and interested themselves in its execution, is plain from several
letters.--Clar. Pap. iii. 311, 312, 315, 324, 327, 331, 335. Nor can there
be a doubt that Clarendon approved of such murders. It is, indeed, true
that, speaking of the murder of Ascham, when he was at Madrid, he says that
he and his colleague, Lord Cottington, abhorred it.--Clar. Hist. iii. 351.
Yet, from his private correspondence, it appears that he wrote papers in
defence of the murderers (Clar. Pap. iii. 21, 23), recommended them as
"brave fellows, and honest gentlemen" (ibid. 235, 236), and observed to
Secretary Nicholas, that it was a sad and grievous thing that the princess
royal had not supplied Middleton with money, "but a worse and baser thing
that any man should appear in any part beyond sea under the character of an
agent from the rebels, and not have his throat cut."--Ibid. 144, 1652, Feb.
20.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. Dec. 9.]
formerly a quarter-master in the army in Scotland, and dismissed on account
of his political principles. Having admitted a man of the name of Cecil as
his associate, he procured seven guns which would carry a number of balls,
hired lodgings in places near which the protector was likely to pass,
bribed Took, one of the life-guardsmen, to give information of his motions,
and bought the fleetest horses for the purpose of escape. Yet all his
designs were frustrated, either by the multitude of the spectators, or the
vigilance of the guards, or by some unforeseen and unlucky accident. At the
persuasion of Wildman he changed his plan;[a] and on the 9th of January,
about six in the evening, entered Whitehall with his two accomplices; he
unlocked the door of the chapel, deposited in a pew a basket filled with
inflammable materials, and lighted a match, which, it was calculated, would
burn six hours. His intention, was that the fire should break out about
midnight; but Took had already revealed the secret to Cromwell, and all
three were apprehended as they closed the door of the chapel. Took saved
his life by the discovery, Cecil by the confession of all that he knew. But
Syndercombe had wisely concealed from them the names of his associates and
the particulars of the plan. They knew not that certain persons within the
palace had undertaken to murder the protector during the confusion likely
to be caused by the conflagration, and that such measures had been taken as
to render his escape almost impossible. Syndercombe was tried; the judges
held that the title of protector was in law synonymous with that of king;
and he was condemned[b] to suffer the penalties of high treason. His
obstinate silence defeated the anxiety of the protector to procure further
information respecting
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. Jan. 9.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1657. Feb. 9.]
the plot; and Syndercombe, whether he laid violent hands on himself, or was
despatched by the order of government, was found dead[a] in his bed, a few
hours before the time appointed for his execution.[1]
2. The failure of this conspiracy would not have prevented the intended
invasion by the royal army from Flanders, had not Charles been disappointed
in his expectations from another quarter. No reasoning, no entreaty, could
quicken the characteristic slowness of the Spanish ministers. Neither fleet
nor money was ready; the expedition was postponed from month to month; the
season passed away, and the design was deferred till the return of the long
and darksome nights of winter. But Sexby's impatience refused to submit
to these delays; his fierce and implacable spirit could not be satisfied
without the life of the protector. A tract had been recently printed in
Holland, entitled "Killing no Murder," which, from the powerful manner in
which it was written, made a deeper impression on the public mind than any
other literary production of the age. After an address to
[Footnote 1: See Thurloe, v. 774-777; vi. 7, 53; Merc. Polit. No. 345;
Bates, Elen. 388; Clarendon Pap. iii. 324, 325, 327; Claren. Hist. iii.
646; and the several authorities copied in the State Trials, v. 842-871.
The body was opened, and the surgeons declared that there existed no trace
of poison in the stomach, but that the brain was inflamed and distended
with blood in a greater degree than is usual in apoplexy, or any known
disease. The jury, by the direction of the lord chief justice, returned a
verdict that "he, the said Miles Syndercombe, a certain poisoned powder
through the nose of him, the said Miles, into the head of him, the said
Miles, feloniously, wilfully, and of malice aforethought, did snuff and
draw; by reason of which snuffing and drawing so as aforesaid, into the
head of him, the said Miles, he the said Miles, himself did mortally
poison," &c.--Ibid. 859. The Levellers and royalists maintained that he was
strangled by order of Cromwell.--Clar. iii. 647.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. Feb. 13.]
Cromwell, and another to the army, both conceived in a strain of the most
poignant and sarcastic irony, it proceeds to discuss the three questions:
Whether the lord-protector be a tyrant? Whether it be lawful to do justice
on him by killing him? and, Whether this, if it be lawful, will prove
of benefit to the commonwealth? Having determined each question in the
affirmative, it concludes with an eulogium on the bold and patriotic spirit
of Syndercombe, the rival of Brutus and Cato, and a warning that "longus
illum sequitur ordo idem petentium decus;" that the protector's own
muster-roll contains the names of those who aspire to the honour of
delivering their country; that his highness is not secure at his table, or
in his bed; that death is at his heels wherever he moves, and that though
his head reaches the clouds, he shall perish like his own dung, and they
that have seen him shall exclaim, Where is he? Of this tract thousands of
copies were sent by Sexby into England; and, though many were seized by the
officers, yet many found their way into circulation.[1] Having obtained a
sum of one thousand four hundred crowns, he followed the books to organize
new plots against the life of the protector. But by this time he was too
well known. All his steps in Holland were watched; his departure for
England was announced; emissaries were despatched in every direction; and
within a few weeks he was apprehended and incarcerated in the Tower.
There he discovered, probably feigned, symptoms of insanity. To questions
respecting himself[a] he answered with apparent frankness and truth, that
he had intrigued with the Spanish court, that he had supplied Syndercombe
with money, that he had written the
[Footnote 1: Thurloe, vi. 315.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. Oct. 10.]
tract, "Killing no Murder;" nor was there, he said, any thing unlawful in
these things, for the protectorate had not then been established by any
authority of parliament; but, whenever he was interrogated respecting the
names and plans of his associates, his answers became wild and incoherent,
more calculated to mislead than to inform, to create suspicion of the
friends, than to detect the machinations of the enemies, of the government.
He was never brought to trial, but died, probably by violence, in the sixth
month of his imprisonment.[1]
3. During the winter Blake continued to blockade Cadiz: in spring he learnt
that the Plate fleet from Peru had sought an asylum in the harbour of Santa
Cruz, in the Island of Teneriffe. There the merchantmen, ten in number,
were moored close to the shore, in the form of a crescent; while the six
galleons in their front formed a parallel line at anchor in deeper water.
The entrance of the bay was commanded by the guns of the castle; seven
batteries erected at intervals along the beach protected the rest of the
harbour; and these were connected with each other by covered ways lined
with musketry. So confident was the governor when he surveyed these
preparations, that, in the pride of his heart, he desired a Dutch
[Footnote 1: Clarendon Papers, iii. 322, 338, 357. Merc. Pol. 39. Thurloe,
vi. 33, 182, 315, 425, 560, 829. Clarendon assures us that Sexby was an
illiterate person, which is a sufficient proof that he was not the real
author of the tract, though he acknowledged it for his own in the Tower,
probably to deceive the protector. The writer, whoever he was, kept his
secret, at least at first; for Clarendon writes to Secretary Nicholas, that
he cannot imagine who could write it.--Clar. Papers, iii. 343. By most
historians it has been attributed to Captain Titus; nor shall we think this
improbable, if we recollect that Titus was, in Holland, constantly in the
company of Sexby, till the departure of the latter for England.--Ibid. 331,
335. Evelyn asserts it in his Diary, ii. 210, 8vo.]
captain to inform the English admiral that he was welcome to come whenever
he durst. Blake came, examined the defences, and, according to custom,
proclaimed a solemn fast. At eight the next morning[a] Stayner took the
lead in a frigate; the admiral followed in the larger ships; and the whole
fleet availing itself of a favourable wind, entered the harbour under a
tremendous shower of balls and shells. Each vessel immediately fell into
its allotted station; and, while some engaged the shipping, the rest
directed their fire against the batteries. The Spaniards, though fewer in
number of ships, were superior in that of men; their hopes were supported
by the aid which they received from the land; and during four hours they
fought with the most determined bravery. Driven from the galleons, the
crews retreated to the second line of merchantmen, and renewed the contest
till they were finally compelled to save themselves on the shore. At two in
the afternoon every Spanish ship was in possession of the English, and in
flames. Still there remained the difficulty of working the fleet out of the
harbour in the teeth of the gale. About sunset they were out of reach of
the guns from the forts; the wind, by miracle, as Blake persuaded himself,
veered to the south-west, and the conquerors proceeded triumphantly out to
sea. This gallant action, though it failed of securing the treasure which
the protector chiefly sought, raised the reputation of Blake in every
part of Europe. Unfortunately the hero himself lived not to receive the
congratulations of his country. He had been during a great part of three
years at sea; the scurvy and dropsy wasted his constitution; and he
expired[b] in his fifty-ninth year,
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. April 20.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1657. August 7.]
as his ship, the St. George, entered the harbour of Plymouth.[1]
Blake had served with distinction in the army during the civil war; and the
knowledge of his talents and integrity induced the parliamentary leaders to
entrust him with the command of the fleet. For maritime tactics he relied
on the experience of others; his plans and his daring were exclusively his
own. He may claim the peculiar praise of having dispelled an illusion which
had hitherto cramped the operations of the British navy--a persuasion that
it was little short of madness to expose a ship at sea to the fire from a
battery on shore. The victories of Blake at Tunis and Santa Cruz served to
establish the contrary doctrine; and the seamen learned from his example
to despise the danger which had hitherto been deemed so formidable. Though
Cromwell prized his services, he doubted his attachment; and a suspicion
existed that the protector did not regret the death of one who professed to
fight for his country, not for the government. But he rendered that justice
to the dead, which he might perhaps have refused to the living, hero. He
publicly acknowledged his merit, honouring his bones with a funeral at the
national expense, and ordering them to be interred at Westminster, in Henry
the Seventh's chapel. In the next reign the coffin was taken from the
vault, and deposited in the church yard.
4. The reader is aware of Cromwell's anxiety to form a more intimate
alliance with Louis XIV. For this purpose Lockhart, one of the Scottish
judges, who
[Footnote 1: Vaughan, ii. 176. Heath, 391, 402. Echard, 725. Journals, May
28, 29.]
had married his niece, and received knighthood at his hand, proceeded
to France. After some discussion, a treaty, to last twelve months, was
concluded;[1][a] and Sir John Reynolds landed at Calais[b] with an
auxiliary force of six thousand men, one half in the pay of the king,
the other half in that of the protector. But as an associate in the war,
Cromwell demanded a share in the spoil, and that share was nothing less
than the possession of Mardyke and Dunkirk, as soon as they could be
reduced by the allies. To this proposal the strongest opposition had been
made in the French cabinet. Louis was reminded of the injuries which the
English, the natural enemies of France, had inflicted on the country in the
reigns of his predecessors. Dunkirk would prove a second Calais; it would
open to a foreign foe the way into the heart of his dominions. But he
yielded to the superior wisdom or ascendancy of Mazarin, who replied that,
if France refused the offers it would be accepted with a similar sacrifice
by Spain; that, supposing the English to be established on that coast at
all, it was better that they should be there as friends than as enemies;
and that their present co-operation would enable him either to drive the
Spaniards out of the Netherlands, or to dictate to them the terms of
peace.[2] The combined force
[Footnote 1: Thurloe, vi. 63, 86, 115, 124. To avoid disputes, the treaty
was written in the Latin language, and the precedency was given to Louis in
one copy, to Cromwell in the other. In the diplomatic collection of Dumont,
vi. part ii. 178, is published a second treaty, said to have been signed on
May 9th, N.S. If it were genuine, it would disclose gigantic projects of
aggrandizement on the part of the two powers. But it is clearly a forgery.
We have despatches from Lockhart dated on the day of the pretended
signature, and other despatches for a year afterward; yet none of them
make the remotest allusion to this treaty; several contain particulars
inconsistent with it.]
[Footnote 2: Oeuvres de Louis XIV. i. 171.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. March 13, May 15.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1657. May 15.]
was placed under the command of the celebrated Turenne, who was opposed by
the Spaniards under Don Juan, with the British exiles, commanded by the
duke of York, and the French exiles, by the prince of Condé. The English
auxiliaries, composed of veteran regiments, supported the reputation of
their country by their martial appearance and exemplary discipline; but
they had few opportunities of displaying their valour; and the summer was
spent in a tedious succession of marches and countermarches, accompanied
with no brilliant action nor important result. Cromwell viewed the
operations of the army with distrust and impatience. The French ministry
seemed in no haste to redeem their pledge with respect to the reduction
of Dunkirk, and to his multiplied remonstrances uniformly opposed this
unanswerable objection, that, in the opinion of Turenne, the best judge,
the attempt in the existing circumstances must prove ruinous to the
allies. At last he would brook no longer delay; the army marched into the
neighbourhood of the town, and the fort of Mardyke capitulated[a] after a
siege of three days. But the Spaniards lay strongly intrenched behind the
canal of Bergues, between Mardyke and Dunkirk; and by common consent the
design was abandoned, and the siege of Gravelines substituted in its place.
Scarcely, however, had the combined army taken[b] a position before it,
when the sluices were opened, the country was inundated, and Turenne
dismissed his forces into winter quarters. Mardyke received a garrison,
partly of English, and partly of French, under the command of Sir John
Reynolds; but that officer in a short time incurred the suspicion of the
protector. The duke of York, from his former service in the French army,
was well known
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. Sept. 23.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1657. Sept. 27.]
to some of the French officers. They occasionally met and exchanged
compliments in their rides, he from Dunkirk, they from Mardyke. By one of
them Reynolds solicited permission to pay his respects to the young prince.
He was accompanied by Crew, another officer; and, though he pretended that
it was an accidental civility, found the opportunity of whispering an
implied offer of his services in the ear of the duke. Within a few days
he received an order to wait on the protector in London in company with
Colonel White, who had secretly accused him; but both were lost[a] on the
Goodwin Sands, through the ignorance or the stupidity of the captain.[1]
At home the public attention was absorbed by a new and most interesting
spectacle. The parliament met on the day to which it had been adjourned,
but it was now divided according to the ancient form into two houses.
Sixty-two individuals had been summoned[b] to the upper house, and the
writs, as they were copies of those formerly issued by the sovereign, were
held to confer in like manner the privileges of an hereditary peerage,
subject to certain exceptions specified in the "petition and advice."[2]
The Commons, at the call of the usher of the black rod, proceeded to the
House of Lords, where they found his highness seated under a canopy of
state. His speech began with the ancient address: "My lords and gentlemen
of the House of Commons." It was short, but its brevity was compensated by
its piety, and after an exposition of the eighty-fifth psalm, he referred
his two houses for other particulars to Fiennes, the lord-keeper, who, in a
long and tedious
[Footnote 1: Thurloe, vi. 231, 287, 426, 512, 538, 542, 580, 637, 665, 676,
731. Memoirs of James, i. 317-328.]
[Footnote 2: Thurloe, vi. 752.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. Dec. 5.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1658. Jan. 20.]
harangue, praised and defended the new institutions. After the departure of
the Commons, the Lords spent their time in inquiries into the privileges of
their house. Cromwell had summoned his two sons, Richard and Henry, seven
peers of royal creation, several members of his council, some gentlemen of
fortune and family, with a due proportion of lawyers and officers, and a
scanty sprinkling of persons known to be disaffected to his government. Of
the ancient peers two only attended, the lords Eure and Falconberg, of whom
the latter had recently[a] married Mary, the protector's daughter; and of
the other members, nine were absent through business or disinclination. As
their journals have not been preserved, we have little knowledge of their
proceedings.[1]
In the lower house, the interest of the government had declined by the
impolitic removal of the leading members to the House of Lords, and by
the introduction of those who, having formerly been excluded by order of
Cromwell, now took their seats in virtue of the article which reserved to
the house the right of inquiry into the qualifications of its members.
The opposition was led by two men of considerable influence and undaunted
resolution, Hazlerig and Scot. Both had been excluded at the first meeting
of this parliament, and both remembered the affront. To remove Hazlerig
[Footnote 1: Journals, Jan. 7, 20. Whitelock, 666, 668. The speech of
Fiennes is reported in the Journals, Jan. 25. See the names and characters
of those who attended, in "A Second Narrative of the late Parliament (so
called), &c., printed in the fifth year of England's Slavery under its new
Monarchy, 1658." "They spent their time in little matters, such as choosing
of committees; and among other things, to consider of the privileges and
jurisdiction of their house, (good wise souls!) before they knew what their
house was, or should be called."--Ibid. 7. The peers who refused to attend,
were the earls of Mulgrave, Warwick, and Manchester, the Viscount Say and
Sele, and the Lord Wharton.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. Nov. 19.]
from a place where his experience and eloquence rendered him a formidable
adversary, Cromwell had called him to the upper house; but he refused to
obey the writ, and took his seat among the Commons.[1] That a new house was
to be called according to the articles of the "petition and advice," no one
denied; but who, it was asked, made its members lords? who gave them the
privileges of the ancient peerage? who empowered them to negative the acts
of that house to which they owed their existence? Was it to be borne that
the children should assume the superiority over their parents; that the
nominees of the protector should control the representatives of the people,
the depositaries of the supreme power of the nation? It was answered
that the protector had called them lords; that it was the object of "the
petition and advice" to re-establish the "second estate;" and that, if any
doubt remained, it were best to amend the "instrument" by giving to the
members of the other house the title of lords, and to the protector that
of king.[a] Cromwell sought to soothe these angry spirits. He read to them
lectures on the benefit, the necessity, of unanimity. Let them look abroad.
The papists threatened to swallow up all the Protestants of Europe. England
was the only stay, the last hope of religion. Let them look at home: the
Cavaliers and the Levellers were combined to overthrow the constitution;
Charles Stuart was preparing an invasion; and the Dutch had ungratefully
sold him certain vessels for that purpose. Dissension would inevitably draw
down ruin on themselves,
[Footnote 1: Hazlerig made no objection to the oath which bound him to
be faithful to the protector. But the sense which he attached to it is
singular: "I will be faithful," said he, "to the lord-protector's person. I
will murder no man."--Burton's Diary, ii. 347.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. Jan. 25.]
their liberties, and their religion. For himself. he called God, angels,
and men, to witness that he sought not the office which he held. It was
forced upon him; but he had sworn to execute its duties, and he would
perform what he had sworn, by preserving to every class of men their just
rights, whether civil or religious.[1] But his advice, and entreaties, and
menaces were useless.[a] The judges repeatedly brought messages from "the
Lords to the Commons," and as often were told that "that house would return
an answer by messengers of their own."[b] Instead, however, of returning
answers, they spent their whole time in debating what title and what rights
ought to belong to the other house.[2]
Never, perhaps, during his extraordinary career, was Cromwell involved in
difficulties equal to those which surrounded him at this moment. He could
raise no money without the consent of parliament, and the pay of the army
in England was five, and of that in Ireland seven, months in arrear; the
exiled king threatened a descent from the coast of Flanders, and the
royalists throughout the
[Footnote 1: Mr. Rutt has added this speech to Burton's Diary, ii. 351-371.
I may remark that, 1. The protector now addressed the members by
the ambiguous style of "my lords and gentlemen of the two houses of
parliament." 2. That he failed in proving the danger which, as he
pretended, menaced Protestantism. If, in the north, the two Protestant
states of Sweden and Denmark were at war with each other, more to the south
the Catholic states of France and Spain were in the same situation. 3. That
the vessels sold by the Dutch were six flutes which the English cruisers
afterwards destroyed. 4. That from this moment he was constantly asserting
with oaths that he sought not his present office. How could he justify such
oaths in his own mind? Was it on the fallacious ground that what he in
reality sought was the office of king, not of protector?]
[Footnote 2: Journals, Jan. 25, 29, Feb. 1, 3. Burton's Diary, ii. 371-464.
Thurloe, i. 766; vi. 767.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. Jan. 22.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1658. Feb. 3.]
kingdom were preparing to join his standard; the leaders of opposition in
parliament had combined with several officers in the army to re-establish
the commonwealth, "without a single person or house of lords;" and
a preparatory petition for the purpose of collecting signatures was
circulated through the city. Cromwell consulted his most trusty advisers,
of whom some suggested a dissolution, others objected the want of money,
and the danger of irritating the people. Perhaps he had already taken his
resolution, though he kept it a secret within his own breast; perhaps
it might be the result of some sudden and momentary impulse;[1] but one
morning[a] he unexpectedly threw himself into a carriage with two horses
standing at the gates of Whitehall; and, beckoning to six of his guards to
follow, ordered the coachman to drive to the parliament house. There he
revealed his purpose to Fleetwood, and, when that officer ventured to
remonstrate, declared, by the living God that he would dissolve the
parliament. Sending for the Commons, he addressed them in an angry and
expostulating tone. "They," he said, "had placed him in the high situation
in which he stood; he sought it not; there was neither man nor woman
treading on English ground who could say he did. God knew that he would
rather have lived under a wood side, and have tended a flock of sheep, than
have undertaken the government. But, having undertaken it at their request,
he had a right to look to them for aid and support. Yet some among them,
God was his witness, in violation of their oaths, were attempting to
establish a commonwealth
[Footnote 1: "Something happening that morning that put the protector
into a rage and passion near unto madness, as those at Whitehall can
witness."--Second Narrative, p. 8.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. Feb. 4.]
interest in the army; some had received commissions to enlist men for
Charles Stuart; and both had their emissaries at that moment seeking to
raise a tumult, or rather a rebellion, in the city. But he was bound before
God to prevent such disasters; and, therefore," he concluded, "I think
it high time that an end be put to your sitting; and I do dissolve this
parliament; and let God judge between me and you." "Amen, amen," responded
several voices from the ranks of the opposition.[1]
This was the fourth parliament that Cromwell had broken. The republicans
indulged their resentment in murmurs, and complaints, and menaces; but the
protector, secure of the fidelity of the army, despised the feeble efforts
of their vengeance, and encouraged by his vigour the timidity of his
counsellors. Strong patrols of infantry and cavalry paraded the streets,
dispersing every assemblage of people in the open air, in private houses,
and even in conventicles and churches, for the purpose, or under the
pretext, of devotion. The colonel-major and several captains of his own
regiment were cashiered;[2] many of the Levellers and royalists were
arrested and imprisoned, or discharged upon bail; and the lord-mayor,
aldermen, and common-council received from Cromwell
[Footnote 1: Journ. Feb. 4. Thurloe, vi. 778, 779, 781, 788. Parl. Hist.
iii. 1525. By the oath, which Cromwell reproaches them with violating,
they had sworn "to be true and faithful to the lord-protector as chief
magistrate, and not to contrive, design, or attempt any thing against his
person or lawful authority."]
[Footnote 2: "I," says Hacker, "that had served him fourteen years, and had
commanded a regiment seven years, without any trial or appeal, with the
breath of his nostrils I was outed, and lost not only my place but a dear
friend to boot. Five captains under my command were outed with me, because
they could not say that was a house of lords."--Burton's Diary, iii. 166.]
himself an account of the danger which threatened them from the invasion
meditated by Charles Stuart, and a charge to watch the haunts of the
discontented, and to preserve the tranquillity of the city. At the same
time his agents were busy in procuring loyal and affectionate addresses
from the army, the counties, and the principal towns; and these, published
in the newspapers, served to overawe his enemies, and to display the
stability of his power.[1]
The apprehension of invasion, to which Cromwell so frequently alluded, was
not entirely groundless. On the return of the winter, the royalists had
reminded Charles of his promise in the preceding spring; the king of Spain
furnished an aid of one hundred and fifty thousand crowns; the harbour of
Ostend was selected for the place of embarkation; and arms, ammunition, and
transports were purchased in Holland. The prince himself, mastering for a
while his habits of indolence and dissipation, appeared eager to redeem his
pledge;[2] but the more prudent of his advisers conjured him not to risk
his life on general assurances of support; and the marquess of Ormond, with
the most chivalrous loyalty, offered to ascertain on the spot the real
objects and resources of his adherents. Pretending to proceed on a mission
to the court of the duke of Neuburg, that nobleman, accompanied by O'Neil,
crossed the sea,[a] landed in disguise at Westmarch on the coast of Essex,
and
[Footnote 1: Thurloe, vi. 778, 781, 788; vii. 4, 21, 32, 49, 71. Parl.
Hist. iii. 1528.]
[Footnote 2: Still Ormond says to Hyde, "I fear his immoderate delight in
empty, effeminate, and vulgar conversations is become an irresistible part
of his nature, and will never suffer him to animate his own designs, and
others' actions, with that spirit which is requisite for his quality, and
much more to his fortune."--27, Jan. 7, 1658. Clar. iii. 387.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. End of January.]
hastened to London. There, continually changing his dress and lodgings,
he contrived to elude the suspicion of the spies of government, and had
opportunities of conversing with men of different parties; with the
royalists, who sought the restoration of the ancient monarchy; with the
Levellers, who were willing that the claims of the king and the subject
should be adjusted in a free parliament; with the moderate Presbyterians,
who, guided by the earls of Manchester and Denbigh, with Rossiter and Sir
William Waller, offered to rely on the royal promises; and the more rigid
among the same religionists, who, with the lords Say and Robarts at their
head, demanded the confirmation of the articles to which the late king
had assented in the Isle of Wight. But from none could he procure any
satisfactory assurances of support. They were unable to perform what they
had promised by their agents. They had not the means, nor the courage,
nor the abilities, necessary for the undertaking. The majority refused
to declare themselves, till Charles should have actually landed with a
respectable force; and the most sanguine required a pledge that he would
be ready to sail the moment he heard of their rising, because there was no
probability of their being able, without foreign aid, to make head against
the protector beyond the short space of a fortnight.[1]
In these conferences Ormond frequently came in contact with Sir Richard
Willis, one of the sealed knot, and standing high in the confidence of
Charles.[2]
[Footnote 1: Carte's Letters, ii. 118, 124, 130. Clar. iii. 388, 392, 395.
Thurloe, i. 718.]
[Footnote 2: The knot consisted of Willis, Colonel Russell, Sir William
Compton, Edward Villiers, and Mr. Broderick, according to several letters
in Clarendon; according to the duke of York, of the four first, Lord
Belasyse, and Lord Loughborough.--James, i. 370.]
Willis uniformly disapproved of the attempt. The king's enemies, he
observed, were now ready to unsheath their swords against each other; but
let the royal banner be once unfurled, and they would suspend their present
quarrel, to combine their efforts against the common enemy. Yet the author
of this prudent advice was, if we may believe Clarendon, a traitor, though
a traitor of a very singular description. He is said to have contracted
with Cromwell, in consideration of an annual stipend, to reveal to him the
projects of the king and the royalists; but on condition that he should
have no personal communication with the protector, that he should never be
compelled to mention any individual whose name he wished to keep secret,
and that he should not be called upon to give evidence, or to furnish
documents, for the conviction of any prisoner.[1] It is believed that for
several years he faithfully complied with this engagement; and when he
thought that Ormond had been long enough in London, he informed Cromwell
of the presence of the marquess in the capital, but at the same moment
conveyed advice to the marquess that orders had been issued for his
apprehension. This admonition had its desired effect. Ormond stole away[b]
to Shoreham in Sussex, crossed over to Dieppe, concealed himself two months
in Paris, and then, travelling
[Footnote 1: This is Clarendon's account. In Thurloe, i. 757, is a paper
signed John Foster, supposed to be the original offer made to Thurloe by
Willis. He there demands that no one but the protector should be acquainted
with his employment; that he should never be brought forward as a witness;
that the pardon of one dear friend should be granted to him; and that he
should receive fifty pounds with the answer, five hundred pounds on his
first interview with Thurloe, and five hundred pounds when he put into
their hands any of the conspirators against Cromwell's person.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. Feb. 15.]
in disguise through France to Geneva, that he might escape the notice
of Lockhart and Mazarin, returned along the Rhine to join his master in
Flanders.[1]
There was little in the report of Ormond to give encouragement to Charles;
his last hopes were soon afterwards extinguished by the vigilance of
Cromwell. The moment the thaw opened the ports of Holland, a squadron of
English frigates swept the coast,[a] captured three and drove on shore two
flutes destined for the expedition, and closely blockaded the harbour of
Ostend.[2] The design was again postponed till the winter;[b] and the king
resolved to solicit in person a supply of money at the court of the Spanish
monarch. But from this journey he was dissuaded both by Hyde and by the
Cardinal de Retz, who pointed out to him the superior advantage of his
residence in Flanders, where he was in readiness to seize the first
propitious moment which fortune should offer. In the mean time the
cardinal, through his agent in Rome, solicited from the pope pecuniary aid
for the king, on condition that in the event of his ascending the throne of
his fathers, he should release the Catholics of his three kingdoms from the
intolerable pressure of the penal laws.[3]
The transactions of this winter, the attempt of Syndercombe, the ascendancy
of the opposition in parliament,
[Footnote 1: Clar. Hist. iii. 614-618, 667. Clarendon's narrative is so
frequently inaccurate, that it is unsafe to give credit to any charge on
his authority alone; but in the present instance he relates the discovery
of the treachery of Willis with such circumstantial minuteness, that
it requires a considerable share of incredulity to doubt of its being
substantially true; and his narrative is confirmed by James II. (Mem. i.
370), and other documents to be noticed hereafter.]
[Footnote 2: Carte's Letters, ii. 126, 135. Clar. Papers, iii. 396.]
[Footnote 3: Carte's Letters, ii. 136-142, 145. Clar. Pap. iii. 401.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. March 15.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1658. April 14.]
and the preparations of the royalists to receive the exiled king, added to
habitual indisposition, had soured and irritated the temper of Cromwell. He
saw that to bring to trial the men who had been his associates in the cause
might prove a dangerous experiment; but there was nothing to deter him from
wreaking his vengeance on the royalists, and convincing them of the danger
of trespassing any more on his patience by their annual projects of
insurrection. In every county all who had been denounced, all who were
even suspected, were put under arrest; a new high court of justice was
established according to the act of 1656; and Sir Henry Slingsby, Dr.
Hewet, and Mr. Mordaunt, were selected for the three first victims.
Slingsby, a Catholic gentleman and a prisoner at Hull, had endeavoured to
corrupt the fidelity of the officers in the garrison; who, by direction
of the governor, amused the credulity of the old man, till he had the
imprudence to deliver[a] to them a commission from Charles Stuart.[1] Dr.
Hewet was an episcopalian divine, permitted to preach at St. Gregory's, and
had long been one of the most active and useful of the royal agents in
the vicinity of the capital. Mordaunt, a younger brother of the earl of
Peterborough, had also displayed his zeal for the king, by maintaining a
constant correspondence with the marquess of Ormond, and distributing royal
commissions to those who offered to raise men in favour of Charles. Of the
truth of the charges brought against them, there could be no doubt; and,
aware of their danger, they strongly protested against the legality of the
court, demanded a trial by jury, and appealed to Magna Charta and several
acts of parliament. Slingsby at last pleaded, and was condemned; Hewet,
under the
[Footnote 1: Thurloe, vi. 777, 780, 786, 870; vii. 46, 47, 98.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. April 2.]
pretence that to plead was to betray the liberties of Englishmen, stood
mute; and his silence, according to a recent act, was taken for a
confession of guilt. Mordaunt was more fortunate. Stapeley, who, to save
his own life, swore against him, proved an unwilling witness; and Mallory,
who was to have supported the evidence of Stapeley, had four days before
been bribed to abscond. This deficiency was gladly laid hold of by the
majority of the judges, who gave their opinion[a] that his guilt was not
proved; and, for similar reasons, some days later acquitted two other
conspirators, Sir Humphrey Bennet and Captain Woodcock. The fact is, they
were weary of an office which exposed them to the censure of the public;
for the court was viewed with hatred by the people. It abolished the trial
by jury; it admitted no inquest or presentment by the oaths of good and
faithful men; it deprived the accused of the benefit of challenge; and its
proceedings were contrary to the law of treason, the petition of right, and
the very oath of government taken by the protector. Cromwell, dissatisfied
with these acquittals, yielded to the advice of the council, and sent the
rest of the prisoners before the usual courts of law, where several were
found guilty, and condemned to suffer the penalties of treason.[1]
Great exertions were made to save the lives of Slingsby and Hewet. In
favour of the first, it was urged that he had never been suffered to
compound, had never submitted to the commonwealth, and had
[Footnote 1: Whitelock, 673, 674. Thurloe, vii. 159, 164. State Trials, v.
871, 883, 907. These trials are more interesting in Clarendon, but much of
his narrative is certainly, and more of it probably, fictitious. It is not
true that Slingsby's offence was committed two years before, nor that Hewet
was accused of visiting the king in Flanders, nor that Mallory escaped out
of the hall on the morning of the trial (See Claren. Hist. iii. 619-624.)
Mallory's own account of his escape is in Thurloe, vii. 194-220.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. June 9.]
been for years deprived both of his property and liberty, so that his
conduct should be rather considered as the attempt of a prisoner of war
to regain his freedom, than of a subject to overturn the government. This
reasoning was urged[a] by his nephew, Lord Falconberg, who, by his recent
marriage with Mary Cromwell, was believed to possess considerable influence
with her father. The interest of Dr. Hewet was espoused by a more powerful
advocate--by Elizabeth, the best-beloved of Cromwell's daughters, who at
the same time was in a delicate and precarious state of health. But it
was in vain that she interceded for the man whose spiritual ministry she
employed; Cromwell was inexorable. He resolved[b] that blood should be
shed, and that the royalists should learn to fear his resentment,
since they had not been won by his forbearance. Both suffered death by
decapitation.[1]
During the winter, the gains and losses of the hostile armies in Flanders
had been nearly balanced. If, on the one hand, the duke of York was
repulsed with loss in his attempt to storm by night the works at Mardyke;
on the other, the Marshal D'Aumont was made prisoner with fifteen hundred
men by the Spanish governor of Ostend, who, under the pretence of
delivering up the place, had decoyed him within the fortifications. In
February, the offensive treaty
[Footnote 1: Ludlow, ii. 149. I think there is some reason to question
those sentiments of loyalty to the house of Stuart, and that affliction and
displeasure on account of the execution of Hewet, which writers attribute
to Elizabeth Claypole. In a letter written by her to her sister-in-law, the
wife of H. Cromwell, and dated only four days after the death of Hewet, she
calls on her to return thanks to God for their deliverence from Hewet's
conspiracy: "for sertingly not ondly his (Cromwell's) famely would have bin
ruined, but in all probabillyti the hol nation would have his invold in
blod."--June 13. Thurloe, vii. 171.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1657. Nov. 19.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1658. June 8.]
between France and England was renewed for another year; three thousand
men, drafted from different regiments, were sent by the protector to supply
the deficiency in the number of his forces; and the combined army opened
the campaign with the siege of Dunkirk. By the Spaniards the intelligence
was received with surprise and apprehension. Deceived by false information,
they had employed all their efforts to provide for the safety of Cambray.
The repeated warnings given by Charles had been neglected; the extensive
works at Dunkirk remained in an unfinished state; and the defence of the
place had been left to its ordinary garrison of no more than one thousand
men, and these but scantily supplied with stores and provisions. To repair
his error, Don Juan, with the consent of his mentor, the Marquess Caracena,
resolved to hazard a battle; and, collecting a force of six thousand
infantry and four thousand cavalry, encamped between the village of Zudcote
and the lines of the besiegers. But Turenne, aware of the defective
organization of the Spanish armies, resolved to prevent the threatened
attack; and the very next morning, before the Spanish cannon and ammunition
had reached the camp, the allied force was seen advancing in battle array.
Don Juan hastily placed his men along a ridge of sand-hills which extended
from the sea coast to the canal, giving the command of the right wing to
the duke of York, of the left to the prince of Condé, and reserving
the centre to himself. The battle was begun by the English, who found
themselves opposed to their countryman, the duke of York. They were led
by Major-General Morgan; for Lockhart, who acted both as ambassador and
commander-in-chief, was confined by indisposition to his carriage. Their
ardour to distinguish themselves in the presence of the two rival nations
carried them considerably in advance of their allies; but, having halted
to gain breath at the foot of the opposite sand-hill, they mounted with
impetuosity, received the fire of the enemy, and, at the point of the pike,
drove them from their position. The duke immediately charged at the head
of the Spanish cavalry; but one half of his men were mowed down by a
well-directed fire of musketry; and James himself owed the preservation of
his life to the temper of his armour. The advantage, however, was dearly
purchased: in Lockhart's regiment scarcely an officer remained to take the
command.
By this time the action had commenced on the left, where the prince of
Condé, after some sharp fighting, was compelled to retreat by the bank of
the canal. The centre was never engaged; for the regiment, on its
extreme left, seeing itself flanked by the French in pursuit of Condé,
precipitately abandoned its position, and the example was successively
imitated by the whole line. But, in the meanwhile, the duke of York had
rallied his broken infantry, and while they faced the English, he charged
the latter in flank at the head of his company of horse-guards. Though
thrown into disorder, they continued to fight, employing the butt-ends of
their muskets against the swords of their adversaries, and in a few minutes
several squadrons of French cavalry arrived to their aid. James was
surrounded; and, in despair of saving himself by flight, he boldly assumed
the character of a French officer; rode at the head of twenty troopers
toward the right of their army; and, carefully threading the different
corps, arrived without exciting suspicion at the bank of the canal, by
which he speedily effected his escape to Furnes.[1] The victory on the part
of the allies was complete. The Spanish cavalry made no effort to protect
the retreat of their infantry; every regiment of which was successively
surrounded by the pursuers, and compelled to surrender. By Turenne and his
officers the chief merit of this brilliant success was cheerfully allotted
to the courage and steadiness of the English regiments; at Whitehall it was
attributed to the prayers of the lord-protector, who, on that very day,
observed with his council a solemn fast to implore the blessing of heaven
on the operations of the allied army.[2]
Unable to oppose their enemies in the field, the Spanish generals proposed
to retard their progress by the most obstinate defence of the different
fortresses. The prince de Ligne undertook that of Ipres; the care of
Newport, Bruges, and Ostend was committed to the duke of York; and Don Juan
returned to Brussels to hasten new levies from the different provinces.
Within a fortnight Dunkirk capitulated,[a] and the king of France, having
taken possession, delivered the keys with his own hand to the English
ambassador. Gravelines was soon afterwards reduced;[b] the prince de Ligne
suffered himself to be surprised by the
[Footnote 1: See the account of this battle by James himself, in his
Memoirs, i. 338-358; also Thurloe, vii. 155, 156, 159.]
[Footnote 2: "Truly," says Thurloe, "I never was present at any such
exercise, where I saw a greater spirit of faith and prayer poured
forth."--Ibid. 158. "The Lord," says Fleetwood, "did draw forth his
highness's heart, to set apart that day to seek the Lord; and indeed
there was a very good spirit appearing. Whilst we were praying, they were
fighting; and the Lord hath given a signal answer. And the Lord hath not
only owned us in our work there, but in our waiting upon him in our way of
prayer, which is indeed our old experienced approved way in all our straits
and difficulties."--Ibid. 159.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. June 17.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1658. August 20.]
superior activity of Turenne; Ipres opened its gates, and all the towns
on the banks of the Lys successively submitted to the conquerors. Seldom,
perhaps, had there occurred a campaign more disastrous to the Spanish
arms.[1]
In the eyes of the superficial observer, Cromwell might now appear to have
reached the zenith of power and greatness. At home he had discovered,
defeated, and punished all the conspiracies against him; abroad, his army
had gained laurels in the field; his fleets swept the seas; his friendship
was sought by every power; and his mediation was employed in settling the
differences between both Portugal and Holland, and the king of Sweden
and the elector of Brandenburg. He had recently sent Lord Falconberg to
compliment Louis XIV. on his arrival at Calais; and in a few days, was
visited by the duke of Crequi, who brought him a magnificent sword as a
present from that prince, and by Mancini, with another present of tapestry
from his uncle, the Cardinal Mazarin. But, above all, he was now in
possession of Dunkirk, the great object of his foreign policy for the last
two years, the opening through which he was to accomplish the designs of
Providence on the continent. The real fact, however, was that his authority
in England never rested on a more precarious footing than at the present
moment; while, on the other hand, the cares and anxieties of government,
joined to his apprehensions of personal violence, and the pressure of
domestic affliction, were
[Footnote 1: James, Memoirs, i. 359. Thurloe, vii. 169, 176, 215. If we may
believe Temple (ii. 545), Cromwell now saw his error in aiding the French,
and made an offer of uniting his forces with those of Spain, provided the
siege of Calais were made the first attempt of the combined army.]
rapidly undermining his constitution, and hurrying him from the gay and
glittering visions of ambition to the darkness and silence of the tomb.
1. Cromwell was now reduced to that situation which, to the late
unfortunate monarch, had proved the source of so many calamities. His
expenditure far outran his income. Though the last parliament had made
provision, ample provision, as it was then thought, for the splendour of
his establishment, and for all the charges of the war, he had already
contracted enormous debts; his exchequer was frequently drained to the last
shilling; and his ministers were compelled to go a-begging--such is the
expression of the secretary of state--for the temporary loan of a few
thousand pounds, with the cheerless anticipation of a refusal.[1] He
looked on the army, the greater part of which he had quartered in the
neighbourhood of the metropolis, as his chief--his only support against his
enemies; and while the soldiers were comfortably clothed and fed, he might
with confidence rely on their attachment; but now that their pay was in
arrear, he had reason to apprehend that discontent might induce them to
listen to the suggestions of those officers who sought to subvert his
power. On former occasions, indeed, he had relieved himself from similar
embarrassments by the imposition of taxes by his own authority; but this
practice was so strongly reprobated in the petition and advice, and he had
recently abjured it with so much solemnity, that he dared not repeat
the experiment. He attempted to raise a loan among the merchants and
capitalists in the city; but his credit and popularity were gone; he had,
by plunging into
[Footnote 1: Thurloe, vii. 99, 100, 144, 295.]
war with Spain, cut off one of the most plentiful sources of profit, the
Spanish trade; and the number of prizes made by the enemy, amounting to
more than a thousand,[1] had ruined many opulent houses. The application
was eluded by a demand of security on the landed property belonging to
country gentlemen. There remained a third expedient,--an application to
parliament. But Cromwell, like the first Charles, had learned to dread
the very name of a parliament. Three of these assemblies he had moulded
according to his own plan, and yet not one of them could he render
obsequious to his will. Urged, however, by the ceaseless importunities of
Thurloe, he appointed[a] nine councillors to inquire into the means of
defeating the intrigues of the republicans in a future parliament; the
manner of raising a permanent revenue from the estates of the royalists;
and the best method of determining the succession to the protectorate. But
among the nine were two who, aware of his increasing infirmities, began to
cherish projects of their own aggrandizement, and who, therefore, made it
their care to perplex and to prolong the deliberations. The committee sat
three weeks. On the two first questions they came to no conclusion; with
respect to the third, they voted, on a division, that the choice between
an elective and an hereditary succession was a matter of indifference.
Suspicious of their motives, Cromwell dissolved[b] the committee.[2] But he
substituted no
[Footnote 1: Thurloe, vii. 662.]
[Footnote 2: Ibid. 146, 176, 192, 269. The committee consisted, in
Thurloe's words, of Lord Fiennes, Lord Fleetwood, Lord Desborow, Lord
Chamberlayne, Lord Whalley, Mr. Comptroller, Lord Goffe, Lord Cooper, and
himself (p. 192). On this selection Henry Cromwell observes: "The wise men
were but seven; it seems you have made them nine. And having heard their
names, I think myself better able to guess what they'll do than a much
wiser man; for no very wise man can ever imagine it" (p. 217).]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658 June 16.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1658 July 8.]
council in its place; things were allowed to take their course; the
embarrassment of the treasury increased; and the irresolution of the
protector, joined to the dangers which threatened the government, shook the
confidence of Thurloe himself. It was only when he looked up to heaven
that he discovered a gleam of hope, in the persuasion that the God who had
befriended Cromwell through life, would not desert him at the close of his
career.[1][a]
2. To the cares of government must be added his constant dread of
assassination. It is certainly extraordinary that, while so many
conspiracies are said to have been formed, no attempt was actually made
against his person; but the fact that such designs had existed, and the
knowledge that his death was of the first importance to his enemies,
convinced him that he could never be secure from danger. He multiplied his
precautions. We are told that he wore defensive armour under his clothes;
carried loaded pistols in his pockets; sought to remain in privacy; and,
when he found it necessary to give audience, sternly watched the eyes and
gestures of those who addressed him. He was careful that his own motions
should not be known beforehand. His carriage was filled with attendants; a
numerous escort accompanied him; and he proceeded at full speed, frequently
diverging from the road to the right or left, and generally returning by
a different route. In his palace he often inspected the nightly watch,
changed his bed-chamber, and was careful that, besides the principal door,
there should be some other egress, for the facility
[Footnote 1: Ibid. 153, 282, 295.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. July 27.]
of escape. He had often faced death without flinching in the field; but his
spirit broke under the continual fear of unknown and invisible foes. He
passed the nights in a state of feverish anxiety; sleep fled from his
pillow; and for more than a year before his death we always find the
absence of rest assigned as either the cause which produced, or a
circumstance which aggravated, his numerous ailments.[1]
3. The selfishness of ambition does not exclude the more kindly feelings of
domestic affection. Cromwell was sincerely attached to his children; but,
among them, he gave the preference to his daughter Elizabeth Claypole.
The meek disposition of the young woman possessed singular charms for the
overbearing spirit of her father; and her timid piety readily received
lessons on mystical theology from the superior experience of the
lord-general.[2] But she was now dying of a most painful and internal
complaint, imperfectly understood by her physicians; and her grief for the
loss of her infant child added to the poignancy of her sufferings. Cromwell
abandoned the business of state that he might hasten to Hampton Court, to
[Footnote 1: So says Clarendon (iii. 646), Bates (Elench. 343), and Welwood
(p. 94); but their testimony can prove nothing more than that such reports
were current, and obtained credit, among the royalists.]
[Footnote 2: The following passage from one of Cromwell's letters to his
daughter Ireton, will perhaps surprise the reader. "Your sister Claypole is
(I trust in mercye) exercised with some perplexed thoughts, shee sees her
owne vanitye and carnal minde, bewailinge itt, shee seeks after (as I hope
alsoe) that w'ch will satisfie, and thus to bee a seeker, is to be of the
best sect next a finder, and such an one shall every faythfull humble
seeker bee at the end. Happie seeker; happie finder. Who ever tasted that
the Lord is gracious, without some sense of self-vanitye and badness? Who
ever tasted that graciousnesse of his, and could goe lesse in desier, and
lesse than pressinge after full enjoyment? Deere hart presse on: lett not
husband, lett not anythinge coole thy affections after Christ," &c. &c.
&c.--Harris, iii. App. 515, edit. 1814.]
console his favourite daughter. He frequently visited her, remained long in
her apartment, and, whenever he quitted it, seemed to be absorbed in the
deepest melancholy. It is not probable that the subject of their private
conversation was exposed to the profane ears of strangers. We are, however,
told that she expressed to him her doubts of the justice of the good old
cause, that she exhorted him to restore the sovereign authority to the
rightful owner, and that, occasionally, when her mind was wandering, she
alarmed him by uttering cries of "blood," and predictions of vengeance.[1]
4. Elizabeth died.[a] The protector was already confined to his bed with
the gout, and, though he had anticipated the event, some days elapsed
before he recovered from the shock. A slow fever still remained, which
was pronounced a bastard tertian.[b] One of his physicians whispered to
another, that his pulse was intermittent;[c] the words caught the ears of
the sick man; he turned pale, a cold perspiration covered his face; and,
requesting to be placed in bed, he executed his private will. The next
morning he had recovered his usual composure; and when he received the
visit of his physician,[d] ordering all his attendants to quit the room but
his wife, whom he held by the hand, he said to him: "Do not think that I
shall die; I am sure of the contrary." Observing the surprise which these
words excited, he continued: "Say not that I have lost my reason: I tell
you the truth. I know it from better authority than any which you can have
from Galen or Hippocrates. It is the answer of God himself to our prayers;
not to mine alone, but to those of others who have a more intimate
[Footnote 1: Clar. Hist. iii. 647. Bulstrode, 205. Heath, 408.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. August 6.]
[Sidenote b: A.D. 1658. August 17.]
[Sidenote c: A.D. 1658. August 24.]
[Sidenote d: A.D. 1658. August 25.]
interest in him than I have."[1] The same communication was made to
Thurloe, and to the different members of the protector's family; nor did it
fail to obtain credit among men who believed that "in other instances he
had been favoured with similar assurances, and that they had never deceived
him."[2] Hence his chaplain Goodwin exclaimed, "O Lord, we pray not for his
recovery; that thou hast granted already; what we now beg is his _speedy_
recovery."[3]
In a few days, however, their confidence was shaken. For change of air he
had removed to Whitehall, till the palace of St. James's should be ready
for his reception. There his fever became[a] a double tertian, and his
strength rapidly wasted away. Who, it was asked, was to succeed him? On the
day of his inauguration he had written the name of his successor within a
cover sealed with the protectorial arms; but that paper had been lost,
or purloined, or destroyed. Thurloe undertook to suggest to him a second
nomination; but the condition of the protector, who, if we believe him,
was always insensible or delirious, afforded no opportunity. A suspicion,
however, existed, that he had private reasons for declining to interfere in
so delicate a business.[4]
The 30th of August was a tempestuous day: during the night the violence of
the wind increased till it blew a hurricane. Trees were torn from their
roots in the park, and houses unroofed in the city. This extraordinary
occurrence at a moment when it was thought that the protector was dying,
could not fail
[Footnote 1: Thurloe, vii. 321, 340, 354, 355. Bates, Elench. 413.]
[Footnote 2: Thurloe, vii. 355, 367, 376.]
[Footnote 3: Ludlow, ii. 151.]
[Footnote 4: Thurloe, 355, 365, 366.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658 August 28.]
of exciting remarks in a superstitious age; and, though the storm reached
to the coasts of the Mediterranean, in England it was universally referred
to the death-bed of the protector. His friends asserted that God would not
remove so great a man from this world without previously warning the nation
of its approaching loss; the Cavaliers more maliciously maintained that the
devils, "the princes of the air," were congregating over Whitehall, that
they might pounce on the protector's soul.[1]
On the third night afterwards,[a] Cromwell had a lucid interval of
considerable duration. It might have been expected that a man of his
religious disposition would have felt some compunctious visitings, when
from the bed of death he looked back on the strange eventful career of his
past life. But he had adopted a doctrine admirably calculated to lull and
tranquillize the misgivings of conscience. "Tell me," said he to Sterry,
one of his chaplains, "Is it possible to fall from grace?" "It is not
possible," replied the minister. "Then," exclaimed the dying man, "I am
safe; for I know that I was once in grace." Under this impression he
prayed, not for himself, but for God's people. "Lord," he said, "though a
miserable and wretched creature, I am in covenant with thee through thy
grace, and may and will come to thee for thy people. Thou hast made me a
mean instrument to do them some good, and thee service. Many of them set
too high a value upon me, though others would be glad of my death. Lord,
however thou disposest of me, continue, and go on to do good for them.
Teach those who look too much upon thy instruments, to depend more upon
thyself,
[Footnote 1: Clar. 646. Bulstrode, 207. Heath, 408. Noble, i. 147, note.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. Sept. 2.]
and pardon such as desire to trample upon the dust of a poor worm, for they
are thy people too."[1]
Early in the following morning,[a] he relapsed into a state of
insensibility. It was his fortunate day, the 3rd of September, a
circumstance from which his sorrowing relatives derived a new source
of consolation. It was, they observed, on the 3rd of September that he
overcame the Scots at Dunbar; on that day, he also overcame the royalists
at Worcester; and on the same day, he was destined to overcome his
spiritual enemies, and to receive the crown of victory in heaven.
About four in the afternoon he breathed his last, amidst the tears and
lamentations of his attendants. "Cease to weep," exclaimed the fanatical
Sterry, "you have more reason to rejoice. He was your protector here; he
will prove a still more powerful protector, now that he is with Christ at
the right hand of the Father." With a similar confidence in Cromwell's
sanctity, though in a somewhat lower tone of enthusiasm, the grave and
cautious Thurloe announced the event by letter to the deputy of Ireland.
"He is gone to heaven, embalmed with the tears of his people, and upon the
wings of the prayers of the saints."[2]
Till the commencement of the present century, when that wonderful man
arose, who, by the splendour of his victories and the extent of his empire,
cast all preceding adventurers into the shade, the name of Cromwell stood
without a parallel in the history of civilized Europe. Men looked with a
feeling of awe on the
[Footnote 1: Collection of Passages concerning his late Highness in Time of
his Sickness, p. 12. The author was Underwood, groom of the bed-chamber.
See also a letter of H. Cromwell, Thurloe, vii. 454; Ludlow, ii. 153.]
[Footnote 2: Ludlow, ii. 153. Thurloe, vii. 373.]
[Sidenote a: A.D. 1658. Sept. 3.]
fortunate individual who, without the aid of birth, or wealth, or
connections, was able to seize the government of three powerful kingdoms,
and to impose the yoke of servitude on the necks of the very men who had
fought in his company to emancipate themselves from the less arbitrary
sway of their hereditary sovereign. That he who accomplished this was no
ordinary personage, all must admit; and yet, on close investigation, we
shall discover little that was sublime or dazzling in his character.
Cromwell was not the meteor which surprises and astounds by the rapidity
and brilliancy of its course. Cool, cautious, calculating, he stole on with
slow and measured pace; and, while with secret pleasure he toiled up the
ascent to greatness, laboured to persuade the spectators that he was
reluctantly borne forward by an exterior and resistless force, by the march
of events, the necessities of the state, the will of the army, and even the
decree of the Almighty. He seems to have looked upon dissimulation as the
perfection of human wisdom, and to have made it the key-stone of the arch
on which he built his fortunes.[1] The aspirations of his ambition were
concealed under the pretence of attachment to "the good old cause;" and his
secret workings to acquire the sovereignty for himself and his family were
represented as endeavours to secure for his former brethren in arms the
blessings of civil and religious freedom, the two great objects which
originally called them into the field. Thus his whole conduct was made up
of artifice and deceit. He laid his plans long beforehand; he studied the
views and dispositions of all from whose influence he had any thing to hope
or fear; and he
[Footnote 1: See proofs of his dissimulation in Harris, iii. 93-103;
Hutchinson, 313.]
employed every expedient to win their affections, to make them the blind
unconscious tools of his policy. For this purpose he asked questions, or
threw out insinuations in their hearing; now kept them aloof with an air of
reserve and dignity; now put them off their guard by condescension, perhaps
by buffoonery;[1] at one time, addressed himself to their vanity or
avarice; at another, exposed to them with tears (for tears he had at will),
the calamities of the nation; and then, when he found them moulded to his
purpose, instead of assenting to the advice which he had himself suggested,
feigned reluctance, urged objections, and pleaded scruples of conscience.
At length he yielded; but it was not till he had acquired by his resistance
the praise of moderation, and the right of attributing his acquiescence to
the importunity of others instead of his own ambition.[2]
Exposed as he was to the continued machinations of the royalists and
Levellers, both equally eager to precipitate him from the height to which
he had attained, Cromwell made it his great object to secure to himself the
attachment of the army. To it he owed the acquisition, through it alone
could he insure the permanence, of his power. Now, fortunately for this
purpose, that army, composed as never was army before or since, revered in
the lord-protector what it valued mostly in itself, the cant and practice
of religious enthusiasm. The superior officers, the subalterns, the
privates, all held themselves forth as professors of godliness. Among them
every public breach of morality was severely punished; the exercises of
religious worship
[Footnote 1: See instances in Bates, Elenc. 344; Cowley, 95; Ludlow, i.
207; Whitelock, 656; State Trials, v. 1131, 1199.]
[Footnote 2: See Ludlow, i. 272; ii. 13, 14, 17.]
were of as frequent recurrence as those of military duty;[1] in council,
the officers always opened the proceedings with extemporary prayer; and to
implore with due solemnity the protection of the Lord of Hosts, was held
an indispensable part of the preparation for battle. Their cause they
considered the cause of God; if they fought, it was for his glory; if
they conquered, it was by the might of his arm. Among these enthusiasts,
Cromwell, as he held the first place in rank, was also pre-eminent in
spiritual gifts.[2] The fervour with which he prayed, the unction with
which he preached, excited their admiration and tears. They looked on him
as the favourite of God, under the special guidance of the Holy Spirit, and
honoured with communications from heaven; and he, on his part, was careful,
by the piety of his language, by the strict decorum of his court, and by
his zeal for the diffusion of godliness, to preserve and strengthen such
impressions. In minds thus disposed, it was not difficult to create
a persuasion that the final triumph of "their cause" depended on the
authority of the general under whom they had conquered; while the full
enjoyment of that religious freedom which they so highly prized rendered
them less jealous of the arbitrary power which he occasionally
[Footnote 1: "The discipline of the army was such that a man would not be
suffered to remain there, of whom we could take notice he was guilty of
such practices."--Cromwell's speech to parliament in 1654. It surprised
strangers.--Certa singulis diebus tum fundendis Deo precibus, tum audiendis
Dei praeconiis erant assignata tempora.--Parallelum Olivae apud Harris,
iii. 12. E certo ad ogni modo, che le Truppe vivono con tanta esatezza,
come se fossero fraterie de' religiosi.--Sagredo, MS.]
[Footnote 2: Religioso al estremo nell' esteriore, predica con eloquenza ai
soldati, li persuade a vivere secondo le legge d' Iddio, e per render più
efficace la persuasione, si serve ben spesso delle lagrime, piangendo più
li peccati altrui, che li proprii.--Ibid. See also Ludlow, iii. 111.]
assumed. In his public speeches, he perpetually reminded them that, if
religion was not the original cause of the late civil war, yet, God "soon
brought it to that issue;" that amidst the strife of battle, and the
difficulties and dangers of war, the reward to which they looked was
freedom of conscience; that this freedom to its full extent they enjoyed
under his government, though they could never obtain it till they had
placed the supreme authority in his hands.[1] The merit which he thus
arrogated to himself was admitted to be his due by the great body of the
saints; it became the spell by which he rendered them blind to his ambition
and obedient to his will; the engine with which he raised, and afterwards
secured, the fabric of his greatness.
On the subject of civil freedom, the protector could not assume so bold
a tone. He acknowledged, indeed, its importance; it was second only to
religious freedom; but if second, then, in the event of competition, it
ought to yield to the first. He contended that, under his government, every
provision had been made for the preservation of the rights of individuals,
so far as was consistent with the safety of the whole nation. He had
reformed the Chancery, he had laboured to abolish the abuses of the law, he
had placed learned and upright judges on the bench, and he had been careful
in all ordinary cases that impartial justice should be administered between
the parties. This indeed was true; but it was also true that by his orders
men were arrested and committed without lawful cause; that juries
were packed; that prisoners, acquitted at their trial, were sent into
confinement beyond the
[Footnote 1: See in particular his speech to his second parliament, printed
by Henry Hills, 1654.]
jurisdiction of the courts; that taxes had been raised without the
authority of parliament; that a most unconstitutional tribunal, the high
court of justice, had been established; and that the majors-general had
been invested with powers the most arbitrary and oppressive.[1] These acts
of despotism put him on his defence; and in apology he pleaded, as every
despot will plead, reasons of state, the necessity of sacrificing a part to
preserve the whole, and his conviction, that a "people blessed by God,
the regenerated ones of several judgments forming the flock and lambs
of Christ, would prefer their safety to their passions, and their real
security to forms." Nor was this reasoning addressed in vain to men who had
surrendered their judgments into his keeping, and who felt little for the
wrongs of others, as long as such wrongs were represented necessary for
their own welfare.
Some writers have maintained that Cromwell dissembled in religion as well
as in politics; and that, when he condescended to act the part of the
saint, he assumed for interested purposes a character which he otherwise
despised. But this supposition is contradicted by the uniform tenor of his
life. Long before he turned his attention to the disputes between the king
and the parliament, religious enthusiasm had made a deep impression on his
mind;[2] it continually manifested itself during his long career, both in
the senate and the field; and it was strikingly displayed in his speeches
and prayers on the last evening of his
[Footnote 1: "Judge Rolles," says Challoner, "was shuffled out of his
place. Three worthy lawyers were sent to the Tower. It cost them fifty
pounds a-piece for pleading a client's cause. One Portman was imprisoned
two or three years without cause. Several persons were taken out of their
beds, and carried none knows whither."--Burton's Diary, iv. 47.
[Footnote 2: Warwick, 249.]
life. It should, however, be observed, that he made his religion harmonize
with his ambition. If he believed that the cause in which he had embarked
was the cause of God, he also believed that God had chosen him to be the
successful champion of that cause. Thus the honour of God was identified
with his own advancement, and the arts, which his policy suggested, were
sanctified in his eyes by the ulterior object at which he aimed--the
diffusion of godliness, and the establishment of the reign of Christ among
mankind.[1]
[Footnote 1: The Venetian ambassador observes that during the protectorate
London wore the appearance of a garrison town, where nothing was to be seen
but the marching of soldiers, nothing to be heard but the sound of drums
and trumpets. Il decoro et grandezza di Londra ha molto cangiato di faccia,
la nobiltà, che la rendeva conspicua, sta divisa per la campagna, et la
delecatezza della corte la più sontuosa et la più allegre del mondo,
frequentata da principali dame, et abundante nelli più scelti
trattenementi, e cangiata al presente in una perpetua marchia et
contramarchia, in un incessante strepito di tamburri, e di trembe, et in
stuoio numerosi di soldati et officiali diversi ai posti.--Sagredo. See
also an intercepted letter in Thurloe, ii. 670.]