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CHAPTER XXII.

THE SCOTTISH CAMP.

No

CHARLES I., unhappy in war, was still more unhappy in the business of diplomacy. Passion, singleness of purpose, and recklessness of means, impart, even to men of moderate intellect, both vigour in action and the appearance of great mental power. one, acquainted with the history of the domestic troubles in England in the seventeenth century, will be disposed to underrate the capacity of several among those who raised the storm, and directed its terrors. But they had the advantages of launching upon an impulse already in action, and of standing, with respect to the king, in the relation of the assailant to the defendant, of the revolutionist to the conservative. Cromwell derived energy from his restless ambition; Vane, from passionate admiration of his own political theories; the commonwealth men and Independents in general, from the scorn of restraint and hatred of authority, which is a passion native to every heart; the Presbyterians, from bigoted idolatry of their self-devised form of church-government. To withstand these fierce conjoined motives, Charles had little besides a calm sense of duty to God, to his kingly state, and to posterity-a sustaining principle indeed; and hence he rises in our estimation, in exact proportion as the gloom of adversity gathers round him; but little fitted to impart practical energy to the character. Defeated, betrayed, powerless, almost friendless-can we wonder that he should be baffled in those conflicts of cunning statesmanship, into which, by the unfortunate exigencies of his position, he was now forced?

Charles was assured that by this time the hearts of his subjects, beginning to awake from their delusions, had, even within the rebel camp and the republican capital, turned again, in multitudes, to their king. He at no time abandoned his faith in the settled attachment of the people to the monarchy, the religion, and the laws, of their country. He believed that his presence, even among such of them as were most subservient to an affectedly popular, but really arbitrary government, and most completely beguiled by faction, would stimulate the renascent warmth of loyalty: he felt secure, that there were many friends whom the sight of him would encourage, and some among his worst enemies whom it would abash. Peace, moreover, peace on any terms compatible with the existence of the monarchy and the church, had now become absolutely indispensable. No sooner, then, had he found himself once more in Oxford, than he directed all his endeavours to open negotiations for this great object. Three successive messages, penned with "the most powerful persuasions imaginable," had been despatched, before his haughty victors at Westminster deigned to reply: their answer, when at length they condescended to answer, was, a refusal to receive the king's commissioners, with an intimation that they were

themselves engaged in drawing up propositions for his majesty to sign. Again the parliament relapsed into silence, notwithstanding the frequent renewal of the correspondence, on the king's part, "with many gracious expressions of his desire of peace, and many novel concessions." Meantime Fairfax, having reduced the western counties, was advancing to invest Oxford, and Charles was now in imminent danger of being enclosed by a hostile army, flushed with numerous victories, and too powerful to leave him any chance of successful resistance. At length, late in the month of March, he sent a message which suddenly roused the parliament from their insolent affectation of disregard. Charles desired, if he might have the engagement of the two houses, the Scottish commissioners, and the chief officers of the English and Scottish armies, for his safety, to proceed to London, and there conduct a personal treaty. To this proposal, which he fortified by promising to concede, either absolutely or for a term of years, everything required on the other side, except the sacrifice of his friends and the church, an answer was quickly vouchsafed. They reproached the king as the cause of all the bloodshed that had taken place, and reproved him for coupling with them in his message the military commanders, who were "subject and subordinate to their authority;" they absolutely refused his request, on the ground that the king's presence in London would neither be safe for him nor convenient to themselves; and concluded by again referring to those propositions which they were preparing, as the only conditions on which they would treat of peace.

Among the numerous letters written by the king in the course of these transactions, the following, to Lord Digby, is strongly indicative of his pressing danger and delusive hopes; of the profound trouble of his royal mind, yet of its control by the enlarging magnanimity of his character.

"Since my last to you," writes the afflicted monarch, "misfortunes have so multiplied upon me, that I have been forced to send this (to say no more) but strange message to London; yet whatever becomes of me, I must not forget my friends, wherever they are.

"I am endeavouring to get to London, so that the conditions may be such as a gentleman may own, and that the rebels may acknowledge me king; being not without hope that I shall be able so to draw either the Presbyterians or Independents to side with me for extirpating one or the other, that I shall be really king again.

"Howsoever, I desire you to assure all my friends, that if I cannot live as a king I shall die like a gentleman, without doing that which may make honest men blush for me."

In the parliament's stern refusal of a personal conference, there was more of policy and fear, than of hatred. A yawning gulf already divided the two great rebel parties; which both saw but too clearly, though each eagerly strove to hide the prospect. As yet neither of them could dispense with the other. In the common cause against the "malignants," the republicans were still willing to tolerate the Presbyterians; the Presbyterians, confident in the final elevation of their idol "platform," stolidly consented to march beneath the banners of their perilous confederates. But the reign of Independency, though yet in its infant and unassured state, was continually receiving new accessions of support. By various circumstances, such as voluntary absence of members, votes of incapacity, &c.—the House of Commons had become greatly reduced in numbers; no

new members having been elected to supply the vacancies thus occasioned. An obvious method which this circumstance suggested to the republicans for recruiting their strength, was, by a vote of the house at once to overleap the legal difficulties which had hitherto been opposed to fresh elections. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1645, one hundred and forty-six new members were elected, and eighty-nine in the year following; of whom it was the business of the heads of the rising party to take care that a large proportion should be fully prepared either to lead or to follow in any course which their interest required. Among those introduced into the Commons in 1645, were Sidney, Ludlow, Skippon, Hutchinson, and others of similar character and views, no regard being now had to the self-denying ordinance; of those admitted in the early part of 1646, one was the notorious Harry Marten, who had been previously expelled the house for his profligate revolutionary sentiments, but was now recalled through the growing influence of the Independent party. Nor indeed were all the exertions of Cromwell and Vane, of Ireton and St. John, more than sufficient, at this time, to maintain their progressive ascendency. While Charles was thus being pushed towards the edge of the precipice, a friendly hand was at last stretched out to him by a foreign power;-this once only, during his protracted struggles, and now impotently, if not insidiously. In the lifetime of Richelieu, and down to the fatal overthrow at Naseby, France, the only continental power from which Charles I. could reasonably expect effectual aid, was, on the contrary, secretly leagued against him. From the first outbreak of the tumults in Scotland, they were insidiously fomented by that wily and implacable politician; and those agents whom he sent over to England, on pretence of promoting an accommodation, were in reality employed to lend encouragement to the rebels, or, at best, while apparently favouring the royal cause, to perform a part wholly insignificant. But that tremendous blow startled France from her course of policy. To Mazarine, the new absolute minister, it appeared that matters were proceeding too far. It might carry some danger to the continental despotisms of Europe, farther to aid, or even idly to look on, while a huge democracy reared its head on the ruins of one of her ancient monarchies. From such misgivings proceeded the famous mission of Montreuil. The instructions which this envoy brought over from the queen-regent of France (or the cardinal, in her name), and from Charles's consort, Henrietta, as the basis of his negotiations, were, by every argument in his power to persuade the king to yield to the demands of the Presbyterians, as the less hostile of the two parties, into the arms of one of which he must inevitably throw himself. A pledge, that the unhappy king would no longer refuse his consent, appears already to have been conveyed to the Scots, on the authority of the Queen of England and her two advisers, Jermyn and Culpeper. It is perhaps not greatly surprising, that a bigoted Roman Catholic (to whom all forms of Christianity but her own were alike indifferent), the mere butterfly of a court, and a moderately-informed soldier and statesman, should jointly misapprehend the degree of Charles's constancy on such a point as the primitive and inalienable authority of English bishops. Temperately, but firmly, he signified to Montreuil his absolute refusal; an unexpected decision, the king's persevering in which, ultimately occasioned the recall and disgrace of the too sanguine

envoy; and when Sir William Davenant brought over from the queen and her counci a distinct proposal to the same effect, attempting to recommend it by arguments more suitable for a court-poet to urge than for a religious monarch to hear, the offended king forbade him his presence.

In the mean time, the danger of being shut up in Oxford grew imminent; Fairfax's officers having already blockaded the neighbouring garrisons of Wallingford and Woodstock, and the investing of Oxford itself being suspended only till the general, now released from the siege of Exeter, had completed his survey of the ground, and issued orders for its circumvallation. Of the selfishness and intolerance of the Presbyterians, Charles had had ample experience; with respect to the Independents, as a body, no such painful advantage had, as yet, fallen to his lot. A personal knowledge of some eminent individuals, of apparently enlarged and generous sentiments, had impressed him with a too favourable opinion of that party. Such a mistake would be more discreditable to the royal sagacity, could the king have read the page of futurity as we now read the records of history; but Charles had to collect the opinions of the Independents as he could, from the specious professions of Cromwell, and through the cloudy metaphysics of the younger Vane. In his present extreme need he made trial of their loyalty, or generosity. Two letters exist, written to Vane by the hands of Ashburnham, one of the grooms of the king's bedchamber, in one of which Charles solicits the good office of that influential statesman in the following earnest terms:

"Be very confident that all things shall be performed according to my promise. By all that is good I conjure you to despatch that courtesy for me with all speed, or it will be too late; I shall perish before I receive the fruits of it. I may not tell you my necessities, but if it were necessary so to do, I am sure you would lay all other considerations aside, and fulfil my desires. This is all; trust me, I will repay the favour to the full. I have done. If I have not an answer within four days, I shall be necessitated to find some other expedient. God direct you! I have discharged my duty."

The favour thus pathetically implored, was that of permission to repair to London. He had renewed his application for a personal conference, in a letter which, being unfortunately produced when the house were "not in the vein," was thrown by, and neglected. For aught that appears, the parliamentary leader of the Independents treated the fallen monarch's private correspondence with the like contemptuous silence.

Montreuil's earliest reports from the Scottish camp before Newark, sounded favourably. Charles's pertinacious refusal to countenance their idolized form of church-government, gave offence, but the possession of the king's person, which the envoy was instructed to hold out to the commissioners, seemed a prospective advantage over their enemies in the English parliament, which was not to be neglected. After some time spent in communicating with their brethren at Westminster, they offered the king an asylum, on condition that he made his appearance attended only by two individuals, and let himself fall, as it were by accident, into the hands of a party of cavalry, to be stationed in the way for this purpose. Charles, however, did not omit the needful precaution of previously sending a trusty person to ascertain that all had been arranged according to agreement. The

messenger selected for this purpose was Hudson, his "plain-spoken" chaplain, as the king familiarly styled him-one of those ecclesiastics whom the rude iniquity of the times had thrust into employments alien to their education and former habits. Hudson had filled the office of the king's scoutmaster-general in the north, and was well acquainted with every road and by-path of those regions. He found Montreuil in an altered mood. The Scottish commissioners in London differed, in their view of the project in hand, from the officers and the commissioners of the Estates before Newark. Montreuil had now lost all confidence in the parties, and presaged ill for the design. But the king's situation was become desperate. Oxford, strong by natural position, had been made, by the skill and cost bestowed on its fortifications, almost impregnable; it was besides well garrisoned and provisioned, and might therefore be successfully defended for several months. One, nevertheless, of two alternatives, could alone save the king, from the certain captivity, to which, at the termination of that period, famine would compel him to submit, if he lingered there. The first was, to procure more favourable terms by an immediate surrender. He attempted it, and failed. Neither Ireton nor Rainsborough, who both lay with their divisions in the neighbourhood, would engage to protect their sovereign, and conduct him in safety to the parliament. The king was therefore forced to fall back on the Scots as his only resource. At this moment a messenger came in from Newark, with the intelligence that the commissioners had settled their differences on the proposed arrangement, and that Lesley's promised escort was actually ordered out. Charles hastily acquainted his council that it was his intention, without delay, to quit Oxford, but not on what design; leaving them to surmise that he meant to put in practice a romantic scheme which had sometimes been the subject of his discourse, viz. to throw himself naked into the midst of friends and focs in London, and leave the rest to Providence, and the remains of the ancient English loyalty. At dead of night, April 27, 1645, he took a final farewell of that spot so dear to his heart; the solemn groves, the antique towers, the noiseless streets of Oxford-fit capital for the empire of a learned and sorrowstricken king!

The stroke of three was quivering through the keen atmosphere of the early spring morning, when the same number of horsemen, crossing Magdalene bridge, reached the gateway that opened upon the London road. Here the party halted, and one of them spoke, in low tones, to a military personage, apparently in charge of the portal. "Let not a post," he said, "be opened, until five days be past." The other returned an earnest assent; it was the king, giving his last order to Sir Thomas Glemham, governor of Oxford. The three cavaliers passed on. "Farewell, Harry!" exclaimed the governor. Nor could anything be observed in the king's appearance which betrayed inconsistency in this familiar adieu. For Charles, habited as a serving-man, with clipped beard and shorn locks, wearing a Spanish cap of the period, and having in charge a cloak-bag, followed his favourite attendant, Ashburnham; while Hudson, covered with a military mantle, personated a captain going to London about his composition-in those times a traveller's frequent errand. Only Hudson and Ashburnham were armed.

Notwithstanding this dangerously decisive step, Charles was still unresolved in what