The loyalists

by Jane West

The laurel decks the victor's grave,

O'er thine the faithful willow weeps.

The disturbed state of England at this time permitted no long indulgence of domestic sorrow. "Griefs of an hour's age did hiss the speaker," and pity and sympathy often claimed the falling tear, which had been wrung forth by "own distress." Ribblesdale was again disturbed by the march of hostile troops. The young King had yielded to the solicitations of his Scottish subjects, and transported himself to that country. Less scrupulous than his father, he swore to observe the conditions of their covenant; and in return, they promised to give him their crown, and assist him to recover the English diadem. No sooner was the Royal standard displayed on the hills of Caledonia, than the welcome signal revived the hopes and unsheathed the swords of the southern Loyalists. The brave Earl of Derby left his retreat in the isle of Man, to spend the remains of his noble fortune in his Master's cause; and, as the event proved, to sacrifice his life. He returned eagerly to Lancashire, and collecting what forces the fallen interests of his family could supply, waited the commands of his Sovereign.

In the mean time the indefatigable Cromwell hastened from Ireland; and assuming the command which Fairfax had refused to accept, marched the English forces into Scotland, and defeated the covenanters, who, under pretence of restoring the young King, actually held him prisoner, compelling him to act in such subservience to their designs as to sacrifice those, who, without any sinister views, risked their lives in his support. The humiliation of these pretended friends by the victory of Cromwell enabled the King to burst the fetters of Argyle, and throw himself into the arms of the true Loyalists, with whom he concerted measures and recruited his army, while Cromwell refreshed his fatigued and harassed troops at Edinburgh. Determined to appeal to the loyalty of a nation, now known to be weary of an unsettled government, the King suddenly executed the brave design of passing by Cromwell's army, and marched into England. He was joined in Lancashire by the Earl of Deby: rash counsels were hastily adopted; and, instead of concentrating the force they possessed, and pointing it at one great object, the Earl was required to secure the north-western provinces with a power unequal to the duty; while the King, weakened by his division, marched rapidly towards London, hoping to reach it before he could be overtaken by Cromwell.

The report of an enterprising able young Prince, (for so at this time the second Charles was reputed to be) coming to reclaim by the sword his right to the crown, which had been torn from the lifeless trunk of his father, on whose grave a hecatomb of regicides was expected to be offered, alarmed all those who had participated in the crimes of treason and murder. The forces of the King were, as usual, exaggerated by report, the hopes of the Loyalist turned possibilities into certainties, a general rising was expected, and it was confidently said had already taken place. Rumours were circulated that in subduing Scotland Cromwell had so weakened himself, that it was impossible for him to pursue the King; and while the less criminal entertained hopes of being able to make terms with their Sovereign, the immediate partizans of the Usurper saw no safety, but in supporting the power of one who they knew must (like themselves) be excepted out of every amnesty.

Among those whom guilt had made desperate, we must include Lord and Lady Bellingham. We have seen that the former sacrificed his nephew to avoid being accused as a secret favourer of the royal cause, a charge he knew Cromwell had determined to urge against him, as a safe way of removing a staunch republican, who would oppose the ultimate views of his now ripe ambition. Eustace however drew the lot of death to no other purpose than to increase the remorse which occasionally tortured the bosom of Bellingham. A mutiny broke out the moment after the volley was fired, that sent the brave cavaliers to join in the grave the royal martyr whom they had served and deplored; for the rebel General, had awakened too many suspicions, and had too much offended his soldiers by his temporizing conduct, for this sacrifice to expiate his faults. It was remarked, that he never dealt in invective against his opponents, from whence it was inferred, that he wished to treat with them. He neglected the praying agitators, and therefore they called him Agag, the Amalekite, commanding the host of Israel. He abridged the liberty of the soldiers, and of course straitened the arm of the Lord. He disapproved of plunder and military contribution, consequently endeavoured to make the presbyterians popular at the expence of the godly. At this time these opponents hated each other still more than they did episcopacy; and a presbyterian general, commanding an army who claimed unbounded licence in judgment and conduct, must be condemned for a traitor by that unerring rule, the voice of the majority. Lord Bellingham was therefore arrested by the agitators, and sent prisoner to London at the instant when Eustace fell.

Imprisonment and the scaffold were frequently in those times synonymous. The fallen criminal saw his danger in its full horrors; and, while maintaining an inordinate attachment to this world, he dreaded the future consequence of his unrepented crimes. He had not numbed the early feelings of religion by the cold torpor of Atheism; nor could he persuade himself to indulge in those reveries of election and impeccability, which had now saturated his Lady's mind. He felt himself to be an accountable being, not a collection of animated atoms associated by chance, which, when the vital spark was extinguished, would crumble into dust without record or responsibility. He knew he was a sinner by choice, who had abused his free-will; not a passive vessel of wrath, pre-destined to destruction. No inflating ebullition of enthusiasm told him he was become one of those favourites of Heaven who cannot forfeit salvation. He therefore clung to this wretched life, as to the edge of a precipice that beetled over the gulph of perdition. Despair was with him the substitute of repentance. He looked back on his offences to his King and his friend, convinced that they had exceeded the bounds of mercy. Often did he deplore the utter impossibility of his regaining that state of contented innocence, when he and Allan Neville shared each other's hearts, before the superior qualities and nobler expectations of his friend excited his envy and ambition. He adverted to that time when his love for the beautiful Lady Eleanor was pure and generous, before she had wrought upon him to become the instrument and participator of her criminal ambition and insatiable rapacity. He had not the audacity to think a life stained by perfidy and injustice, made him fitter for the reception of extraordinary grace. The external propriety of his manners, and the patronage he liberally afforded to the divines of the Rump-party, had gained him the reputation of a man of extraordinary piety; but the austerities he practised, and the devotions in which he joined, afforded no balsam to his woes. He had been early taught that restitution to the wronged was one of the evidences of real penitence. His title and fortune were the right-hand; he could not cut off the pride of life to which he was wedded. Had he never known greatness, he would now have been happy as Walter de Vallance, living in a state of respectable competence. He fell into the common fault of incorrigible offenders; lamenting that he had not subdued the first cravings of desire, and wishing to recall the irremediable past, while to reform the present was too vast a labour.

Sometimes he had persuaded himself, that if he knew Allan Neville were alive, he would purchase peace of conscience by relinquishing his usurped possessions; but no sooner was he certified of that fact, and beheld in Eustace the noble heir he had so basely injured, than his base spirit shrunk into its narrow cell, and at that moment he would have given worlds to have had the father and son cut off by any hand but his own. Equally affected by the fear of death and of adversity, he yielded Eustace to a fate which some faint remains of humanity made him deplore, while a consciousness that this slaughter tended to confirm his own title, reminded him that, by reaping the advantage of a cruel unjust sentence which he had power to remit, he was virtually his murderer. Such he knew the world would esteem him, if ever the story transpired; and could it be long concealed? His influence with the ruling powers was evidently on the wane; the star, which was now Lord of the ascendant, shed on him a malign influence. Abjured by those whom he had served, hated by the royalists, and despised by all parties; could a more pitiable object be found, than a timorous, susceptible, falling villain; conscious of guilt, aware of danger, convinced of the necessity of repentance; but too much attached to temporal enjoyments to set about it.

Lord Bellingham's distresses were not alleviated by domestic comfort. I have before observed, that his Lady had embraced the party of Cromwell, and had taken her religious creed from the fanatics, as best calculated to compose her fears, and leave her conduct under the mis-rule of her irregular passions. She had long hated and despised her husband, on whom she threw the whole blame of the crimes she had excited him to commit, at the same time that she took pains to stifle in him all the better feelings of remorse, by telling him that it was his want of faith, which excluded him from reaping the benefit of the promise, that the saints should inherit the earth. When she spoke of worldly riches, of honour, or of pleasure, she called them, "dust in the balance," carnal delights, and Satan's bird-lime, which kept the soul from flying to heaven; yet no miser ever clung to his gold with more tenacity than she to every earthly good, that could in any wise contribute to her own advantage. From a vain dissipated coquette, proud of making conquests, and wedded to a life of frivolity, she was changed to a rapturous enthusiast, certain of divine favour upon grounds equally inconsistent with reason and Scripture. With a still carnalized fancy, she adorned the heaven which she felt sure of eternally inhabiting, with the splendor and luxury she had enjoyed on earth, and thus tricked out a Mahommedan paradise rather than the pure and spiritual enjoyments of glorified beings. With all the zeal and animosity of a new convert, she tried to make her son and husband adopt these notions; and failing of success, she thought herself at liberty to renounce them both; and could she have secured a perpetual residence in this world, or transported her beloved wealth and greatness to the other, the death of Lord Sedley would have given her no more concern than that of the Earl of Bellingham; but looking upon the former as the medium through which her name must be conveyed to posterity, she felt an interest in his preservation, totally distinct from maternal affection; and to this his fine qualities served rather as an alloy, than an incentive. A youth weak enough to be really a convert, or sufficiently base to have affected being one to her opinions, a flatterer of her faults, and the tool of her designs, would have been invested by her erroneous judgment with those high deservings which actually adorned her noble offspring, though she wanted penetration to discern them.

When the agitators arrested Lord Bellingham, he knew that his son had been sent with Cromwell's detachment against the Duke of Hamilton, and that the victorious General returned to London in triumph, while no sure tidings of the illustrious youth's safety cheered the prison-hours of the wretched father. Important events succeeded each other with such rapidity, that there was no time to bring forward the charge against an imprisoned General, whose rank only made him an object of curiosity, while his conduct exposed him to contempt. New modelling the House of Commons; expediting the vote of non-addresses; the trial and execution of the King; the annihilation of the House of Peers; the sacrifice of many illustrious and noble Loyalists, and the complete establishment of military tyranny under the name of a republic, engaged the attention of Cromwell, till a little time previous to his undertaking the reduction of Ireland to the same yoke that England bore with silent but sullen indignation, when he judged it expedient to endeavour to prevent his enemies from taking advantage of his being at a distance from the chief seat of political intrigue. He knew that Lord Bellingham was intrusted with the secrets of the Commonwealth's-men, and determined to pay him a conciliatory visit in prison. He met the captive Earl with mock humility, and sycophantic friendship; talked largely of his talents and deserts; lamented that he should fall into the displeasure of the nation, and spoke of the lenity he was accused of showing to the Loyalists, as a frailty he could pity, having himself fallen into a similar temptation, when he was moved in the spirit to spare Charles Stewart, till the Lord, whom he sought in prayer, showed him it was not to be.