To employ an apt but homely figure used by Mrs. Hutchinson, the
smoke ascended from the tops of the chimneys before the flame broke
out. As early as April, the King appeared at the gates of Hull,
where he was denied entrance by Sir John Hotham. In the middle of
June, the Commission of Array at Leicester came into collision with
the Parliamentary militia. In August, the brave Lord Brooke set out
from Warwick Castle with three hundred musketeers and two hundred
horse, gathering round him recruits to the number of three thousand;
the country sending "six loads of harrows to keep off horses, and a
cart-load of bread and cheese, and great store of beer."[306] Reluctant
to shed blood, the Puritan commander charged his soldiers, for the
kingdom's sake, not to fire a single pistol except in self-defence.
Happily, there arose no occasion for firing at all, as the Royalists,
under the Earl of Northampton, threw down their arms, and ran away.
The King, in revenge of Brooke's conduct, bestowed that nobleman's
castle as an escheat on the Lord of Compton-Winyates, after which the
patriot, in defiance of this injustice and insult, planted ordnance at
the gate and keep of his feudal fortress, and on the top of Cæsar's
tower. Lord Compton, forcibly claiming the royal grant, assailed the
stronghold left under the charge of Sir Edward Peto, and planted cannon
on the church to bombard the castle. Dislodged by shots, the besieger
endeavoured to starve out the garrison; but Sir Edward, with grim
Puritan resolution, hoisted a flag displaying the figures of a Bible
and a winding sheet, which presented very significant symbols of the
objects and spirit of the rising war.[307]
[Sidenote: _Outbreak of War._]
On the afternoon of Monday, the 22nd of August, there occurred the
world-famous act of setting up the King's standard at Nottingham. After
dinner, he with his company rode into the town from Leicester Abbey.
The standard was taken out of the castle and carried into a field
behind the castle wall. It resembled one of the city streamers used
at the Lord Mayor's show; it had about twenty supporters; on its top
hung a flag with the royal arms quartered, and a hand pointing to the
crown, with the motto, "Give Cæsar his due." It was conducted to the
field in great state by the King, Prince Rupert, and divers Lords. A
proclamation respecting the war had been prepared, which his Majesty
read over, and, seeming to dislike some expressions, called for pen and
ink, and with his own hand crossed out or altered them; after which,
when the paper was read, the multitude threw up their hats and cried,
"God save the King." It was now late in the month of August, the days
were closing in, and the evening shadows fell on the King and his
staff as they engaged in this act which finally plunged England into a
civil war. A violent storm of wind arose and blew down the standard,
almost as soon as it was unfurled.[308] As the cavaliers, in the dim
twilight, wheeled off from the spot, did not their hearts beat with a
sense of something very awful done that night?
[Sidenote: 1642, August.]
As from one end of England to the other rumours of war were current,
pious men betook themselves to the exercises of devotion; and the two
Houses of Parliament, on hearing that the standard had been set up at
Nottingham, published an ordinance for observing, with more than usual
humiliation, the monthly fast, the services of which were to last from
_nine in the morning till four in the afternoon_. At the same period,
a religious service in London, known as "the Morning Exercise," was
commenced, in connection with which special intercessions were offered
up on behalf of the Parliamentary forces.[309]
But whilst peaceable Puritans were praying, their armed brethren were
marching through the country. In the State Paper Office there are
letters, probably intercepted ones, written by a Roundhead soldier
named Wharton, reporting to a friend the adventures of the regiment to
which he belonged. They are so curious and interesting, and throw such
light on the feelings of a religious nature which existed in the hearts
of the Parliament soldiers, that we cannot forbear making use of them
largely in this part of our narrative.
[Sidenote: _Troops on the March._]
He informs us, that in the month of August, 1642, he and his comrades
marched to Acton, and were belated. Many were constrained to lodge in
beds "whose feathers were above a yard long." They sallied out into
the town, and coming to the house of one Penruddock, a Papist, they
were "basely affronted by him and his dog;" whereupon they entered
and pillaged the dwelling; and then proceeded to the church, where
they "defaced the ancient and sacred glazed pictures, and burned the
holy rails;" the soldiers brought more holy rails to be burnt, and
abstained from pillaging Lord Portland's house, together with another
inhabited by Dr. Ducke, only in consequence of a prohibition from their
commanders. Mention is made of converting the surplice at Hillingdon
into handkerchiefs, of burning the rails and also a service book at
Uxbridge, and of similar outrages, perpetrated in other places; as well
as of soldiers visiting Papists by stealth, and forcing them to give
loaves and cheeses, which the captors triumphantly carried away on the
points of their swords. Colonel Hampden, accompanied by many gentlemen
well-horsed, welcomed these detachments to Aylesbury with great joy;
after which they marched out with 400 musqueteers and a hundred horse,
to Watlington, in Oxfordshire. At Great Missenden they had noble
entertainment from the whole town, and especially from Sir Bryan
Ireson, and the minister. On Sunday, a pulpit was built in the market
place of Aylesbury, where they heard "two worthy sermons." Grievous
complaints are made of their Lieutenant-Colonel, who is described in no
measured terms, as one whom they all desired that the Parliament would
depose or God convert, or "the devil fetch away quick."[310]
[Sidenote: 1642, September.]
From Northampton the same correspondent writes informing his friend
that on Wednesday a fast was kept at Coventry--which is described as
a city, having four steeples, three churches, and two parishes, and
not long since, but one priest--where they heard two sermons, but
before the third was ended an "alarum" came for them to march. By
ten o'clock they got their regiments together, and about two in the
morning proceeded towards Northampton.[311] The military pillaged the
parson of Barby, and brought him away prisoner with his surplice and
other relics. At Long Buckby the soldiers had hard quarters, insomuch
that they were glad to "dispossess the very swine, and as many as
could quartered in the church." Some stragglers sallied into the
neighbourhood of the town, and returned "in state, clothed in surplice,
hood, and cap, representing the Bishop of Canterbury." On Friday
morning, Mr. Obediah Sedgwick "gave a worthy sermon," and Wharton's
company marched rank and file to hear him. Mr. John Sedgwick had been
appointed to preach in the afternoon, but news having arrived that
Prince Rupert had plundered Harborough, and fired some adjacent towns,
this circumstance spoiled the service. On Sabbath morning Mr. Marshall,
"that worthy champion of Christ," preached, and in the afternoon Mr.
Ash officiated. These by their sermons "subdued and satisfied more
malignant spirits than 1,000 armed men could have done, so that we have
great hopes of a blessed union."
[Sidenote: _Troops on the March._]
Writing from Worcester (September 26th), Wharton complains of the
barbarity practised by the cavaliers--relating how they stripped,
stabbed, and slashed the dead, and then states that on Sabbath morning,
his fellow-soldiers entered a vault of the college where his Excellency
was to hear a sermon, and found secreted there eleven barrels of
gunpowder and a pot of bullets. It is added that his Excellency
prohibited any soldier to plunder churches or private houses under pain
of death. In another communication, (dated September 30th), after an
interesting account of the situation, buildings, and curiosities of the
city, he paints its moral and spiritual condition, in most frightful
colours, as so vile, and the country so base, so papistical, so
atheistical, and abominable that it resembled Sodom, and was the very
emblem of Gomorrah, and doubtless worse than either Algiers or Malta,
a very den of thieves, and a refuge for all the hell-hounds in the
country. Though the citizens cried _peccavi_ their practical motto was
_iterum faciam_; but they only did as they were taught by Dr. Prideaux,
lately made bishop, and by other popish priests, who had all run away.
[Sidenote: 1642, October.]
Respecting Hereford, he remarks, October the 7th, "On Sabbath day,
about the time of morning prayer, we went to the minster, where the
pipes played and the puppets sang so sweetly, that some of our soldiers
could not forbear dancing in the holy quire, whereat the _Baalists_
were sore displeased. The anthem ended, they fell to prayer, and
prayed devoutly for the King and the bishops, and one of our soldiers
with a loud voice said, 'What! never a bit for the Parliament,' which
offended them much more. Not satisfied with this human service we went
to divine, and, passing by, found shops open and men at work, to whom
we gave some plain dehortations, and went to hear Mr. Sedgwick, who
gave us two famous sermons, which much affected the poor inhabitants,
who wondering, said they never heard the like before, and I believe
them. The Lord move your hearts to commiserate their distress, and to
send them some faithful and painful minister, for the revenues of the
college will maintain many of them. I have sent you the gods of the
cavaliers enclosed, they are pillage taken from Sir William Russel, of
which I never yet got the worth of one farthing."
The writer of these letters was a stern Puritan, with an almost equal
hatred of Prelacy and Popery, and also a fierce Iconoclast, with
not an atom of regard for what is æsthetical in worship--tearing up
surplices as the rags of the mother of harlots, and looking with
grim satisfaction on altar rails crackling in the fire as so much
superstitious refuse and defilement swept out of the Church of God, and
meet only to be destroyed.
Contemporary with these epistles is one from a minister at Berwick,
which presents to us another illustration of what happened in those
times, by revealing to us his secret troubles--thus indicating the
violence of feeling prevalent amongst the Roman Catholics of the wild
Border Country, towards zealous apostles of Puritanism: "Never had
I more need of your prayers than at present: the Papists are very
insolent, use me most basely by railing on me, &c. But especially the
Scottish fugitives, Mr. Sideserfe and his adherents, are so exasperated
against me for my fidelity, that there is no small fear of my life
and safety. One in his cups said yesterday, that they would not be
satisfied until they had my life; but I say with the apostle, my life
is not dear unto me, that I may finish my course with joy and fulfil
the ministry which I have received of the Lord Jesus. They rail upon
the Parliament, and threaten to send for a troop of horse to fetch me
from Berwick, but my times are in the Lord's hands. I have one hundred
pounds in London: I would the Parliament had it for and towards the
defence of the kingdom, if it would be accepted. The Lord maintain His
own cause, go out with His armies, and make a good end for us, for I
know your prayers will not be wanting."[312]
As the Parliamentary soldiers were marching up and down the country,
after the fashion described in Nehemiah Wharton's letters, Royalists
were working out their will in another kind of lawless way. They had no
psalm-singing or prayer, they built no pulpits in market-places, and
if they did not retaliate upon conventicles the puritan treatment of
parish churches, it was simply because conventicles did not exist, or
were not within their reach. Royalist excesses were of another order.
Whitelocke, describing the plunder of his own house, tells us that
the enemy consumed whatever they could find, lighted their pipes with
his MSS., carried away his title deeds, littered their horses with
his wheat sheaves, broke down his park pales, killed his deer, broke
open his trunks and chests, cut his beds and let out the feathers,
and seized his coach and horses. In a word, they committed "all the
mischief and spoil that malice and enmity could provoke barbarous
mercenaries to commit."[313]
[Sidenote: _Battle of Edgehill._]
[Sidenote: 1642, October.]
The first serious conflict between the two armies happened at Edgehill,
on Sunday, October the 23rd. The Puritan forces were marching to
worship at Keynton church, when news reached them of the enemy being
only two miles distant. Upon hearing this, they proceeded that
morning--as the autumnal tints dyed the landscape--to a broad field at
the hill foot, called the Vale of the Red Horse, where, as they took
up their position, the Royalists came down and arranged their forces
in front of them. Amongst the cavaliers rode Sir Jacob Astley, whose
prayer and charge were so characteristic of the bluff piety of the
best of that class, "O Lord, Thou knowest how busy I must be this day.
If I forget Thee do not forget me. March on, boys!" Then began the
rush of pikes, the crack of musketry, and the roar of cannon, which
lasted till dark. Richard Baxter was preaching that day at Alcester,
and heard the tumult of the distant fight. Some fugitives ran into the
town, startling and alarming the inhabitants with the news, that the
Parliament had been defeated; but early next morning other messengers
relieved the panic-stricken inhabitants by the assurance that while
Prince Rupert's men were plundering the waggons of Lord Essex's routed
wing, the main body with the right wing had prevailed and won the
day. The preacher walked over to the spot next morning, and found the
Parliamentary General in possession of the field.[314]
The battle decided nothing, but it nourished the hopes of Parliament.
A few days afterwards, the House of Lords ordered the Lord Mayor of
London to summon a Common Hall at five o'clock, when a committee of
peers and commons met the citizens, and amidst the gathering shadows of
the afternoon, told the eagerly-listening crowd the story of the fight;
Lord Say and Sele closing his speech with the exhortation, "Up and be
doing, and the Lord be with you."[315]
On the 8th of November, the citizens again assembled. Charles was
moving up to London, Rupert was scouring the suburbs, and within the
walls there was general alarm. Lord Brooke, who attended the meeting,
after giving a confused report of what had been done at Edgehill, urged
his audience to stand up for liberty and religion. "When you shall hear
the drums beat," he exclaimed, "say not, I beseech you, I am not of the
train band, nor this, nor that, nor the other--but doubt not to go out
to the work, and fight courageously, and this shall be the day of your
deliverance."
[Sidenote: _Church Politics in London._]
A few days later the Royalist forces were at Brentford. The City
volunteers now rallied round old General Skippon, whose homely words
went to their hearts: "Come, my boys, my brave boys, let us pray
heartily and fight heartily. I will run the same fortunes and hazards
with you. Remember the cause is for God, and for the defence of
yourselves, your wives, and children." The train bands marched out on
Sunday, the citizens, after sermon, carrying them provisions.[316]
At the time when the cavaliers were spurring their horses toward the
metropolis, a declaration of the two Houses appeared in answer to one
by his Majesty. In the course of a general argument which the document
contained, there occurred a disavowal of any intention to reject the
Book of Common Prayer. It was intended, they said, only to take out
of it what was evil and justly offensive, and what was considered
unnecessary and burdensome. They also protested against Brownists and
Anabaptists, entirely disavowing any sympathy with such persons; though
they said they agreed with many who were falsely designated by such
opprobrious appellations. These references were made to the Separatists
because the King and the Anglicans were always reviling them, sometimes
in strong terms; for example, the Earl of Newcastle declared that they
were worse than Papists, and deserted a heavier punishment.[317] Such
abuse really was pointed at the Commons themselves, who were not only
suspected but often broadly accused of schismatical predilections. His
Majesty's wrath also boiled over, and in one of his many declarations
he told his "loving subjects" of seditious members, who being joined
with the Anabaptists and Brownists of London, first changed the
government of the city, and then by their pride and power would fain
undo the whole kingdom. Pennington, who now occupied the mayoralty, was
described as guilty of treason, and also as reviling the Prayer Book;
and as robbing and imprisoning whomsoever he thought fit, and with the
rabble who composed his faction giving law to Parliament.
[Sidenote: 1642, November.]
The quarrel between the King and the City now became still darker
and deeper. A letter from the Hague, directed to Secretary Nicholas,
and brought to London in a Gravesend boat--which was stopped at
the moment of shooting London Bridge--contained evidence of the
King's negotiations for bringing over foreign troops: this letter
consequently was soon printed and circulated through the city. The
two Houses ordered the clergy to read it in their churches; and the
devoted Lord Mayor requested them to make it a ground of appeal to the
parishioners respecting a sum of £30,000 which was about to be raised
for Parliament. Churchwardens were to hold meetings after service in
the afternoon on the 27th of November, to raise "a proportionable
fund,"[318] which we may well imagine that we see accomplished by dim
candle-light in churches, vestries, and other places, on that wintry
Sunday night.
[Sidenote: _Church Politics in London._]
The City and the Parliament were thoroughly united this midwinter; and
therefore the City and the Sovereign continued in violent opposition.
At a Common Hall, held on the 13th of January--when all the companies
came in their city habits, and there were present the Committee of both
Houses, the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, and such a confluence of liverymen
as had not been seen in the memory of the oldest man--a petition to the
King was read, and then the royal answer, in which his Majesty asked
his petitioners whether they believed that the indignities done to the
Prayer Book, the violent treatment of Episcopal clergymen, and the
cherishing and countenancing of all manner of sectaries, were likely
to defend and maintain the Protestant religion. Mr. Pym, being present
at the meeting, delivered a speech, in which he denied his Majesty's
allegations, maintaining that the magistrates did not give countenance
to the sectaries; adding this home-thrust, which Charles so often had
to meet, that if they did, his Majesty could not consistently object,
inasmuch as, having sworn to support the Protestant religion, he, in
the meantime, raised an army of Papists.[319]
[Sidenote: 1643, January.]
Another City meeting followed on the 17th, when Alderman Garroway
appeared as an advocate of the Episcopal Church; and it will be
instructive to notice his speech, as shewing the line of remark which
at the time was adopted on that side of the controversy. "Mr. Pym told
us," said the Alderman, "there was no proof that my Lord Mayor and the
other persons named were countenancers of Brownists, Anabaptists, and
other sectaries. Where should this proof be made? Do we not all know
this to be true? Are they not all so much countenanced, as there is no
countenance left for anybody else? Did not my Lord Mayor first enter
upon his office with a speech against the Book of Common Prayer? Hath
the Common Prayer ever been read before him? Hath not Captain Venn said
that his wife could make prayers worth three of any in that book? Oh,
masters, there have been times that he that should speak against the
Book of Common Prayer in this city, should not have been put to the
patience of a legal trial. We were wont to look upon it as the greatest
treasure and jewel of our religion; and he that should have told us he
wished well to our religion, and yet would take away the Book of Common
Prayer, would never have gotten credit. I have been in all the parts
of Christendom, and have conversed with Christians in Turkey. Why,
in all the reformed churches there is not anything of more reverence
than the English liturgy; not our Royal Exchange, or the name of Queen
Elizabeth, so famous. In Geneva itself I have heard it extolled to the
skies. I have been three months together by sea, not a day without
hearing it read twice. The honest mariners then despised all the world
but the King and the Common Prayer Book. He that should have been
suspected to wish ill to either of them would have made an ill voyage.
And let me tell you, they are shrewd youths, those seamen. If they
once discern that the person of the King is in danger, or the true
Protestant professed religion, they will shew themselves mad bodies
before you are aware of it."[320]
Whilst the Alderman was speaking, there arose, according to the
reporter, much interruption. Citizens hissed, and cried, "No more, no
more!" It was an hour after he rose to speak ere the uproar ceased. He
was not to be put down, however, but patiently continued repeating
the same sentence till people were quiet. At last the Court broke up,
and every man departed--"so great a company going before and following
after Alderman Garroway to his house, that the streets were as full
as at my Lord Mayor's show." Some one recommended them to act with
discretion. "Discretion!" exclaimed a butcher, "we shall be undone
with it. Let us proceed as these people have taught. When we asked
them what we should have in the place of bishops, they told us bishops
were naught we all knew, and, when they were gone, we should think of
somewhat that is better in their room. Let us now take away what we
know is naught, and we shall do well enough after. I owe them a good
turn for the honour they have done my trade."
[Sidenote: _Popular Preachers in London._]
Whatever truth there might be in the charge that the sectaries were
encouraged by Pennington and others, certainly Presbyterianism
received the support of by far the majority of the London citizens.
Two Presbyterian clergymen at this time enjoyed great popularity in
the metropolis--Stephen Marshall and Edmund Calamy. Marshall held the
lectureship of St. Margaret's Church, Westminster. His pulpit talents
were of a superior order, and were employed in the exhibition of truths
dear to Puritan affections; but, like others of his age and creed,
he introduced into his sermons the absorbing questions of the day.
Knowing that they filled the minds of his hearers, and deeming them of
vital interest to his country and the Church, he judged that by such
preaching he really walked in the footsteps of old Hebrew prophets.
We find Calamy, the historian, admitting that Marshall encouraged the
taking up arms for securing the Constitution, when it appeared, not
only to him and his brethren, but to a number of as worthy gentlemen
as ever sat in St. Stephen's chapel, to be in no small danger.[321]
Men, in those troublous times, must not be judged by such standards of
propriety as are upheld amidst the comfortable respectability of our
own peaceful era; and the same allowance must be made for both sides.
If we do not wonder at the stern animosity of the Royalist churchman,
neither should we be surprised at the martial zeal of Parliamentary
presbyters.
[Sidenote: 1643, January.]
The lectureship at St. Margaret's brought Marshall into close
connection with the Commons, which naturally, under the circumstances,
imparted a political tinge to his oratory. But Calamy,[322] being
perpetual curate of Aldermanbury, had to do with parishioners whose
spiritual wants came immediately under his notice; and he delighted
in that experimental strain of discourse which ever touches the
hearts of men. What made him acceptable to the citizens in his own
neighbourhood, made him acceptable to the citizens generally. No church
was so thronged as his. Admired by the Puritan, he was lampooned by
the Royalist. "Well, who's for Aldermanbury?" asked the latter, in
one of the scurrilous party tracts, of which some are reprinted in
well-known collections, and many more are preserved in the British
Museum. "You would think a phœnix preached there. A foot-ball in
cold weather is as much followed as Calamy by all his rampant dog-day
zealots." Reporters, not for the press, but for private edification,
waited on the divine, as we learn from the pamphleteer, who proceeds to
exclaim, "Instead of a dumb shew, enter the sermon daubers. Oh! what a
gracious sight is a silver ink-horn. How blessed a gift is it to write
short-hand! What necessary implements for a saint are cotton wool
and blotting-paper. These dabblers turn the Church into a scrivener's
shop. A country fellow, last term, mistook it for the six clerks'
office."[323] This vulgar ridicule at once testifies to the popularity
of Calamy, illustrates the manners and customs of the time in places of
worship, and shews that, whatever might be the religious extravagances
of some Presbyterians, they were more than matched by the godless
ridicule of people who claimed to be exceedingly zealous for Episcopacy.
[Sidenote: _Popular Preachers in London._]
Coincident with the increasing popularity of these preachers, the
actual outbreak of the Civil Wars, and the excitement in London
respecting ecclesiastical affairs, were certain measures adopted by
Parliament for abolishing Episcopacy. The Scotch did not fail to
press this subject most earnestly upon their English brethren. They
looked at it in the lurid light which their own annals had thrown on
the institution, and in their view it had become identified with the
arrogance and intolerance of Popery and Anglicanism. Unable to rest
till England was saved from what they considered to be the secret of
its weakness, and the precursor of its ruin, the General Assembly of
Scotland sent a letter to Parliament, urging a thorough reformation,
with a view to "one confession of faith, one directory of worship, one
public catechism, and one form of Church government."[324]
The answer of the English Parliament was both cautious and promising.
No assurance was returned that organic unity with the Scotch should be
attempted, but a hope was expressed of more free communion in worship,
of security against Papists and "other sectaries," and of the gathering
together in England of an Assembly of learned Divines. The fate of
prelacy, however, was sealed by the following important declaration,
which was embodied in the answer:--
"That this Government by Archbishops, Bishops, their Chancellors and
Commissaries, Deans and Chapters, Archdeacons, and other ecclesiastical
officers depending upon the hierarchy, is evil, and justly offensive
and burdensome to the kingdom, a great impediment to reformation and
growth of religion, very prejudicial to the State and Government of
this kingdom; and that we are resolved that the same shall be taken
away."[325]
[Sidenote: 1643, January.]
On the 30th of the following December, a Bill for the utter abolition
of Episcopacy was read a first time;[326] and on the 26th of January
following, 1643, the Bill was reported in the House of Lords as having
been approved by the committee and read the third time. What had been
threatened for nearly two years was done at last in a few hours. The
emergency of the moment, and the critical state of the war, caused now
the hasty passing of the measure, for which a long train of events had
opened the way.
Other acts of a like complexion gather around this central one. On the
23rd of December, an order was given to secure the library, writings,
and goods in Lambeth House, belonging to the see of Canterbury, and to
take the keys of the palace, which was now to be used as a prison. On
the 3rd and 5th of January, a similar disposal was made of Ely House
and the palace of the Bishop of London, near St. Paul's. On the 30th
of December, the Lords and Commons, ignoring altogether the laws and
customs of the Episcopal Church, ordered a clergyman to be instituted
to the vicarage of Chard, in Somersetshire; and on January the 7th, a
Bill against pluralities and non-residence received a third reading by
the Lords.[327]
[Sidenote: _Negotiations at Oxford._]
Be it remembered, that all these Bills, after passing both Houses,
remained without Royal assent; and therefore could not be regarded
as Acts of Parliament according to the principles of the English
Constitution: a circumstance which, of course, the Sovereign and the
Royalist party took care to urge against them.
The Scotch Presbyterians, after having failed in their attempts at
the beginning of the year 1642 to mediate between the King and the
Parliament, continued anxiously to watch the progress of affairs in
England, with a view to the accomplishment of that union between the
two countries upon which they had already set their hearts. Willing,
and even anxious, to take a part in the war, they waited until such
applications for aid should be made by either of the belligerents as
might seem most likely to terminate the strife in favour of their
own Church schemes. Doubtless they would have helped the King, if,
on the one hand, he would have renounced Episcopacy and embraced
Presbyterianism, or if, on the other hand, Parliament had opposed
Presbyterianism and maintained Episcopacy. But Charles despaired of
their assistance, knowing well the religious antipathies existing
between himself and them; and Parliament at first forbore to solicit
their military help, not then feeling their very great need of it.
Even when a turn in affairs made it appear valuable, Parliament did
not ask for it with as much earnestness as the northern brethren
would have wished. It is plain, from Baillie's letters, that he and
his friends were readier to draw the sword for the true Kirk on this
side the Tweed than the English at present were to enter on a military
alliance with Scotland for ecclesiastical objects. After a diplomatic
lull--in which for a long time, says the worthy man, we "lay verie
calm and secure,"[328] and when intrigues amongst the Scotch Royalists
filled the Presbyterian magnates with alarm--they turned their thoughts
towards Oxford, and sent Commissioners to treat with the King.
[Sidenote: 1643, January.]
The Earl of Loudon, now Chancellor of Scotland, came to Oxford as the
principal lay commissioner, and Alexander Henderson accompanied him
as an ecclesiastical one. The latter bore a petition from the General
Assembly, prepared by himself. This petition dwelt upon the insolence
and presumption of Roman Catholics, and entreated that there might
be an established uniformity in religion. It was urged that, since
prelatical government had been taken away, a government by assemblies,
as in other reformed kirks, should follow.[329]
[Sidenote: _Negotiations at Oxford._]
Another embassy, with somewhat different designs, reached the same
place soon afterwards. It included the Earl of Northumberland, with
other noblemen and gentlemen, Bulstrode Whitelocke, who relates
particulars of the visit, being one of them.[330] They were sent by
the Parliament to confer with the King for an ultimate peace with an
immediate cessation of arms, upon terms which were strictly prescribed
in their commission. These ambassadors were not plenipotentiaries,
but they were selected for their known moderation, as persons likely,
on that account, to be acceptable to the monarch. They travelled with
the King's safe conduct in a style which was no doubt very superior to
that of the emissaries from the North. They had "six gallant horses in
every coach," and the whole party was attended by a number of servants
on horseback. This imposing procession, however, failed to awe the
"rascality of the town;" for they, and even "some of better rank but
like quality," reviled the distinguished visitors as so many rebels
and traitors. However, Charles received them all in the gardens of
Christ Church very graciously, and held out his hand for each to kiss.
Immediately they proceeded to business, and the Earl of Northumberland,
"with a sober and stout carriage," read to the King the propositions
of the two Houses. The Monarch began to interrupt. The Earl smartly
replied, "Your Majesty will give me leave to proceed." Charles
stuttered out, "I--I," and then paused, allowing the bold nobleman to
have his way.
[Sidenote: 1643, February.]
The ecclesiastical proposals were as follows:--[331]
(1) "That your Majesty will be pleased to give your royal assent unto
the Bill for taking away superstitious innovations;
(2) "To the Bill for the utter abolishing and taking away of all
archbishops, bishops, their chancellors and commissaries, deans,
sub-deans, deans and chapters, archdeacons, canons and prebendaries,
and all chanters, chancellors, treasurers, sub-treasurers, succentors
and sacrists, and all vicars choral and choristers, old vicars, and
new vicars of any cathedral or collegiate church, and all other their
under officers out of the Church of England;
(3) "To the Bill against scandalous ministers;
(4) "To the Bill against pluralities; and
(5) "To the Bill of consultation to be had with godly, religious, and
learned Divines. That your Majesty will be pleased to promise to pass
such other good Bills for settling of Church government, as, upon
consultation with the Assembly of the said Divines, shall be resolved
on by both Houses of Parliament, and by them be presented to your
Majesty."
To these five propositions no explicit reply was given by the King;
but, in reference to religion generally, he said that, as he would
"readily consent (having done so heretofore) to the execution of all
laws already made, and to any good Acts to be made for the suppressing
of Popery, and for the firm settling of the Protestant religion, now
established by law; so he desired that a good Bill might be framed for
the better preserving of the Book of Common Prayer from the scorn and
violence of Brownists, Anabaptists, and other sectaries, with such
clauses for the ease of tender consciences as his Majesty hath formerly
offered."
Such an answer virtually negatived what the Parliament proposed. It
does not seem that any debate arose on the ecclesiastical points
between the King and the Commissioners. Their diplomacy entirely
referred to the question of a cessation of arms, which, after all,
could not be effected; and the embassage returned to Westminster
without accomplishing any part of their object.
The Scotch were not more successful; but in the King's council their
petition created much discussion, the main question being, "What answer
shall be given to these gentlemen from the North?"
[Sidenote: _Answer to the Scottish Petition._]
"Many of the Lords," says Clarendon, "were of opinion that a short
answer would be best, that should contain nothing but a rejection of
the proposition, without giving any reason; no man seeming to concur
with his Majesty, with which he was not satisfied, and replied with
some sharpness upon what had been said. Upon which the Lord Falkland
replied, having been before of that mind, desiring that no reasons
might be given; and upon that occasion answered many of those reasons
the King had urged, as not valid to support the subject, with a little
quickness of wit (as his notions were always sharp, and expressed
with notable vivacity), which made the King warmer than he used to
be; reproaching all who were of that mind with want of affection for
the Church; and declaring that he would have the substance of what he
had said, or of the like nature, digested into his answer; with which
reprehension all sat very silent, having never undergone the like
before. Whereupon, the King, recollecting himself, and observing that
the Chancellor of the Exchequer had not yet spoken, called upon him to
deliver his opinion, adding, that he was sure he was of his Majesty's
mind with reference to religion and the Church."[332]
[Sidenote: 1643, February.]
From Clarendon's narrative we discover, that with all Falkland's
vivacity, he shewed lukewarmness in the cause of Episcopacy, and that
the zeal of the King on its behalf went beyond that of his advisers.
The historian reports his own speech, in which he recommended that
reasons should be given, but not in the way his royal master wished.
The result may be seen in a paper in the King's name, probably drawn
up by the Chancellor.[333] No concessions, it was stated, could be
made until propositions in a digested form should be submitted to the
free debate of both Houses. The King would not be unwilling to call a
synod of godly and learned Divines, regularly chosen according to the
laws and constitutions of the kingdom, to which representatives from
Scotland might be admitted--an Assembly which, in fact, would be a
Convocation, whose spirit and proceedings were very well known. He gave
no opinion on any Bills offered to him, but only expressed his wonder
that the royal judgment should be prejudged, and that the Divine anger
should be threatened for his non-consent. A sentence occurred towards
the end which, though by no means agreeable to those for whom it was
intended, certainly contained a large amount of truth. "Nor are you a
little mistaken, if either you believe the generality of this nation to
desire a change of Church government, or that most of those who desire
it, desire by it to introduce that which you only esteem a reformation,
but are as unwilling to what you call the yoke of Christ and obedience
to the Gospel, as those whom you call profane and worldly men, and so
equally averse both to Episcopacy and Presbytery; for if they should
prevail in this particular, the abolition of the one would be no let
to the other, nor would your hearts be less grieved, your expectations
less frustrated, your hopes less ashamed, or your reformation more
secured."
[Sidenote: _Treatment of the Scotch._]
The Scotch mission ended in disappointment. Much hope had been built
upon the King's friendliness towards Mr. Henderson during the royal
visit to Edinburgh. All remembered the minister's standing next the
royal chair in sermon time, and the loving cup which passed round
at the banquet. People fancied "Mr. Henderson would do wonders with
the King;" and perhaps the King thought he could do wonders with Mr.
Henderson, for he strove to persuade him of the justice and necessity
of taking up arms against the Parliament. But as that gentleman did
not find the King so pliable as he wished; neither did the King find
that gentleman so "credulous as he expected." Charles "did at once
change his countenance," we are informed, when he discovered that his
Scotch chaplain had written the petition which he had received, and
that the document had been already circulated throughout the kingdom.
Reports also had reached the royal ears of certain violent sermons
and prayers uttered in Edinburgh, which tended to make the visitors
at Oxford "verie unsavourie." Their life in the University city--so
they complained--was uncomfortably spent. They were wearied out with
delays; they had no private nor familiar conference, but all was done
"in public, in a very harsh way;" letters sent to them by their friends
were opened; and, in addition to this great insult, they were abused by
all sorts of people, and they even feared that they should be poisoned
or stabbed. "This policy," adds Baillie, "was like the rest of our
unhappy malcontents' wisdom extremely foolish; for it was very much for
the King's ends to have given to our Commissioners far better words and
a more pleasant countenance."[334]
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