attendants were sent him from England that he might keep up, some show
of state. But the Spanish court did not want them, and contrived to make
their stay so unpleasant and their accommodations so poor, that Charles
soon packed the most of them off home again.
"I am glad to get away," said one of these, James Eliot by name, to the
prince; "and hope that your Highness will soon leave this pestiferous
Spain. It is a dangerous place to alter a man and turn him. I myself in
a short time have perceived my own weakness, and am almost turned."
"What motive had you?" asked Charles. "What have you seen that should
turn you?"
"Marry," replied Eliot, "when I was in England, I turned the whole Bible
over to find Purgatory, and because I could not find it there I believed
there was none. But now that I have come to Spain, I have found it here,
and that your Highness is in it; whence that you may be released, we,
your Highness's servants, who are going to Paradise, will offer unto God
our utmost devotions."
A purgatory it was,--a purgatory lightened for Charles by love, he
playing the rôle assigned by Dante to Paolo, though the infanta was
little inclined to imitate Francesca da Rimini. Buckingham fumed and
fretted, was insolent to the Spanish ministers, and sought as earnestly
to get Charles out of Madrid as he had done to get him there, and less
successfully. But the love-stricken prince had become impracticable. His
fancy deepened as the days passed by. Such was the ardor of his passion,
that on one day in May he broke headlong through the rigid wall of
Spanish etiquette, by leaping into the garden in which the lady of his
love was walking, and addressing her in words of passion. The startled
girl shrieked and fled, and Charles was with difficulty hindered from
following her.
Only one end could come of all this. Spain and the pope had the game in
their own hands. Charles had fairly given himself over to them, and his
ardent passion for the lady weakened all his powers of resistance. King
James was a slave to his son, and incapable of refusing him anything.
The end of it all was that the English king agreed that all persecution
of Catholics in England should come to an end, without a thought as to
what the parliament might say to this hasty promise, and Charles signed
papers assenting to all the Spanish demands, excepting that he should
himself become a Catholic.
The year wore wearily on till August was reached. England and her king
were by this time wildly anxious that the prince should return. Yet he
hung on with the pitiful indecision that marked his whole life, and it
is not unlikely that the incident which induced him to leave Spain at
last was a wager with Bristol, who offered to risk a ring worth one
thousand pounds that the prince would spend his Christmas in Madrid.
It was at length decided that he should return, the 2d of September
being the day fixed upon for his departure. He and the king enjoyed a
last hunt together, lunched under the shadows of the trees, and bade
each other a seemingly loving farewell. Buckingham's good-by was of a
different character. It took the shape of a violent quarrel with
Olivares, the Spanish minister of state. And home again set out the
brace of knights-errant, not now in the simple fashion of Tom and John
Smith, but with much of the processional display of a royal cortége.
Then it was a gay ride of two ardent youths across France and Spain, one
filled with thoughts of love, the other with the spirit of adventure.
Now it was a stately, almost a regal, movement, with anger as its
source, disappointment as its companion. Charles had fairly sold himself
to Philip, and yet was returning home without his bride. Buckingham, the
nobler nature of the two, had by his petulance and arrogance kept
himself in hot water with the Spanish court. Altogether, the adventure
had not been a success.
The bride was to follow the prince to England in the spring. But the
farther he got from Madrid the less Charles felt that he wanted her. His
love, which had grown as he came, diminished as he went. It had then
spread over his fancy like leaves on a tree in spring; now it fell from
him like leaves from an October tree. It had been largely made up, at
the best, of fancy and vanity, and blown to a white heat by the
obstacles which had been thrown in his way. It cooled with every mile
that took him from Madrid.
To the port of Santander moved the princely train. As it entered that
town, the bells were rung and cannon fired in welcoming peals. A fleet
lay there, sent to convey him home, one of the ships having a
gorgeously-decorated cabin for the infanta,--who was not there to occupy
it.
Late in the day as it was, Charles was so eager to leave the detested
soil of Spain, that he put off in a boat after nightfall for the fleet.
It was a movement not without its peril. The wind blew, the tide was
strong, the rowers proved helpless against its force, and the boat with
its precious freight would have been carried out to sea had not one of
the sailors managed to seize a rope that hung by the side of a ship
which they were being rapidly swept past. In a few minutes more the
English prince was on an English deck.
For some days the wind kept the fleet at Santander. All was cordiality
and festivity between English and Spaniards. Charles concealed his
change of heart. Buckingham repressed his insolence. On the 18th of
September the fleet weighed anchor and left the coast of Spain. On the
5th of October Prince Charles landed at Portsmouth, his romantic
escapade happily at an end.
He hurried to London with all speed. But rapidly as he went, the news
of his coming had spread before him. He came without a Spanish bride.
The people, who despised the whole business and feared its results, were
wild with delight. When Charles landed from the barge in which he had
crossed the Thames, he found the streets thronged with applauding
people, he heard the bells on every side merrily ringing, he heard the
enthusiastic people shouting, "Long live the Prince of Wales!" All
London was wild with delight. Their wandering prince had been lost and
was found again.
The day was turned into a holiday. Tables loaded with food and wine were
placed in the streets by wealthy citizens, that all who wished might
partake. Prisoners for debt were set at liberty, their debts being paid
by persons unknown to them. A cart-load of felons on its way to the
gallows at Tyburn was turned back, it happening to cross the prince's
path, and its inmates gained an unlooked-for respite. When night fell
the town blazed out in illumination, candles being set in every window,
while bonfires blazed in the streets. In the short distance between St.
Paul's and London Bridge flamed more than a hundred piles. Carts laden
with wood were seized by the populace, the horses taken out and the
torch applied, cart and load together adding their tribute of flame.
Never had so sudden and spontaneous an ebullition of joy broken out in
London streets. The return of the prince was a strikingly different
affair from that mad ride in disguise a few months before, which spread
suspicion at every step, and filled England with rage when the story
became known.
We have told the story of the prince's adventure; a few words will tell
the end of his love-affair. As for Buckingham, he had left England as a
marquis, he came back with the title of duke. King James had thus
rewarded him for abetting the folly of his son. The Spanish marriage
never took place. Charles's love had been lost in his journey home. He
brought scarce a shred of it back to London. The temper of the English
people in regard to the concessions to the Catholics was too outspokenly
hostile to be trifled with. Obstacles arose in the way of the marriage.
It was postponed. Difficulties appeared on both sides of the water.
Before the year ended all hopes of it were over, and the negotiations at
an end. Prince Charles finally took for wife that Princess Henrietta
Maria of France whom he and Buckingham had first seen dancing in a royal
masque, during their holiday visit in disguise to Paris. The romance of
his life was over. The reality was soon to begin.
_THE TAKING OF PONTEFRACT CASTLE._
On the top of a lofty hill, with a broad outlook over the counties of
Yorkshire, Lincolnshire, and Nottinghamshire, stood Pontefract Castle, a
strong work belonging to the English crown, but now in the hands of
Cromwell's men, and garrisoned by soldiers of the Parliamentary army.
The war, indeed, was at an end, King Charles in prison, and Cromwell
lord of the realm, so that further resistance seemed useless.
But now came a rising in Scotland in favor of the king, and many of the
royalists took heart again, hoping that, while Cromwell was busy with
the Scotch, there would be risings elsewhere. In their view the war was
once more afoot, and it would be a notable deed to take Pontefract
Castle from its Puritan garrison and hold it for the king. Such were the
inciting causes to the events of which we have now to speak.
There was a Colonel Morrice, who, as a very young man, had been an
officer in the king's army. He afterwards joined the army of the
Parliament, where he made friends and did some bold service. Later on,
the strict discipline of Cromwell's army offended this versatile
gentleman, and he threw up his commission and retired to his estates,
where he enjoyed life with much of the Cavalier freedom.
Among his most intimate friends was the Parliamentary governor of
Pontefract Castle, who enjoyed his society so greatly that he would
often have him at the castle for a week at a time, they sleeping
together like brothers. The confiding governor had no suspicion of the
treasonable disposition of his bed-fellow, and, though warned against
him, would not listen to complaint.
Morrice was familiar with the project to surprise the fortress, at the
head of which was Sir Marmaduke Langdale, an old officer of the king. To
one of the conspirators he said,--
"Do not trouble yourself about this matter. I will surprise the castle
for you, whenever you think the time ripe for it."
This gentleman thereupon advised the conspirators to wait, and to trust
him to find means to enter the stronghold. As they had much confidence
in him, they agreed to his request, without questioning him too closely
for the grounds of his assurance. Meanwhile, Morrice went to work.
"I should counsel you to take great care that you have none but faithful
men in the garrison," he said to the governor. "I have reason to suspect
that there are men in this neighborhood who have designs upon the
castle; among them some of your frequent visitors."
He gave him a list of names, some of them really conspirators, others
sound friends of the Parliament.
"You need hardly be troubled about these fellows, however," he said. "I
have a friend in their counsel, and am sure to be kept posted as to
their plans. And for that matter I can, in short notice, bring you forty
or fifty safe men to strengthen your garrison, should occasion arise."
He made himself also familiar with the soldiers of the garrison, playing
and drinking with them; and when sleeping there would often rise at
night and visit the guards, sometimes inducing the governor, by
misrepresentations, to dismiss a faithful man, and replace him by one in
his own confidence.
So the affair went on, Morrice laying his plans with much skill and
caution. As it proved, however, the conspirators became impatient to
execute the affair before it was fully ripe. Scotland was in arms; there
were alarms elsewhere in the kingdom; Cromwell was likely to have enough
to occupy him; delay seemed needless. They told the gentleman who had
asked them to wait that he must act at once. He in his turn advised
Morrice, who lost no time in completing his plans.
On a certain night fixed by him the surprise-party were to be ready with
ladders, which they must erect in two places against the wall. Morrice
would see that safe sentinels were posted at these points. At a signal
agreed upon they were to mount the ladders and break into the castle.
The night came. Morrice was in the castle, where he shared the
governor's bed. At the hour arranged he rose and sought the walls. He
was just in time to prevent the failure of the enterprise. Unknown to
him, one of the sentinels had been changed. Those without gave the
signal. One of the sentinels answered it. The surprise-party ran forward
with both ladders.
Morrice, a moment afterwards, heard a cry of alarm from the other
sentinel, and hasting forward found him running back to call the guard.
He looked at him. It was the wrong man! There had been some mistake.
"What is amiss?" he asked.
"There are men under the wall," replied the soldier. "Some villainy is
afoot."
"Oh, come, that cannot be."
"It is. I saw them."
"I don't believe you, sirrah," said Morrice, severely. "You have been
frightened by a shadow. Come, show me the place. Don't make yourself a
laughing-stock for your fellows."
The sentinel turned and led the way to the top of the wall. He pointed
down.
"There; do you see?" he asked.
His words stopped there, for at that instant he found himself clasped by
strong arms, and in a minute more was thrown toppling from the wall.
Morrice had got rid of the dangerous sentry.
By this time the ladders were up, and some of those without had reached
the top of the wall. They signalled to their friends at a distance, and
rushed to the court of guard, whose inmates they speedily mastered,
after knocking two or three of them upon the head. The gates were now
thrown open, and a strong body of horse and foot who waited outside rode
in.
The castle was won. Morrice led a party to the governor's chamber, told
him that "the castle was surprised and himself a prisoner," and advised
him to surrender. The worthy governor seized his arms and dealt some
blows, but was quickly disarmed, and Pontefract was again a castle of
the king.
So ended the first act in this drama. There was a second act to be
played, in which Cromwell was to take a hand. The garrison was quickly
reinforced by royalists from the surrounding counties; the castle was
well provisioned and its fortifications strengthened; contributions were
raised from neighboring parts; and the marauding excursions of the
garrison soon became so annoying that an earnest appeal was made to
Cromwell, "that he would make it the business of his army to reduce
Pontefract."
Just then Cromwell had other business for his army. The Scots were in
the field. He was marching to reduce them. Pontefract must wait. He
sent, however, two or three regiments, which, with aid from the
counties, he deemed would be sufficient for the work.
Events moved rapidly. Before the Parliamentarian troops under
Rainsborough reached the castle, Cromwell had met and defeated the army
of Scots, taking, among other prisoners, Sir Marmaduke Langdale, whom
the Parliament threatened to make "an example of their justice."
The men of Pontefract looked on Sir Marmaduke as their leader.
Rainsborough was approaching the castle, but was still at some distance.
It was deemed a worthy enterprise to take him prisoner, if possible and
hold him as hostage for Sir Marmaduke. Morrice took on himself this
difficult and dangerous enterprise.
At nightfall, with a party of twelve picked and choice men, he left the
castle and made his way towards the town which Rainsborough then
occupied. The whole party knew the roads well, and about daybreak
reached the point for which they had aimed,--the common road leading
from York. The movement had been shrewdly planned. The guards looked for
no enemy from this direction, and carelessly asked the party of strange
horsemen "whence they came."
The answer was given with studied ease and carelessness.
"Where is your general?" asked Morrice. "I have a letter for him from
Cromwell."
The guard sent one of their number with the party to show them where
Rainsborough might be found,--at the best inn of the town. When the
inn-gate was opened in response to their demand, three only of the party
entered. The others rode onward to the bridge at the opposite end of the
town, on the road leading to Pontefract. Here they found a guard of
horse and foot, with whom they entered into easy conversation.
"We are waiting for our officer," they said. "He went in to speak to
the general. Is there anything convenient to drink? We have had a dry
ride."
The guards sent for some drink, and, it being now broad day, gave over
their vigilance, some of the horse-soldiers alighting, while the footmen
sought their court of guard, fancying that their hour of duty was
passed.
Meanwhile, tragical work was going on at the inn. Nobody had been awake
there but the man who opened the gate. They asked him where the general
lay. He pointed up to the chamber-door, and two of them ascended the
stairs, leaving the third to hold the horses and in conversation with
the soldier who had acted as their guide.
Rainsborough was still in bed, but awakened on their entrance and asked
them who they were and what they wanted.
"It is yourself we want," they replied. "You are our prisoner. It is for
you to choose whether you prefer to be killed, or quietly to put on your
clothes, mount a horse which is ready below for you, and go with us to
Pontefract."
He looked at them in surprise. They evidently meant what they said;
their voices were firm, their arms ready; he rose and dressed quickly.
This completed, they led him down-stairs, one of them carrying his
sword.
When they reached the street only one man was to be seen. The soldier of
the guard had been sent away to order them some breakfast. The
prisoner, seeing one man only where he had looked for a troop,
struggled to escape and called loudly for help.
It was evident that he could not be carried off; the moment was
critical; a few minutes might bring a force that it would be madness to
resist; but they had not come thus far and taken this risk for nothing.
He would not go; they had no time to force him; only one thing remained:
they ran him through with their swords and left him dead upon the
ground. Then, mounting, they rode in haste for the bridge.
Those there knew what they were to do. The approach of their comrades
was the signal for action. They immediately drew their weapons and
attacked those with whom they had been in pleasant conversation. In a
brief time several of the guard were killed and the others in full
flight. The road was clear. The others came up. A minute more and they
were away, in full flight, upon the shortest route to Pontefract,
leaving the soldiers of the town in consternation, for the general was
soon found dead, with no one to say how he had been killed. Not a soul
had seen the tragic deed. In due time Morrice and his men reached
Pontefract, without harm to horse or man, but lacking the hoped-for
prisoner, and having left death and vengeance behind them.
So far all had gone well with the garrison. Henceforth all promised to
go ill. Pontefract was the one place in England that held out against
Cromwell, the last stronghold of the king. And its holders had angered
the great leader of the Ironsides by killing one of his most valued
officers. Retribution was demanded. General Lambert was sent with a
strong force to reduce the castle.
The works were strong, and not easily to be taken by assault. They might
be taken by hunger. Lambert soon had the castle surrounded, cooping the
garrison closely within its own precincts.
Against this they protested,--in the martial manner. Many bold sallies
were made, in which numbers on both sides lost their lives. Lambert soon
discovered that certain persons in the country around were in
correspondence with the garrison, sending them information. Of these he
made short work, according to the military ethics of that day. They were
seized and hanged within sight of the castle, among them being two
divines and some women of note, friends of the besieged. Some might call
this murder. They called it war,--a salutary example.
Finding themselves closely confined within their walls, their friends
outside hanged, no hope of relief, starvation their ultimate fate, the
garrison concluded at length that it was about time to treat for terms
of peace. All England besides was in the hands of Cromwell and the
Parliament; there was nothing to be gained by this one fortress holding
out, unless it were the gallows. They therefore offered to deliver up
the castle, if they might have honorable conditions. If not, they
said,--
"We are still well stocked with provisions, and can hold out for a long
time. If we are assured of pardon we will yield; if not, we are ready to
die, and will not sell our lives for less than a good price."
"I know you for gallant men," replied Lambert, "and am ready to grant
life and liberty to as many of you as I can. But there are six among you
whose lives I cannot save. I am sorry for this, for they are brave men;
but my hands are bound."
"Who are the six? And what have they done that they should be beyond
mercy?"
"They were concerned in the death of Rainsborough. I do not desire their
death, but Cromwell is incensed against them."
He named the six. They were Colonel Morrice, Sir John Digby, and four
others who had been in the party of twelve.
"These must be delivered up without conditions," he continued. "The rest
of you may return to your homes, and apply to the Parliament for release
from all prosecution. In this I will lend you my aid."
The leaders of the garrison debated this proposal, and after a short
time returned their answer.
"We acknowledge your clemency and courtesy," they said, "and would be
glad to accept your terms did they not involve a base desertion of some
of our fellows. We cannot do as you say, but will make this offer. Give
us six days, and let these six men do what they can to deliver
themselves, we to have the privilege of assisting them. This much we ask
for our honor."
"Do you agree to surrender the castle and all within it at the end of
that time?" asked Lambert.
"We pledge ourselves to that."
"Then I accept your proposal. Six days' grace shall be allowed you."
Just what they proposed to do for the release of their proscribed
companions did not appear. The castle was closely and strongly invested,
and these men were neither rats nor birds. How did they hope to escape?
The first day of the six passed and nothing was done. A strong party of
the garrison had made its appearance two or three times, as if resolved
upon a sally; but each time they retired, apparently not liking the
outlook. On the second day they were bolder. They suddenly appeared at a
different point from that threatened the day before, and attacked the
besiegers with such spirit as to drive them from their posts, both sides
losing men. In the end the sallying party was driven back, but two of
the six--Morrice being one--had broken through and made their escape.
The other four were forced to retire.
Two days now passed without a movement on the part of the garrison. Four
of the six men still remained in the castle. The evening of the fourth
day came. The gloom of night gathered. Suddenly a strong party from the
garrison emerged from a sally-port and rushed upon the lines of the
besiegers with such fire and energy that they were for a time broken,
and two more of the proscribed escaped. The others were driven back.
The morning of the fifth day dawned. Four days had gone, and four of the
proscribed men were free. How were the other two to gain their liberty?
The method so far pursued could scarcely be successful again. The
besiegers would be too heedfully on the alert. Some of the garrison had
lost their lives in aiding the four to escape. It was too dangerous an
experiment to be repeated, with their lives assured them if they
remained in the castle. What was to be done for the safety of the other
two? The matter was thoroughly debated and a plan devised.
On the morning of the sixth day the besieged made a great show of joy,
calling from the walls that their six friends had gone, and that they
would be ready to surrender the next day. This news was borne to
Lambert, who did not believe a word of it, the escape of the four men
not having been observed. Meanwhile, the garrison proceeded to put in
effect their stratagem.