The death of Lord Capel justified the picture which his enemies had drawn of his life. The Duke of Hamilton and Lord Holland suffered the penalty simply and worthily, before him; he appeared alone upon the scaffold, having said farewell to his wife and children with words of consolation and encouragement. "Is your chaplain there, sir?" asked the officer in command. "No," replied he, "I have taken leave of him." Seeing several of his servants, who were weeping, "Restrain yourselves," he said. Then, removing his hat, he addressed the people, frankly and simply, as a royalist and a Christian. He had promised his chaplain, Dr. Morley, to take the blame himself for his vote against Strafford. "I confess," he said, "for the glory of God, and to the shame of my own weakness, that it was indeed an unworthy act of cowardice not to resist the torrent which bore us along in this affair." People and soldiers, friends and strangers, all beheld him die, the object of admiration and respect.
The republican leaders perceived that this admiration and respect were not favorable to them. They desisted from this system of execution. The royalists remaining in their hands were banished, and their property was confiscated. Others merely remained in prison; no more clamor was desired; the proceedings of the High Court which had condemned Lord Capel were not published, the rigors of the past were silenced, blood ceased to flow. Parliament could not, however, suppress a book which had recently appeared, and the success of which continued to increase. The Eikon Basiliké (or royal image) revealed to England under a pious form the reflections and opinions of the king during the course of his trials. The book professed to be the personal work of Charles, but it had been written by Dr. Gauden, subsequently Bishop of Worcester, under the restoration. The king had probably corrected it during his sojourn in the Isle of Wight. It was in effect, the royal image, a loftiness that was both natural and strained, a constant mingling of blind princely pride and sincere Christian humility, a real piety amidst false dealing, and the expression of an invincible devotion to his faith, his honor, and his rank. Herein was matter to move royalist hearts. Notwithstanding the efforts of Parliament, forty-eight thousand copies were circulated in England during the year. All Europe devoured the book, which was translated into all languages. The attachment to the memory of the king became the object of passionate worship. Milton was commissioned to reply in the name of Parliament, but the apology of the Iconoclast, prolix and cold, notwithstanding its violence, did not destroy the effect of Eikon Basiliké. To his friends and to many people in Europe, Charles remained a martyr, and his enemies the executioners of a saint.
The annoyances and embarrassments caused to Parliament by the remnant of the royalist party, were not the gravest that it had to fight against. Barely installed, the republican government found itself in presence of an ardent, democratic, and mystical opposition. A man had been found, endowed with an indomitable courage and devotion, who constituted himself not the chief—no one was chief at that time—but the interpreter and defender of all the malcontents. This was John Lilburne, already accustomed to playing this part under the monarchy.
Having become masters, the republican leaders felt the danger of the habits of agitation which they had but recently favored in the army, and they forbade the soldiers to join in any gathering contrary to discipline. A pamphlet by Lilburne appeared attacking those prohibitions: the New Chains of England Discovered incited the soldiers to disobedience. Five of them brought to Fairfax a violent petition; they were degraded. The libels of Lilburne succeeded each other, personally attacking the generals. "Speak to Cromwell of whatsoever it may be," he exclaimed, "he will place his hand upon his heart, he will raise his eyes to heaven, he will take God to witness, he will weep, he will groan, he will repent himself, and so doing, he will strike you under the first rib." Such violence could not be tolerated. The House voted that the pamphlet of Lilburne was full of false, calumnious, and seditious accusations. He was placed in the Tower with three of his principal fellow-laborers. Two new libels from the indomitable agitator appeared while he was in prison.
The doctrines which he preached with so much zeal began to bear their fruits. A band of rough men already overran the county of Surrey, digging and sowing here and there, first on the commons and waste lands, but talking of throwing down the fences of the neighboring parks. They invited the people of the vicinity to join them, promising clothes and victuals to those who should come and aid them. Fairfax sent two squadrons against them; the chiefs were arrested; one of them, Everard, was an old soldier. "We are of the race of the Israelites," they said; "the liberties of the people were lost under William the Conqueror; we are nearing the time of deliverance; I have seen a vision which said to me: 'Go and till the ground to feed those who are hungry, and clothe those who are naked;' we do not desire to attack property, but a time will come when all men will willingly give their possessions to put them into the common lot. That time is near."
ed Lilburne and his friends saw the danger. They added to their constitution an article formally declaring that "possessions would not be divided, nor all things put into the common lot;" but the "Delvers," as the disciples of Everard styled themselves, or the "levellers," as they were generally called, had excited the public imagination, and that title was soon applied to all the little anarchical associations, civil or military, which decided to found the republic under an absolutely democratic form, and who offered an ardent opposition to the actual government of England; from words men soon came to blows.
Every day popular deputations besieged the gates of Westminster, demanding the restoration to liberty of Lilburne and his associates. "Return to your platters," was the answer of Parliament to a band of women. "We no longer have any platters," they said, "nor meat to put upon them." Amidst this fermentation, eight regiments, cavalry and infantry, were chosen for service in Ireland. The soldiers complained; they were unwilling to leave England without having their arrears of pay settled, and without having enforced their political views. A little paper was circulated in the ranks, advising them not to depart. A squadron of the cavalry of Whalley, who had received orders to quit London, took possession of the standard and refused to obey. Fairfax and Cromwell hastened to the scene; they quelled the insurrection; fifteen of the most mutinous were arrested, and five condemned to death by a court-martial, notwithstanding the representations of Lilburne, who maintained that no Englishman could, in time of peace, lose his life upon the decree of a council of war. But Cromwell could caress and strike at the same time; four of the condemned men were pardoned; the fifth, Robert Lockyer, was shot in St. Paul's Churchyard. He was young, brave, and pious, a fanatical sectarian, beloved by his comrades. Solemn obsequies were performed in his honor; a hundred troopers rode in front; the sword of the deceased man and branches of rosemary dyed with blood rested upon the coffin; a crowd of sympathetic spectators awaited the body at the cemetery. Such sights were both an affront and a warning to the government.
Insurrection broke out in several regiments; fermentation was in progress all around. A corps of insurgent soldiers, placing at their head Captain Thompson, overran Oxfordshire. The generals marched upon them, after having in the first place assured themselves of the fidelity of the troops whom they had under their control; they attacked the rebels at Burford. Already discouraged by the blow which they had suffered from a first detachment sent against them, they defended themselves for some time in the town, from the housetops and in the streets. Then a great number surrendered. The others contrived to escape; the court-martial decided that the rebels should be decimated. The condemned men were assembled together upon the leads of the church, whence they saw their comrades brought out one by one to the square and shot in the face of the army. Three had already suffered their fate without retracting anything that they had done, and themselves giving the signal for the firing. Cornet Dean came fourth: he was a worthy soldier whom the generals knew; he manifested penitence; Fairfax pardoned him. Cromwell entered the church, caused the remainder of the condemned men to descend, rebuked them, admonished them, reproached them for the peril which they had caused to the cause of God and the country. These rude and haughty soldiers shed tears, and, when they were restored to their regiments and sent to Ireland, they marched with a good will.