was removed, and the sitting was adjourned to the 22d. On that day the
same scene was renewed; and again on the 23d. A growing sympathy for the
monarch became apparent. The cries of "Justice, justice!" which were
heard at first were now mingled with "God save the King!" He had refused
to plead; but the court nevertheless employed the 24th and 25th of
January in collecting evidence to prove the charge of his levying war
against the Parliament. Coke, the solicitor-general, then demanded
whether the court would proceed to pronouncing sentence; and the members
adjourned to the Painted Chamber.
On the 27th the public sitting was resumed. When the name of Fairfax was
called, a voice was heard from the gallery, "He has too much wit to be
here." The King was brought in; and, when the president addressed the
commissioners, and said that the prisoner was before the court to answer
a charge of high treason and other crimes brought against him in the
name of the people of England, the voice from the gallery was again
heard, "It's a lie--not one-half of them." The voice came from Lady
Fairfax. The court, Bradshaw then stated, had agreed upon the sentence.
Ludlow records that the King "desired to make one proposition before
they proceeded to sentence; which he earnestly pressing, as that which
he thought would lead to the reconciling of all parties, and to the
peace of the three kingdoms, they permitted him to offer it: the effect
of which was that he might meet the two Houses in the Painted Chamber,
to whom he doubted not to offer that which should satisfy and secure all
interests." Ludlow goes on to say, "Designing, as I have been since
informed, to propose his own resignation, and the admission of his son
to the throne upon such terms as should have been agreed upon."
The commissioners retired to deliberate, "and being satisfied, upon
debate, that nothing but loss of time would be the consequence of it,
they returned into the court with a negative to his demand." Bradshaw
then delivered a solemn speech to the King, declaring how he had through
his reign endeavored to subvert the laws and introduce arbitrary
government; how he had attempted, from the beginning, either to destroy
parliaments or to render them subservient to his own designs; how he had
levied war against the Parliament, by the terror of his power to
discourage forever such assemblies from doing their duty, and that in
this war many thousands of the good people of England had lost their
lives. The clerk was lastly commanded to read the sentence, that his
head should be severed from his body; "and the commissioners," says
Ludlow, "testified their unanimous assent by standing up." The King
attempted to speak, "but, being accounted dead in law, was not
permitted."
On January 29th the court met to sign the sentence of execution,
addressed to "Colonel Francis Hacker, Colonel Huncks, and
Lieutenant-Colonel Phayr, and to every one of them." This is the
memorable document:
"Whereas Charles Stuart, king of England, is and standeth
convicted, attainted and condemned of High Treason and other
high Crimes: and Sentence upon Saturday last was pronounced
against him by this Court, to be put to death by the severing
of his head from his body; of which Sentence execution
remaineth to be done:
"These are therefore to will and require you to see the said
Sentence executed, in the open street before Whitehall, upon
the morrow, being the thirtieth day of this instant month of
January, between the hours of ten in the morning and five in
the afternoon with full effect. And for so doing, this shall be
your warrant.
"And these are to require all Officers and Soldiers, and others
the good people of this Nation of England, to be assisting unto
you in this service.
"Given under our hands and seals.
"JOHN BRADSHAW.
"THOMAS GREY.
"OLIVER CROMWELL."
And fifty-six others.
The statements of the heartless buffoonery, and the daring violence of
Cromwell, at the time of signing the warrant, must be received with some
suspicion. He smeared Henry Marten's face with the ink of his pen, and
Marten in return smeared his, say the narratives. Probably so. With
reference to this anecdote it has been wisely observed, "Such 'toys of
desperation' commonly bubble up from a deep flowing stream below."
Another anecdote is told by Clarendon; that Colonel Ingoldsby, one who
signed the warrant, was forced to do so with great violence, by Cromwell
and others; "and Cromwell, with a loud laughter, taking his hand in his,
and putting the pen between his fingers, with his own hand writ 'Richard
Ingoldsby,' he making all the resistance he could."
Ingoldsby gave this relation, in the desire to obtain a pardon after
the Restoration; and to confirm his story he said, "if his name there
were compared with what he had ever writ himself, it could never be
looked upon as his own hand." Warburton, in a note upon this passage,
says, "The original warrant is still extant, and Ingoldsby's name has no
such mark of its being wrote in that manner."
The King knew his fate. He resigned himself to it with calmness and
dignity; with one exceptional touch of natural human passion, when he
said to Bishop Juxon, although resigning himself to meet his God: "We
will not talk of these rogues, in whose hands I am; they thirst for my
blood, and they will have it, and God's will be done. I thank God, I
heartily forgive them, and I will talk of them no more." He took an
affectionate leave of his daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, twelve years
old; and of his son, the Duke of Gloucester, of the age of eight. To him
he said: "Mark, child, what I say: they will cut off my head, and
perhaps make thee king; but thou must not be king so long as thy
brothers Charles and James live." And the child said, "I will be torn in
pieces first."
There were some attempts to save him. The Dutch ambassador made vigorous
efforts to procure a reprieve, while the French and Spanish ambassadors
were inert. The ambassadors from the states nevertheless persevered, and
early in the day of the 30th obtained some glimmering of hope from
Fairfax. "But we found," they say in their despatch, "in front of the
house in which we had just spoken with the general, about two hundred
horsemen; and we learned, as well on our way as on reaching home, that
all the streets, passages, and squares of London were occupied by
troops, so that no one could pass, and that the approaches of the city
were covered with cavalry, so as to prevent anyone from coming in or
going out. The same day, between two and three o'clock, the King was
taken to a scaffold covered with black, erected before Whitehall."
To that scaffold before Whitehall Charles walked, surrounded by
soldiers, through the leafless avenues of St. James' Park. It was a
bitterly cold morning. Evelyn records that the Thames was frozen over.
The season was so sharp that the King asked to have a shirt more than
ordinary when he carefully dressed himself. He left St. James' at ten
o'clock. He remained in his chamber at Whitehall for about three hours
in prayer, and then received the sacrament. He was pressed to dine, but
refused, taking a piece of bread and a glass of wine. His purposed
address to the people was delivered only to the hearing of those upon
the scaffold, but its purport was that the people "mistook the nature of
government; for people are free under a government, not by being sharers
in it, but by due administration of the laws of it." His theory of
government was a consistent one. He had the misfortune not to understand
that the time had been fast passing away for its assertion. The headsman
did his office; and a deep groan went up from the surrounding multitude.
It is scarcely necessary that we should offer any opinion upon this
tremendous event. The world had never before seen an act so daring
conducted with such a calm determination; and the few moderate men of
that time balanced the illegality and also the impolicy of the execution
of Charles, by the fact that "it was not done in a corner," and that
those who directed or sanctioned the act offered no apology, but
maintained its absolute necessity and justice. "That horrible sentence
upon the most innocent person in the world; the execution of that
sentence by the most execrable murder that was ever committed since that
of our blessed Saviour," forms the text which Clarendon gave for the
rhapsodies of party during two centuries. On the other hand, the
eloquent address of Milton to the people of England has been in the
hearts and mouths of many who have known that the establishment of the
liberties of their country, duly subordinated by the laws of a free
monarchy, may be dated from this event: "God has endued you with
greatness of mind to be the first of mankind, who, after having
conquered their own king, and having had him delivered into their hands,
have not scrupled to condemn him judicially, and, pursuant to that
sentence of condemnation, to put him to death."
In these times in England, when the welfare of the throne and the people
are identical, we can, on the one hand, afford to refuse our assent to
the blasphemous comparison of Clarendon--blasphemy more offensively
repeated in the church service for January 30th; and at the same time
affirm that the judicial condemnation which Milton so admires was
illegal, unconstitutional, and in its immediate results dangerous to
liberty. But feeling that far greater dangers would have been incurred
if "the caged tiger had been let loose," and knowing that out of the
errors and anomalies of those times a wiser revolution grew, for which
the first more terrible revolution was a preparation, we may cease to
examine this great historical question in any bitterness of spirit, and
even acknowledge that the death of Charles, a bad king, though in some
respects a good man, was necessary for the life of England, and for her
"teaching other nations how to live."
We must accept as just and true Milton's admonition to his countrymen in
reference to this event, which he terms "so glorious an action," with
many reasonable qualifications as to its glory; and yet apply even to
ourselves his majestic words: "After the performing so glorious an
action as this, you ought to do nothing that is mean and little, not so
much as to think of, much less to do, anything but what is great and
sublime. Which to attain to, this is your only way: as you have subdued
your enemies in the field, so to make appear, that unarmed, and in the
highest outward peace and tranquillity, you of all mankind are best able
to subdue ambition, avarice, the love of riches, and can best avoid the
corruptions that prosperity is apt to introduce--which generally subdue
and triumph over other nations--to show as great justice, temperance,
and moderation in the maintaining your liberty, as you have shown
courage in freeing yourselves from slavery."
FOOTNOTES:
[39] Charles I had been confined here for nearly three weeks.
[40] Ludlow uses this text, from Numbers xxxv, in explaining his
convictions.
CROMWELL'S CAMPAIGN IN IRELAND
A.D. 1649
FREDERIC HARRISON
Alike on account of its effect upon the Irish people and by
reason of the historical debate of which it has continued to be
the subject, Cromwell's Irish campaign is a matter of much
moment to students of British policy and conquest.
Cromwell had already won a complete victory for the
Parliamentary forces over the Royalists of England and
Scotland, and had suppressed an insurrection in Wales. As a
member of the High Court he had signed the death-warrant of
Charles I, and on the establishment of the Commonwealth, early
in 1649, his preëminence in both military and political
leadership gave him almost absolute control of the English
government.
In 1641 there had been a Catholic uprising in Ireland which was
attended with considerable success, won at the cost of
slaughter often characterized as massacre. Although Charles I
made peace with the insurrectionists in 1643, and soon
afterward most of them became Royalists, disorders in Ireland
still continued. At last the English Parliament resolved to put
an end to these tumults, and in March, 1649, Cromwell was
appointed to the supreme command in Ireland.
Among the many able writers on Oliver Cromwell none has treated
this portion of his career with greater clearness and
impartiality than Frederic Harrison, whose history of the
campaign in Ireland has been selected, particularly for the
sake of these merits, for presentation here.
The reconquest of Ireland was by all felt to be the most urgent interest
of the young commonwealth; there was almost as much agreement to intrust
Cromwell with the task; and after some consideration, and prayerful
consultations in the army, he accepted the duty. The condition of
England was precarious indeed; service in Ireland was not popular in the
army; and an ambitious adventurer would have been loath to quit England
while the first place was still unoccupied. It was at great risk to the
cause, and at much personal sacrifice, that Cromwell accepted the
difficult post in Ireland as his first duty to his country and to
religion.
His campaign and the subsequent settlement in Ireland are among those
things which weigh heaviest on Cromwell's memory, and which of his
stoutest admirers one only has heartily approved. Fortunately, there is
no part of his policy where his conduct is more simple and his motives
are more plain. The Irish policy of Cromwell was the traditional policy
of all Englishmen of his creed and party, and was distinguished from
theirs only by his personal vigor and thoroughness. He was neither
better nor worse than the English Puritans, or rather all English
statesmen for many generations: he was only keener and stronger. When
he, with Vane, Fairfax, Whitelocke, and other commissioners, went to the
Guildhall to obtain a loan for the campaign, they told the common
council that this was a struggle not between Independent and
Presbyterian, but between papist and Protestant; that papacy or popery
was not to be endured in that kingdom; and they cited the maxim of James
I: "Plant Ireland with Puritans, root out papists, and then secure it."
To Cromwell, as to all English Puritans, it seemed a self-evident truth
that one of the three realms could not be suffered to become Catholic;
as little could it be suffered to become independent, or the open
practice of the Catholic religion allowed there, any more than in
England; finally, that peace and prosperity could never be secured in
Ireland without a dominant and preponderating order of English birth and
Protestant belief. By Cromwell, as by the whole Puritan body--we may
fairly say by the whole body of Protestants--the Irish rebellion of 1641
was believed to have opened with a barbarous, treacherous, and wholesale
massacre, followed during nine years by one prolonged scene of confusion
and bloodshed, ending in an almost complete extinction of the Protestant
faith and English interests.
The victorious party, and Cromwell more deeply than others, entered on
the recovery of Ireland in the spirit of a religious war, to restore to
the Protestant cause one of the three realms which had revolted to the
powers of darkness. Such was for centuries the spirit of Protestant
England.
Five months were occupied in the preparations for this distant and
difficult campaign. Cromwell's nomination was on March 15, 1649. On the
same day Milton was appointed Latin secretary to the council. During
April Cromwell arranged the marriage of his eldest son with the
daughter of a very quiet, unambitious squire. On July 10th he set forth
from London with much military state. His lifeguard was a body of
gentlemen "as is hardly to be paralleled in the world." He still waited
a month in the West, his wife and family around him; and thence wrote
his beautiful letter to Mayor about his son, and the letter to "my
beloved daughter Dorothy Cromwell, at Hursley."
At length all was ready, and he set sail on August 13th with nine
thousand men in about one hundred ships. He was invested with supreme
civil, as well as military, command in Ireland; amply supplied with
material and a fleet. Ireton, his son-in-law, was his second in command.
On landing in Dublin, the general made a speech to the people, in which
he spoke of his purpose as "the great work against the barbarous and
bloodthirsty Irish, and all their adherents and confederates, for the
propagating of the gospel of Christ, the establishing of truth and
peace, and restoring that bleeding nation to its former happiness and
tranquillity." His first act was to remodel the Irish army, making "a
huge purge of the army which we found here: it was an army made up of
dissolute and debauched men"; and the general issued a proclamation
against swearing and drunkenness, and another against the "wickedness"
that had been taken by the soldiery "to abuse, rob, and pillage, and too
often to execute cruelties upon the country people," promising to
protect all peaceable inhabitants, and to pay them in ready money for
all goods. Two soldiers were shortly hanged for disobeying these orders.
Having made a general muster of his forces in Dublin, and formed a
complete body of fifteen thousand horse and foot, he selected a force of
ten thousand stout, resolute men, and advanced on Drogheda (in English,
Tredagh). Drogheda is a seaport town on the Boyne, about twenty-three
miles due north of Dublin. It was strongly fortified, and Ormonde,[41]
as Clarendon tells us, had put into it "the flower of his army, both of
soldiers and officers, _most of them English_, to the number of three
thousand foot, and two or three good troops of horse, provided with all
things." Sir Arthur Ashton, an English Catholic, an officer "of great
name and experience, and who at that time made little doubt of defending
it against all the power of Cromwell," was in chief command.
Cromwell's horse reached Drogheda on September 3d, his memorable day;
some skirmishes followed, and on the 10th the batteries opened in
earnest, after formal summons to the garrison to surrender. A steeple
and a tower were beaten down the first day; all through the 11th the
batteries continued, and at length effected "two reasonable breaches."
About five in the evening of the second day the storm began. "After some
hot dispute we entered, about seven or eight hundred men; the enemy
disputing it very stiffly with us." But a tremendous rally of the
garrison--wherein Colonel Castle and other officers were killed--drove
out the column, which retreated disheartened and baffled. Then the
general did that which as commander he was seldom wont to do, and which
he passes in silence in his despatches.
"Resolved," says Ludlow, "to put all upon it, he went down to the
breach; and calling out a fresh reserve of Colonel Ewer's men, he put
himself at their head, and with the word 'our Lord God,' led them up
again with courage and resolution, though they met with a hot dispute."
Thus encouraged to recover their loss, they got ground of the enemy,
forced him to quit his intrenchments, and poured into the town. There
many retreated to the Millmount, a place very strong and difficult of
access; "exceedingly high and strongly palisaded." This place commanded
the whole town: thither Sir Arthur Ashton and other important officers
had betaken themselves. But the storming party burst in, and were
ordered by Cromwell to put them all to the sword. The rest of the
garrison fled over the bridge to the northern side of the town; but the
Ironsides followed them hotly, both horse and foot, and drove them into
St. Peter's Church and the towers of the ramparts.
St. Peter's Church was set on fire by Cromwell's order. He writes to the
speaker: "Indeed, being in the heat of action, I forbade them to spare
any that were in arms in the town: and I think that night they put to
the sword about two thousand men." Next day the other towers were
summoned, and the work of slaughter was renewed for two days, until the
entire garrison was annihilated. It was unquestionably a massacre. "That
night they put to the sword about two thousand men." In St. Peter's
Church "near a thousand of them were put to the sword, fleeing thither
for safety." "Their friars were knocked on the head promiscuously." "I
do not think we lost a hundred men upon the place." Such are a few
passages from Cromwell's own despatches.
The slaughter was indeed prodigious. The general writes: "I believe we
put to the sword the whole number of the defendants. I do not think
thirty of the whole number escaped with their lives." "The enemy were
about three thousand strong in the town." "I do not believe, neither do
I hear, that any officer escaped with his life, save only one
lieutenant." He subsequently gives a detailed list of the slain,
amounting to about three thousand. Hugh Peters, the chaplain, reports as
follows:
"Sir, the truth is, Drogheda is taken, three thousand five hundred
fifty-two of the enemy slain, and sixty-four of ours. Ashton the
governor, killed, none spared." It is also certain that quarter was
refused. "I forbade them to spare any that were in arms in the town." It
is expressly told us that all officers and all priests taken were
killed. From the days of Clarendon it has been repeated by historians
that men, women, and children were indiscriminately slaughtered, and
there is evidence of an eye-witness to that effect; but this is not
believed to have been done by the order, or even with the knowledge, of
the general. The Royalist accounts insist that quarter was promised at
first; and that the butchery of men in cold blood was carried on for
days. Here again the act must have been exceptional and without
authority.
To Cromwell himself this fearful slaughter was a signal triumph of the
truth. "It hath pleased God to bless our endeavors." "This hath been a
marvellous great mercy." "I am persuaded that this is a righteous
judgment of God upon these barbarous wretches, who have imbrued their
hands in so much innocent blood; and that it will tend to prevent the
effusion of blood for the future. Which are the satisfactory grounds to
such actions, which otherwise cannot but work remorse and regret." "It
was set upon some of our hearts, That a great thing should be done, not
by power or might, but by the Spirit of God." In the same sense it was
received by Parliament and council of state, by some of the noblest
spirits of their age.
Ludlow says simply that this "extraordinary severity was used to
discourage others from making opposition." It had always been the policy
of Cromwell in battle to inflict a crushing defeat; at Marston, at
Naseby, and at Preston he had "taken execution of the enemy" for hours
and over miles of country. At Basing and elsewhere, after a summons and
a storm, he had slaughtered hundreds without mercy. And such was the law
of war in that age, practised on both sides without hesitation. But the
item of numbers and of time tells very heavily here. The killing of
hundreds in hot blood differs from the massacre of thousands during
days.
There was no such act in the whole civil war as the massacre--prolonged
for days--of three thousand men enclosed in walls entirely at the mercy
of their captors, to say nothing of the promiscuous slaughter of
priests, if not of women and unarmed men.
In England such a deed could not have been done; and not in Ireland, but
that they were Catholics fighting in defence of their faith. The fact
that the garrison were Catholics, fighting on Irish soil, placed them,
to the Puritan Englishman, out of the pale. No admiration for Cromwell,
for his genius, courage, and earnestness--no sympathy with the cause
that he upheld in England--can blind us to the truth, that the lurid
light of this great crime burns still after centuries across the history
of England and of Ireland; that it is one of those damning charges which
the Puritan theology has yet to answer at the bar of humanity.