ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND. POSITION IN THE ARMY. CAUSES OF FAILURE
During his last brief visit to England Rupert had promised to serve his
uncle whensoever he should have need of him; and in August 1642, he
received, through Queen Henrietta, his Commission, as General of the
Horse. Immediately upon this he set out to join the King in England.
He embarked in the "Lyon," the ship which had brought the Queen to
Holland; but, after the Prince had come on board, the Commander, who
was of Puritan sympathies, received a warning against bringing him
over. Captain Fox's anxiety to get rid of his passenger was favoured
by the weather. A storm blew them back to the Texel, and there Fox
persuaded the Prince to go ashore, promising to meet him at Goree so
soon as the wind should serve. Rupert thereupon returned to the Hague,
and Fox, after quietly setting the Prince's people and luggage on
shore, sailed away, and was no more seen in Holland.
Enraged and disappointed, Rupert appealed to the Stadtholder, who lent
him another ship, commanded by Captain Colster. This time Maurice
insisted on accompanying his brother, and the two Princes, having
provided themselves with an engineer, a "fire worker," and a large
store of arms, muskets, and powder, set sail for Scarborough. Near
Flamborough Head they were spied by some Parliamentary cruisers, and a
ship called the "London" came out to hail them. Colster hoisted the
Dunkirk colours, but the other Captain, still unsatisfied, desired to
search the small vessel in which the arms were stored. Rupert, who had
been extremely, and even dangerously, ill throughout the voyage, {60}
struggled on deck "in a mariner's cap" and ordered out the guns, saying
he would not be searched. On this the "London" shot to leeward, and
two other ships came out to her aid. But Rupert succeeded in running
into Tynemouth, and, anchoring outside the bar, landed by means of
boats. His little vessel also escaped, and landed her stores safely at
Scarborough in the night.[1]
When they reached Tynemouth it was already late, but Rupert's eagerness
would brook no delay. "The zeale he had speedily to serve His Majesty
made him think diligence itself were lazy."[2] Accompanied by Maurice,
an Irish officer, Daniel O'Neil, and several others, he started at once
for Nottingham. But the stars, in their courses, fought against him.
As ill luck would have it, Rupert's horse slipped and fell, pitching
him on to his shoulder. The shoulder was discovered to be out of
joint, but, "by a great providence," it happened that a bone-setter
lived only half a mile away. This man, being sent for in haste, set
Rupert's shoulder in the road, and, "in conscience, took but one-half
of what the Prince offered him for his pains." Within three hours the
indefatigable Rupert insisted on continuing his journey.
Arrived at Nottingham, he retired to bed, but he was not destined long
to enjoy his well-earned rest. A curious dilemma now brought him into
contact with the two men who were to prove, respectively, his warmest
friend and his bitterest foe, in the Royal Army,--namely, Captain Will
Legge, and George, Lord Digby. The King, who was at Coventry, had sent
to Digby, demanding a petard. Odd though it may appear, a petard was
to Digby a thing unknown--"a word which he could not understand." He
therefore sought out the weary Prince to demand an explanation.
Rupert, at once, got out of bed to search the arsenal; but no such
thing as a petard was to be found. Then, {61} Captain Legge, coming to
the rescue, contrived to make one out of two mortars, and sent it off
to the King.[3] Rupert, following the petard, found his uncle at
Leicester Abbey, and there formally took over charge of the cavalry,
which then consisted of only eight hundred horse. On the next day,
August 22nd, they all returned to Nottingham, where the solemn setting
up of the Royal Standard took place.
War was now irrevocably declared, and Rupert found his generalship no
sinecure. The King, in these early days, relied implicitly on his
nephew's advice, and, though Commander of the Cavalry only in name,
Rupert had in reality the whole conduct of the war upon his hands. The
real Commander-in-Chief was old Lord Lindsey, but Rupert's position was
one of complete independence. He was, indeed, instructed to consult
the Council of War, but was also directed "to advise privately, as you
shall think fit, and to govern your resolution accordingly."[4]
Further, he requested that he might receive his orders only from the
King himself. And this request King Charles unwisely conceded, thus
freeing Rupert from all control of the Commander-in-Chief, dividing the
army into two independent parties, and establishing a fruitful source
of discord between the cavalry and infantry.
Yet Rupert was in many respects well-fitted for his post.
Distinguished by his dauntless courage and resolute nature, he was
possessed also of a knowledge of war such as was not to be learnt in
England. He was really the only professional soldier of high rank in
the army, and he proved himself both a clever strategist, and a good
leader of cavalry, though he did unfortunately lack the patience and
discretion necessary to the making of a successful general. "That
brave Prince and hopeful soldier, Rupert," wrote the gallant Sir Philip
Warwick, "though a {62} young man, had in martial affairs some
experience, and a good skill, and was of such intrepid courage and
activity, that,--clean contrary to former practice, when the King had
great armies, but no commanders forward to fight,--[5] he ranged and
disciplined that small body of men;--of so great virtue is the personal
courage and example of one great commander. And indeed to do him
right, he put that spirit into the King's army that all men seemed
resolved, and had he been as cautious as he was a forward fighter, he
had, most probably, been a very fortunate one. He showed a great and
exemplary temperance, which fitted him to undergo the fatigues of a
war, so as he deserved the character of a soldier. _Il etait toujours
soldat_! For he was never negligent by indulgence to his pleasures, or
apt to lose his advantages."[6]
In truth Rupert's cheerfulness and brilliant courage inspired
confidence in his own troops, and terror in those of the enemy. "There
was no more consternation in the King's troops now. Every one grew
assured. The most timorous was afraid to show fear under such a
general, whose courage was increased by the esteem we had of him."[7]
And throughout the war Rupert was the very life of the Royalist army;
"adored by the hot-blooded young officers, as by the sturdy troopers,
who cried, when they entered a fallen city: 'D---- us! The town is
Prince Rupert's!'"[8]
The very first skirmish of the war established his reputation. The
terrified Puritans spread abroad reports of the "incredible and
unresistible courage of Prince Rupert,"[9] which grew and multiplied as
the war proceeded, until Rupert, "exalted with the terror his name gave
to the enemy,"[10] would not believe that any troops could {63}
withstand his charge. "The enemy is possest with so strange and
senseless a feare as they will not believe any place tenable to which
Your Highness will march,"[11] reported his officers. Nor was it
wonderful that the Puritans deemed him something more than human.
Conspicuous always by his dress and unusual height, ever foremost in
the charge, utterly "prodigal of his person," he bore a charmed life.
Twice pistols were fired in his face, without doing him the slightest
harm. Once his horse was killed under him, but "he marched off on foot
leisurely, without so much as mending his pace."[12] While guarding
the retreat from Brentford he stood alone for hours, exposed to a heavy
fire, and yet came off unscathed. "Nephew, I must conjure you not to
hazard yourself so nedlessely,"[13] wrote his anxious uncle; but the
King's anxiety was uncalled for, Rupert remained uninjured till the end
of the war, though Maurice was wounded in almost every action in which
he engaged.
The Austrians at Vlotho had called Rupert "shot free", and so he seemed
now to Puritan and Cavalier.
"Sir, you're enchanted! Sir, you're doubly free
"From the great guns, and squibbing poetry,"[14]
declared a Royalist poet.
Rupert, moreover, seemed to be in all places at once. "This prince,
like a perpetual motion.... was in a short time, heard of in many
places at great distances,"[15] says the Parliamentary historian, May.
And again: "The two young princes, and especially Prince Rupert, the
elder brother, and most furious of the two, within a fortnight after
his arrival commanded a small party.... Through {64} divers parts of
Warwickshire, Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire, Worcester and Cheshire
did this young prince fly with those troops he had."[16] Nowhere did
the adherents of the Parliament feel safe from his attack, and the
magical rapidity of his movements enhanced the terror inspired by his
prowess. Wrote his admirer, Cleveland:
"Your name can scare an atheist to his prayers,
"And cure the chincough better than the bears;
"Old Sybils charm toothache with you; the nurse
"Makes you still children; and the pondrous curse
"The clown salutes with is derived from you;
"'Now Rupert take thee, Rogue! How dost thou do?'"[17]
Yet Rupert, in spite of this reputation was neither ruffianly nor
cruel. The News Letters called him "a loose wild gentleman",[18] and
many accused him of hanging Roundheads at their own doors, and
plundering villages wholesale;[19] but such rumours were libels.
"Where are these men that will affirm it? In what country or town
stood those houses betrayed by me, or by my sufferance, to that misery
of rapine?" demanded the Prince, in answer to one of his accusers. "He
will answer '_they_' said it. But who '_they_' were he knows not; in
truth, nor I neither, nor no man else."[20] And said Sir Thomas Roe,
who was not all inclined to approve the part Rupert had taken: "I
cannot hear anything, _credibly_ averred, which can be blamed by those
who know the liberty of wars."[21] But the English did not know "the
liberty of the wars," and they were naturally inclined to judge the
young Prince harshly. Severe Rupert undoubtedly could be, if
necessary. When the Puritans began a wholesale massacre of the King's
Irish soldiers, the Prince promptly retaliated by executing an equal
number of Puritan {65} prisoners. But the stern act, coupled with the
assurance that for the life of every Royalist that of a Roundhead
should pay, effectually checked the barbarities of the Parliament. The
nickname of "Prince Robber"[22] was certainly unjustly bestowed; yet
the Royal Army had to be supported, and the only way to support it was
by levying contributions on the country. "The Horse have not been
paid, but live upon the country,"[23] wrote a Cavalier to his wife.
It is possible that Rupert was not over-scrupulous when the persons
taxed happened to be Puritans, yet he always maintained what he
considered a proper degree of discipline; and the frequent apologies of
his officers prove that the Prince did not permit indiscriminate
plunder. "Our men are not very governable, nor do I think they will
be, unless some of them are hanged. They fall extremely to the old
kind of plundering, which is neither for their good, nor for His
Majesty's service,"[24] wrote Lord Wentworth. And, after a high-handed
capture of some arms at Swanbourne, the same officer again apologised:
"If your Highness think it too great a cruelty in us I hope you will
pardon us. You shall consider that we could not have done
otherwise."[25]
Another Colonel denied strenuously an accusation of oppression which
had excited Rupert's anger against him.[26] That the failure at
Edgehill was due to the greed of Rupert's men in plundering the baggage
waggons, was an imputation which the Prince hotly resented. To his
announcement that he could, "at least, give a good account of the
enemy's horse," a bystander retorted: "And of their carts too!"[27]
Whereupon the Prince drew his sword, and {66} there was nearly a duel
in the King's presence. The idea that he enriched himself by plunder
is too absurd to need refutation; yet, were it needed, proof to the
contrary might be found in a letter written at the end of the war,
which draws a painful picture of Rupert's extreme poverty.[28]
For the rest, the Prince regarded the enemy with a soldierly chivalry.
Instances of his courtesy are not wanting, and in all matters of honour
he was most punctilious. "The Prince," said one of his officers, "uses
to make good his word, not only in point of honour, but as a matter of
religion too."[29] Thus, when his men snatched the colours of an enemy
promised a safe passage, "some of them felt the edge of his sword," and
the colours were courteously returned. To his honourable conduct,
under similar circumstances at Bristol, the Puritan Governor bore
generous testimony.[30]
But personal gallantry, promptitude, and ubiquity were far from being
Rupert's only qualifications for his post. He understood, as he
himself phrased it, "what belongs to war." His tactics were of the
school of the great Gustavus, and he abolished the absurd custom of
letting the cavalry halt to fire, before making a charge. At Edgehill
he went from rank to rank, bidding the men to charge at the first word,
and thus he formed an irresistible cavalry which never failed to sweep
all before it, until it met its match at Marston Moor. His method was
thus described by the son of one of his officers: "His way of fighting
was that he had a select body of horse that always attended him, and,
in every attack, they received the enemy's shot without returning it,
but one and all bore with all their force upon their adversaries, till
they broke their ranks, and charged quite through them. Then they
rallied, and, when the enemy were in disorder, fell upon their rear and
slaughtered them, {67} into scarce any opposition."[31] And says
Professor Gardiner: "Rupert was as capable of planning a campaign as he
was of conducting a charge."[32] Until November 1644, at which period,
it should be noted, Rupert's power was on the wane, the strategical
superiority was decidedly with the King. The operations of the
Royalist army were based on a well-conceived plan, that plan was varied
and supplemented as occasion required. This skilful warfare Professor
Gardiner ascribes to Rupert's genius. Why then, may we ask, did so
good a soldier fail so signally?
The reasons for failure are not far to seek. In the first place,
Rupert was too complete a soldier for the task he had undertaken. His
common-sense, soldierly point of view quite failed to embrace the
political and constitutional sides of the question. He could no more
comprehend the King's refusal to make any compromise, than he could
have understood the moderate Royalists' dread of a complete victory for
their own side. The boyish challenge purporting to be sent by him to
Essex, shows, if genuine, how absolutely he failed to grasp the points
at issue. "My Lord," it begins, "I hear you are a general of an
army.... I shall be ready, on His Majesty's behalf, to give you an
encounter in a pitched field at Dunsmore Heath, 18th October next. Or,
if you think it too much labour, or expense, to draw your forces
thither, I shall be as willing, on my own part, to expect private
satisfaction at your hands, and that performed by a single duel. Which
proffer, if you please to accept, you shall not find me backward in
performing what I have promised.... Now I have said all, and what more
you expect of me to be said, shall be delivered in a larger field than
a small sheet of paper, and that by my sword, and not by my pen. In
the interim {68} I am your friend, till I meet you next."[33] The
stories of his wandering in disguise through the quarters of the
Parliament may be somewhat apocryphal, but they show, at least, the
impression he made on his contemporaries. And there is nothing
doubtful in the fact that he and Maurice laughed aloud in the face of
the Parliamentary Commissioner who proclaimed them solemnly, "traitors,
to die without mercy."[34]
Rupert, notwithstanding his twenty-two years and his unusual
experiences, was a boy still; far too young for the position he held.
He was over-confident, and rash with the rashness of youth. Frequently
his victorious charge was but the prelude to disaster; for the cavalry
were apt to pursue too eagerly, leaving the foot unsupported on the
field. Still, it should be remembered that it must have been next to
impossible to hold back those gallant, untrained troops; though
probably Rupert did not try very hard to do it.
In truth the Royalist army was as hard a one to manage as ever fell to
the lot of a general. It was an army of volunteers, supported chiefly
by the private means of nobles and gentlemen, who, while scorning to
take orders from one another, showed themselves equally averse to
taking them from a foreign Prince. It was small, far smaller than that
of Essex; undisciplined, badly armed, and continually on the verge of
mutiny for want of pay. "It is e'en being, for the most part, without
arms, a general of an army of ordnance without a cure, not a gun too,
lesse money, much mutiny,"[35] wrote a faithful follower of Rupert, at
one period of the war. The men were raw recruits; the officers were
full of complaints and discontents, all showing a remarkable
willingness to do anything rather than that {69} which they were
required to do. "The officers of your troop will obey in no kind of
thing, and, by their example, never a soldier in that company,"
lamented Daniel O'Neil, from Abingdon. "I had rather be your groom in
Oxford than with a company that shall assume such a liberty as yours
does here!"[36] From Reading, protested Sir Arthur Aston, "I wish when
your Highness gave your consent to leave me here behind you, that you
had rather adjudged me to lose my head."[37] And from Wales came the
striking declaration, "If your Highness shall be pleased to command me
to the Turk, or the Jew, or the Gentile, I will go on my bare feet to
serve you; but from the Welsh good Lord deliver me!"[38] From all
sides came complaints of mutinies, of "unbecoming language,"
"affronts," injuries and violence. "In spite of my three several
orders to come away, Captain Mynn remains at Newent," declared Colonel
Vavasour. The garrison of Donnington not only defied the order to be
quiet, "it being very late at night," but forcibly released one of
their number, under arrest, and outraged the town by "robbing, and
doing all villainy."[39]
Nor was it with insubordination alone that Rupert had to deal. Wrote
Louis Dyves: "Our men are in extreme necessity, many of them having
neither clothes to cover their nakedness, nor boots to put on their
feet, and not money enough amongst them to pay for the shoeing of their
horses."[40] And declared Sir Ralph Hopton: "It is inconceivable what
these fellows are always doing with their arms; they appear to be
expended as fast as their ammunition."[41] Another officer required
supplies of biscuits: "For your Highness knows what want of victuals is
among {70} common men."[42] A fourth desired a change of quarters,
"because the country, hereabouts, is so heavily charged with
contributions, as our allowance falls short."[43] A fifth modestly
requested, "to be put into the power of a thousand horse, or foot, and
then I doubt not, by God's assistance, to give a sufficient account of
what is committed to my charge."[44] Every one of them lacked arms and
ammunition, and all their wants were poured out to the luckless young
Prince, who was expected to attend to every detail, and whose own
supplies were wretchedly insufficient.
Added to all this, there were private quarrels to be appeased. Wyndham
declined to serve under Hopton, who had "disobliged" him.[45] Vavasour
complained of "very high language" used towards him by Sir Robert
Byron. At Lichfield disputes between the factions of Lord Loughborough
and Sir William Bagot raged violently. "In all places where I come,
it's my misfortune to meet with extreme trouble," lamented the brave
old Jacob Astley, to whose lot the pacifying of this quarrel fell; "I
have met, in this place with exceeding great trouble, the commanders
and soldiers in the close at Lichfield, having shut out my Lord
Loughborough."[46] And not even the efforts of old Astley could bring
about a peace between the contending officers; "our minds being both
too high to acknowledge a superiority,"[47] confessed Loughborough
candidly. But even more serious than such quarrels as these were the
court factions which divided the Royalist army against itself. From
the very beginning, the attempts of the King's Council to regulate
military affairs were bitterly resented by the soldiery. Courtier
detested soldier, and soldier despised courtier! Nor were the military
and civil factions {71} the only ones existent; there was party within
party, intrigue within intrigue. Wrote the shrewd Arthur Trevor, in
1643: "The contrariety of opinions and ways are equally distant with
those of the elements, and as destructive, if there were not a special
providence that keeps men in one mind against a third party, though
they agree in no one thing among themselves."[48] Equally opposed to
the military party of Rupert, and to the constitutionalists led by Hyde
and Falkland, were the followings of the Queen and of Lord Digby.
Bitter, private jealousies completed the confusion, and the vacillation
of the King, who lent an ear now to one, now to another, destroyed all
consistency of action. With such a state of affairs a young man of
barely three-and-twenty was called upon to deal!
Obviously the position was one requiring the greatest tact, patience
and circumspection, which were, unhappily, the very qualities most
lacking in the young Prince. The circumstances of his early career had
been calculated to inspire him with an exaggerated sense of his own
importance. Notwithstanding his position as fourth child among
thirteen, and the constant snubs of his mother, he had been spoilt by
the Prince of Orange, and by the English Court. The admiration he had
won, during his captivity among his enemies, added to his self-esteem.
His steadfast refusal to renounce either his faith or his party, in
spite of flatteries, threats, promises and persuasions, had raised him
to the proud position of a Protestant martyr. "All the world knows how
deeply I have smarted, and what perils I have undergone, for the
Protestant cause,"[49] he declared to the English Parliament. Thus
conscious of his own abilities and claims to distinction, and valuing
to the full his previous experience, he was possessed of a not
unnatural contempt for the military views of civilians. {72} The
overbearing manner which he permitted himself to assume towards
Courtiers and Councillors gave great offence. "We hear that Prince
Rupert behaves himself so rudely, whereby he doth himself a great deal
of dishonour, and the King more disservice,"[50] was the report of a
Royalist to his friends. "Prince Rupert's pleasure was not to be
contradicted," and, "Prince Rupert could not want of his will," says
the contemporary historian, Sir Edward Walker.[51] Clarendon complained
that the Prince "too affectedly" despised what was said of him, and
"too stoically contemned the affections of men."[52] While the
faithful Sir Philip Warwick lamented that, "a little sharpness of
temper and uncommunicableness in society, or council, by seeming, with
a 'Pish!' to neglect all that another said and he approved not, made
him less grateful than his friends could have wished. And this humour
soured him towards the Councillors of Civil Affairs, who were
necessarily to intermix with him in Martial Councils."[53] Certainly
this was not the spirit calculated to recommend him to the English
nobles, men who served their sovereign at their own cost, and who
considered themselves at least as good as the son of a dethroned King.
Nor could Rupert atone for official imperiousness by geniality in
private life. In happier days, at Heidelberg, Frederick's faithful
steward had declared that the morose manners of his master rendered him
"afraid and ashamed" when any one visited the castle.[54] Something of
his father's disposition Rupert had inherited; and, with all his
self-confidence, he was very shy. From the nobility both he and
Maurice held aloof with a reserve born of pride and an uncertain
position. Princes they might be, but they were {73} also exiled and
penniless, dependent on their swords, or on the bounty of their
relatives. "The reservedness of the Prince's nature, and the little
education he then had in Courts made him unapt to make acquaintance
with any of the Lords, who were thereby discouraged from applying
themselves to him," says Clarendon. "Whilst some officers of the Horse
were well pleased to observe that strangeness, and fomented it,
believing that their credit would be the greater with the Prince."[55]
Maurice, of whom Clarendon confessed he had "no more esteem than good
manners obliged him to,"[56] came in for yet stronger censure. "This
Prince had never sacrificed to the Graces, nor conversed among men of
quality, but had most used the company of inferior men, with whom he
loved to be very familiar. He was not qualified with parts by nature,
and less with any acquired; and towards men of the best condition, with
whom he might very well have justified a familiarity, he maintained--at
least--the full state due to his birth."[57] Doubtless Clarendon's
personal dislike of the Palatines made him a severe critic; but, in the
main, his censure was true enough. Their unfortunate shyness threw
them almost entirely upon their officers, and men of lesser rank, for
friendship and companionship. Nor was the position unnatural; for many
of these men were already well known to them as brother officers in the
army of the Stadtholder, and familiar guests at their home at the Hague.
Thus condemned by Statesmen, distrusted by the old-fashioned officers,
and disliked by the nobility, the Princes became the acknowledged
leaders of the military faction. They soon had a devoted following; a
following of which every member was a very gallant soldier, though
doubtless many of them were also dissolute and reckless. Even
Clarendon was forced to confess that Maurice, "living with {74} the
soldiers sociably and familiarly, and going with them upon all parties
and actions,"[58] had made himself exceedingly popular amongst them.
Rupert they adored; and the account of him handed down to Sir Edward
Southcote by his father differs widely from the description of
Clarendon. "My father," wrote Sir Edward, "still went with the King's
army, being very ambitious to get into Prince Rupert's favour, being,
he was, the greatest hero, as well as the greatest beau, whom all the
leading men strove to imitate, as well in his dress as in his
bravery... The Prince was always very sparkish in his dress, and one
day, on a very cold morning, he tied a very fine lace handkerchief,
which he took out of his coat pocket, about his neck. This appeared so
becoming that all his mimics got laced pocket-handkerchiefs and made
the same use of them; which was the origin of wearing lace cravats, and
continued till of late years."[59] There was in fact a general
eagerness to serve directly under the hero Prince. "I must confess, I
have neither desire nor affection to wait upon any other general,"
wrote Sir Arthur Aston.[60] "'Tis not advance of title I covet, but
your commission,"[61] protested another officer. Such letters indeed
are numberless; and that of Louis Dyves, half-brother to Lord Digby
himself, may serve as an example of all:--"Amongst the many discourses
which I receive daily of the ill-success and unhappy conduct of his
Majesty's affairs here, since the light and comfort of your presence
was removed from us, there is none that affects me more than to live in
a place where I am rendered incapable to do you service. Which, I take
God to witness, hath been the chief bent of my harte from the first
hour I had the honour to serve under your command; and I shall never
deem myself happy until I be restored again to the same {75} condition.
If your Highness therefore shall be pleased to command my attendance, I
will break through all difficulties, and come to you. And it shall be
my humble sute unto His Majesty to give me leave to go where I know I
shall be best able to serve him, which can be nowhere so well as under
your command. If I may but understand of your gratious acceptance of
the fervent desire I have to sacrifice my life at your feet, there
shall no man with more cheerfulness of harte, be ready to expose it
more frankly, than your Highness's most humble, most faithful servant,
Louis Dyves. There is no man can make a truer character of my harte
toward you, than the bearer, Mr. Legge."[62]
In a strain of jesting familiarity, wrote the young Lord Grandison:
"and, by this light, you shall be unprinced, if you believe me not the
most humble of your servants."[63] And the gallant George Lisle carried
his devotion to such a pitch as to sign himself always, "your
Highness's most faithful affectionate servant, and obedient sonne."[64]
But this cult of the Prince indulged in by the soldiery and some of the
younger nobility, rather aggravated than healed the prevailing
dissensions. It was indeed impossible for a boy of Rupert's age and
passionate temper to throw oil on the troubled waters. He loved and
hated with equal vehemence, and "liked what was proposed as he liked
the persons who proposed it."[65] Such was his detestation of Digby
and Culpepper that he never could refrain from contradicting all that
they said. Wilmot he treated in like manner, and we read: "Whilst
Prince Rupert was present... all that Wilmot said or proposed was
enough slighted and contradicted," but that during the Prince's long
absence in the North, he, Wilmot, "became marvellously elated."[66]
{76} Goring the Prince loved no better, and that general complained
loudly that he, "denied all his requests out of hand."[67] And Lord
Percy was also distinguished with a particular hatred.
To the objects of his affection, Rupert was, on the contrary, only too
compliant; a failing most strongly, and most unfortunately, exhibited
in his dealings with his brother Maurice. The younger Prince had none
of his brother's ability, was ignorant of English manners and customs,
"showed a great aversion from considering them," and "understood very
little of the war except to fight very stoutly when there was
occasion."[68] Yet Rupert "took it greatly to heart"[69] that Maurice
held no higher command than that of lieutenant-general to Lord
Hertford. Accordingly, he persuaded the King that Maurice ought to be
made general in the West, and, the promotion being conceded, Maurice
did considerable harm to the cause by his blundering and want of
discipline. But, says Professor Gardiner, "Maurice was Rupert's
brother, and not to be called to account!"[70]
Yet, his favouritism admitted, it must be confessed that Rupert's
friends were generally well-chosen. Chief among them was Colonel
William Legge, a man so faithful, so unselfish, and so unassuming, that
he contrived to remain on good terms with all parties. Best known to
his contemporaries as "Honest Will", he shines forth, amidst the
intriguing courtiers of Oxford, a bright example of disinterestedness.
In spite of his intimacy with Rupert, he contrived to remain for long
on friendly terms with Lord Digby, though, as he told the latter, "I
often found this a hard matter to hold between you."[71] To Legge,
Rupert {77} was wont to pour out the indignation of his soul in hastily
scribbled letters, and "Will" pacified both the Prince and his enemies,
as best he could, "conceiving it," he said, "a matter of advantage to
my master's service to have a good intelligence between persons so
eminently employed in his affairs."[72] At the same time he never
hesitated to express his opinion in "plain language", and from him the
fiery Prince seems to have accepted both counsel and reproof, without
resentment. Even Clarendon could find nothing worse to say of Will
Legge than that he was somewhat diffident of his own judgment.[73] And
the King charged the Prince of Wales, in his last message, "to be sure
to take care of Honest Will Legge, for he was the faithfullest servant
that ever any Prince had." Which charge Charles II fulfilled at the
Restoration.[74]
Next to Legge among Rupert's friends we must count the grave and
melancholy Duke of Richmond. As a Stuart he was Rupert's cousin, and
him the Prince excepted from his general dislike of the English
nobility. Like Legge, Richmond was free from all self-seeking,
honourable, upright, irreproachable, both in public and in private
life. His personal devotion to the King, who had brought him up, was
intense, and, at the end of the tragedy, he volunteered with
Southampton and Lindsey, to die in the stead of his sovereign. Like
the King, he was deeply religious, a faithful son of the Church. He
was courteous to all, gentle and reserved, but "of a great and haughty
spirit."[75] At the beginning of the troubles he had been almost the
only man of the first rank who had unswervingly opposed the popular
party; and he valued his fidelity at the rate it was worth. He gave
his friendship slowly, and only with the approval, asked and received,
of the King.[76] But his friendship, once {78} given, was absolute and
unalterable. He had in his character a Stuart strain of sensitiveness,
amounting to morbidness. Thus, when gently warned by the King against
too much correspondence with the treacherous Lady Carlisle, he
considered his own loyalty impugned, and for weeks held aloof from the
Committee of Secret Affairs. Hyde, commissioned by the distressed King
to reason with the Duke, speedily discovered the true source of trouble
to be Richmond's jealousy of his master's affection for Ashburnham.
The King retorted by taking exception to Richmond's secretary, and it
was long ere the hurt feelings of both King and Duke could be soothed.
Yet, in spite of his own supersensitiveness, Richmond was a peacemaker.
His letters to Rupert, long, involved and incoherent, are full of
soothing expressions and assurances that all will go well. He also was
struggling, and struggling vainly, to keep the peace between Rupert and
Digby. But, though he watched over his cousin's interests with
affectionate care, he was too honest and simple-minded to cope
successfully with Oxford intrigues.
Among Rupert's other friends was Sir Charles Lucas, who, said his
sister, "loved virtue, endeavoured merit, practised justice, and spoke
truth; was constantly loyal, and truly valiant."[77] Also, in high
favour with the Prince was Sir Marmaduke Langdale, "a person of great
courage and prudence",[78] a good scholar, and a good soldier; though
Clarendon found him "a very inconvenient man to live with."[79] Less
estimable was the hot-blooded Charles Gerrard, who, though as valiant a
soldier as any of the others, reflected too many of Rupert's own
faults; was rash, hot-tempered, and addicted to "hating on a sudden,
without knowing why."[80] And besides these there were others too
numerous to mention, valued by the Prince for their {79} soldierly
qualities, or for the frankness of their dispositions. But in the list
of Rupert's friends, there is one more who must not be forgotten: one
who was his inseparable companion for nearly six years, who shared his
captivity in Austria, followed him to England, ate with him, slept with
him, accompanied him to Council and to Church, shared all his dangers
and hardships, and never left his side, till he fell, with many gallant
Cavaliers, on the field of Marston Moor;--this was the Prince's white
dog, Boye. This dog attained great fame in England, and Rupert's
fondness for it was the subject of good-natured jesting among the
Cavaliers, and of bitter invective from the Puritans. A satirical
pamphlet, preserved in the Bodleian library, describes the dog's
habits, and the mutual affection subsisting between him and his master!
From it we learn that Boye was always present at Council, that he was
wont to sit on the table by the Prince, and that frequent kisses and
embraces passed between them. On the principle of "Love me, love my
dog," the King also extended his favour to Boye: "For he himself never
sups or dines, but continually he feeds him. And with what think you?
Even with sides of capons, and such Christian-like morsels ... It is
thought the King will make him Serjeant-Major-General Boye. But truly
the King's affection to him is so extraordinary that some at court envy
him. I heard a Gentleman-Usher swear that it was a shame the dog
should sit in the King's chair, as he always does; and a great Lord was
seriously of opinion that it was not well he should converse so much
with the King's children, lest he taught them to swear." Boye repaid
the King's affection warmly: "Next to his master, he loves the King and
the King's children, and cares very little for any others." We are
told further, in a paragraph evidently aimed at Rupert, that the dog,
"in exercises of religion, carries himself most popishly and
cathedrally. He is very seldom at any conscionable sermons, but as for
public prayers, he seldom or never misses {80} them.... But, above
all, as soon as their Church Minstrel begins his arbitrary jig, he is
as attentive as one of us private Christians are at St.
Antholin's."[81] Boye is generally supposed to have been a poodle, and
certainly he is so represented in the caricatures preserved of him.
But he must have been in truth a remarkable one, for Lady Sussex
relates in one of her letters, that when Rupert shot five bucks, "his
dog Boye pulled them down."[82] To this "divill dog" were attributed
supernatural powers of going invisible, of foretelling events, and of
magically protecting his master from harm. "The Roundheads fancied he
was the Devil, and took it very ill that he should set himself against
them!" says Sir Edward Southcote.[83] Many of the Puritans did, in
truth, imagine him to be Rupert's evil spirit, and it was reported that
the dog fed on human flesh. Cleveland refers to their general fear of
Boye in his "Rupertismus":--
"They fear the giblets of his train, they fear,
"Even his dog, that four-legged Cavalier,
"He that devours the scraps that Lunsford makes,
"Whose pictures feeds upon a child in stakes,
"'Gainst whom they have these articles in souse,--
"First that he barks against the sense o' th' House,
"Resolved 'delinquent,' to the Tower straight,
"Either to the Lyons, or the Bishop's gate.
* * * * * * *
"Thirdly he smells intelligence, that's better,
"And cheaper too, than Pym's, by his own letter;
"Lastly he is a devil without doubt,
"For when he would lie down he wheels about,
"Makes circles, and is couchant in a ring,
"And therefore, score up one, for conjuring!"[84]
With the Cavaliers the dog was of course as popular as with the
Puritans he was the reverse. It was reported, by {81} their enemies,
that the Royalists, after their capture of Birmingham, passed the night
in "drinking healths upon their knees,--yea, healths to Prince Rupert's
dog!"[85] Finally, when poor Boye had fallen on the field of battle,
the death of Prince Rupert's "witch" was recorded with exultation in
the Parliamentary journals: "Here also was slain that accursed cur,
which is here mentioned, by the way, because the Prince's dog has been
so much spoken of, and was valued by his master more than creatures of
more worth."[86] Having said so much of Rupert's friends, it may be
well to say a word of his principal enemies. Chief among these was
George, Lord Digby, the eldest son of the Earl of Bristol. He was a
man of great personal beauty, brilliant talents, and unrivalled powers
of fascination. But he was unfortunately afflicted with a "volatile
and unquiet spirit", and an over-active imagination. His natural
charms and great plausibility won him the love and confidence of the
King; but his unparalleled conceit and his insatiable love of meddling
made him an object of detestation to the Palatine Prince.[87] As
Secretary of State, Digby necessarily came into contact with Rupert,
and the result was disastrous. No doubt there was much of personal
jealousy mingled with Rupert's more reasonable objections to Digby; but
the fact remains that Rupert understood war, and that Digby did not;
that Rupert's schemes were reasonable and usually practicable, and that
Digby's were wild and fantastic to a degree. Rupert resented Digby's
interference and incompetence; Digby resented Rupert's off-hand manners
and undisguised contempt of himself. Both were equally self-confident,
and equally intolerant of rivalry. England was not large enough to
contain the two, and Digby, by his superior powers of intrigue, carried
the day.
{82}
With Lord Percy, in whose charge were all the stores of arms and
ammunition, Rupert was not on much better terms than with Lord Digby.
Powder, bullets, carts and horses proved fruitful sources of
dissension. Rupert accused Percy of delaying his supplies, and Percy
resented Rupert's staying of his carts.[88] In proof of his own
blamelessness Percy appealed to the testimony of others. "My Lord
Jermyn knows this was the truth, and no kind of fault in me.... Give
me leave to tell you, sir, I cannot believe them, your real servants,
that do give you jealousies of those that do not deserve them."[89] At
other times Percy professed a great deal of devotion to Rupert, but
always with a touch of sarcasm in his manner. His letters consequently
offended the Prince, and Percy treated his indignation lightly: "Though
you seemed not to be pleased that I should hope for the taking of
Bristol before it was done, which fault I confess I do not understand,
I hope you will give me leave to congratulate you now with the rest....
Your best friends do wish that, when the power is put absolutely into
your hands, you will so far comply with the King's affairs as to do
that which may content many and displease fewest."[90] Such phrases
were not calculated to soothe, and the breach widened steadily until,
in the autumn of 1644, Percy found himself so deeply involved in the
disgrace of Wilmot that he sought refuge with the Queen in France.
With Lord Goring and Lord Wilmot, Rupert was likewise at daggers drawn.
Both these men had been his comrades in the Dutch army, and Goring
especially had been on intimate terms with the Palatines at the Hague.
Indeed it seems likely that he had carried on a very flourishing
flirtation with the Princess Louise; and a beautifully drawn picture
letter which she addressed to him, is still extant. Distinguished,
like Digby, for his personal beauty and {83} fascinating manners,
Goring was also justly celebrated for his brilliant courage. Yet it
was no wonder that Rupert did not share his sister's friendship for
him, since the man was as false and treacherous as he was brave and
plausible. He had promoted and betrayed the Army Plot of 1641; he had
received the charge of Portsmouth from the Parliament, held it for the
King, and then surrendered it without a struggle. Yet no breath of
suspicion ever sullied his courage, and his personal attractions and
undoubted ability won him trust and confidence again and again. Rupert
admired him for his talents, hated him for his vices, and feared him
for his "master-wit", which made him a dangerous rival for the King's
favour. Goring, on his part, heartily reciprocated the Prince's
aversion; kept out of his command as far as possible, disobeyed his
orders as often as he could, and amused himself by writing to his enemy
in terms of passionate devotion. "I will hasard eight thousand lives
rather than leave anything undone that may conduce to his Majesty's
service or to your Highness's satisfaction; being joyed of nothing so
much in this world as of the assurance of your favour, and that it will
not be in the power of the devil to lessen your goodness to me, or to
alter the quality I have of being your Highness's most humble,
faithful, and obedient servant."[91]
Wilmot, Lieutenant-General of the Horse, was a less fascinating but a
less unprincipled person than Goring. That is to say that, while
Goring would betray any friend, or violate any promise, "out of humour
or for wit's sake," Wilmot would not do either, except "for some great
benefit or convenience to himself."[92] He is described by Clarendon
as "a man of a haughty and ambitious nature, of a pleasant wit, and an
ill understanding."[93] Like Goring, he drank hard, {84} but not, like
Goring, to the neglect of his military duties. With the dissolute wits
of the army he was exceedingly popular, but Rupert, always so temperate
himself, had no sympathy with the failings of Wilmot. As early as
November 1642 he had conceived "an irreconcilable prejudice"[94]
against his lieutenant-general. Possibly the seed of this prejudice
had been sown at Edgehill, where Wilmot refused to make a second
charge, saying: "We have won the day; let us live to enjoy the fruits
thereof."[95] And justly or unjustly, the combined hatred of Rupert,
Digby, and Goring accomplished Wilmot's overthrow in 1644.
[1] Warburton. Vol. I. pp. 460-462.
[2] Lansdowne MSS. 817.
[3] Warburton. I. p. 462.
[4] Rupert Transcripts. Instruction to the Prince. 1642.
[5] _I.e._ in the Scottish wars.
[6] Memoirs of Sir Philip Warwick, pp. 226-228.
[7] Lansdowne MSS. 817.
[8] A Looking Glass etc. Civil War Tract. Brit. Mus.
[9] Clarendon's Hist. of the Rebellion. Ed. 1849. Bk. VI. p. 46.
[10] Ibid. Bk. VI. p. 109.
[11] Mr. Firth's Transcripts. Geo. Porter to Rupert, March 24, 1644.
[12] Warburton. II. p. 250. Journal of Siege of Bristol.
[13] Pythouse Papers. Ed. Day. 1879. p. 46. 16 Nov, 1642.
[14] Rupertismus. Cleveland's Poems. Ed. 1687. p. 51.
[15] May. Hist. of Long Parliament. Ed. 1854. p. 249.
[16] May. Hist. of Long Parliament. Ed. 1854. p. 243-4.
[17] Rupertismus.
[18] Webb. Civil War in Herefordshire. Vol. I. p. 129.
[19] May. p. 244.
[20] Prince Rupert: His Reply. Brit. Mus.
[21] Webb. Civil War in Hereford. I. p. 149.
[22] Gardiner's Civil War, I. p. 15.
[23] Sydney Papers. Spencer to Lady Spencer. II. p. 667.
[23] Rupert Correspondence. Warburton. II. p. 191.
[25] Ibid. p. 193.
[26] Rupert Transcripts, Colonel Blagge to the Prince, 2 March, 1643.
[27] Verney Memoirs, Vol. II. p. 115.
[28] Dom. State Papers. Nicholas to King, Sept. 18, 1645.
[29] Warburton. II. 262.
[30] Warburton. II. 267.
[31] Troubles of our Catholic Forefathers. Ed. Morris. 1872. Sir
Edward Southcote's Narrative, 1st Series, p. 392.
[32] Gardiner's Civil War, I. p. 2.
[33] Civil War Pamphlets. British Museum. "Prince Rupert's Message to
my Lord of Essex."
[34] Whitelocke's Memorials, 1732, p. 114.
[35] Carte's Ormonde, VI. p. 197, 20 Aug. 1644.
[36] Warburton, II. p. 82. 19 Dec. 1642.
[37] Ibid. II. p. 175.
[38] Ibid. II. p. 386. 11 Mar. 1644.
[39] Transcripts, 30 Jan. 1644.
[40] Warburton, II. p. 85.
[41] Ibid. II. p. 291, 17 Sept. 1643.
[42] Transcripts. Blagge to Rupert. 1643.
[43] Rupert Transcripts. Dyves to the Prince. Sept. 21, 1642.
[44] Ibid. Kirke to Prince. 22 Feb. 1644.
[45] Add MSS. 18982. Wyndham to the Prince. Jan. 6, 1644.
[46] Transcripts. Astley to the Prince, Jan. 12, 1645.
[47] Ibid. Loughborough to the Prince, July 25, 1645.
[48] Carte's Ormonde. Trevor to Ormonde. Nov. 21, 1643. Vol. V. pp.
520-1.
[49] Prince Rupert: his Declaration. Pamphlet. British Museum. See
Warb. II. p. 124.
[50] Hist. MSS. Commission. 5th Report, p. 162. Ap. I. Sutherland
MSS. Stephen Charlton to Robert Leveson, 1642.
[51] Walker's Historical Discourses. Ed. 1705. p. 126.
[52] Clarendon Hist. Bk. VII. p. 279.
[53] Warwick Memoirs, p. 228.
[54] Green's Princesses, V. p. 267.
[55] Clarendon's History. Bk. V. p. 78.
[56] Clarendon's Life. Ed. 1827. Vol. I. p. 197, _note_.
[57] Clar. Hist. Bk. VII. p. 85.
[58] Clar. Life. I. p. 196, _note_.
[59] Sir Edward Southcote's Narrative, p. 392.
[60] Rupert Correspondence. Aston to the Prince. Aug. 1643.
[61] Ibid. Sandford to Prince. No date.
[62] Rupert Correspondence. Add. MSS. British Museum. 18981. Louis
Dyves to the Prince. Apr. 8, 1644.
[63] Rupert Transcripts. Grandison to Prince. Feb. 7, 1645.
[64] Ibid. Lisle to Prince. Dec. 6-13, 1644.
[65] Clarendon. Bk. VIII. 168.
[66] Ibid. VIII. 30.
[67] Rupert Transcripts. Goring to Prince. Jan. 22, 1643.
[68] Clarendon. Bk. VII. 85, _note_.
[69] Ibid. 144.
[70] Gardiner's Civil War. Vol. I. 197.
[71] Wm. Legge to Lord Digby. Warburton. III. p. 129.
[72] Wm. Legge to Lord Digby. Warburton. III. p. 129.
[73] Clarendon. Bk. X. p. 130.
[74] Collins Peerage: 'Dartmouth'. Vol. IV. p. 107 _et passim_.
[75] Clarendon Hist. Bk. VI. p. 384.
[76] Clarendon Life. I. p. 222.
[77] Life of Newcastle, by Duchess of Newcastle. Ed. Firth. 1886, p.
280.
[78] Carte Papers. Trevor to Ormonde, Sept. 13, 1644.
[79] Clarendon State Papers. Hyde to Nicholas. Febr. 7, 1653.
[80] Clar. Hist. Bk. IX. p. 21.
[81] Pamphlet. Bodleian Library, Oxford. "Observations on Prince
Rupert's White Dog called Boye."
[82] Verney Memoirs. Vol. II. p. 160.
[83] Sir Edward Southcote's Narrative, p. 392. Pamphlet. Brit. Mus.
[84] Cleveland's Poems, p. 51. Rupertismus.
[85] Pamphlet. Brit. Museum. London, May 1643. "Prince Rupert's
Burning Love to England."
[86] More true Relation; also Vicars' Jehovah Jireh, p. 277.
[87] See Clarendon State Papers: A Character of the Lord Digby.
[88] Rupert Transcripts, July 30, 1643, also Aug. 17, 1643, Percy to
Rupert.
[89] Ibid. Mar. 21, 1642.
[90] Rupert Transcripts, July 29, 1643.
[91] Rupert Correspondence. Goring to the Prince, May 12, 1645. Add.
MSS. Brit. Mus. 18982.
[92] Clarendon Hist. Bk. VIII. 169.
[93] Ibid. VIII. 30.
[94] Clar. Hist. Bk. VI. 126, _note_.
[95] Ibid. VI. p. 79, _note_.
{85}