In that year, when hope and fear alternated almost daily, when events crowded on each other, Lambert’s restless figure holds the stage in one aspect or another.[[87]] In the autumn he is sent with a strong force to suppress the rising of Sir George Booth, who is taken in the endeavour to escape in a woman’s dress, and Lord Derby in the disguise of a servant. Lambert is to command the Parliament’s forces in the north in October. In March of the next year the pendulum has swung back, and the victorious general is committed to the Tower. He is released on parole, but once more he is stirring up strife and is made prisoner. Later, he narrowly escapes the block, to be a captive for his life in Guernsey. But now another figure dominates the arena, and it is Monk who gathers up all the threads into his strong hands, who takes the tide at the turn, who grasps the empty crown which a greater than he had longed but feared to wear, and lays it at the feet of the exile whose birthright it is.[[88]]
[87]. Whitelocke’s “Memorials.”
[88]. “State Papers of John Thurloe, Esq.” Copy of a letter from Brussels, of the 13/3 of March 1660/59.
In the early spring of 1660, the year which was to see the end of King Charles’ dreary, aimless wanderings, the Duke of York was made captain-general of all the Spanish forces at sea, and “admiral of his fleets commanding his cinque-ports,”[[89]] but he had not time to enjoy these dignities long, for in the month of May he came home once more with his brothers, and was forthwith made admiral of the English fleet. Hyde had been strongly opposed to the Spanish appointment as it was supposed to involve the profession of the faith of Rome, but at that moment the fortunes of the royal house were at their lowest ebb. Charles himself had gone incognito to Calais, James to Boulogne, hoping for the success of Booth’s attempt, but its failure already mentioned sent both the brothers back to Brussels.
[89]. Whitelocke’s “Memorials.”
Only in March, came Bailey secretly to Ormonde with the tale that the King was toasted in the taverns of London. Only in March, and in May the Royal Charles was bringing him back to his inheritance, the Duke of York sailing in the London, the Duke of Gloucester in the Swiftsure.
The 29th of May—Oak-Apple Day—the day looked for through long years of suspense, the day almost despaired of, the day welcomed with a very agony of joy and exultation, had come at last.
To understand the fervour of welcome that greeted the restored King, we must consider the unhealed wounds suffered by the many, and the fact that the religious life of a great and representative class was inextricably bound up with the fortunes of the exiled race. In the eighteen years which had passed since the Standard was set up at Nottingham, castle and grange and manor—yes, and farmhouse too—had sent forth their sons, ungrudgingly for the most part, to fight under that banner, and the great Anglican Church, with her array of saintly doctors, never more conspicuous than in that age, had given her blessing on the enterprise. In either case the sacrifice had been exacted, the soldier had laid down his life, the priest had suffered for the cause, and above all the scaffold before Whitehall had for ever set the seal on both. It was nothing that England had known years of strong, heavy-handed government, that she had dictated terms to other nations. To many who cherished sorrowful memories, those years only represented a space of stern tyranny and repression, and the graves of the beloved slain at Edgehill and Newbury, Marston Moor and Naseby, were green for ever in their hearts. To such simple and devout souls, also, it was much that through that time the Liturgy had been forbidden, that the churches had been desecrated, that the whole land lay desolate, neither could she “enjoy her Sabbaths.” To them it was much that the end had come, and even with haunting memories of the past they could say it was worth while. If there was much that was short-sighted in this position, there was also much that was heroic.
JAMES, DUKE OF YORK