, when suddenly a voice sounded close to him. He answered again,
and immediately a barefooted boy sprang to his side from behind. The boy
stood astonished at Harry's appearance. The latter was splashed and
smeared from head to foot with black mire, for he had several times
fallen. His broad hat drooped a sodden mass over his shoulders, the
dripping feather adding to its forlorn appearance. His high riding boots
were gone, having long since been abandoned in the tenacious ooze in
which they had stuck; his ringlets fell in wisps on his shoulder.
After staring at him for a minute, the boy said something in Irish.
Harry shook his head.
His guide then motioned him to follow him. For some time it seemed to
Harry that he was retracing his steps. Then they turned, and by what
seemed a long detour, at last reached firmer ground. A minute or two
later they were walking along a path, and presently stopped before the
door of a cabin, by which two men were standing. They exchanged a word
or two with the boy, and then motioned to Harry to enter. A peat fire
was burning on the hearth, and a woman, whose age Harry from her aspect
thought must be enormous, was crouched on a low stool beside it. He
threw off his riding cloak and knelt by her, and held his hands over the
fire to restore the circulation. One of the men lighted a candle formed
of rushes dipped in tallow. Harry paid no heed to them until he felt the
warmth returning to his limbs. Then he rose to his feet and addressed
them in English. They shook their heads. Perceiving how wet he was one
of them drew a bottle from under the thatch, and pouring some of its
contents into a wooden cup offered it to him. Harry put it to his lips.
At first it seemed that he was drinking a mixture of liquid fire and
smoke, and the first swallow nearly choked him. However he persevered,
and soon felt the blood coursing more rapidly in his veins. Finding the
impossibilty of conversing, he again sat down by the fire and waited the
course of events. He had observed that as he entered his young guide
had, in obedience probably to the orders of one of the men, darted away
into the mist.
The minutes passed slowly, and not a word was spoken in the cottage. An
hour went by, and then a tramp of feet was heard, and, accompanied by
the boy, eight or ten men entered. All carried pikes. Between them and
the men already in the hut an eager conversation took place. Harry felt
far from easy. The aspect of the men was wild in the extreme. Their hair
was long and unkempt, and fell in straggling masses over their
shoulders. Presently one, who appeared to be the leader, approached
Harry, who had now risen to his feet, and crossed himself on the
forehead and breast. Harry understood by the action that he inquired if
he was a Catholic, and in reply shook his head.
An angry murmur ran through the men. Harry repressed his inclination to
place his hand on his pistols, which he had on alighting from his horse
taken from the holsters and placed in his belt. He felt that even with
these and his sword, he should be no match for the men around him. Then
he bethought of the letters of which he was a bearer. Taking them from
his pocket he held them out. "Ormonde," he said, looking at the men.
No gleam of intelligence brightened their faces at the word.
Then he said "Butler," the Irish family name of the earl. Two or three
of the men spoke together, and Harry thought that there was some
comprehension of his meaning. Then he read aloud the addresses of the
letters, and the exclamations which followed each named showed that
these were familiar to the men. A lively conversation took place between
them, and the leader presently approached and held out his hand.
"Thomas Blake, Killicuddery," he said. This was the address of one of
the letters, and Harry at once gave it him. It was handed to the boy,
with a few words of instruction. The lad at once left the hut. The men
seemed to think that for the time there was nothing more to be done,
laid their pikes against the wall, and assumed, Harry thought, a more
friendly aspect. He reciprocated their action, by unbuckling his belt
and laying aside his sword and pistols. Fresh peats were piled on the
fire, another candle was lit, and the party prepared to make themselves
comfortable. The bottle and wooden cup were again produced, and the
owner of the hut offered some black bread to his visitor.