The story of the king's escape.--He accepts the Covenant and lands in
Scotland.--Crowned at Scone.--Proclaimed king at Carlisle.--The
battle of Worcester.--Bravery of Charles.--Disloyalty of the Scottish
cavalry.--The Royalists defeated.--The King's flight.--Seeks refuge
in Boscobel Wood.--The faithful Pendrells.--Striving to cross the
Severn.--Hiding in an oak tree.--Sheltered by Master Lane.--Sets out
with Mistress Lane.--Perilous escapes.--On the road.--The king is
recognised.--Strange adventures.--His last night in England.
That King Charles had been miraculously preserved, as my Lord Manchester
set forth, there can be no doubt. His courageous efforts to regain the
Crown at the battle of Worcester and his subsequent escapes from the
vigilant pursuits of the Cromwellian soldiers, would, if set down in
justice and with detail, present a story more entertaining than any
romance ever written. Here they must of necessity be mentioned with
brevity.
In the year 1645, Charles I., having suffered the loss of many great
battles, became fearful of the danger which threatened his family and
himself. He therefore ordered his son Charles, who had already retired
into the west, to seek refuge in the Scilly Isles. The prince complied
with his desires, and went from thence to Paris, where his mother,
Henrietta Maria, had already taken shelter, and, after a short stay
with her, travelled to the Hague. Soon after the king was beheaded, the
Scots, who regarded that foul act with great abhorrence, invited
Charles to come into their kingdom, provided he accepted certain hard
conditions, which left the government of all civil business in the hands
of Parliament, and the regulation of all religious matters in charge
of the Presbyterians. No other prospect of regaining his rights, and of
enabling him to fight for his throne presenting itself, he accepted
what was known as the Covenant, and landed in Scotland in 1650. He
was received with the respect due to a monarch, but placed under the
surveillance forced on a prisoner. The fanatical Presbyterians, jealous
of that potent influence which his blithe ways exercised over all with
whom he associated, neither permitted him to attend the council nor
command the army; they, however, preached to him incessantly, admonished
him of his sins and those of his parents, guarded him as a captive, and
treated him as a puppet. Meanwhile Cromwell, being made aware of his
presence in the kingdom, advanced at the head of a powerful body into
Scotland, fought and won the battle of Dunbar, stormed and captured
Leith, and took his triumphal way towards Edinburgh town. Charles was at
this time in Perth, and being impatient at his enforced inaction whilst
battles were fought in his name, and lives lost in his cause, made his
escape from the Covenanters, with the determination of arousing
the Royalists who lay in the north. But the Scots soon overtook and
recaptured him. However, this decisive action awoke them to a better
understanding of the deference due to his position, and therefore
they crowned him at Scone on the first day of the year 1651, with much
solemnity, and subsequently made him commander of the army.
After spending some months in reorganizing the troops, he boldly
declared his intention of marching into England, and fighting the rebel
force. Accordingly, on the 31st of July, 1651, he set out from Sterling
with an army of between eleven and twelve thousand men. At Carlisle
he was proclaimed king, and a declaration was published in his name,
granting free grace and pardon to all his subjects in England, of
whatever nature or cause their offences, saving Cromwell, Bradshaw and
Cooke. He then marched to Lancashire, and on the 23rd of August unfurled
the Royal standard at Worcester, amidst the enthusiastic acclamations of
his troops and the loyal demonstrations of the citizens. Weary of civil
strife, depressed with fear of Cromwell's severities, and distrustful
of the Presbyterians, who chiefly composed the young king's army, the
Royalists had not gathered to his standard in such numbers as he had
anticipated. His troops, since leaving Scotland, had been reinforced
merely by two thousand men; but Charles had hopes that fresh recruits
would join him when news of the rising got noised abroad.
The Republicans were filled with dismay at the king's determined action,
but were prompt to make a counter-move, Accordingly, additional troops
were levied, London was left to be defended by volunteers, and Cromwell,
heading an army of thirty-four thousand men, marched against the
Royalists. On the 28th of August, they drew near Worcester, and on the
3rd of September the battle was fought which will remain for ever
famous in the annals of civil war. On the morning of that day, the king,
ascending the cathedral tower, saw the enemy's forces advancing towards
Worcester: before reaching the city, it was necessary they should cross
the Severn, and, in order to prevent this if possible, Charles hurried
down and directed that some of his troops, under the command of
Montgomery, should defend Powick Bridge; whilst he stationed others
under Colonel Pitscottie lower down, at a point of the river towards
which the Republicans were marching with pontoons, by means of which
they intended to cross. The young king, hopeful of victory and full of
enthusiasm, rode speedily out at the head of his troops and placed them
at their various stations. Scarcely had he done so, when he became aware
that the main body of the enemy had opened an artillery fire on Fort
Royal, which guarded the city on the south-east side. He therefore
galloped back in hot haste to headquarters, and reconnoitred the
advanced posts eastward of the city, in full front of the enemy's fire.
Meanwhile Montgomery, having exhausted his ammunition, was obliged to
retreat in disorder from Powick Bridge, followed by the Cromwellians.
The king now courageously resolved to attack the enemy's camp at Perry
Wood, which lay south-east of Worcester. Accordingly he marched out with
the flower of his Highland infantry and the English cavaliers, led by
the Dukes of Hamilton and Buckingham. Cromwell, seeing this, hastened to
intercept the king's march, whereon a fierce battle was bravely fought
on either side. Nothing could be more valiant than the conduct of the
young king, who showed himself wholly regardless of his life in the
fierce struggle for his rights. Twice was his horse shot under him;
but increasing danger seemed but to animate him to greater daring. So
bravely did his army fight likewise, that the Republicans at first gave
way before them. For upwards of four hours the engagement raged with
great fierceness. Cromwell subsequently declared it was "as stiff a
contest as he had ever seen," and his experience was great. Success
seemed now to crown the Royalists, anon to favour the Roundheads. The
great crisis of the day at length arrived: the Cromwellians began to
waver and give way just as the Royalist cavalry had expended their
ammunition; the king had still three thousand Scotch cavalry in the rear
under the command of Leslie, who had not yet been called into action. He
therefore ordered them to advance; but, to his horror, not one of these
men, who had looked on as passive spectators, made a movement. In this
hour, when victory or defeat hung upon a thread the Scots ignominiously
failed their king. Charles instantly saw he was undone. The English
cavalry continued to fight bravely, in their desperation using the butt
ends of their muskets; but they were gradually compelled to give way
before the enemy, who, seeing their condition, had renewed the
attack. The Royalists therefore fell back into the city. When the king
re-entered Worcester he saw before him a scene of the most disastrous
confusion. Royalists and Republicans encountered and fought each other
in every thoroughfare; the air was filled with the report of muskets,
the imprecations of soldiers, the groans of wounded men, and the shrieks
of women. The streets ran red with blood. At such a sight his heart sank
within him, but, manning himself for fresh efforts, he called his troops
together and sought to incite them with courage to make a final charge.
"I would rather," he cried out, "you would shoot me than keep me alive
to see the sad consequences of this fatal day." Those who heard him were
disheartened: it was too late to retrieve their heavy losses: most of
them refused to heed him; many sought safety in flight. Then the young
king's friends, gathering round, besought him to make good his escape;
and accordingly, with a sad heart, he rode out of St. Martin's Gate
humbled and defeated. In order to cover his retreat from the enemy now
advancing, my Lord Cleveland, Sir James Hamilton, Colonel Careless, and
some other worthy gentlemen defended Sudbury Gate, towards which the
main body of the Republicans approached. They held this position a
sufficient time to gain the end for which it was undertaken. But at
length the Republicans, forcing open the gate, marched upon the fort,
defended by fifteen hundred soldiers under Colonel Drummond. This loyal
man refusing to surrender, the fort was speedily stormed; and he and
those of his men who survived the attack were mercilessly put to the
sword.
Dr. George Bate gives a quaint and striking picture of what followed.
"Deplorable and sad was the countenance of the town after that," writes
he; "the victorious soldiers on the one hand killing, breaking into
houses, plundering, sacking, roaring, and threatening; on the other
hand, the subdued flying, turning their backs to be cut and slashed, and
with outstretched hands begging quarter; some, in vain resisting, sold
their lives as dear as they could, whilst the citizens to no purpose
prayed, lamented, and bewailed. All the streets are strewed with dead
and mangled bodies. Here were to be seen some that begged relief, and
then again others weltering in their own gore, who desired that at once
an end might be put to their lives and miseries. The dead bodies lay
unburied for the space of three days or more, which was a loathsome
spectacle that increased the horror of the action."
Concerning his subsequent dangers and narrow escapes, the king, in his
days of peace and prosperity, was wont to discourse at length, for they
had left impressions on his mind which lasted through life. Edward Hyde,
Lord Clarendon, his Lord High Chancellor, Dr. George Bate, his learned
physician, and Samuel Pepys, Esquire, sometime Surveyor-General to the
Victualling Office, have preserved the records of that time of peril,
as told by his majesty. True, their various stories differ in minor
details, but they agree in principal facts. The king had not ridden
many miles from Worcester when he found himself surrounded by about four
thousand of his army, including the Scots under the command of Leslie.
Though they would not fight for him, they were ready enough to fly with
him. At first he thought of betaking himself to Scotland; but having
had sad proof of the untrustworthy character of those with whom he
travelled, he feared they would further betray him if pursued by the
enemy. He therefore resolved to reach London before the news of his
defeat arrived thither, and make his escape from thence; but this
scheme presented many difficulties. Amongst the persons of quality who
accompanied him were my Lord Duke of Buckingham, the Earls of Derby and
Lauderdale, and the Lords Wilmot and Talbot. During their journey it
fell from my Lord Derby's lips, that when he had been defeated at Wigan,
one Pendrell, an honest labourer and a Papist, had sheltered him in
Boscobel House, not far distant from where they then rode. Hearing
this, the king resolved to trust this same faithful fellow, and for
the present seek such refuge as Pendrell could afford. It was not easy,
however, for his majesty to escape the Scots; but when night came, he
and his gentlemen slipped away from the high road, which the others
continued to pursue, and made for Boscobel Wood, led by Charles Giffard,
a loyal gentleman and true. The house they sought was situated between
Tong Castle and Brewood, in a woody place most fitting for retreat;
it was, moreover, six and twenty miles from Worcester, and stood in
Shropshire, on the borders of Staffordshire.
In order to gain this haven of rest, it was necessary for them to pass
through Stourbridge, where a troop of the Republican army lay quartered.
Midnight had fallen ere they reached the town, which was now wrapt in
darkness, and was, moreover, perfectly still. The king and his friends,
dismounting, led their horses through the echoing streets as softly as
possible, being filled the while with dire apprehensions. Safely leaving
it, they rode into the wood until they came to the old convent of
Whiteladies, once the home of Cistercian nuns, who had long since been
driven from their peaceful retreat. The house was now the habitation of
the Giffard family, with whom George Pendrell lived as servant. On being
aroused, he came forth with a lantern, and admitted them, when Charles
Giffard made known to him in whose presence he stood, and acquainted him
with their situation. Thereupon the honest fellow promised to serve the
king faithfully, and sent immediately for his brothers four: William,
who took charge of Boscobel House, not far removed; Humphrey, who was
miller at Whiteladies; Richard, who lived at Hobbal Grange; and John,
who was a woodman, and dwelt hard by. When they had all arrived, Lord
Derby showed them the king's majesty, and besought them for God's sake,
for their loyalty's sake, and as they valued all that was high and
sacred, to keep him safe, and forthwith seek some place of decent
shelter where he might securely lurk. This they readily swore to
compass, though they risked their lives in the attempt.
It being considered that greater safety lay in the king being
unattended, his loyal friends departed from him with many prayers
and hopes for a joyful reunion: all of them save my Lords Wilmot and
Buckingham set out to join Leslie's company, that they might proceed
together towards Scotland; but they had not marched six miles in company
with the Scots when these three thousand men and more were overtaken and
were routed by a single troop of the enemy's horse, and my Lord Derby,
being taken, was condemned and executed. Lords Wilmot and Buckingham
set out for London, to which place it was agreed the king should follow
them.
When his majesty's friends had departed, the Pendrells undertook to
disguise him; towards which end one of them cut the long locks reaching
his shoulders, another rubbed his hands and face with dust, and a third
brought him a suit of clothes. "The habit of the king," says Pepys, "was
a very greasy old grey steeple-crowned hat, with the brims turned up,
without lining or hatband, the sweat appearing two inches deep through
it round the band place; a green cloth jump-coat, threadbare, even to
the threads being worn white, and breeches of the same, with long knees
down to the garter; with an old sweaty leathern doublet, a pair of white
flannel stockings next to his legs, 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, with
little rolls of paper between his toes to keep them from galling; and
an old coarse shirt, patched both at the neck and hands, of that very
coarse sort which go by the name of nogging shirts."
When Charles was attired in this fashion, Richard Pendrell opened a back
door and led him out into the wood; not a moment too soon, for within
half an hour Colonel Ashenhurst, with a company of Cromwell's soldiers,
rode up to Whiteladies, rushed into the house, searched every chamber
and secret place, pulled down the wainscoting, and otherwise devastated
the mansion in the search for the king. A damp cold September morning
now lengthened to a day of gloom and depression. Rain fell in heavy
torrents, dripped from the leafless branches of trees, and saturated the
thick undergrowth and shrubs where his majesty lay hidden. Owing to
the condition of the weather, the soldiers neglected to search Boscobel
Wood; and, after uttering many threats and imprecations, withdrew from
Whiteladies. When he considered himself quite alone, Richard Pendrell
ventured forth, taking with him a billhook, that if observed he might
seem engaged in trimming hedges; and drawing near the spot where his
majesty lay, assured him of his safety. Later on he besought an old
woman, his neighbour, to take victuals into the wood to a labourer she
would find there. Without hesitation the good woman carried some eggs,
bread, butter, and milk towards the spot indicated to her. On seeing
her the king was much alarmed fearing recognition and dreading her
garrulity; wherefore he said to her: "Can you be true to anyone who hath
served the king?" Upon which she readily made answer: "Yes, sir; I'd die
sooner than betray you." Being reassured at this, he ate heartily.
When night fell, Richard brought him into the house again, and the king,
now abandoning his intention of proceeding to London, expressed his
anxiety to reach Wales where he had many friends, and which afforded
him ready opportunities of escaping from the kingdom. Pendrell expressed
himself willing to conduct him thither. Accordingly, about nine of
the clock, they set out with the determination of crossing the Severn,
intending to pass over a ferry between Bridgenorth and Shrewsbury. When
they had walked some hours they drew near a water-mill. "We could see
the miller," said the king in relating the story, "as I believe, sitting
at the mill-door, he being in white clothes, it being a very dark night.
He called out sturdily, 'Who goes there?' Upon which Richard Pendrell
answered, 'Neighbours going home,' or suchlike words. Whereupon the
miller cried out: 'If you be neighbours, stand, or I will knock you
down.' Upon which, we believing there was company in the house, Richard
bade me follow him close, and he ran to a gate that went up a dirty lane
up a hill. The miller cried out: 'Rogues--rogues!' And thereupon some
men came out of the mill after us, which I believe were soldiers; so we
fell a-running, both of us up the lane as long as we could run, it being
very deep and very dirty, till at last I bade him leap over a hedge, and
lie still to hear if anybody followed us--which we did, and continued
lying down upon the ground about half an hour, when, hearing nobody
come, we continued our way."
This led to the house of an honest gentleman named Woolfe, living at
Madeley, who was a Catholic, and loyal to his king, and as such was
known to the Pendrells. When they drew near to his house, Richard,
leaving his majesty in a field, went forward and asked this worthy man
if he would shelter one who had taken part in the battle of Worcester;
whereon he made answer he would not venture his neck for any man unless
it were the king himself, upon which Pendrell made known to him it was
his majesty who sought refuge from him. Mr. Woolfe came out immediately
and carried the king by a back way into a barn, where he hid him for the
day, it being considered unsafe for him to stay a longer period there,
as two companies of militia were at that time stationed in the town, and
were very likely to search the house at any minute. Moreover he advised
his majesty by no means to adventure crossing the Severn, as the
strictest guard was then kept at the ferries to prevent any Royalist
fugitives from escaping into Wales. The king was therefore obliged to
retrace his steps, and now sought Boscobel House, not far distant from
his first resting-place of Whiteladies. Arriving there, he remained
secreted in the wood, whilst Richard went to see if soldiers were in
occupation of the dwelling. There was no one there, however, but Colonel
Careless, the same good man and true who had helped to keep Sudbury Gate
whilst Charles made his escape.
The Colonel had been hiding in the forest, and, being sore pressed by
hunger, had come to beg a little bread. Being informed where the king
was, he came forth with great joy, and, the house not being considered
a safe refuge, they both climbed into the branches of a leafy oak,
situated in an open part of the wood, from whence they could see all
round them. They carried with them some bread and cheese and small beer,
and stayed there that day. "While we were in the tree," says the king,
"we saw soldiers going up and down in the thicket of the wood, searching
for persons escaped, we seeing them now and then peeping out of the
wood." When this danger had passed away, the king, worn out by his sore
fatigues, laid his head on his friend's breast and slept in his arms. At
night they descended, and going to Boscobel House, were shown a secret
hiding-place, such as were then to be found in the mansions of all
Catholic families, called the priests' hole a little confined closet
built between two walls, in the principal stack of chimneys, and having
a couple of exits for the better escape of those compelled to seek its
shelter. Here the king rested in peace for a day and a night.
Meanwhile Humphrey Pendrell went into Shifnal to pay his taxes; and it
being known he had come from Whiteladies, he was questioned closely
as to whether he knew aught of Charles Stuart. On stoutly denying all
knowledge of him, he was told that any man who discovered him would gain
a thousand pounds, but he that sheltered him would suffer death without
mercy; these being the terms of a proclamation just issued. This the
honest miller on his return narrated to the king, swearing roundly he
would run all risks for his sake. It chanced at this time one of the
Pendrells heard that my Lord Wilmot who had not been able to make his
way to London, was hiding in a very secure place, at the house of a
gentleman named Whitegrave, above seven miles distant. This coming to
the king's knowledge, he became anxious to see his faithful friend
and hold communication with him. Accordingly one of the Pendrells was
despatched to request Lord Wilmot to meet his majesty that night, in a
field close by Mr. Whitegrave's house. And the time of night being come,
the king was impatient of delay; but his feet were sore from the rough
shoes he had worn on his journey, so that he was scarce able to walk;
therefore he was mounted on Humphrey's mill-horse, and, the four loyal
brothers forming a guard, they directed their way towards Moseley. The
king's eagerness to see Wilmot being great, he complained of the horse's
slow pace. "Can you blame him, my liege," said Humphrey, who loved a
jest, "that he goes heavily, having the weight of three kingdoms on his
back?"
When they had travelled with him a great part of the journey it was
thought safer three of them should withdraw themselves. They therefore
turned away; but scarcely had they gone when the king, who, being
lost in thought, had remained unconscious of their departure, suddenly
stopped, and caused John, who remained, to speedily summon them back.
When they returned he gave them his hand to kiss, and, with that charm
of manner which never failed in winning friends, said to them sadly, "My
sorrows make me forget myself. I earnestly thank you all."
They kissed his hand heartily, and prayed God to save him. In the
days of his prosperity he remembered their kindness and rewarded their
loyalty.
Arriving at the trysting place the king found Mr. Whitegrave, a
Benedictine monk named Father Huddlestone, Sir John Preston, and his
brother awaiting him. It may be mentioned here this monk was destined,
many years later, to play an important part in the closing scene of
his majesty's life. Mr. Whitegrave conducted Charles with great show of
respect to his house, where the king spoke with my Lord Wilmot, feasted
well, and rested safe that night. Next morning the worthy host had
private notice given that a company of soldiers were on their way to
arrest him as one who had served in the king's army. He, being innocent
of this charge, did not avoid them, but received them boldly at his
door, spoke confidently in his own defence, and referred them to the
testimony of his neighbours, whereon they departed quietly.
It was feared, however, the house was no longer safe, and that another
refuge had best be sought for his majesty. Therefore, Father Huddlestone
informed the king of an honest gentleman, the owner of a fair estate
some six miles removed, who was generous and exceedingly beloved, and
the eldest justice of peace in the county of Stafford. This gentleman
was named Lane, "a very zealous Protestant, yet he lived with so much
civility and candour towards the Catholics, that they would all trust
him as much as they would any of their own profession." The king,
however, not being willing to surprise this worthy man, immediately
despatched the Benedictine to make certain of his welcome; receiving
due assurances of which he and Lord Willmot set out by night for Master
Lane's mansion, where they were heartily received, and where Charles
rested some days in blessed security. Knowing, however, in what risk he
placed those who sheltered him, and how vigilant the pursuit after him,
he became most anxious for his safe delivery out of the kingdom. To this
end it was desirable he should draw near the west coast, and await an
opportunity of sailing from thence for France.
The members of Master Lane's family then living with him consisted of a
son and a daughter: the former a man of fearless courage and integrity,
the latter a gentlewoman of good wit and discretion, as will be seen
hereafter. Consulting, amongst themselves as to the best means of
compassing the king's escape, it was resolved Mistress Lane should visit
a kinswoman of hers with whom she had been bred, that had married
one Norton, and was now residing within five miles of Bristol. It was
likewise decided she should ride on her journey thence behind the king,
he being habited in her father's livery, and acting as her servant; and
for greater safety her sister and her sister's husband were to accompany
them on the road. Mistress Jane Lane then procured from a colonel of the
rebel army a passport for herself and her servant, her sister and her
brother-in-law, to travel without molestation to her cousin Mistress
Norton, who was ready to lie in. With this security Jane set out, her
brother bearing them company part of the way, with a hawk upon his fist
and two or three spaniels at his heels, which warranted him keeping the
king and his friends in sight without seeming to be of their company.
The first day's journey was not accomplished without an exciting
incident. The horse ridden by Mistress Lane and the king--now bearing
the name of William Jackson--lost a shoe; and being come to Bromsgrove,
he must dismount and lead the animal to the village blacksmith.
"As I was holding my horse's foot," said his majesty, when narrating the
story to Mr. Pepys, "I asked the smith what news. He told me that there
was no news that he knew of, since the good news of the beating the
rogues of the Scots. I asked him whether there was none of the English
taken that joined with the Scots, He answered he did not hear if that
rogue, Charles Stuart, were taken; but some of the others, he said,
were taken. I told him that if that rogue were taken, he deserved to be
hanged more than all the rest, for bringing in the Scots. Upon which he
said I spoke like an honest man; and so we parted."
At the end of the first day's journey they were met by Lord Wilmot at
the inn; and he continued to join them wherever they rested at night,
without appearing to travel with them by day. Mistress Lane took all
possible care to guard the king against recognition, stating at every
house of accommodation where they tarried he was "a neighbour's son whom
her father had lent her to ride before her in hope that he would the
sooner recover from a quartan ague with which he had been miserably
afflicted, and was not yet free." Which story served as sufficient
excuse for his going to bed betimes, and so avoiding the company of
servants. At the end of three days they arrived at their destination.
Jane Lane was warmly received by her cousin, and the whole party made
heartily welcome. Jane, however, did not entrust her secret to Mistress
Norton's keeping, but repeated her tale of the good youth being newly
recovered from ague, and desired a chamber might be provided for him,
and a good fire made that he might retire early to bed. Her desires
being obeyed, the king withdrew, and was served with an excellent good
supper by the butler, a worthy fellow named Pope, who had been a trooper
in the army of Charles I., of blessed memory.
"The next morning" said the king continuing his strange story, "I arose
pretty early, having a very good stomach, and went to the buttery-hatch
to get my breakfast, where I found Pope and two or three other men in
the room, and we all fell to eating bread and butter, to which he gave
us very good ale and sack. And as I was sitting there, there was one
that looked like a country fellow sat just by me, who, talking, gave
so particular an account of the battle of Worcester to the rest of the
company that I concluded he must be one of Cromwell's soldiers. But I,
asking how he came to give so good an account of that battle, he told me
he was in the King's regiment, by which I thought he meant one Colonel
King's regiment. But questioning him further, I perceived he had been in
my regiment of Guards, in Major Broughton's company--that was my Major
in the battle. I asked him what kind of man I was; to which he answered
by describing exactly both my clothes and my horse, and then, looking
upon me, he told me that the king was at least three fingers taller than
I. Upon which I made what haste I could out of the buttery, for fear he
should indeed know me, as being more afraid when I knew he was one of
our own soldiers than when I took him for one of the enemy's. So Pope
and I went into the hall, and just as we came into it Mistress Norton
was coming by through it; upon which I, plucking off my hat and standing
with it in my hand as she passed by, Pope looked very earnestly in my
face. But I took no notice of it, but put on my hat again and went away,
walking out of the house into the field."
When he returned, however, the butler followed him into a private room,
and going down on his stiff knees, said, with tears in his old eyes, he
was rejoiced to see his majesty in safety. The king affected to laugh
at him, and asked him what he meant; but Pope told him he knew him well,
for before he was a trooper in his father's service he had been falconer
to Sir Thomas Jermyn, groom of the bedchamber to the king when he was
a boy. Charles saw it was useless longer to deny himself, and therefore
said he believed him to be a very honest man, and besought he would not
reveal what he knew to anyone. This the old man readily promised, and
faithfully kept his word. Having spent a couple of days at Norton's, the
king, by advice of Lord Wilmot, went to the house of a true friend
and loyal man, one Colonel Windham, who lived at Trent. This town was
notable as a very hotbed of republicanism; a proof of which was afforded
his majesty on the very day of his entrance. As he rode into the
principal street, still disguised as a waiting man to Mistress Lane, he
heard a great ringing of bells, and the tumult of many voices, and saw a
vast concourse of people gathered in the churchyard close by. On asking
the cause he was informed one of Cromwell's troopers was telling the
people he had killed Charles Stuart, whose buff coat he then wore;
whereon the rebels rang the church bells, and were about to make a great
bonfire for joy.
Having brought him to Trent, Mistress Lane returned home, carrying with
her the king's friendship and gratitude, of which he gave her ample
proof when he came unto the throne. Charles stayed at Colonel Windham's
over a week, whilst that gallant man was secretly striving to hire
a ship for his majesty's safe transportation into France. Presently
succeeding in this object, the king, yet wearing his livery, and now
riding before Mistress Judith Coningsby, cousin of Colonel Windham,
started with high hopes for Lyme; but at the last moment the captain
of the vessel failed him, and he was again left in a state of painful
uncertainty and danger. Lord Wilmot was sent to ascertain the cause of
this disappointment, and for greater safety the king rode on to Burport
with his friends. Being come to the outskirts of the town, they were
alarmed at finding the streets in a state of confusion, and full of
Cromwell's soldiers, fifteen hundred of whom were about to embark for
Jersey. His majesty's coolness and presence of mind did not fail him;
he resolved to ride boldly into the town, and hire a chamber at the best
inn. The yard of the hostelry was likewise crowded with troopers; but
this did not dismay his majesty.
"I alighted," said he, "and taking the horses, thought it the best way
to go blundering in among them, and lead them through the middle of the
soldiers into the stable; which I did, and they were very angry with me
for my rudeness. As soon as I came into the stable I took the bridle
off the horses, and called the ostler to me to help me, and to give the
horses some oats. And as the hostler was helping me to feed the horses,
'Sure, sir,' says he, 'I know your face?' which was no very pleasant
question to me. But I thought the best way was to ask him where he had
lived, or whether he had always lived there or no. He told me that he
was but newly come thither; that he was born in Exeter, and had been
ostler in an inn there, hard by one Mr. Potter's, a merchant in whose
house I had lain in the time of the war. So I thought it best to give
the fellow no further occasion of thinking where he had seen me, for
fear he should guess right at last; therefore I told him, 'Friend,
certainly you have seen me then at Mr. Potter's, for I served him a good
while above a year.' 'Oh,' says he, 'then I remember you a boy there;'
and with that was put off from thinking any more on it, but desired that
we might drink a pot of beer together, which I excused by saying that
I must go wait on my master, and get his dinner ready for him; but told
him that my master was going to London, and would return about three
weeks hence, when he would be there, and I would not fail to drink a pot
with him."
The king and his friends, having dined at the inn, got word that the
master of the ship, suspecting that it was some dangerous employment he
had been hired for, absolutely refused to fulfil his contract. Therefore
they, being sad at heart and fearful, retraced their steps to Trent, and
presently his majesty went further into Sussex, and abode with a
staunch Royalist, one Colonel Gunter, who resided within four miles
of Salisbury. This excellent man at last succeeded in hiring a ship
to carry away the king, and so Charles made another journey to
Brighthelmstone, where he met the captain of the vessel and the merchant
that had hired her on behalf of Colonel Gunter, both of whom had been
kept in ignorance of their future passenger's identity. Arriving at
Brighthelmstone, they entered an inn and ordered supper, during which
the captain more than once looked hard at the king. And the meal being
ended, the captain called the merchant aside and said he was not dealt
with fairly, inasmuch as he had not been told the king was the person to
be conveyed from thence. The merchant, not being so wise as the master,
denied such was the case; but the honest fellow told him not to be
troubled. "For I think," said he, "I do God and my country good service
in preserving the king: and by the grace of God I will venture my life
and all for him, and set him safely on shore, if I can, in France."
Nor was this the last of his majesty's numerous risks, for being
presently left alone, he stood thoughtful and somewhat melancholy by
the fire, resting one hand on a chair; and the landlord, coming in and
seeing him engaged in this manner, softly advanced, suddenly kissed
the king's hand, and said, "God bless you, wherever you go." Charles
started, and would have denied himself; but the landlord cried out,
"'Fore God, your majesty may trust me; and," he added, "I have no doubt,
before I die, to be a lord, and my wife a lady."
That night, the last his majesty was to spend in England for many years,
he was sad and depressed. The scenes of bloodshed he had witnessed, the
imminent dangers he had escaped, were vividly present to his mind. The
past was fraught with horror; the future held no hope. Though a king, he
was about to become an outcast from his realm. Surmising his thoughts,
his companions sought to cheer him. Now the long-desired moment of
escape was at hand, no one thought of repose. The little vessel in which
he intended sailing lay dry upon the shore, the tide being at low water.
The king and his friends, the merchant, the captain, and the landlord,
sat in the well-lighted cosy parlour of the seaport inn, smoking,
playing cards, telling stories and drinking good ale.
With all such diversions the hours wore heavily away. Their noisy
joviality had an undercurrent of sadness; jokes failed to amuse;
laughter seemed forced; words, mirthful in leaving the lips, sounded
ominous on reaching the ear. At four o'clock the captain rose to survey
his ship, and presently returned saying the tide had risen. Thereon the
king and his friends prepared to depart. A damp, chilly November
fog hung over the sea, hiding its wide expanse without deadening its
monotonous moan. A procession of black figures leaving the inn sped
noiselessly through darkness. Arriving at the shore, those who were not
to accompany his majesty, knelt and kissed his hand. Then he, with Lord
Wilmot and the captain, climbed on board the vessel and entered the
cabin. The fog had turned to rain. Four hours later, the tide being
favourable, the ship sailed out of port, and in due time the king was
safely landed in France.