AN INDIGNANT REFUSAL. ILLNESS OF LADY DERBY. THE GREAT “TABOURET”
QUESTION. A MIS-ALLIANCE. A PITIABLE STORY. AFTER DUNBAR. THE FATAL
FIGHT OF WORCESTER. THE ROYAL EXILE. WOUNDED AND SPENT. LORD DERBY
TAKEN PRISONER. A “COURT-MARTIAL.” FAREWELL LETTERS. A FRIENDLY
SERVICE? LEAVE-TAKINGS. _FINIS CORONAT OPUS_
No letters of either Lord Derby or his wife now exist written during the
passing of that sad time. If any were written by them, they were lost,
or not preserved.
In July following the King’s execution, Lord Derby, now in the Isle of
Man, wrote his memorable letter to Ireton, who offered him tempting
bait, no less than the free restoration of all his other estates and
lost power, if he would deliver up the island to Parliament:—
“I received your letter with indignation, and with scorn return
you this answer: that I cannot but wonder whence you should
gather any hopes that I should prove like you, treacherous to my
Sovereign; since you cannot be ignorant of my former actings in
his late Majesty’s service, from which principles of loyalty I
am no whit departed. I scorn your proffers; I disdain your
favour; I abhor your treason; and am so far from delivering up
this island to your advantage, that I shall keep it to the
utmost of my power to your destruction. Take this for your final
answer, and forbear any further solicitations: for if you
trouble me with any more messages of this nature, I will burn
the paper and hang up the bearer. This is the immutable
resolution, and will be the undoubted practice of him who
accounts it his chiefest glory to be his Majesty’s most loyal
and obedient subject,
DERBY.
“From Castletown, this
12th of July, 1649.”
Lord Derby further promulgated an announcement to similar effect,
“inviting all his allies, friends, and acquaintance, all his
tenantry in Lancashire, and Cheshire, and other places, as well as
all his Majesty’s faithful and loyal subjects,” to repair to the
Isle of Man, as a refuge and a rallying-place. No menaces or
dangers, added the Earl in the proclamation, could trouble him, nor
dangers deter him. A letter written by Lady Derby, the year of the
King’s death, bitterly complains of the duplicity of Parliament
dealings in respect of the disposal of their property. “As to the
sects, their numbers daily increase, and their tenets are enough to
make the hair stand on end.”
She has been very ill for weeks past, and would be more than content
to die and be at rest, but for the loved ones she would leave
behind. Once more she descants upon the aberrations of the
hydra-headed fanaticism which made such rampant strides in the last
half of the seventeenth century, and once more, on the other hand,
is amazed at the freedom which Roman Catholics are permitted. Only
for the Church of England breathing space is not allowed; but her
husband, she assures the Duchess de la Trémoille, who appears to
entertain fears lest Lord Derby might waver, is more “Protestant”
than ever.
In the midst of all these real trials, she discusses with great
interest a point of Court etiquette: the mighty question of the
_tabouret_; and it is with as intense gratification that the
Countess hears finally that the _tabouret_ has been accorded to her
niece on her marriage, as it had once been given to herself.
Another domestic incident of a disagreeable nature took place about
this time, in the marriage of the heir of the Stanleys, Edward Lord
Strange, with a Mademoiselle de Rupa, a German lady of neither
position nor fortune. His parents never forgave this offence, and,
to crown all, Lord Strange entertained some dreams of compounding
with Parliament, fearing that hope for the Royalists was utterly
gone, and that they would all be left at last to starve.
Truly trouble was heavy on the friends of the murdered King’s son,
who was now wandering in Scotland, after the execution of Montrose.
Bradshaw’s hatred against the Earl of Derby was intense, and, with
the ingenuity bred of spite and cruelty, he attacked him in the part
most sensitive in such a man, through his children. For two years
the two daughters, Catherine and Amelia, had been left in peace at
Knowsley. “Now,” writes Lady Derby, 8th June 1650, “one Birch,
governor of a little town called Liverpool, has taken them
prisoners, and carried them there, where they are under guard.”
The Countess attributes this treatment to the pressure Parliament
intends putting upon the Earl. “That is all, dear sister, which I
can tell you of this pitiable story,” she concludes. “I pray God to
protect them, and do not fear that He will do so. It is said that
they endure bravely. I am less troubled for the elder, but my child
Amelia is delicate and timid, and was under treatment from M. de
Mayerne [a doctor in whom Lady Derby placed great confidence]. The
place where they are is very ugly, and has bad air, and they are
very wretchedly lodged.
“But these barbarians think of nothing but pursuing their damnable
plans; one might think that if all the demons of hell had devised
them, they could not have been worse.”
The sufferings of these two innocent girls increased. They had not
bread enough to eat, and must have starved but for the charity of
the poor Royalists and the fidelity of their attendants, who went
begging for them from house to house. They complained at last to
Fairfax, who wrote thereupon to the Earl: “If his lordship would
place the Isle of Man at Parliament’s good pleasure, his children
should be liberated, and enjoy half of his revenues.” The Earl
replied that he was deeply afflicted at the sufferings of his
children. It was not the custom of noble minds to punish innocent
children for their parents’ faults. He begged Sir Thomas Fairfax to
give them back to him, or to let them pass free to France or to
Holland; but if this were not possible, they must trust in the mercy
of the Most High, for he could never deliver them by an act of
treachery.
The contest between King and Parliament, or, more truly, between
King and Cromwell, was raging in Scotland. Of that country Charles
II. was now crowned King. He should be crowned King of England too,
while a Royalist lived. That was the Royalist determination, and
Cromwell’s sudden illness favoured hope, in addition to the
prevailing disaffection in the opposite camp; for betwixt Covenanter
and Presbyterian and Independent, and all the myriad political and
religious sectaries, little love was lost. Cromwell, however,
recovered, and attacked Perth. Charles announced his intention of
going to England. The Duke of Argyle sought to dissuade him from
this, and withdrew his aid. Cromwell followed the King to Carlisle
in pursuit. Charles immediately summoned Lord Derby, and the
Countess writes, 1st September 1651:—
“We are still here (Isle of Man), by the goodness of God,
who has safely guided my husband to the King his
sovereign.... I learn that the King has received him with
great joy and proofs of affection, and I await special
details with impatience; though I fear they cannot reach me
quickly, because of the vessels of the enemy, which are all
round our shores.”
Charles informed Lord Derby, in a letter in his own hand, that the
Presbyterians of Lancashire were ready to join under his leadership.
This Lord Derby found to be true only _cum grano salis_, and that no
small grain. He had brought with him three hundred gentlemen, for
the most part Roman Catholics, from the Isle of Man; these, the
Covenanting partisans of the King insisted, were to be sent back
again, before they joined issue in the struggle. This equally Lord
Derby refused. He demanded for these gentlemen the same latitude and
liberty the Lancashire Presbyterians required for themselves; and if
they could not accord it, though he despaired of success without
their aid, he had no voice but to dispense with it; and, mounting
his horse, the Earl rode away with his little band of Royalists to
encounter Colonel Robert Liburne, close by Wigan, a town which had
always remained true to the Royal cause. A hand-to-hand struggle
ensued. Two horses were killed beneath the Earl, and were replaced
at the peril of his own life by a faithful French servant. Finally,
in the confusion Lord Derby escaped into the town, finding refuge in
a poor woman’s cottage. She drew the door bolts, and maintained such
a stout defence of her little domain, that the Earl had time to
escape by the back of the house, and rejoined his friends; but he
was fearfully wounded, and scarcely able to sit his horse for
weakness.
As soon as he could stir, he made his way in disguise to Worcester,
where the King’s forces were mustered, and on 3rd September 1651, in
the battle of Worcester, which ended in the routing of the
Royalists, Lord Derby, with Lord Cleveland and Colonel Wogan,
protected their royal master, when all was over, through the enemy’s
ranks with their own swords and bodies, and then conducted him to
Whiteladies, safe with the loyal Giffards and Pendrells. Thence,
followed by some of his friends, he found his way to the coast, and
escaped to France.
With Lord Lauderdale, Lord Derby took his way back to the North, his
noble heart well-nigh broken, and his body weak and torn with
wounds. At Wigan his course was stopped by a detachment of the
victorious Parliamentarians, under Major Edge. The Earl and his
friends gave their names, and surrendered, under condition of
receiving quarter. This was promised on condition of their yielding
up arms, and considering themselves prisoners. Lord Lauderdale was
conducted to another part of the country. Lord Derby was taken
direct to Chester. Arrived there, he wrote a long letter to his
wife, which he obtained leave to be transmitted to her by Mr
Bagalay, a prisoner of war in the city—a long letter, full of
solicitude for his wife and family, and for all in any way dependent
on him. He tells her that though a prisoner in body, his heart is
free and at peace, having “no other sadness in it than the regret at
knowing her suffering and sorrow, and that of his poor children.”
Colonel Duckenfield, he informs her, will proceed in the name of
Parliament to take possession of the Isle of Man. Once more, not as
from a prisoner, but as from one “whose soul is his own, as in his
best days,” he will give her his advice how to receive Duckenfield,
but that he will transmit by word of mouth to his trusty messenger.
“Take care of yourself, my dearest heart, and of my dear
Mall and Ned and Billy. As to those who are here, I will
give them the best advice I can. My son,[22] with his wife,
and my nephew Stanley have been to see me.... I will only
say now that my son shows me much affection, and that he is
gone to London with an ardent desire to serve me.”
Footnote 22:
Lord Strange, now arrived in England.
That he hopes little from this filial devotion is evident. “The cold
and the wind of the coming winter are more easy to be borne than the
malicious attacks of a venomous serpent, or an obstinate and
perfidious enemy.... May the Son of God, whose blood was shed for
us, preserve our life, so that by God’s mercy and goodness we may
see each other once again on this earth, and then in the kingdom of
Heaven, where we shall be safe from rapine, theft, and violence!—I
remain ever your faithful
“DERBY.”
There could be but little quarter for the noble prisoner. With the
son of Bradshaw, Colonel Birch, and Colonel Rigby, the vanquished
hero of Lathom House, among his judges, his doom was virtually
pronounced.
When brought before the tribunal of these men and of one or two
others, who from one cause or another were little inclined in his
favour, and styling itself a court-martial, he was voted guilty of a
breach of the Act passed 12th August 1651, which prohibited all
correspondence with Charles Stuart or his party. Consequently he had
committed high treason and sentence of death was pronounced. When he
heard himself called traitor, he cried: “I am no traitor—I——”
“Silence, sir,” said the President. “Your words are of no account.
Hear the act of accusation to the end.”
Neither books nor counsel were allowed him, and he defended himself.
This he did with skill, pleading in the first place that quarter had
been promised. A show of consideration was vouchsafed to what he
said; but, with casuistry which would have done credit to the
Sorbonne, his representations were overruled, and his execution
fixed for the 15th October at Bolton.
On Monday, 13th October, Mr Bagalay was permitted to wait upon him.
“He discoursed his own commands to me. With many affectionate
protestations of his honour and respect for my lady, both for her
birth, and goodness as a wife, and much tenderness of his children.
“Then in came one Lieutenant Smith, a rude fellow, and with his hat
on; he told my lord he came from Colonel Duckenfield, the Governor,
to tell his lordship he must be ready for his journey to Bolton. The
Earl replied, ‘When would you have me to go?’ ‘To-morrow about six
in the morning,’ was the man’s answer. The Earl desired to be
commended to the Governor, and for him to be informed by that time
he would be ready. Then said Smith, ‘Does your lordship know any
friend or servant that would do the thing your lordship knows of? It
would be well if you had a friend.’ And the Earl replied, ‘What do
you mean? Would you have me find one to cut off my head?’
“‘Yes, my lord,’ said Smith. ‘If you could have a friend——’
“‘Nay, sir,’ interrupted the Earl; ‘if those men that would have my
head will not find one to cut it off, let it stand where it is. I
thank God my life has not been bad, that I should be instrumental to
deprive myself of it.... As for me and my servants, our ways have
been to prosecute a just war by honourable and just means, and not
by these ways of blood, which to you is a trade.’”
When Smith was gone, the Earl called for pen and ink, and wrote his
farewell letters to his family; and while he wrote, Paul Morceau,
his lordship’s servant, went out and bought a number of rings, which
they wrapped in parcels, and these were addressed as parting gifts
to his children and servants.
The Earl’s letter to his wife began in these terms:—
“MY DEAR HEART—Hitherto I have been able to send you some
consolation in my letters, but alas! I have now none to
offer you. There only remains for us our last and best
refuge, the Almighty, to whose will we must submit; and when
we see how it has pleased Him to dispose of this nation and
of its Government, there is nothing for us to do, but to put
our finger on our lips, and bring ourselves to confess that
our sins, with those of others, have drawn these misfortunes
upon us, and with tears implore Him to have pity on us.”
Having given up their beloved little last stronghold to Duckenfield,
the Earl advises the Countess to retire to some peaceful spot; then,
“having leisure to think of your poor children, you will be able in
some way to provide for their subsistence, and then prepare to
rejoin your friends above in that happy place where peace reigns,
far from differences of opinion.
“I entreat you, dearest heart, by all the grace God has
given you, to use your patience in this great and cruel
trial. If any evil befall you, I should, as it were, be
dead; but till then I live in you, who are truly myself’s
better part. When I am no more, think of yourself and of my
poor children. Have courage, and God will bless you.
“I thank the great goodness of God, who gave me such a wife
as you, the honour of my family, and for me the most
excellent of companions, so pious and deserving, so entirely
all the good that can be said, that it is impossible to say
enough. I beg, with all my soul, God’s forgiveness if I have
not sufficiently recognised this great benefit, and with
clasped hands I equally entreat you to pardon anything I may
ever have done to offend you. I have no time to say more. I
implore the Most High to bless you, as well as my dear Mall,
Ned, and Billy. Amen! Lord Jesus!”
Then followed the few touching lines to—
“MY DEAR MALL, MY NED, AND MY BILLY—I remember how sad you
were to see me go away; but I fear that your grief will be
redoubled when you learn that you will never see me more in
this world. It is my advice to all of you to conquer down
your grief. You are all of a nature for that to do you much
harm. My desire and my prayer to God is that your life may
be happy. Strive to lead it as purely as possible, and shun
sin as much as is in your power.
“I am able now to give you this advice, having such
remembrances of the vanities of my own life that my soul is
full of grief.... Love the Archdeacon well; he will give you
good counsel. Obey your mother cheerfully, and do not be
troublesome to her. She is your example, your guardian, your
counsellor, your all after God. There never has been, and
never will be, one to surpass her worth. I am called, and
this is the last letter that I shall write you. May the Lord
my God bless you, and keep you from all ill; that is what
your father asks in a moment when his pain is so great at
leaving Mall, Neddy, and Billy. Think of me.
DERBY.”
He spent the rest of that day with his two other daughters, and his
son, Lord Strange, who had returned from his fruitless journey to
London to obtain his father’s pardon. It was refused by the members
of the House leaving one by one, so that not enough were left to
vote. In the morning before his execution they started for Bolton.
When he came to the castle gate, four Royalist gentlemen, who were
also condemned, came out of the dungeon (by the Earl’s request to
the marshal) and kissed his hand, and wept on taking their leave.
Giving them his blessing, and a few brave farewell and comforting
words, the Earl passed on, not on his own horse, for it was feared
the people might rescue him, but upon a little nag.
“After we were out of the town,” continues Mr Bagalay, “people
weeping, my lord, with an humble behaviour and noble courage, about
half a mile off, took leave of them, then of my Lady Catherine and
Amelia, and there prayed for them and saluted them, and so parted.
This was the saddest hour I ever saw, so much tenderness and
affection on both sides.”
“Once,” said the Earl, on that last night of lying down to rest on
earth, “the thought of dying sword in hand in the fight would not
have troubled me; it would something have startled me, tamely to
submit to a blow on the scaffold; but now I can as willingly lay
down my head upon a block, as ever I did upon a pillow.”
The clean shirt he put on next morning, he gave orders was to be his
winding-sheet. “I will be buried in it,” he said to Morceau.
Then he called for Lord Strange to put on his order, telling him
that he should receive it again, and so “return it to my gracious
sovereign, ... and say I sent it in all humility and gratitude, as I
received it spotless and free from any stain.”
The scaffold—which by one of the delicate refinements of Puritanism
was fashioned of the old wood from Lathom House—was not ready till
three in the afternoon, for the people, with tears and
protestations, refused to drive a nail into it.
At last, when it was ready, the Earl ascended the ladder, and,
standing at the east end, addressed the people. It was a long
address, and full of noble and just and eloquent thoughts. Still,
when he had done, the block was not ready.
The delay now began to fret him. At last the executioner seemed to
be prepared, and, turning once more to the people, Lord Derby said:
“Good people, I thank you for your prayers and for your tears. I
have heard the one, and seen the other, and our God sees and hears
both. Now the God of Heaven bless you all. Amen.”
“How must I lie?” he then asked. “Will anyone show me? I never yet
saw any man’s head cut off.”
Then, after much delay and bungling on the headman’s part, Lord
Derby “laid him down again, and blessing God’s name, he gave the
signal by raising his hands.
“The executioner did his work; and no other manner of noise was then
heard, but sighs and sobs.”
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