THE QUEEN'S DEPARTURE FROM HOLLAND
FROM AN ENGRAVING
This attempted journey was one of the stormiest incidents of Henrietta's stormy career. Hardly had she set sail, accompanied by eleven vessels, when (by the agency of the devil, as some thought)[274] "the wind turned contrary, and the greatest storme that hath been seene this many a yeere"[275] arose. Nine days the Queen tossed upon the waves of the North Sea, lashed, as were all her ladies, into a narrow berth. The misery of the small, stuffy cabin was indescribable, and worse than bodily discomfort was the continual fear of death, which was so menacing that the Queen and the other Catholics on board, throwing aside their natural reticence on such matters, confessed their sins in a loud voice, which, perhaps, in the din of the storm, was necessary to the priest's hearing. It is said that the horror of the scene was so great that some of the sailors threw themselves into the sea. Henrietta believed that her last hour was come, and, as she confessed later, "a storm of nine days is a very frightful thing."[276] But the first alarm over, she reflected that after all there was little at present to make her cling to life, and she rallied her courage so effectually as to be able to derive amusement from the ridiculous incidents which never fail to occur on a storm-tossed vessel, while she reassured her terrified ladies by telling them that queens were never drowned.
At last, after getting tantalizingly near to Newcastle-on-Tyne, the boat was tossed back on to the shores of Holland, where Montagu was waiting in great anxiety. The weary voyagers landed from a small fishing-smack in a state of filth and exhaustion, for which their delicate lives had little prepared them, and which shocked the Prince of Orange, who, together with his son and daughter-in-law, came down to the seashore to meet the Queen. Henrietta and her ladies were so feeble that they could hardly stand, while one of the Capuchin Fathers required the support of two men to help him to say Mass. The Queen lost in this tempest a precious ship laden with the stuff of war, but "she gained in the opinion of all the witnesses what she can never lose,"[277] for indeed her courage, which seemed above that of her sex, won an admiration which was still further increased when it was found that she meant, against the advice of her friends, to put to sea again as soon as the weather permitted and her several ships which had been dispersed in the storm came up. "They that are delivered from shipwrack, bid an eternall adieu to the sea, and to the shipps; nay, they are not able to endure the sight thereof. These are Tertullian's words. Yet within eleauen days after, O admirable resolution! the Queen, being scarce yet escaped from a dreadfull storme, spurred on by the desire of seeing the King and of coming in to his ayde, adventures againe to trust herself to the furie of the ocean and to the winters rigour."[278] So, recalling this incident, cried her eloquent panegyrist at her funeral service a quarter of a century later. Perhaps Henrietta felt that she feared the dangers of the deep less than the tongues and the acts of the enemies she was leaving behind. The Hollanders dared to detain a ship which she had caused to be loaded with ammunition, so that she was obliged to address to them an angry protest, while the preachers in their pulpits began to rail against the Prince of Orange and his son's English match, affirming that he wished to make himself King, and saying that if they must have a tyrant they would prefer their old master the Spaniard.
Thus Henrietta, bidding a long farewell to Montagu, who set out almost immediately for France, embarked once more. This time the sea was kinder to her, but the land proved her enemy. She intended landing at Newcastle-on-Tyne, but a change in the wind, which until the English coast was near had been very light, drove the vessel into Burlington Bay in Yorkshire. The Queen at once sent to inform the Earl of Newcastle, who was commanding the royalist forces in the neighbourhood. She had not long to wait before she received his answer in the shape of a body of cavalry, whose arrival enabled her to land. But, weary as she was, there was no rest for her. She brought with her a thousand old soldiers from the Low Countries, for she had heard rumours of a plot to seize her on landing. They, as well as the escort sent by her husband, were needed, for at four o'clock on the dark February morning she was roused by the sound of firing. Four of the Parliament ships had arrived in the bay, and they were shelling the village, with special attention, it appeared, to the Queen's lodgings.[279] In a few moments Jermyn appeared and told her to flee for her life. She jumped up, and having hastily flung on some clothing was hurrying to a place of refuge when suddenly she stopped, remembering that lying asleep on her bed was her pet dog, Mitte—an ugly beast, says Madame de Motteville, who was evidently no lover of the canine race, in recounting the story. Henrietta could not bear to leave her pet to death, or possibly to ill-treatment;[280] so, notwithstanding the entreaties of her friends and the rain of bullets that was falling, she insisted on retracing her steps to the house she had just left. It was the work of a few minutes to rush to her room and pick up Mitte. Then with all speed she sought an uncomfortable safety in a ditch outside the village, where for two hours the balls played over the heads of the Queen and her suite, until at last the Admiral of Holland sent to tell the rebels that unless they desisted he would fire on them in return. "That was done a little late,"[281] was Henrietta's caustic and characteristic comment.
No less characteristic was her high-spirited return to the village the next morning, "not choosing that they should have the vanity to say they made me quit."[282] In spite of all her spirits rose at finding herself again in England, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that she brought with her substantial help in the way of arms, ammunition, and money, which her gallant soldiers had guarded through that night of battle. Her great wish was to rejoin her husband as soon as possible, and setting herself at the head of her army she started to march towards Oxford, where Charles was keeping his Court.
But five months were to elapse before the royal pair were united, and this five months forms one of the most curious episodes of Henrietta's career. She became for the time being a military captain, "her she majesty generalissima," as she calls herself. She played her part right well, as if she remembered that in her veins flowed not only the blood of her father, but of her heroic Medici ancestor, Giovanni delle Bande Nere.[283] This delicately nurtured woman, who was, moreover, in bad health, lived among her soldiers, says the admiring Madame de Motteville, almost as imagination may picture Alexander living among his. Forgetting feebleness and fatigue, she was constantly in the saddle; setting aside all etiquette, she dined in the open air with her followers, each of whom she treated as a brother. It was no wonder that the Popish army of the Queen, as it was angrily called by its enemies, adored its royal mistress. Few probably thought of Alexander, but some—old soldiers from the Continent, perhaps—may have remembered the stories of Henry of Navarre among his companions-in-arms.
The military details of the campaign cannot be entered into here. The Queen was much in the hands of military specialists, a position she did not love, and which elicited some complaints that she could not rule the army which bore her name. There were jealousies and differences of opinion, such as on the question of attacking Leeds, in which matter both she and the Earl of Newcastle, her general, followed a course which drew upon them a mild censure from the King. Perhaps the most notable success was the gain of Scarborough, which was delivered up by its Parliamentary governor, Sir Hugh Cholmondley, who came to kiss the Queen's hand at York. In that ancient city she made a considerable stay, which was further enlivened by the reception of some of the northern loyalist nobility, among whom was the Marquis of Montrose.
In July Henrietta at last reached her husband. They met in Kineton Vale, below Edgehill, and at the same time she was able to embrace her two eldest sons, who were with their father. A few days later she entered Oxford, and for a moment the welcome of the faithful city diverted her from her woes. Crowds of spectators lined the streets or peeped out from the house-windows, and as the procession went by they cheered and blessed the Queen as the pledge and harbinger of peace.[284] At Carfax "the Major[285] and his brethren entertained Her Majesty with an English speech, delivered by Master Carter, the Town Clerk, in the name of the city, and presented her with a purse of gold."[286] She went on to Christ Church, where she was received by the Vice-Chancellor and the Heads of Houses, and thence to the Warden's lodgings[287] at Merton, which had been prepared for her reception, and where on her arrival she was offered by the University authorities books of verses and pairs of gloves. This college, which was probably chosen on account of its proximity to Christ Church, where the King kept his Court, possessed a secret passage which led into the gardens of the neighbouring foundation of Corpus Christi, so that Charles could visit his wife without going into the public street.
There was, indeed, much for the royal pair to discuss, for since their parting neither had been idle for a moment, and each had to recount to the other the results of their labours, while the changing circumstances of the Continent called for careful consideration.
In December, 1642, before Henrietta left Holland, Cardinal Richelieu died in Paris. The passing away of this great man, who, knowing how to bend men and circumstances to his will, had built up France as two hundred years later Bismarck was to build up Germany, was a severe blow to the Parliamentary party, which knew him to be their friend;[288] but to the Queen it appeared the removal of the chief obstacle in the way of obtaining that help from her native country of which she was already beginning to think. It was believed that now her enemy was gone she would hasten to Paris herself, but she judged otherwise, and contented herself with carrying on negotiations by means of Walter Montagu, on whose friendship with Mazarin she counted. That gentleman supplied the French Government with a curious paper on English affairs,[289] which he probably drew up at The Hague under the Queen's direction. It set forth the miserable plight of Catholicism in that country, and urged the King of France to give help, which, in the event of his brother of England's success, would be well repaid, while his failure could bring no prejudice to an ally. These cogent reasonings were not disregarded, but they did not make as much impression on the minds of those to whom they were addressed as Henrietta and Montagu perhaps expected.