Lurid Fleur-de-lis. _Iris Lurida._
Dedicated to _St. Germain_.
[Illustration: ~Cardinal Beaton’s house at Edinburgh.~]
~May 29.~
_St. Maximinus_, Bp. of Friers, A. D. 349. _St. Cyril._ _St. Conon and
his son_, of Iconia in Asia, about A. D. 275. _Sts. Sisinnius,
Martyrius, and Alexander_, A. D. 397.
_Restoration Day._
This day is so called from its being the anniversary of the day whereon
king Charles II. entered London, in 1660, and re-established royalty,
which had been suspended from the death of his father. It is usual with
the vulgar people to wear oak-leaves in their hats on this day, and
dress their horses’ heads with them. This is in commemoration of the
shelter afforded to Charles by an oak while making his escape from
England, after his defeat at Worcester, by Cromwell. The battle was
fought on the 3d of September, 1651; Cromwell having utterly routed his
army, Charles left Worcester at six o’clock in the afternoon, and
without halting, travelled about twenty-six miles, in company with fifty
or sixty of his friends, from whom he separated, without communicating
his intentions to any of them, and went to Boscobel, a lone house in the
borders of Staffordshire, inhabited by one Penderell, a farmer, to whom
he intrusted himself. This man, assisted by his four brothers, clothed
the king in a garb like their own, led him into the neighbouring wood,
put a bill into his hand, and pretended to employ themselves in cutting
faggots. Some nights he lay upon straw in the house, and fed on such
homely fare as it afforded. For better concealment, he mounted upon an
oak, where he sheltered himself among the leaves and branches for
twenty-four hours. He saw several soldiers pass by. All of them were
intent in search of the king; and some expressed, in his hearing, their
earnest wishes of seizing him. This tree was afterwards denominated the
_Royal Oak_; and for many years was regarded by the neighbourhood with
great veneration. Charles could neither stay, nor stir, without imminent
danger. At length he and lord Wilmot, who was concealed in the
neighbourhood, put themselves into the hands of colonel Lane, a zealous
royalist, who lived at Bentley, not many miles distant. The king’s feet
were so hurt by walking in heavy boots or countrymen’s shoes, which did
not fit him, that he was obliged to mount on horseback; and he travelled
in this situation to Bentley, attended by the Penderells. Lane formed a
scheme for his journey to Bristol, where, it was hoped, he would find a
ship, in which he might transport himself. He had a near kinswoman, Mrs.
Norton, who lived within three miles of that city, and he obtained a
pass (for, during those times of confusion, this precaution was
requisite) for his sister Jane Lane and a servant to travel towards
Bristol, under pretence of visiting and attending her relation. The king
rode before the lady, and personated the servant. When they arrived at
Norton’s, Mrs. Lane pretended that she had brought along as her servant
a poor lad, a neighbouring farmer’s son, who was ill of an ague; and she
begged a private room for him where he might be quiet. Though Charles
kept himself retired in this chamber, the butler, one Pope, soon knew
him: Charles was alarmed, but made the butler promise that he would keep
the secret from every mortal, even from his master; and he was faithful
to his engagement. No ship, it was found, would, for a month, set sail
from Bristol, either for France or Spain; and the king was obliged to go
to colonel Windham of Dorsetshire, a partisan of the royal family.
During his journey he often passed through the hands of catholics; the
_Priest’s Hole_, as they called it, the place where they were obliged to
conceal their persecuted priests, was sometimes employed to shelter him.
He continued several days in Windham’s house; and all his friends in
Britain, and in every part of Europe, remained in the most anxious
suspense with regard to his fortunes: no one could conjecture whether
he were dead or alive; and the report of his death being generally
believed, relaxed the vigilant search of his enemies. Trials were made
to procure a vessel for his escape; but he still met with
disappointments. Having left Windham’s house, he was obliged again to
return to it. He passed through many other adventures; assumed different
disguises; in every step was exposed to imminent perils; and received
daily proofs of uncorrupted fidelity and attachment. The sagacity of a
smith, who remarked that his horse’s shoes had been made in the north,
and not in the west, as he pretended, once detected him; and he narrowly
escaped. At Shoreham, in Sussex, a vessel was at last found, in which he
embarked. He had been known to so many, that if he had not set sail in
that critical moment it had been impossible for him to escape. After one
and forty days’ concealment, he arrived safely at Fescamp in Normandy.
No less than forty men and women had at different times been privy to
his concealment and escape.[153]
Charles II. himself wrote a narrative of his remarkable “Escape.” From
this it appears that while journeying with the Penderells, “he wore a
very greasy old grey steeple-crowned hat, with the brims turned up,
without lining or hatband: a green cloth coat, threadbare, even to the
threads being worn white, and breeches of the same, with long knees down
to the garter; with an old leathern doublet, a pair of white flannel
stockings next to his legs, which the king said were his boot stockings,
their tops being cut off to prevent their being discovered, and upon
them a pair of old green yarn stockings, all worn and darned at the
knees, with their feet cut off; his shoes were old, all slashed for the
ease of his feet, and full of gravel; he had an old coarse shirt,
patched both at the neck and hands; he had no gloves, but a long thorn
stick, not very strong, but crooked three or four several ways, in his
hand; his hair cut short up to his ears, and hands coloured; his majesty
refusing to have any gloves, when father Hodlestone offered him some, as
also to change his stick.”
Charles’s narrative is very minute in many particulars; especially as
regards his getting on shipboard, and his passage across the channel.
“We went,” he says, “towards Shoreham, four miles off a place called
Brightelmstone, taking the master of the ship with us, on horseback,
behind one of our company, and came to the vessel’s side, which was not
above sixty tons. But it being low water, and the vessel lying dry, I
and my lord Wilmot got up with a ladder into her, and went and lay down
in the little cabin, till the tide came to fetch us off.
“But I was no sooner got into the ship, and lain down upon the bed, but
the master came in to me, fell down upon his knees, and kissed my hand;
telling me, that he knew me very well, and would venture life, and all
that he had in the world, to set me down safe in France.
“So, about seven o’clock in the morning, it being high-water, we went
out of the port; but the master being bound for Pool, loaden with
sea-coal, because he would not have it seen from Shoreham that he did
not go his intended voyage, but stood all the day, with a very easy
sail, towards the Isle of Wight (only my lord Wilmot and myself, of my
company, on board.) And as we were sailing, the master came to me, and
desired me that I would persuade his men to use their endeavours with me
to get him to set us on shore in France, the better to cover him from
any suspicion thereof. Upon which, I went to the men, which were four
and a boy, and told them, truly, that we were two merchants that had
some misfortunes, and were a little in debt; that we had some money
owing us at Rouen, in France, and were afraid of being arrested in
England; that if they would persuade the master (the wind being very
fair) to give us a trip over to Dieppe, or one of those ports near
Rouen, they would oblige us very much, and with that I gave them twenty
shillings to drink. Upon which, they undertook to second me, if I would
propose it to the master. So I went to the master, and told him our
condition, and that if he would give us a trip over to France, we would
give him some consideration for it. Upon which he counterfeited
difficulties, saying, that it would hinder his voyage. But his men, as
they had promised me, joining their persuasions to ours, and, at last,
he yielded to set us over.
“So, about five o’clock in the afternoon, as we were in sight of the
Isle of Wight, we stood directly over to the coast of France, the wind
being then full north; and the next morning, a little before day, we saw
the coast. But the tide failing us, and the wind coming about to the
south-west, we were forced to come to an anchor within two miles of the
shore, till the tide of flood was done.
“We found ourselves just before an harbour in France, called Fescamp;
and just as the tide of ebb was made, espied a vessel to leeward of us,
which, by her nimble working, I suspected to be an Ostend privateer.
Upon which, I went to my lord Wilmot, and telling him my opinion of that
ship, proposed to him our going ashore in the little cock-boat, for fear
they should prove so, as not knowing, but finding us going into a port
of France, (there being then a war betwixt France and Spain,) they might
plunder us, and possibly carry us away and set us ashore in England; the
master also himself had the same opinion of her being an Ostender, and
came to me to tell me so, which thought I made it my business to
dissuade him from, for fear it should tempt him to set sail again with
us for the coast of England: yet so sensible I was of it, that I and my
lord Wilmot went both on shore in the cock-boat; and going up into the
town of Fescamp, staid there all day to provide horses for Rouen. But
the vessel which had so affrighted us, proved afterwards only a French
hoy.
“The next day we got to Rouen, to an inn, one of the best in the town,
in the fish-market, where they made difficulty to receive us, taking us,
by our clothes, to be some thieves, or persons that had been doing some
very ill thing, until Mr. Sandburne, a merchant, for whom I sent, came
and answered for us.
“One particular more there is observable in relation to this our passage
into France; that the vessel that brought us over had no sooner landed
me, and I given her master a pass, for fear of meeting with any of our
Jersey frigates, but the wind turned so happily for her, as to carry her
directly for Pool, without its being known that she had ever been upon
the coast of France.
“We staid at Rouen one day, to provide ourselves better clothes, and
give notice to the queen, my mother, (who was then at Paris,) of my
being safely landed. After which, setting out in a hired coach, I was
met by my mother, with coaches, short of Paris; and by her conducted
thither, where I safely arrived.”
An antiquary, a century ago, mentions the “Royal Oak” as standing in his
time. “A bow-shoot from Boscobel-house, just by a horse-track passing
through the wood, stood the royal oak, into which the king and his
companion, colonel Carlos, climbed by means of the hen-roost ladder,
when they judged it no longer safe to stay in the house; the family
reaching them victuals with the nut-hook. The tree is now inclosed in
with a brick wall, the inside whereof is covered with laurel, of which
we may say, as Ovid did of that before the Augustan palace, ‘mediamque
tubere quercum.’ Close by its side grows a young thriving plant from one
of its acorns. Over the door of the inclosure, I took this inscription
in marble:--‘Felicissimam arborem quam in asylum potentissimi Regis
Caroli II. Deus O. M. per quem reges regnant hic crescere voluit, tam in
perpetuam rei tantæ memoriam, quam specimen fermæ in reges fidei, muro
cinctam posteris commendant Basilius et Jana Fitzherbert.
“‘Quercus amica Jovi.’”[154]
* * * * *
A letter from an obliging correspondent, whose initials are affixed,
claims a place here, in order to correct a literal inaccuracy, and for
the facts subsequently mentioned.
_To the Editor of the Every-day Book._
Sir,
As the “Royal Oak day” will form a prominent subject in your interesting
work, I beg to call your attention to the fact, that colonel William
Carlos was the companion of his majesty, in his concealment in the tree
in Boscobel wood, and to hope that you will point out the right mode of
spelling his name; Lord Clarendon, and others who copy from him, always
call him colonel Careless, which is a vile misnomer. When a man does an
action worthy of record, it is highly grievous to have his name spelt
wrong:
“Thrice happy he whose name has been well spelt
In the despatch. I knew a man whose loss
Was printed Grove, altho’ his name was Grose.”
_Lord Byron._
A coat of arms and a grant of ballastage dues were made to the colonel;
but the latter interfering with the rights of the Trinity-house, was
given up. A son of the colonel is buried at Fulham church. The book of
“Boscobel,” first printed in 1660, contains accurate particulars of the
event I refer to: this little work you have no doubt seen. I have seen a
print of W. Pendrill, in an oval, encircled within the foliage of an oak
tree, (as we may still see king Charles’s head on some alehouse signs,)
with a copy of verses, in which the name of the colonel is correctly
spelt.