OF MY GOING TO LONDON.
In the latter part of the month of September I went for a while to
Enstone, and having set things in order concerning the autumn sowings
of corn and other matters which need to be looked to at that season of
the year, and having also found by recommendation of John Vickers an
honest man who should serve my brother as bailiff, I returned to
Naseby about the first day of November.
Two or three days thereafter, as I sat in Master Ellgood's study
reading Master Hooker's _Ecclesiastical Polity_ (for I was preparing
myself, so far as time and other circumstances permitted, for the
taking of Holy Orders), comes Cicely knocking at the door and, opening
it before ever I could speak, cries, "O Philip, see, John has come,"
and therewith brings in a fair youth, some two years older than
herself, as I judged, and save that he had some four inches more of
stature, of a singular likeness to her; and straightway on seeing him
the doubt that had ever been in my mind whether I had ever before
encountered him was resolved, for I perceived in a moment of time that
the youth was the same that had yielded himself prisoner to my father
at Copredy Bridge. As for him, he had no remembrance of me, at which
indeed I did not wonder, considering what he had suffered that day. I
doubted at the first whether I should make myself known to him,
thinking, not without good reason, that he had no cause to love me.
But the better thought prevailed that I should be honest before all
things, nor endure to have some secret hanging, as it were, over my
head and ever ready to fall; and indeed I had made confession to
Cicely of my savagery in this matter and had received absolution from
her. So I said:
"Master Ellgood, we have met before."
And when he regarded me steadfastly, yet without any sign of knowing
me, I said, "Do you remember one Dashwood at Copredy Bridge?"
"Ay," said he, "as gallant a gentleman as ever sat on horseback. He
saved me when I was in no small peril of my life, and gave me as
courteous treatment as prisoner ever had, and settled for me my
exchange, so that my captivity had scarce begun when it was ended. I
hope that he is in good health and prosperity. But you are not he; you
must be younger by a score of years at the least."
"He was my father," said I, "and I would fain shelter myself under his
name, for, as for me, you have small cause to thank me."
And I made my confession to him. When I had finished he stretched out
his right hand to me with a great laugh, saying:
"Why make such ado? There was no harm done. And if you had made an end
of me I do not know that anyone would have been the loser, save, as
they pleased to think, my good father and Cicely here; and, indeed, I
had not lived to see such evil days as these. Know you the last
tidings?"
"No," said I; "I have heard nothing, save that the Lieutenant-General
Cromwell has trodden the King's friends under foot everywhere. But in
truth I have been thinking of other things."
Thereat I blushed, which is a foolish trick that I have, and Cicely
also blushed for company. Then John Ellgood, looking from one to
another, saw something of what was between us. I know not that any man
has at the first a particular kindness to him whom his sister favours
(which is indeed a mighty ungrateful thing, for the lover has always a
singular affection for his mistress's brothers), but being a good lad
and of a kind heart he said nothing, only I thought that I heard him
say to himself, "Is this a time----," and so brake off. "Well," he
said, after he had been silent awhile, "listen to me. Four years ago
we were enemies, now, I doubt not, we are friends." (This I was
mightily glad to hear, fearing what might befall my love for Cicely.)
"I fought for the Parliament--thinking that they had the better
cause--against the King, and I yet believe, though here, doubtless,
you agree not with me, that I was in the right. But 'tis otherwise
with me now; and, indeed, 'tis not now the Parliament, but the Army,
that reigns, and the Lieutenant-General Cromwell and his fellows seek
not the redressing of wrongs and securing of liberties, but the
setting up of a new rule; and because they know in their hearts that
this cannot be firmly established so long as the King stands in the
way, though he be a prisoner and helpless, therefore they are minded
to bring him to judgment for what they are pleased to call his
treasons against this nation, and having so brought him--'tis almost
too horrible to say, yea, even to think--to put him to death."
Since then this thing has been done, and done with approval from some
that are undoubtedly pious and learned persons (though I doubt not
that the greater part of the nation abhorred the act), so that it has
become in a way familiar, but then (I speak of myself and of many
others) it had not been so much as thought of. That the King might
suffer much at the hand of his enemies; that he might even be slain by
some wicked or fanatic persons, as kings before him--Richard, the
second of the name, to wit, and Henry the Sixth--had been slain by
secret violence, I had deemed to be probable; but that he should be
brought to trial with accustomed forms of law and justice, and having
been so brought, should be publicly and in the face of day put to
death, seemed too horrible to be believed. There had never happened
such a thing before, save only--and let no one judge it to be profane
that this was the first thought of many--save only when our Lord
Himself was condemned by Pilate and crucified.
"It cannot be," I said; "no men could dare to be so impiously wicked."
"Nay," said he, "'tis but too true. But they shall not have their way
without hindrance, for, besides many that have been the King's friends
from the beginning, there are some who, as I myself, were against him
at the first, and so feel the more bound, as having contributed to his
present low estate, to help him in his present necessity. But we will
talk more of these things when my father shall return."
Master Ellgood had ridden to Harborough that day on some business that
he had.
He being returned after supper, Cicely also being present, John
Ellgood set forth to him what I have written down above, and this
also, that there were many of the same way of thinking with himself,
and that they purposed to assemble in London so that they might be in
readiness against whatever might happen, watching above all things for
some occasion to save the King out of the hands of his enemies. When
he had ended Master Ellgood the elder said:
"I had hoped that you had done with strife. Yet I would not say a word
to keep you back. I hold not, indeed, with them who say that a king
can do no wrong, and that we be bound to yield him obedience in all
things without question. That we may lawfully restrain him by force
from breaking down our liberties I do heartily believe, but I am
persuaded that we cannot rightfully bring him to judgment; for,
indeed, what authority is there that is competent for such things?
And, again, shall there be no end to the shedding of blood? If this,
indeed, be done 'twill do more damage to true liberty than the King's
victory had done. Therefore, John, I bid you God's speed on your
errand; and you, too, Philip, if you are minded to go with him."
Thereat I, sitting, as was my wont, by Cicely, and holding her hand in
mine, felt it tighten upon mine; and looking at her, I saw her flush
and grow pale, as was her wont when she was much moved.
"Nor would I stay you," she whispered, "though I, too, had hoped that
all these things were finished and done with."
It was concluded, therefore, that night that we should go; but that
there was no present need to depart. But it was needful that I should
go for awhile to my brother at Enstone, and this without delay, and
returned to Master Ellgood's home about the twentieth of November.
Then again eight days after we set out for London and came thither on
the second day of December, and found a lodging with my kinsman
Rushworth, of whom I have written in the relation of my school days.
The next day, being Sunday, we worshipped at the chapel of the Savoy,
where Dr. Thomas Fuller preached the sermon; a most learned, witty,
and eloquent discourse, and marvellously bold--the condition of the
kingdom, wherein the King's enemies were supreme, being considered.
His text was 1 Samuel xv. 22. "_For rebellion is as the sin of
witchcraft_;" which he enforced with much plainness of speech, so
that I marvelled that he was neither presently hindered from speaking
nor afterwards visited. But the good Doctor is no respecter of
persons, for did he not, being appointed preacher by the Parliament,
discourse before them on these words (spoken by Mephibosheth to David
concerning Ziba): "_Yea let him take all, so that my lord the King
come again in peace_," to their no small discontent?
The day following we went to the House of Commons, being bestowed by
favour of one of the ushers under one of the galleries. 'Tis a noble
chamber, and the circumstances of the assembly, the Speaker, for
example, with his mace, majestic; but itself, methinks, scarce a match
in dignity for its surroundings, the members sitting for the most part
as if they cared nought for that which was being done, so loudly did
they talk with each other and laugh; but if one of greater note rose
to speak there was straightway silence. As for us, we listened with
all our ears, and that for many hours, for the House, meeting at ten
of the clock in the fore-noon, prolonged its sitting till nine of the
clock in the morning of the day following, nor did we, save for
refreshment's sake for a few minutes, leave our place. It was a
marvellous strange scene, for sometimes it would seem as if all the
House were asleep, some one speaking of whom none took any heed; then
again there would be almost a tumult, angry crying out and stamping
with the feet, so that one had almost thought the members ready to fly
at each other's throats. And above the great torches flared, making a
mighty smoke and heat, so that though the air outside was cold and
frosty, within the heat was like to suffocate. At the last, all being
wearied out (and some of the older sort had been long asleep), the
House came to a division, the question being one that touched the late
conferences with the King, and the resolution to be determined being
this: "That the King's concessions to the Parliament are sufficient
grounds for settling the peace of the kingdom." And this resolution
was carried by the majority of voices, the Ayes being one hundred and
twenty, and the Noes fifty.
Thereupon we went to our lodging with great joy, and found Master
Rushworth waiting for us, who somewhat dashed our spirits.
"Ah!" said he, "'twould be well if the Parliament were our masters;
but 'tis not so. The power is not in Mr. Speaker's mace, but in the
Lord General's sword, or, rather, for 'tis said that the Lord
General's day is past, with Master Cromwell and his colonels. I little
thought that I should ever desire more power for the Parliament; yet
so I do, for verily the Army will be a worse master."
The next day we were again early at the House, and Master Usher, who
seemed to have some knowledge beforehand of what should happen, put us
in a place in the lobby. We noted coming in that the guards of the
Houses had been changed; for, whereas on the day before there had
stood about the doors and passages the City Trainbands, very gaily
accoutred, with their clothes and arms bearing no stain of war, there
were now in their place two regiments of soldiers, that were
manifestly veterans of many campaigns.
And now we, standing behind in the shadow, for we did not desire to be
espied, see some soldiers by the place of entering into the House of
Commons, one of them, who seemed to be in command, having a paper in
his hand.
"Mark you that man," whispered the Usher in my ear; "'tis Colonel
Pride. Be sure that he has not come for nought."
And indeed it was so, for so soon as a member came to the door the
said Colonel would turn round; now to a gentleman that stood by his
side (whom I understood to be my Lord Grey of Groby), and now to one
of the doorkeepers, and would ask his name, and if he were on the
list, then he seized upon him and delivered him to one of the
soldiers, who led him off. All save one departed quietly; and he, whom
I knew to be Master William Prynne, one of the visitors that had come
from the Parliament to Oxford, made as if he would have drawn his
sword; thereupon the Colonel called for a guard of soldiers (and
indeed both the Court of Requests and the stairs, and the lobby were
filled with them), at the sight of whom Master Prynne yielded himself
quietly. We saw thus seized by Colonel Pride and his soldiers forty
and one members. Thus we were persuaded that nothing was to be hoped
in the King's favour from the Parliament, were their will ever so
good. Thereafter, indeed, all that had been zealous for a
reconciliation being, as the extreme men were pleased to say, purged
from the House, it voted nothing but what was agreeable to the will of
the Army.
I shall not here set down in particular how we employed ourselves
during the month that now followed, not knowing but what this writing
may fall into unfriendly hands, for though I am not careful to conceal
my own opinions and actions, I should be loath to entangle others in
my dangers. Let it suffice then to say that we busied ourselves in
devising means by which we might deliver the King out of the hands of
his enemies, and that in so doing we both found help where we looked
not for it, and found it not where we had most expected it. For some
that were imagined to be the King's enemies were now earnest on his
behalf, and some that professed themselves to be his friends were
lukewarm, ay, and worse. Meanwhile we were diligent in attending at
the debates of the Commons' House, though, indeed, there was but
little debating when a man might lose his liberty for any freedom of
speech; and so watched without ceasing for what turn matters should
take.