CHAPTER XIV
AN INDIGNANT REFUSAL. ILLNESS OF LADY DERBY. THE GREAT “TABOURET” QUESTION. A MIS-ALLIANCE. A PITIABLE STORY. AFTER DUNBAR. THE FATAL FIGHT OF WORCESTER. THE ROYAL EXILE. WOUNDED AND SPENT. LORD DERBY TAKEN PRISONER. A “COURT-MARTIAL.” FAREWELL LETTERS. A FRIENDLY SERVICE? LEAVE-TAKINGS. FINIS CORONAT OPUS
No letters of either Lord Derby or his wife now exist written during the passing of that sad time. If any were written by them, they were lost, or not preserved.
In July following the King’s execution, Lord Derby, now in the Isle of Man, wrote his memorable letter to Ireton, who offered him tempting bait, no less than the free restoration of all his other estates and lost power, if he would deliver up the island to Parliament:—
“I received your letter with indignation, and with scorn return you this answer: that I cannot but wonder whence you should gather any hopes that I should prove like you, treacherous to my Sovereign; since you cannot be ignorant of my former actings in his late Majesty’s service, from which principles of loyalty I am no whit departed. I scorn your proffers; I disdain your favour; I abhor your treason; and am so far from delivering up this island to your advantage, that I shall keep it to the utmost of my power to your destruction. Take this for your final answer, and forbear any further solicitations: for if you trouble me with any more messages of this nature, I will burn the paper and hang up the bearer. This is the immutable resolution, and will be the undoubted practice of him who accounts it his chiefest glory to be his Majesty’s most loyal and obedient subject,
Derby.
“From Castletown, this
12th of July, 1649.”
Lord Derby further promulgated an announcement to similar effect, “inviting all his allies, friends, and acquaintance, all his tenantry in Lancashire, and Cheshire, and other places, as well as all his Majesty’s faithful and loyal subjects,” to repair to the Isle of Man, as a refuge and a rallying-place. No menaces or dangers, added the Earl in the proclamation, could trouble him, nor dangers deter him. A letter written by Lady Derby, the year of the King’s death, bitterly complains of the duplicity of Parliament dealings in respect of the disposal of their property. “As to the sects, their numbers daily increase, and their tenets are enough to make the hair stand on end.”
She has been very ill for weeks past, and would be more than content to die and be at rest, but for the loved ones she would leave behind. Once more she descants upon the aberrations of the hydra-headed fanaticism which made such rampant strides in the last half of the seventeenth century, and once more, on the other hand, is amazed at the freedom which Roman Catholics are permitted. Only for the Church of England breathing space is not allowed; but her husband, she assures the Duchess de la Trémoille, who appears to entertain fears lest Lord Derby might waver, is more “Protestant” than ever.
In the midst of all these real trials, she discusses with great interest a point of Court etiquette: the mighty question of the tabouret; and it is with as intense gratification that the Countess hears finally that the tabouret has been accorded to her niece on her marriage, as it had once been given to herself.
Another domestic incident of a disagreeable nature took place about this time, in the marriage of the heir of the Stanleys, Edward Lord Strange, with a Mademoiselle de Rupa, a German lady of neither position nor fortune. His parents never forgave this offence, and, to crown all, Lord Strange entertained some dreams of compounding with Parliament, fearing that hope for the Royalists was utterly gone, and that they would all be left at last to starve.
Truly trouble was heavy on the friends of the murdered King’s son, who was now wandering in Scotland, after the execution of Montrose. Bradshaw’s hatred against the Earl of Derby was intense, and, with the ingenuity bred of spite and cruelty, he attacked him in the part most sensitive in such a man, through his children. For two years the two daughters, Catherine and Amelia, had been left in peace at Knowsley. “Now,” writes Lady Derby, 8th June 1650, “one Birch, governor of a little town called Liverpool, has taken them prisoners, and carried them there, where they are under guard.”
The Countess attributes this treatment to the pressure Parliament intends putting upon the Earl. “That is all, dear sister, which I can tell you of this pitiable story,” she concludes. “I pray God to protect them, and do not fear that He will do so. It is said that they endure bravely. I am less troubled for the elder, but my child Amelia is delicate and timid, and was under treatment from M. de Mayerne “But these barbarians think of nothing but pursuing their damnable plans; one might think that if all the demons of hell had devised them, they could not have been worse.” The sufferings of these two innocent girls increased. They had not bread enough to eat, and must have starved but for the charity of the poor Royalists and the fidelity of their attendants, who went begging for them from house to house. They complained at last to Fairfax, who wrote thereupon to the Earl: “If his lordship would place the Isle of Man at Parliament’s good pleasure, his children should be liberated, and enjoy half of his revenues.” The Earl replied that he was deeply afflicted at the sufferings of his children. It was not the custom of noble minds to punish innocent children for their parents’ faults. He begged Sir Thomas Fairfax to give them back to him, or to let them pass free to France or to Holland; but if this were not possible, they must trust in the mercy of the Most High, for he could never deliver them by an act of treachery. The contest between King and Parliament, or, more truly, between King and Cromwell, was raging in Scotland. Of that country Charles II. was now crowned King. He should be crowned King of England too, while a Royalist lived. That was the Royalist determination, and Cromwell’s sudden illness favoured hope, in addition to the prevailing disaffection in the opposite camp; for betwixt Covenanter and Presbyterian and Independent, and all the myriad political and religious sectaries, little love was lost. Cromwell, however, recovered, and attacked Perth. Charles announced his intention of going to England. The Duke of Argyle sought to dissuade him from this, and withdrew his aid. Cromwell followed the King to Carlisle in pursuit. Charles immediately summoned Lord Derby, and the Countess writes, 1st September 1651:— “We are still here (Isle of Man), by the goodness of God, who has safely guided my husband to the King his sovereign.... I learn that the King has received him with great joy and proofs of affection, and I await special details with impatience; though I fear they cannot reach me quickly, because of the vessels of the enemy, which are all round our shores.” Charles informed Lord Derby, in a letter in his own hand, that the Presbyterians of Lancashire were ready to join under his leadership. This Lord Derby found to be true only cum grano salis, and that no small grain. He had brought with him three hundred gentlemen, for the most part Roman Catholics, from the Isle of Man; these, the Covenanting partisans of the King insisted, were to be sent back again, before they joined issue in the struggle. This equally Lord Derby refused. He demanded for these gentlemen the same latitude and liberty the Lancashire Presbyterians required for themselves; and if they could not accord it, though he despaired of success without their aid, he had no voice but to dispense with it; and, mounting his horse, the Earl rode away with his little band of Royalists to encounter Colonel Robert Liburne, close by Wigan, a town which had always remained true to the Royal cause. A hand-to-hand struggle ensued. Two horses were killed beneath the Earl, and were replaced at the peril of his own life by a faithful French servant. Finally, in the confusion Lord Derby escaped into the town, finding refuge in a poor woman’s cottage. She drew the door bolts, and maintained such a stout defence of her little domain, that the Earl had time to escape by the back of the house, and rejoined his friends; but he was fearfully wounded, and scarcely able to sit his horse for weakness. As soon as he could stir, he made his way in disguise to Worcester, where the King’s forces were mustered, and on 3rd September 1651, in the battle of Worcester, which ended in the routing of the Royalists, Lord Derby, with Lord Cleveland and Colonel Wogan, protected their royal master, when all was over, through the enemy’s ranks with their own swords and bodies, and then conducted him to Whiteladies, safe with the loyal Giffards and Pendrells. Thence, followed by some of his friends, he found his way to the coast, and escaped to France. With Lord Lauderdale, Lord Derby took his way back to the North, his noble heart well-nigh broken, and his body weak and torn with wounds. At Wigan his course was stopped by a detachment of the victorious Parliamentarians, under Major Edge. The Earl and his friends gave their names, and surrendered, under condition of receiving quarter. This was promised on condition of their yielding up arms, and considering themselves prisoners. Lord Lauderdale was conducted to another part of the country. Lord Derby was taken direct to Chester. Arrived there, he wrote a long letter to his wife, which he obtained leave to be transmitted to her by Mr Bagalay, a prisoner of war in the city—a long letter, full of solicitude for his wife and family, and for all in any way dependent on him. He tells her that though a prisoner in body, his heart is free and at peace, having “no other sadness in it than the regret at knowing her suffering and sorrow, and that of his poor children.” Colonel Duckenfield, he informs her, will proceed in the name of Parliament to take possession of the Isle of Man. Once more, not as from a prisoner, but as from one “whose soul is his own, as in his best days,” he will give her his advice how to receive Duckenfield, but that he will transmit by word of mouth to his trusty messenger. “Take care of yourself, my dearest heart, and of my dear Mall and Ned and Billy. As to those who are here, I will give them the best advice I can. My son,[[22]] with his wife, and my nephew Stanley have been to see me.... I will only say now that my son shows me much affection, and that he is gone to London with an ardent desire to serve me.” [22]. Lord Strange, now arrived in England. That he hopes little from this filial devotion is evident. “The cold and the wind of the coming winter are more easy to be borne than the malicious attacks of a venomous serpent, or an obstinate and perfidious enemy.... May the Son of God, whose blood was shed for us, preserve our life, so that by God’s mercy and goodness we may see each other once again on this earth, and then in the kingdom of Heaven, where we shall be safe from rapine, theft, and violence!—I remain ever your faithful “Derby.” There could be but little quarter for the noble prisoner. With the son of Bradshaw, Colonel Birch, and Colonel Rigby, the vanquished hero of Lathom House, among his judges, his doom was virtually pronounced. When brought before the tribunal of these men and of one or two others, who from one cause or another were little inclined in his favour, and styling itself a court-martial, he was voted guilty of a breach of the Act passed 12th August 1651, which prohibited all correspondence with Charles Stuart or his party. Consequently he had committed high treason and sentence of death was pronounced. When he heard himself called traitor, he cried: “I am no traitor—I——” “Silence, sir,” said the President. “Your words are of no account. Hear the act of accusation to the end.” Neither books nor counsel were allowed him, and he defended himself. This he did with skill, pleading in the first place that quarter had been promised. A show of consideration was vouchsafed to what he said; but, with casuistry which would have done credit to the Sorbonne, his representations were overruled, and his execution fixed for the 15th October at Bolton. On Monday, 13th October, Mr Bagalay was permitted to wait upon him. “He discoursed his own commands to me. With many affectionate protestations of his honour and respect for my lady, both for her birth, and goodness as a wife, and much tenderness of his children. “Then in came one Lieutenant Smith, a rude fellow, and with his hat on; he told my lord he came from Colonel Duckenfield, the Governor, to tell his lordship he must be ready for his journey to Bolton. The Earl replied, ‘When would you have me to go?’ ‘To-morrow about six in the morning,’ was the man’s answer. The Earl desired to be commended to the Governor, and for him to be informed by that time he would be ready. Then said Smith, ‘Does your lordship know any friend or servant that would do the thing your lordship knows of? It would be well if you had a friend.’ And the Earl replied, ‘What do you mean? Would you have me find one to cut off my head?’ “‘Yes, my lord,’ said Smith. ‘If you could have a friend——’ “‘Nay, sir,’ interrupted the Earl; ‘if those men that would have my head will not find one to cut it off, let it stand where it is. I thank God my life has not been bad, that I should be instrumental to deprive myself of it.... As for me and my servants, our ways have been to prosecute a just war by honourable and just means, and not by these ways of blood, which to you is a trade.’” When Smith was gone, the Earl called for pen and ink, and wrote his farewell letters to his family; and while he wrote, Paul Morceau, his lordship’s servant, went out and bought a number of rings, which they wrapped in parcels, and these were addressed as parting gifts to his children and servants. The Earl’s letter to his wife began in these terms:— “My dear Heart—Hitherto I have been able to send you some consolation in my letters, but alas! I have now none to offer you. There only remains for us our last and best refuge, the Almighty, to whose will we must submit; and when we see how it has pleased Him to dispose of this nation and of its Government, there is nothing for us to do, but to put our finger on our lips, and bring ourselves to confess that our sins, with those of others, have drawn these misfortunes upon us, and with tears implore Him to have pity on us.” Having given up their beloved little last stronghold to Duckenfield, the Earl advises the Countess to retire to some peaceful spot; then, “having leisure to think of your poor children, you will be able in some way to provide for their subsistence, and then prepare to rejoin your friends above in that happy place where peace reigns, far from differences of opinion. “I entreat you, dearest heart, by all the grace God has given you, to use your patience in this great and cruel trial. If any evil befall you, I should, as it were, be dead; but till then I live in you, who are truly myself’s better part. When I am no more, think of yourself and of my poor children. Have courage, and God will bless you. “I thank the great goodness of God, who gave me such a wife as you, the honour of my family, and for me the most excellent of companions, so pious and deserving, so entirely all the good that can be said, that it is impossible to say enough. I beg, with all my soul, God’s forgiveness if I have not sufficiently recognised this great benefit, and with clasped hands I equally entreat you to pardon anything I may ever have done to offend you. I have no time to say more. I implore the Most High to bless you, as well as my dear Mall, Ned, and Billy. Amen! Lord Jesus!” Then followed the few touching lines to— “My dear Mall, my Ned, and my Billy—I remember how sad you were to see me go away; but I fear that your grief will be redoubled when you learn that you will never see me more in this world. It is my advice to all of you to conquer down your grief. You are all of a nature for that to do you much harm. My desire and my prayer to God is that your life may be happy. Strive to lead it as purely as possible, and shun sin as much as is in your power. “I am able now to give you this advice, having such remembrances of the vanities of my own life that my soul is full of grief.... Love the Archdeacon well; he will give you good counsel. Obey your mother cheerfully, and do not be troublesome to her. She is your example, your guardian, your counsellor, your all after God. There never has been, and never will be, one to surpass her worth. I am called, and this is the last letter that I shall write you. May the Lord my God bless you, and keep you from all ill; that is what your father asks in a moment when his pain is so great at leaving Mall, Neddy, and Billy. Think of me. Derby.” He spent the rest of that day with his two other daughters, and his son, Lord Strange, who had returned from his fruitless journey to London to obtain his father’s pardon. It was refused by the members of the House leaving one by one, so that not enough were left to vote. In the morning before his execution they started for Bolton. When he came to the castle gate, four Royalist gentlemen, who were also condemned, came out of the dungeon (by the Earl’s request to the marshal) and kissed his hand, and wept on taking their leave. Giving them his blessing, and a few brave farewell and comforting words, the Earl passed on, not on his own horse, for it was feared the people might rescue him, but upon a little nag. “After we were out of the town,” continues Mr Bagalay, “people weeping, my lord, with an humble behaviour and noble courage, about half a mile off, took leave of them, then of my Lady Catherine and Amelia, and there prayed for them and saluted them, and so parted. This was the saddest hour I ever saw, so much tenderness and affection on both sides.” “Once,” said the Earl, on that last night of lying down to rest on earth, “the thought of dying sword in hand in the fight would not have troubled me; it would something have startled me, tamely to submit to a blow on the scaffold; but now I can as willingly lay down my head upon a block, as ever I did upon a pillow.” The clean shirt he put on next morning, he gave orders was to be his winding-sheet. “I will be buried in it,” he said to Morceau. Then he called for Lord Strange to put on his order, telling him that he should receive it again, and so “return it to my gracious sovereign, ... and say I sent it in all humility and gratitude, as I received it spotless and free from any stain.” The scaffold—which by one of the delicate refinements of Puritanism was fashioned of the old wood from Lathom House—was not ready till three in the afternoon, for the people, with tears and protestations, refused to drive a nail into it. At last, when it was ready, the Earl ascended the ladder, and, standing at the east end, addressed the people. It was a long address, and full of noble and just and eloquent thoughts. Still, when he had done, the block was not ready. The delay now began to fret him. At last the executioner seemed to be prepared, and, turning once more to the people, Lord Derby said: “Good people, I thank you for your prayers and for your tears. I have heard the one, and seen the other, and our God sees and hears both. Now the God of Heaven bless you all. Amen.” “How must I lie?” he then asked. “Will anyone show me? I never yet saw any man’s head cut off.” Then, after much delay and bungling on the headman’s part, Lord Derby “laid him down again, and blessing God’s name, he gave the signal by raising his hands. “The executioner did his work; and no other manner of noise was then heard, but sighs and sobs.”