CHAPTER XI.
To employ an apt but homely figure used by Mrs. Hutchinson, the smoke ascended from the tops of the chimneys before the flame broke out. As early as April, the King appeared at the gates of Hull, where he was denied entrance by Sir John Hotham. In the middle of June, the Commission of Array at Leicester came into collision with the Parliamentary militia. In August, the brave Lord Brooke set out from Warwick Castle with three hundred musketeers and two hundred horse, gathering round him recruits to the number of three thousand; the country sending "six loads of harrows to keep off horses, and a cart-load of bread and cheese, and great store of beer."[306] Reluctant to shed blood, the Puritan commander charged his soldiers, for the kingdom's sake, not to fire a single pistol except in self-defence. Happily, there arose no occasion for firing at all, as the Royalists, under the Earl of Northampton, threw down their arms, and ran away. The King, in revenge of Brooke's conduct, bestowed that nobleman's castle as an escheat on the Lord of Compton-Winyates, after which the patriot, in defiance of this injustice and insult, planted ordnance at the gate and keep of his feudal fortress, and on the top of Cæsar's tower. Lord Compton, forcibly claiming the royal grant, assailed the stronghold left under the charge of Sir Edward Peto, and planted cannon on the church to bombard the castle. Dislodged by shots, the besieger endeavoured to starve out the garrison; but Sir Edward, with grim Puritan resolution, hoisted a flag displaying the figures of a Bible and a winding sheet, which presented very significant symbols of the objects and spirit of the rising war.[307]
Outbreak of War.
On the afternoon of Monday, the 22nd of August, there occurred the world-famous act of setting up the King's standard at Nottingham. After dinner, he with his company rode into the town from Leicester Abbey. The standard was taken out of the castle and carried into a field behind the castle wall. It resembled one of the city streamers used at the Lord Mayor's show; it had about twenty supporters; on its top hung a flag with the royal arms quartered, and a hand pointing to the crown, with the motto, "Give Cæsar his due." It was conducted to the field in great state by the King, Prince Rupert, and divers Lords. A proclamation respecting the war had been prepared, which his Majesty read over, and, seeming to dislike some expressions, called for pen and ink, and with his own hand crossed out or altered them; after which, when the paper was read, the multitude threw up their hats and cried, "God save the King." It was now late in the month of August, the days were closing in, and the evening shadows fell on the King and his staff as they engaged in this act which finally plunged England into a civil war. A violent storm of wind arose and blew down the standard, almost as soon as it was unfurled.[308] As the cavaliers, in the dim twilight, wheeled off from the spot, did not their hearts beat with a sense of something very awful done that night?
1642, August.
As from one end of England to the other rumours of war were current, pious men betook themselves to the exercises of devotion; and the two Houses of Parliament, on hearing that the standard had been set up at Nottingham, published an ordinance for observing, with more than usual humiliation, the monthly fast, the services of which were to last from nine in the morning till four in the afternoon. At the same period, a religious service in London, known as "the Morning Exercise," was commenced, in connection with which special intercessions were offered up on behalf of the Parliamentary forces.[309]
But whilst peaceable Puritans were praying, their armed brethren were marching through the country. In the State Paper Office there are letters, probably intercepted ones, written by a Roundhead soldier named Wharton, reporting to a friend the adventures of the regiment to which he belonged. They are so curious and interesting, and throw such light on the feelings of a religious nature which existed in the hearts of the Parliament soldiers, that we cannot forbear making use of them largely in this part of our narrative.
Troops on the March.
He informs us, that in the month of August, 1642, he and his comrades marched to Acton, and were belated. Many were constrained to lodge in beds "whose feathers were above a yard long." They sallied out into the town, and coming to the house of one Penruddock, a Papist, they were "basely affronted by him and his dog;" whereupon they entered and pillaged the dwelling; and then proceeded to the church, where they "defaced the ancient and sacred glazed pictures, and burned the holy rails;" the soldiers brought more holy rails to be burnt, and abstained from pillaging Lord Portland's house, together with another inhabited by Dr. Ducke, only in consequence of a prohibition from their commanders. Mention is made of converting the surplice at Hillingdon into handkerchiefs, of burning the rails and also a service book at Uxbridge, and of similar outrages, perpetrated in other places; as well as of soldiers visiting Papists by stealth, and forcing them to give loaves and cheeses, which the captors triumphantly carried away on the points of their swords. Colonel Hampden, accompanied by many gentlemen well-horsed, welcomed these detachments to Aylesbury with great joy; after which they marched out with 400 musqueteers and a hundred horse, to Watlington, in Oxfordshire. At Great Missenden they had noble entertainment from the whole town, and especially from Sir Bryan Ireson, and the minister. On Sunday, a pulpit was built in the market place of Aylesbury, where they heard "two worthy sermons." Grievous complaints are made of their Lieutenant-Colonel, who is described in no measured terms, as one whom they all desired that the Parliament would depose or God convert, or "the devil fetch away quick."[310]
1642, September.
From Northampton the same correspondent writes informing his friend that on Wednesday a fast was kept at Coventry—which is described as a city, having four steeples, three churches, and two parishes, and not long since, but one priest—where they heard two sermons, but before the third was ended an "alarum" came for them to march. By ten o'clock they got their regiments together, and about two in the morning proceeded towards Northampton.[311] The military pillaged the parson of Barby, and brought him away prisoner with his surplice and other relics. At Long Buckby the soldiers had hard quarters, insomuch that they were glad to "dispossess the very swine, and as many as could quartered in the church." Some stragglers sallied into the neighbourhood of the town, and returned "in state, clothed in surplice, hood, and cap, representing the Bishop of Canterbury." On Friday morning, Mr. Obediah Sedgwick "gave a worthy sermon," and Wharton's company marched rank and file to hear him. Mr. John Sedgwick had been appointed to preach in the afternoon, but news having arrived that Prince Rupert had plundered Harborough, and fired some adjacent towns, this circumstance spoiled the service. On Sabbath morning Mr. Marshall, "that worthy champion of Christ," preached, and in the afternoon Mr. Ash officiated. These by their sermons "subdued and satisfied more malignant spirits than 1,000 armed men could have done, so that we have great hopes of a blessed union."
Troops on the March.
Writing from Worcester (September 26th), Wharton complains of the barbarity practised by the cavaliers—relating how they stripped, stabbed, and slashed the dead, and then states that on Sabbath morning, his fellow-soldiers entered a vault of the college where his Excellency was to hear a sermon, and found secreted there eleven barrels of gunpowder and a pot of bullets. It is added that his Excellency prohibited any soldier to plunder churches or private houses under pain of death. In another communication, (dated September 30th), after an interesting account of the situation, buildings, and curiosities of the city, he paints its moral and spiritual condition, in most frightful colours, as so vile, and the country so base, so papistical, so atheistical, and abominable that it resembled Sodom, and was the very emblem of Gomorrah, and doubtless worse than either Algiers or Malta, a very den of thieves, and a refuge for all the hell-hounds in the country. Though the citizens cried peccavi their practical motto was iterum faciam; but they only did as they were taught by Dr. Prideaux, lately made bishop, and by other popish priests, who had all run away.
1642, October.
Respecting Hereford, he remarks, October the 7th, "On Sabbath day, about the time of morning prayer, we went to the minster, where the pipes played and the puppets sang so sweetly, that some of our soldiers could not forbear dancing in the holy quire, whereat the Baalists were sore displeased. The anthem ended, they fell to prayer, and prayed devoutly for the King and the bishops, and one of our soldiers with a loud voice said, 'What! never a bit for the Parliament,' which offended them much more. Not satisfied with this human service we went to divine, and, passing by, found shops open and men at work, to whom we gave some plain dehortations, and went to hear Mr. Sedgwick, who gave us two famous sermons, which much affected the poor inhabitants, who wondering, said they never heard the like before, and I believe them. The Lord move your hearts to commiserate their distress, and to send them some faithful and painful minister, for the revenues of the college will maintain many of them. I have sent you the gods of the cavaliers enclosed, they are pillage taken from Sir William Russel, of which I never yet got the worth of one farthing."
The writer of these letters was a stern Puritan, with an almost equal hatred of Prelacy and Popery, and also a fierce Iconoclast, with not an atom of regard for what is æsthetical in worship—tearing up surplices as the rags of the mother of harlots, and looking with grim satisfaction on altar rails crackling in the fire as so much superstitious refuse and defilement swept out of the Church of God, and meet only to be destroyed.
Contemporary with these epistles is one from a minister at Berwick, which presents to us another illustration of what happened in those times, by revealing to us his secret troubles—thus indicating the violence of feeling prevalent amongst the Roman Catholics of the wild Border Country, towards zealous apostles of Puritanism: "Never had I more need of your prayers than at present: the Papists are very insolent, use me most basely by railing on me, &c. But especially the Scottish fugitives, Mr. Sideserfe and his adherents, are so exasperated against me for my fidelity, that there is no small fear of my life and safety. One in his cups said yesterday, that they would not be satisfied until they had my life; but I say with the apostle, my life is not dear unto me, that I may finish my course with joy and fulfil the ministry which I have received of the Lord Jesus. They rail upon the Parliament, and threaten to send for a troop of horse to fetch me from Berwick, but my times are in the Lord's hands. I have one hundred pounds in London: I would the Parliament had it for and towards the defence of the kingdom, if it would be accepted. The Lord maintain His own cause, go out with His armies, and make a good end for us, for I know your prayers will not be wanting."[312]
As the Parliamentary soldiers were marching up and down the country, after the fashion described in Nehemiah Wharton's letters, Royalists were working out their will in another kind of lawless way. They had no psalm-singing or prayer, they built no pulpits in market-places, and if they did not retaliate upon conventicles the puritan treatment of parish churches, it was simply because conventicles did not exist, or were not within their reach. Royalist excesses were of another order. Whitelocke, describing the plunder of his own house, tells us that the enemy consumed whatever they could find, lighted their pipes with his MSS., carried away his title deeds, littered their horses with his wheat sheaves, broke down his park pales, killed his deer, broke open his trunks and chests, cut his beds and let out the feathers, and seized his coach and horses. In a word, they committed "all the mischief and spoil that malice and enmity could provoke barbarous mercenaries to commit."[313]
Battle of Edgehill.
1642, October.
The first serious conflict between the two armies happened at Edgehill, on Sunday, October the 23rd. The Puritan forces were marching to worship at Keynton church, when news reached them of the enemy being only two miles distant. Upon hearing this, they proceeded that morning—as the autumnal tints dyed the landscape—to a broad field at the hill foot, called the Vale of the Red Horse, where, as they took up their position, the Royalists came down and arranged their forces in front of them. Amongst the cavaliers rode Sir Jacob Astley, whose prayer and charge were so characteristic of the bluff piety of the best of that class, "O Lord, Thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee do not forget me. March on, boys!" Then began the rush of pikes, the crack of musketry, and the roar of cannon, which lasted till dark. Richard Baxter was preaching that day at Alcester, and heard the tumult of the distant fight. Some fugitives ran into the town, startling and alarming the inhabitants with the news, that the Parliament had been defeated; but early next morning other messengers relieved the panic-stricken inhabitants by the assurance that while Prince Rupert's men were plundering the waggons of Lord Essex's routed wing, the main body with the right wing had prevailed and won the day. The preacher walked over to the spot next morning, and found the Parliamentary General in possession of the field.[314]
The battle decided nothing, but it nourished the hopes of Parliament. A few days afterwards, the House of Lords ordered the Lord Mayor of London to summon a Common Hall at five o'clock, when a committee of peers and commons met the citizens, and amidst the gathering shadows of the afternoon, told the eagerly-listening crowd the story of the fight; Lord Say and Sele closing his speech with the exhortation, "Up and be doing, and the Lord be with you."[315]
On the 8th of November, the citizens again assembled. Charles was moving up to London, Rupert was scouring the suburbs, and within the walls there was general alarm. Lord Brooke, who attended the meeting, after giving a confused report of what had been done at Edgehill, urged his audience to stand up for liberty and religion. "When you shall hear the drums beat," he exclaimed, "say not, I beseech you, I am not of the train band, nor this, nor that, nor the other—but doubt not to go out to the work, and fight courageously, and this shall be the day of your deliverance."
Church Politics in London.
A few days later the Royalist forces were at Brentford. The City volunteers now rallied round old General Skippon, whose homely words went to their hearts: "Come, my boys, my brave boys, let us pray heartily and fight heartily. I will run the same fortunes and hazards with you. Remember the cause is for God, and for the defence of yourselves, your wives, and children." The train bands marched out on Sunday, the citizens, after sermon, carrying them provisions.[316] At the time when the cavaliers were spurring their horses toward the metropolis, a declaration of the two Houses appeared in answer to one by his Majesty. In the course of a general argument which the document contained, there occurred a disavowal of any intention to reject the Book of Common Prayer. It was intended, they said, only to take out of it what was evil and justly offensive, and what was considered unnecessary and burdensome. They also protested against Brownists and Anabaptists, entirely disavowing any sympathy with such persons; though they said they agreed with many who were falsely designated by such opprobrious appellations. These references were made to the Separatists because the King and the Anglicans were always reviling them, sometimes in strong terms; for example, the Earl of Newcastle declared that they were worse than Papists, and deserted a heavier punishment.[317] Such abuse really was pointed at the Commons themselves, who were not only suspected but often broadly accused of schismatical predilections. His Majesty's wrath also boiled over, and in one of his many declarations he told his "loving subjects" of seditious members, who being joined with the Anabaptists and Brownists of London, first changed the government of the city, and then by their pride and power would fain undo the whole kingdom. Pennington, who now occupied the mayoralty, was described as guilty of treason, and also as reviling the Prayer Book; and as robbing and imprisoning whomsoever he thought fit, and with the rabble who composed his faction giving law to Parliament.
1642, November.
The quarrel between the King and the City now became still darker and deeper. A letter from the Hague, directed to Secretary Nicholas, and brought to London in a Gravesend boat—which was stopped at the moment of shooting London Bridge—contained evidence of the King's negotiations for bringing over foreign troops: this letter consequently was soon printed and circulated through the city. The two Houses ordered the clergy to read it in their churches; and the devoted Lord Mayor requested them to make it a ground of appeal to the parishioners respecting a sum of £30,000 which was about to be raised for Parliament. Churchwardens were to hold meetings after service in the afternoon on the 27th of November, to raise "a proportionable fund,"[318] which we may well imagine that we see accomplished by dim candle-light in churches, vestries, and other places, on that wintry Sunday night.
Church Politics in London.
The City and the Parliament were thoroughly united this midwinter; and therefore the City and the Sovereign continued in violent opposition. At a Common Hall, held on the 13th of January—when all the companies came in their city habits, and there were present the Committee of both Houses, the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, and such a confluence of liverymen as had not been seen in the memory of the oldest man—a petition to the King was read, and then the royal answer, in which his Majesty asked his petitioners whether they believed that the indignities done to the Prayer Book, the violent treatment of Episcopal clergymen, and the cherishing and countenancing of all manner of sectaries, were likely to defend and maintain the Protestant religion. Mr. Pym, being present at the meeting, delivered a speech, in which he denied his Majesty's allegations, maintaining that the magistrates did not give countenance to the sectaries; adding this home-thrust, which Charles so often had to meet, that if they did, his Majesty could not consistently object, inasmuch as, having sworn to support the Protestant religion, he, in the meantime, raised an army of Papists.[319]
1643, January.
Another City meeting followed on the 17th, when Alderman Garroway appeared as an advocate of the Episcopal Church; and it will be instructive to notice his speech, as shewing the line of remark which at the time was adopted on that side of the controversy. "Mr. Pym told us," said the Alderman, "there was no proof that my Lord Mayor and the other persons named were countenancers of Brownists, Anabaptists, and other sectaries. Where should this proof be made? Do we not all know this to be true? Are they not all so much countenanced, as there is no countenance left for anybody else? Did not my Lord Mayor first enter upon his office with a speech against the Book of Common Prayer? Hath the Common Prayer ever been read before him? Hath not Captain Venn said that his wife could make prayers worth three of any in that book? Oh, masters, there have been times that he that should speak against the Book of Common Prayer in this city, should not have been put to the patience of a legal trial. We were wont to look upon it as the greatest treasure and jewel of our religion; and he that should have told us he wished well to our religion, and yet would take away the Book of Common Prayer, would never have gotten credit. I have been in all the parts of Christendom, and have conversed with Christians in Turkey. Why, in all the reformed churches there is not anything of more reverence than the English liturgy; not our Royal Exchange, or the name of Queen Elizabeth, so famous. In Geneva itself I have heard it extolled to the skies. I have been three months together by sea, not a day without hearing it read twice. The honest mariners then despised all the world but the King and the Common Prayer Book. He that should have been suspected to wish ill to either of them would have made an ill voyage. And let me tell you, they are shrewd youths, those seamen. If they once discern that the person of the King is in danger, or the true Protestant professed religion, they will shew themselves mad bodies before you are aware of it."[320]
Whilst the Alderman was speaking, there arose, according to the reporter, much interruption. Citizens hissed, and cried, "No more, no more!" It was an hour after he rose to speak ere the uproar ceased. He was not to be put down, however, but patiently continued repeating the same sentence till people were quiet. At last the Court broke up, and every man departed—"so great a company going before and following after Alderman Garroway to his house, that the streets were as full as at my Lord Mayor's show." Some one recommended them to act with discretion. "Discretion!" exclaimed a butcher, "we shall be undone with it. Let us proceed as these people have taught. When we asked them what we should have in the place of bishops, they told us bishops were naught we all knew, and, when they were gone, we should think of somewhat that is better in their room. Let us now take away what we know is naught, and we shall do well enough after. I owe them a good turn for the honour they have done my trade."
Popular Preachers in London.
Whatever truth there might be in the charge that the sectaries were encouraged by Pennington and others, certainly Presbyterianism received the support of by far the majority of the London citizens. Two Presbyterian clergymen at this time enjoyed great popularity in the metropolis—Stephen Marshall and Edmund Calamy. Marshall held the lectureship of St. Margaret's Church, Westminster. His pulpit talents were of a superior order, and were employed in the exhibition of truths dear to Puritan affections; but, like others of his age and creed, he introduced into his sermons the absorbing questions of the day. Knowing that they filled the minds of his hearers, and deeming them of vital interest to his country and the Church, he judged that by such preaching he really walked in the footsteps of old Hebrew prophets. We find Calamy, the historian, admitting that Marshall encouraged the taking up arms for securing the Constitution, when it appeared, not only to him and his brethren, but to a number of as worthy gentlemen as ever sat in St. Stephen's chapel, to be in no small danger.[321] Men, in those troublous times, must not be judged by such standards of propriety as are upheld amidst the comfortable respectability of our own peaceful era; and the same allowance must be made for both sides. If we do not wonder at the stern animosity of the Royalist churchman, neither should we be surprised at the martial zeal of Parliamentary presbyters.
1643, January.
The lectureship at St. Margaret's brought Marshall into close connection with the Commons, which naturally, under the circumstances, imparted a political tinge to his oratory. But Calamy,[322] being perpetual curate of Aldermanbury, had to do with parishioners whose spiritual wants came immediately under his notice; and he delighted in that experimental strain of discourse which ever touches the hearts of men. What made him acceptable to the citizens in his own neighbourhood, made him acceptable to the citizens generally. No church was so thronged as his. Admired by the Puritan, he was lampooned by the Royalist. "Well, who's for Aldermanbury?" asked the latter, in one of the scurrilous party tracts, of which some are reprinted in well-known collections, and many more are preserved in the British Museum. "You would think a phœnix preached there. A foot-ball in cold weather is as much followed as Calamy by all his rampant dog-day zealots." Reporters, not for the press, but for private edification, waited on the divine, as we learn from the pamphleteer, who proceeds to exclaim, "Instead of a dumb shew, enter the sermon daubers. Oh! what a gracious sight is a silver ink-horn. How blessed a gift is it to write short-hand! What necessary implements for a saint are cotton wool and blotting-paper. These dabblers turn the Church into a scrivener's shop. A country fellow, last term, mistook it for the six clerks' office."[323] This vulgar ridicule at once testifies to the popularity of Calamy, illustrates the manners and customs of the time in places of worship, and shews that, whatever might be the religious extravagances of some Presbyterians, they were more than matched by the godless ridicule of people who claimed to be exceedingly zealous for Episcopacy.
Popular Preachers in London.
Coincident with the increasing popularity of these preachers, the actual outbreak of the Civil Wars, and the excitement in London respecting ecclesiastical affairs, were certain measures adopted by Parliament for abolishing Episcopacy. The Scotch did not fail to press this subject most earnestly upon their English brethren. They looked at it in the lurid light which their own annals had thrown on the institution, and in their view it had become identified with the arrogance and intolerance of Popery and Anglicanism. Unable to rest till England was saved from what they considered to be the secret of its weakness, and the precursor of its ruin, the General Assembly of Scotland sent a letter to Parliament, urging a thorough reformation, with a view to "one confession of faith, one directory of worship, one public catechism, and one form of Church government."[324]
The answer of the English Parliament was both cautious and promising. No assurance was returned that organic unity with the Scotch should be attempted, but a hope was expressed of more free communion in worship, of security against Papists and "other sectaries," and of the gathering together in England of an Assembly of learned Divines. The fate of prelacy, however, was sealed by the following important declaration, which was embodied in the answer:—
"That this Government by Archbishops, Bishops, their Chancellors and Commissaries, Deans and Chapters, Archdeacons, and other ecclesiastical officers depending upon the hierarchy, is evil, and justly offensive and burdensome to the kingdom, a great impediment to reformation and growth of religion, very prejudicial to the State and Government of this kingdom; and that we are resolved that the same shall be taken away."[325]
1643, January.
On the 30th of the following December, a Bill for the utter abolition of Episcopacy was read a first time;[326] and on the 26th of January following, 1643, the Bill was reported in the House of Lords as having been approved by the committee and read the third time. What had been threatened for nearly two years was done at last in a few hours. The emergency of the moment, and the critical state of the war, caused now the hasty passing of the measure, for which a long train of events had opened the way.
Other acts of a like complexion gather around this central one. On the 23rd of December, an order was given to secure the library, writings, and goods in Lambeth House, belonging to the see of Canterbury, and to take the keys of the palace, which was now to be used as a prison. On the 3rd and 5th of January, a similar disposal was made of Ely House and the palace of the Bishop of London, near St. Paul's. On the 30th of December, the Lords and Commons, ignoring altogether the laws and customs of the Episcopal Church, ordered a clergyman to be instituted to the vicarage of Chard, in Somersetshire; and on January the 7th, a Bill against pluralities and non-residence received a third reading by the Lords.[327]
Negotiations at Oxford.
Be it remembered, that all these Bills, after passing both Houses, remained without Royal assent; and therefore could not be regarded as Acts of Parliament according to the principles of the English Constitution: a circumstance which, of course, the Sovereign and the Royalist party took care to urge against them.
The Scotch Presbyterians, after having failed in their attempts at the beginning of the year 1642 to mediate between the King and the Parliament, continued anxiously to watch the progress of affairs in England, with a view to the accomplishment of that union between the two countries upon which they had already set their hearts. Willing, and even anxious, to take a part in the war, they waited until such applications for aid should be made by either of the belligerents as might seem most likely to terminate the strife in favour of their own Church schemes. Doubtless they would have helped the King, if, on the one hand, he would have renounced Episcopacy and embraced Presbyterianism, or if, on the other hand, Parliament had opposed Presbyterianism and maintained Episcopacy. But Charles despaired of their assistance, knowing well the religious antipathies existing between himself and them; and Parliament at first forbore to solicit their military help, not then feeling their very great need of it.
Even when a turn in affairs made it appear valuable, Parliament did not ask for it with as much earnestness as the northern brethren would have wished. It is plain, from Baillie's letters, that he and his friends were readier to draw the sword for the true Kirk on this side the Tweed than the English at present were to enter on a military alliance with Scotland for ecclesiastical objects. After a diplomatic lull—in which for a long time, says the worthy man, we "lay verie calm and secure,"[328] and when intrigues amongst the Scotch Royalists filled the Presbyterian magnates with alarm—they turned their thoughts towards Oxford, and sent Commissioners to treat with the King.
1643, January.
The Earl of Loudon, now Chancellor of Scotland, came to Oxford as the principal lay commissioner, and Alexander Henderson accompanied him as an ecclesiastical one. The latter bore a petition from the General Assembly, prepared by himself. This petition dwelt upon the insolence and presumption of Roman Catholics, and entreated that there might be an established uniformity in religion. It was urged that, since prelatical government had been taken away, a government by assemblies, as in other reformed kirks, should follow.[329]
Negotiations at Oxford.
Another embassy, with somewhat different designs, reached the same place soon afterwards. It included the Earl of Northumberland, with other noblemen and gentlemen, Bulstrode Whitelocke, who relates particulars of the visit, being one of them.[330] They were sent by the Parliament to confer with the King for an ultimate peace with an immediate cessation of arms, upon terms which were strictly prescribed in their commission. These ambassadors were not plenipotentiaries, but they were selected for their known moderation, as persons likely, on that account, to be acceptable to the monarch. They travelled with the King's safe conduct in a style which was no doubt very superior to that of the emissaries from the North. They had "six gallant horses in every coach," and the whole party was attended by a number of servants on horseback. This imposing procession, however, failed to awe the "rascality of the town;" for they, and even "some of better rank but like quality," reviled the distinguished visitors as so many rebels and traitors. However, Charles received them all in the gardens of Christ Church very graciously, and held out his hand for each to kiss. Immediately they proceeded to business, and the Earl of Northumberland, "with a sober and stout carriage," read to the King the propositions of the two Houses. The Monarch began to interrupt. The Earl smartly replied, "Your Majesty will give me leave to proceed." Charles stuttered out, "I—I," and then paused, allowing the bold nobleman to have his way.
1643, February.
The ecclesiastical proposals were as follows:—[331]
(1) "That your Majesty will be pleased to give your royal assent unto the Bill for taking away superstitious innovations;
(2) "To the Bill for the utter abolishing and taking away of all archbishops, bishops, their chancellors and commissaries, deans, sub-deans, deans and chapters, archdeacons, canons and prebendaries, and all chanters, chancellors, treasurers, sub-treasurers, succentors and sacrists, and all vicars choral and choristers, old vicars, and new vicars of any cathedral or collegiate church, and all other their under officers out of the Church of England;
(3) "To the Bill against scandalous ministers;
(4) "To the Bill against pluralities; and
(5) "To the Bill of consultation to be had with godly, religious, and learned Divines. That your Majesty will be pleased to promise to pass such other good Bills for settling of Church government, as, upon consultation with the Assembly of the said Divines, shall be resolved on by both Houses of Parliament, and by them be presented to your Majesty."
To these five propositions no explicit reply was given by the King; but, in reference to religion generally, he said that, as he would "readily consent (having done so heretofore) to the execution of all laws already made, and to any good Acts to be made for the suppressing of Popery, and for the firm settling of the Protestant religion, now established by law; so he desired that a good Bill might be framed for the better preserving of the Book of Common Prayer from the scorn and violence of Brownists, Anabaptists, and other sectaries, with such clauses for the ease of tender consciences as his Majesty hath formerly offered."
Such an answer virtually negatived what the Parliament proposed. It does not seem that any debate arose on the ecclesiastical points between the King and the Commissioners. Their diplomacy entirely referred to the question of a cessation of arms, which, after all, could not be effected; and the embassage returned to Westminster without accomplishing any part of their object.
The Scotch were not more successful; but in the King's council their petition created much discussion, the main question being, "What answer shall be given to these gentlemen from the North?"
Answer to the Scottish Petition.
"Many of the Lords," says Clarendon, "were of opinion that a short answer would be best, that should contain nothing but a rejection of the proposition, without giving any reason; no man seeming to concur with his Majesty, with which he was not satisfied, and replied with some sharpness upon what had been said. Upon which the Lord Falkland replied, having been before of that mind, desiring that no reasons might be given; and upon that occasion answered many of those reasons the King had urged, as not valid to support the subject, with a little quickness of wit (as his notions were always sharp, and expressed with notable vivacity), which made the King warmer than he used to be; reproaching all who were of that mind with want of affection for the Church; and declaring that he would have the substance of what he had said, or of the like nature, digested into his answer; with which reprehension all sat very silent, having never undergone the like before. Whereupon, the King, recollecting himself, and observing that the Chancellor of the Exchequer had not yet spoken, called upon him to deliver his opinion, adding, that he was sure he was of his Majesty's mind with reference to religion and the Church."[332]
1643, February.
From Clarendon's narrative we discover, that with all Falkland's vivacity, he shewed lukewarmness in the cause of Episcopacy, and that the zeal of the King on its behalf went beyond that of his advisers. The historian reports his own speech, in which he recommended that reasons should be given, but not in the way his royal master wished. The result may be seen in a paper in the King's name, probably drawn up by the Chancellor.[333] No concessions, it was stated, could be made until propositions in a digested form should be submitted to the free debate of both Houses. The King would not be unwilling to call a synod of godly and learned Divines, regularly chosen according to the laws and constitutions of the kingdom, to which representatives from Scotland might be admitted—an Assembly which, in fact, would be a Convocation, whose spirit and proceedings were very well known. He gave no opinion on any Bills offered to him, but only expressed his wonder that the royal judgment should be prejudged, and that the Divine anger should be threatened for his non-consent. A sentence occurred towards the end which, though by no means agreeable to those for whom it was intended, certainly contained a large amount of truth. "Nor are you a little mistaken, if either you believe the generality of this nation to desire a change of Church government, or that most of those who desire it, desire by it to introduce that which you only esteem a reformation, but are as unwilling to what you call the yoke of Christ and obedience to the Gospel, as those whom you call profane and worldly men, and so equally averse both to Episcopacy and Presbytery; for if they should prevail in this particular, the abolition of the one would be no let to the other, nor would your hearts be less grieved, your expectations less frustrated, your hopes less ashamed, or your reformation more secured."
Treatment of the Scotch.
The Scotch mission ended in disappointment. Much hope had been built upon the King's friendliness towards Mr. Henderson during the royal visit to Edinburgh. All remembered the minister's standing next the royal chair in sermon time, and the loving cup which passed round at the banquet. People fancied "Mr. Henderson would do wonders with the King;" and perhaps the King thought he could do wonders with Mr. Henderson, for he strove to persuade him of the justice and necessity of taking up arms against the Parliament. But as that gentleman did not find the King so pliable as he wished; neither did the King find that gentleman so "credulous as he expected." Charles "did at once change his countenance," we are informed, when he discovered that his Scotch chaplain had written the petition which he had received, and that the document had been already circulated throughout the kingdom. Reports also had reached the royal ears of certain violent sermons and prayers uttered in Edinburgh, which tended to make the visitors at Oxford "verie unsavourie." Their life in the University city—so they complained—was uncomfortably spent. They were wearied out with delays; they had no private nor familiar conference, but all was done "in public, in a very harsh way;" letters sent to them by their friends were opened; and, in addition to this great insult, they were abused by all sorts of people, and they even feared that they should be poisoned or stabbed. "This policy," adds Baillie, "was like the rest of our unhappy malcontents' wisdom extremely foolish; for it was very much for the King's ends to have given to our Commissioners far better words and a more pleasant countenance."[334]
