CHAPTER XII.
More victims in the month of April were sacrificed upon the altar of revenge. Colonel John Okey, a distinguished officer in the Commonwealth Army, who had adopted Republican and Millenarian views; Miles Corbet, a member of the Long Parliament, and Recorder of Yarmouth, who had been connected with the Church under the pastoral care of William Bridge, in that town; and Colonel John Barkstead, who had been knighted by Cromwell, and had been appointed to a seat in his House of Lords—all three, after a brief trial, and a merciless sentence, for the part they had taken in the High Court of Justice, were executed at Tyburn.
A noble victim perished two months afterwards. It has been with Sir Henry Vane as with Oliver Cromwell: having disliked each other in life, they have shared a common fate in the judgment of posterity: for, after years of odium, the names of both are raised to honour. Vane's Republicanism rendered him impracticable, and his mysticism, although undeserving the reproaches of Baxter and Burnet, threw a haze over his speculations, which makes them somewhat unintelligible; but the piety and genius of his Meditations, and the purity and virtue of his life, render him an object of reverence and love.
REPUBLICAN VICTIMS.
He was tried for compassing the death of the King; yet, whatever he might be in other respects, he was no regicide. The evidence on his trial only proved that he had held office under the Commonwealth, that he had been a member of the Council of State in 1651, and had belonged to the Committee of Safety in 1659. To make the condemnation and sentence of Vane the more unrighteous, the King, after solemnly promising to spare the life of the Republican, had written to Clarendon, saying—Vane "is too dangerous a man to let live, if we can honestly put him out of the way."
The spirit of the prisoner appears in a letter which he wrote to his wife. "This dark night, and black shade," he observes, "which God hath drawn over His work in the midst of us, may be, for aught we know, the ground colour to some beautiful piece that He is now exposing to the light." His execution was an ovation. From the crowded tops and windows of the houses, people expressed their deep sympathy, crying aloud, "The Lord go with you, the great God of heaven and earth appear in you and for you;"—signs of popular feeling which sustained the sufferer, who gratefully acknowledged them, "putting off his hat and bowing." When asked how he did, he answered, "Never better in all my life;" and on the scaffold his noble bearing so affected the spectators that they could scarcely believe "the gentleman in the black suit and cloak, with a scarlet silk waistcoat (the victorious colour) showing itself at the breast, was the prisoner." Frequent interruptions from the sound of drums drowned his voice, which, as Burnet says, was "a new and very indecent practice." The officers, as they put their hands in his pockets, searching for papers, exasperated the populace, whilst Vane's calmness led a Royalist present to say, "he died like a prince." Before receiving the last stroke, he exclaimed, "I bless the Lord, who hath accounted me worthy to suffer for His name. Blessed be the Lord, that I have kept a conscience void of offence to this day. I bless the Lord I have not deserted the righteous cause for which I suffer."—"Father, glorify Thy servant in the sight of men, that he may glorify Thee in the discharge of his duty to Thee and to his country." One blow did the work. "It was generally thought," remarks Burnet, "the Government had lost more than it had gained by his death." Pepys declares the people counted his constancy "a miracle;" adding, "The King lost more by that man's death than he will get again for a good while."[347]
1662.
Thus fell one of the triumvirate described in a former volume—thus fell the noblest mystic of the age, next to George Fox—thus was devoted to death in the Temple of Expediency, one who had never bowed at the shrine of that heathen goddess, but had always fervently worshipped in the Temple of Christian Virtue. Whatever his enemies might do with his body, they could not prevent his pure soul from entering that adjacent Temple of Honour, on the walls of which his name is inscribed for evermore.
Some of the regicides escaped with their lives. Well known is the story of Edmund Ludlow—how he fled at the Restoration, and went to Geneva, and settled at Vevay; how he came back to England at the period of the Revolution, and set sail for Ireland to assist William III. at the siege of Londonderry, and was compelled to return because that prince would not allow in his fleet, the presence of one who had been implicated in his grandfather's execution.[348] But history tells of another regicide, less known to fame—whose fortunes were less happy, and more wonderful. Edward Whalley figured amongst Cromwell's Major-Generals, and was so considerable a person that Richard Baxter dedicated to him a controversial work, entitled The Apology, in which he says, "Think not that your greatest trials are all over. Prosperity hath its peculiar temptations, by which it hath foiled many that stood unshaken in the storms of adversity. The tempter, who hath had you on the waves, will now assault you in the calm, and hath his last game to play on the mountain till nature cause you to descend. Stand this charge, and you win the day."[349]
REPUBLICAN VICTIMS.
The Divine little apprehended the fate awaiting the soldier. A few days before Charles' return, Whalley, with his son-in-law, Major-General Gough,—who had stood together by Oliver Cromwell's death-bed,—sailed for America. Landing at Boston, they were protected by the Governor, until scented out by the Royalists of Barbadoes, they were forced to renew their flight. Settled at Newhaven, the minister of the place, named Davenport, pleaded for their security in a sermon from the ingeniously selected words: "Let mine outcasts dwell with thee,—be thou a covert to them from the face of the spoiler."[350] Rewards were offered for the fugitives, and this minister was threatened for his advocacy on their behalf, but he continued to harbour them in his neighbourhood, where they abode in a cave on the top of a rock, to which was given the name of Providence. This kind of life they spent for two or three years, when they removed to Hadley, and there, under the protection of another minister, spent sixteen years more of alarm, privation, and sorrow. The people in these parts were at war with the famous Indian Chief, Philip of Pokanoket, who with his tribe one day surrounded the little town at an hour when the inhabitants were engaged in public worship. Although the people always carried arms, even at church, on this occasion the sudden assault filled them with fear, and, for once unmanned, they would have probably fallen into the hands of their foes, had not a strange person, in peculiar attire, and of commanding presence, put himself at their head, skilfully marshalling the little band, with the words and authority of a general. It was as when the Romans fought under the leadership of the twin brethren; and the unknown visitant and deliverer proved to be no other than Gough, who had learned the arts of war under Oliver Cromwell. He survived his father-in-law Whalley, who died in the year of the English Revolution.[351]
1662.
The revised edition of the Prayer Book was not ready until the 6th of August. Then appeared an advertisement announcing that books in folio were provided for all churches and chapels; the price of each being six shillings, ready bound. Printed copies, examined and corrected, were certified under the Great Seal, and the Deans and Chapters of cathedral and collegiate churches were required to obtain one of these books annexed to a copy of the Act, before the 25th of December. A similar copy was to be delivered to the Courts at Westminster, to be placed amongst the Records in the Tower of London.[352]
EFFECTS OF THE ACT.
In those days, when editions were not thrown off in thousands by a steam press, and there was no book post to convey parcels in one night to the Land's End, it was slow work to multiply and circulate copies. Some clergymen, therefore, could not get sight of the alterations before St. Bartholomew's Day.
It showed indecent haste to date the time for decision so early as the 24th of August; or it showed indecent delay, not to issue the Book until within three weeks before. It has been asserted that few parishes received it till a fortnight after the period prescribed, and Burnet says that he was informed by some of the Bishops, that many clergymen subscribed before they had seen the volume.[353] One, in the diocese of Lincoln, pleaded as a proof of the injustice of his being silenced, that he had never had an opportunity of reading what he was required to adopt; and he adds, that this was the case with many more. A clergyman, named Steel, in his farewell sermon, at Hanmer, in Flintshire, declared "he was silenced and turned out, for not declaring his unfeigned assent and consent to a Book which he never saw or could see."[354] Certainly the Book ought to have been in every rectory and vicarage a month or two previously to the day of ejection; yet, it must be acknowledged, too much was made of the difficulty at the time, and too much has been made of it since; for the fifth clause of the Act distinctly provides for lawful impediments "to be allowed and approved of by the Ordinary of the place."[355] Upon this clause we have a practical commentary in a paper issued by the Bishop of Peterborough, expressly providing for such cases.[356]
1662.
The Bishop very properly treated as a lawful impediment, inability to examine the Book: and in the following year, as we shall see, an Act passed for the relief of such persons as were disabled from declaring conformity. Wherever and whenever a prelate felt so disposed, he could make allowance for such inability; nevertheless, the fact remains, that it rested entirely with him to determine what was a lawful impediment, and to allow or not, the force of scruples, according to his own personal pleasure; if the Diocesan chose to decide against the Incumbent, the patron might at once present another person to the living.
Richard Baxter made up his mind to leave the Establishment within a week of the time when the Act of Uniformity received the Royal assent. He preached on the 25th of May, and then gave as reasons for his early silence, that he considered the Act at once put an end to the liberty of his lecturing in parish churches, and that he wished his brethren to understand he had fully made up his mind not to conform. He thought if he "stayed to the last day," some might be led to suppose he meant to submit, and so might be drawn into an imitation of his supposed example.
EFFECTS OF THE ACT.
Baxter's course in this respect was peculiar. The Presbyterians generally remained in the Church, as long as they could, although they had quite made up their minds as to what they should do when the decisive feast of St. Bartholomew arrived. Philip Henry spent days of prayer for Divine direction, and sought advice from friends at Oxford and Chester. He objected to be ordained, and could not, after being a Presbyter for years, declare himself moved by the Holy Ghost to take upon himself the office of Deacon. The difficulty in his case was increased by the demand of Hall, Bishop of Chester, that the Presbyterians whom he ordained should explicitly repudiate their previous orders.[357] Henry could not give his assent and consent to things in the Prayer Book which to him were not true. He felt the force of the exceptions taken at the Savoy Conference, and did not believe in the power of any company of men to impose a yoke of ceremonial law upon the necks of their brethren. He disapproved of kneeling at the Lord's table as a practice unwarranted by Scripture; unsuited to the celebration of a supper; "grossly abused even to idolatry;" the imposition of which was a violation of Christian liberty. He objected particularly to kneeling at the rails, as smelling "rank of Popish superstition:" the indiscriminate Communion of the Episcopalian Church he could not reconcile with his notions of discipline; and, though he had never taken the Covenant, he would not condemn those who had done so. He approved of Archbishop Ussher's scheme of Episcopacy; and "thought it lawful to join in the Common Prayer in public assemblies, and practised accordingly, and endeavoured to satisfy others concerning it."[358] It is curious to learn that he believed his views of spiritual religion formed the basis of his objections to conformity: and that when Dr. Busby, to whom as his friend, he owed his deep evangelic convictions, said once, "Prythee child, what made thee a Nonconformist?" Henry replied to his much-loved schoolmaster, "Truly, sir, you made me one; for you taught me those things that hindered me from conforming."[359]
1662.
In the mind of Philip Henry there existed a strong disposition to conform, and the case was the same with Joseph Alleine, and others. Many, who had been episcopally ordained, were prepared to do everything required, except one thing—giving an unfeigned assent and consent to all the contents of the Prayer Book.[360]
John Howe felt more difficulties than one; he had not received Episcopal orders, but had been ordained at Winwick, in Lancashire, by the laying on of the hands of the Presbytery; on which account, he used to say, that few had so primitive an ordination as himself. After the Act had passed, Dr. Wilkins expressed his surprise that a man of Howe's latitude should have stood out; to which he replied, that he would gladly have remained in the Establishment, but his latitude was the very thing that made him and kept him a Nonconformist. He said also, "that he could not by any means he fond of a Church, that in reality had no discipline at all, and that he thought that a very considerable objection against the Establishment." In these respects his difficulties were similar to those of Philip Henry. On another occasion, when asked by Seth Ward, then Bishop of Exeter, "Pray, sir, what hurt is there in being twice ordained?" he replied, "Hurt, my lord,—it hurts my understanding; the thought is shocking; it is an absurdity, since nothing can have two beginnings."[361]
EFFECTS OF THE ACT.
We can enter into the struggles which agitated the clergy during the three months before St. Bartholomew's Day. As the corn ripened, and the country Rector sat with his wife in their little parlour,—as they looked out of the latticed window on the children chasing the butterflies in the garden, or picking up daisies on the glebe,—there came the alternative—"we must conform, or leave all this next August;" and, as that necessity stared the Incumbent in the face, it would require, in some cases, a woman's quieter fortitude to reinforce a man's louder resolve.[362] Nor can it be denied, that means of usefulness to some had brighter attractions than home comforts; and that it proved the hardest wrench of all to break the bond between the Christian shepherd and his flock. These men had hearts as well as heads; but in the conflict the victory came from their judgments, not their affections. I remember visiting Scotland more than a quarter of a century ago, just on the eve of the great disruption, and spending an evening at a pleasant manse inhabited by an able minister and his accomplished wife, both of whom were pondering the question of "going out," or "remaining in;" and never can I forget the look of anguish with which they alluded to the impending crisis. The memory of that visit brings vividly to mind many an English parsonage in the year 1662.
1662.
It required much effort in the minds of Puritan clergymen to brace themselves up to meet what was at hand. One prepared for the crisis by preaching to his congregation four successive Sundays from words to the Hebrews: "Ye took joyfully the spoiling of your goods, knowing in yourselves that ye have in heaven a better and an enduring substance." Another, who had a wife and ten children—"eleven strong arguments," so he said, for conformity—remarked, that his family must live on the 6th of Matthew, "Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on." A third, when asked what he would do with his family, replied, "Should I have as many children as that hen has chickens," pointing to one with a numerous brood, "I should not question but God would provide for them all."[363]
Several of the ministers conferred or corresponded with each other. A few came to London to know the opinions of their brethren. Letters passed to and fro as fast as the post could carry them; and sheets full of arguments, questions, replies, and rejoinders, were conveyed from place to place. Stories respecting the treatment of Presbyterian Chaplains, the conduct of the Bishops at the Savoy, the debates in Convocation, and the speeches in Parliament, Sheldon's management, and Clarendon's policy, would be freely told, not always with perfect accuracy. Ministers conversed with Presbyterian Peers, and other patrons; and, it is said, that one of the former being asked by one of the latter whether he would conform, answered, "That such things were required and enjoined as he could not swallow," and he was "necessitated to march off, and sound a retreat;" whereupon His Lordship added, with a sigh, "I wish it had been otherwise; but they were resolved either to reproach you, or undo you."[364] With conference and correspondence there existed no organized confederation; each took his own ground, and pursued his own course. Many a village Vicar stood alone, and his conduct proceeded from individual conscientiousness. The ejected had nothing to strengthen and animate them, like the understanding which preceded the disruption in Scotland—nothing like the popular applause that welcomed it—nothing like the éclat of the public procession from the House of Assembly in the City of Edinburgh; no ovation soothed the cast-out. The feast of St. Bartholomew became a fast; as in the Valley of Megiddon, so in Puritan England, "The land mourned, every family apart."
EFFECTS OF THE ACT.
As August approached, reports of disaffection increased in gravity. In July, an idea was current that Cromwell's soldiers were waiting to learn what the Presbyterians would do, being themselves ready to rekindle the flames of revolution. From various parts of the country came news of refractory trained bands, of gunsmiths preparing arms, and of ministers talking treason. Rumour declared there was to be a general rising in a few weeks. At all events, within two years of the Restoration, the joy of seeing a crowned head once more, had given way. People began, not only to ask what advantage had accrued from the King's return, but they also began to institute comparisons between the Long Parliament and that which was now sitting. De Wiquefort, the Dutch Minister, in a despatch dated the 14th of May, informed his Government, that the chimney tax could not be levied without much trouble, and that Parliament, which had been the idol of the nation, was now sinking in popular respect.[365]
1662.
Several sources of discontent can be pointed out. The licentiousness and extravagance of the Court were passing all bounds; even such of the Cavaliers as combined with their hatred of Puritan precision, some regard for outward decency, were shocked at the stories of the mad revelries and shameless debauchery of Whitehall; many individuals had been beggared in the Royal service, and now they saw themselves totally neglected by the Prince in whose cause they had sacrificed their property and shed their blood. To replenish an empty exchequer, the Government effected the sale of Dunkirk—a town which had been won by the valour of Cromwell. It wounded the national honour, and roused popular indignation, to see the keys of that fortress put into the hands of Louis XIV. for a sum of money; and also to see Tangier, a useless possession, part of the dowry of Queen Catherine, carefully preserved at a large cost. To add to the trouble, Popery was said to be on the increase, especially through proceedings at Somerset House, where the Queen Mother Henrietta kept her Court, gathered round her the English Roman Catholics, and encouraged the intrigues of Jesuits and priests.
Charles and his Council did not learn the whole truth, they only caught glimpses of some wild phantasmagoria, with the great Gorgon-head of insurrection in the midst of all; and, therefore, instead of striving to see what could be done to re-establish confidence, he and his Ministers set to work to demolish fortifications at Northampton, at Gloucester, and at other places, and to issue instructions to Lieutenants of Counties to take precautions against rebellion.[366]
EFFECTS OF THE ACT.
1662.
Numbers of political papers and tracts appeared expressing uneasiness. Much authority cannot be attached to such a random writer as Roger L'Estrange; but when he states that not so few as 200,000 copies of seditious works had been printed "since the blessed return of his sacred Majesty," and that to these were to be added new editions of old ones to the amount of millions more,[367] we are justified in believing that the printers were kept very busy by people of the kind so much detested by this pamphleteer, nor do I doubt that, as he says, the publications "were contrived and penned with accurate care and cunning to catch all humours." On the other side, the Church and State party did not sit with folded hands—Roger's own fiery pen being unceasingly employed in the laudation of King, Church, and Bishops, and in vilifying Roundheads, Republicans, and all Sectaries. Some authors mingled in the mêlée after a very equivocal fashion, drawing "a parallel betwixt the ancient and the modern fanatics," so as to place in company with Anabaptists, Quakers, and Independents, not only the Lollards, but even Hugh Latimer—thus striking a blow at Nonconformity through the side of the Reformation.[368] Much more effective than abuse and satire, were papers, printed ready for Bartholomew's Day, giving "a brief martyrology and catalogue of the learned, grave, religious, and painful ministers of the City of London, who were deprived, imprisoned, and plundered, during the Commonwealth." The persecution of the Episcopalians afforded a strong point against the Nonconformists, especially before it could be met by a long list of ejected Nonconformists. Names of Episcopalians said to have been reviled, and forced to resign, and "compelled to fly"—"violated, assaulted, abused in the streets," and imprisoned in "the Compter, Ely House, Newgate, and the ships"—furnished so many arguments for severe measures against those who were charged with these indefensible persecutions.