The feeling of jealousy and distrust entertained by Cromwell and Bradshaw for each other, though not openly avowed, became evident to all, and Whitelocke says that in November, 1657, “the dislike between them was perceived to increase.” These mutual jealousies were not, however, to be of long continuance, for in less than a year the grave had closed over the object of Bradshaw’s distrust. On the 3rd September, 1658, the anniversary of his victories over the Scots at Dunbar, and the Royalists at Worcester—his “Fortunate Day” as he was wont to call it, Cromwell passed away, and his son and successor, even had he been so disposed, was too weak to continue any very energetic resistance.
On Richard Cromwell’s accession, a new Parliament was called, when Bradshaw was again returned to the House of Commons for Chester. Though he did not scruple to take the oath of fidelity to the new Protector, he, nevertheless, entered into active co-operation with Haslerig, Vane, and other Republicans, in their opposition to the Government. This Parliament came to an end on the 22nd April, 1659, the dissolution having been forced by the officers of the army, and with it Richard Cromwell’s power and authority were gone, and the Protectorate was at an end.
It is about this time that we discover the first indications of Bradshaw’s health failing him. At the Easter assizes, in 1659, he was lying sick in London, and unable to attend the Welsh circuit; and as Thomas Fell, who had been associated with him—the Judge Fell, of Swarthmoor in Furness, whose widow George Fox, the founder of the Society of Friends, afterwards married—had died in September of the previous year, John Ratcliffe, Recorder of Chester, was appointed to act as his deputy pro hac vice tantum.
That anomalous authority, the “Rump,” which the elder Cromwell had so ignominiously expelled from the House of Commons, was, on the 17th May, restored by the same power of the army that, six years previously, it had been dismissed. Six days after, a Council of State was appointed, in which Bradshaw obtained a seat, and was elected president; and on the 3rd June following he was named, with Serjeants Fountain and Tyrrel, a Commissioner of the Great Seal. His health, however, had now seriously given way, and as he had been for some months suffering from “aguish dystemper,” he asked to be relieved of the duties of the office. For the following copy of a letter written at this time, while he was lying sick at Fonthill—one of the few of Bradshaw’s which have escaped destruction—the author is indebted to the courtesy of that industrious labourer in the field of literature, the late Mr. John Timbs, F.S.A., by whom it was transcribed from the original in the possession of Mr. F. Kyffin-Lenthall, a descendant of “Speaker” Lenthall, to whom it was addressed:—
Honourable Sir,—I have, by Mr. Love, a member of this happie P’liament, receyved the Howse’s pleasure touching myself in relation to ye Great Seale, wherein, as I desire wth all humble thankfulnes to acknowledge ye respect and favour done me in honouring me with such a trust, so I should reckon it a great happiness if I were able immediately to answer ye call and personallie attend ye service wch at present I am not, laboring under an aguish dystemper of about 8 months’ continuance; for removing whereof (after much Physicke in vaine) according to advyce on all hands, I have betaken myself to the fresh ayre, and hope (though my fitts have not yet left me) to receive benefit and advantage thereby. And for this I humbly begge ye Parliamts leave and permission, if upon this just occasion they shall not in their wysdome think fit otherwise to dyspence with me. In ye meane time it hath been and is noe small addition to my other afflictions that for want of health it hath not bene in my power according to my Heart’s earnest desire to be serviceable in my poor measure to the publiq. But by ye helpe of God when through his goodnes my strength shal be restored (of wch I despayre not) I shal be most free and willing to serve ye Parliment and Commonwealth in anie capacity and that through dyvine assistance wth all diligence, constancy and faithfulness, and to ye utmost of my power.
Sir, I judged it my dutie to give this account of myself to ye House, and humbly desyre by your hand it may be tendered to them; for whom I daylie praye that God would blesse all their counsels and consultations, and succeede all their unwearyed endevors for ye happie setling and establishment of this latelie languyshing and now revived Commonwealth upon sure and lasting foundations.
Sir, I rest and am Your humble Servant Jo. Bradshawe.
(Fonthi) "ll in Wyltshire
... in 1659
... scentis Respublica, Primo.
(Read June 9, 1659)
For the Right Honble William Lenthall, Speaker
of ye Parliament of the Commonwealth of England. These.Consider what it is we ask, and consider whether it be not the same thing we have asserted with our lives and fortunes—a Free Parliament. And what a slavery is it to our understandings, that these men that now call themselves a Parliament, should declare it an act of illegality and violence in the late aspiring General Cromwell to dissolve their body in 1653, and not make it the like in the garbling of the whole body of the Parliament from four hundred to forty in 1648? What is this but to act what they condemn in others? A new free Parliament! This is our cry.
On the 1st of August, Sir George Booth appeared in arms, and in a few days was at the head of several thousand men. Through the influence of Mr. Cook, a Presbyterian minister in Chester, he and his troops gained admission to the city. Colonel Lambert, with a well-disciplined force, was sent by the Parliament after them, and an engagement took place at Winnington Bridge, near Northwich, when Sir George and his army—which Adam Martindale likened to “Mahomet’s Angellical Cockes, made up of fire and snow”—were completely routed.
On the return of the victorious army to London a schism broke out between the officers and the Parliament, which was followed by one of those outrages upon the liberties of the Parliament with which the country had become only too painfully familiar. Lambert and his troops surrounded the House, which Lenthall, the Speaker, and the other members were prevented by the soldiery from entering. Bradshaw felt the insult, and, anticipating that the break-up of the House would be followed by the dissolution of the Council of State, went the same day, ill as he was, to the meeting, in the hope that he might serve the cause of the Republic, and when Colonel Sydenham, the member for Dorsetshire, and one of the Committee of Safety, in attempting to justify the arbitrary act of the army by affirming, in the canting phraseology of the day, that “a particular call of the Divine Providence” had necessitated its having recourse to this last remedy, Bradshaw, says Ludlow, “weak and attenuated as he was, yet animated by his ardent zeal and constant affection to the common cause, stood up, and, interrupting him, declared his abhorrence of that detestable action, and told the Council that, being now going to his God, he had not patience to sit there to hear His great name so openly blasphemed.”
This was his last public act—the last office he was permitted to render to the Commonwealth he had so long served, as he said, “with all diligence,” for he passed out of the world a few days after, his death occurring on the 22nd November, 1659, in his 57th year. His remains were deposited with great pomp in the Sanctuary of Kings, from which, however, they were soon to be ignominiously ejected. His funeral sermon was preached by Mr. Row, who took for his text Isaiah lvii., 1. His Republican spirit animated him to the last, for Whitelocke says that, so little did he repent of his conduct towards his Sovereign, that “he declared a little before he left the world, that if the King were to be tried and condemned again, he would be the first man that should do it.”
John Bradshaw married Mary, the daughter of Thomas Marbury, of Marbury, Cheshire, by his first wife Eleanor, daughter of Peter Warburton, of Arley, and he thus connected himself with some of the best families in the county. This lady, who was some years his senior, predeceased him without having borne any issue; and when the President died he had not a child to continue his name or inherit the vast wealth he had accumulated. The closing years of his life were for the most part spent at his pleasant retreat at Walton-on-Thames, of which mention has already been made; and there is very little doubt but that within the wainscotted rooms of that quaint old mansion many and frequent were the consultations touching the fate of England. A popular writer, who visited the house some years ago, in describing it, says that an aged woman, who then occupied a portion of the building, summed up her account of it with the remark that “it was a great house once, but full of wickedness; and no wonder the spirits of its inhabitants troubled the earth to this day.” Though we are not of those who “see visions and dream dreams,” and hold familiar converse with visitants from the world of shadows, we may yet echo the remark of the writer referred to: “It is trite enough to say what tales these walls could tell, but it is impossible to look into them without wishing ‘these walls had tongues.’”
The character of Bradshaw has been variously estimated and depicted in every hue, though it would seem to have been little understood, for his admirers have refused to see any defects in him, while those who abhor his principles have denounced him as a “monster of men.” It does not come within our province to offer any critical opinion on his life and actions—to pronounce upon the purity of his motives or the sincerity of his doings. His cousin Milton, who, however, can hardly be accepted as an impartial witness, has written his eulogy in an eloquent passage in the “Second Defence of the People of England;” and Godwin, in his “History of the Commonwealth,” thus speaks of him:—