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Royalty Restored or London under Charles II
Chapter II
by Molloy, J. Fitzgerald
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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.
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