Outbreak of War.
On the afternoon of Monday, the 22nd of August, there occurred the world-famous act of setting up the King's standard at Nottingham. After dinner, he with his company rode into the town from Leicester Abbey. The standard was taken out of the castle and carried into a field behind the castle wall. It resembled one of the city streamers used at the Lord Mayor's show; it had about twenty supporters; on its top hung a flag with the royal arms quartered, and a hand pointing to the crown, with the motto, "Give Cæsar his due." It was conducted to the field in great state by the King, Prince Rupert, and divers Lords. A proclamation respecting the war had been prepared, which his Majesty read over, and, seeming to dislike some expressions, called for pen and ink, and with his own hand crossed out or altered them; after which, when the paper was read, the multitude threw up their hats and cried, "God save the King." It was now late in the month of August, the days were closing in, and the evening shadows fell on the King and his staff as they engaged in this act which finally plunged England into a civil war. A violent storm of wind arose and blew down the standard, almost as soon as it was unfurled.[308] As the cavaliers, in the dim twilight, wheeled off from the spot, did not their hearts beat with a sense of something very awful done that night?
1642, August.
As from one end of England to the other rumours of war were current, pious men betook themselves to the exercises of devotion; and the two Houses of Parliament, on hearing that the standard had been set up at Nottingham, published an ordinance for observing, with more than usual humiliation, the monthly fast, the services of which were to last from nine in the morning till four in the afternoon. At the same period, a religious service in London, known as "the Morning Exercise," was commenced, in connection with which special intercessions were offered up on behalf of the Parliamentary forces.[309]
But whilst peaceable Puritans were praying, their armed brethren were marching through the country. In the State Paper Office there are letters, probably intercepted ones, written by a Roundhead soldier named Wharton, reporting to a friend the adventures of the regiment to which he belonged. They are so curious and interesting, and throw such light on the feelings of a religious nature which existed in the hearts of the Parliament soldiers, that we cannot forbear making use of them largely in this part of our narrative.
Troops on the March.
He informs us, that in the month of August, 1642, he and his comrades marched to Acton, and were belated. Many were constrained to lodge in beds "whose feathers were above a yard long." They sallied out into the town, and coming to the house of one Penruddock, a Papist, they were "basely affronted by him and his dog;" whereupon they entered and pillaged the dwelling; and then proceeded to the church, where they "defaced the ancient and sacred glazed pictures, and burned the holy rails;" the soldiers brought more holy rails to be burnt, and abstained from pillaging Lord Portland's house, together with another inhabited by Dr. Ducke, only in consequence of a prohibition from their commanders. Mention is made of converting the surplice at Hillingdon into handkerchiefs, of burning the rails and also a service book at Uxbridge, and of similar outrages, perpetrated in other places; as well as of soldiers visiting Papists by stealth, and forcing them to give loaves and cheeses, which the captors triumphantly carried away on the points of their swords. Colonel Hampden, accompanied by many gentlemen well-horsed, welcomed these detachments to Aylesbury with great joy; after which they marched out with 400 musqueteers and a hundred horse, to Watlington, in Oxfordshire. At Great Missenden they had noble entertainment from the whole town, and especially from Sir Bryan Ireson, and the minister. On Sunday, a pulpit was built in the market place of Aylesbury, where they heard "two worthy sermons." Grievous complaints are made of their Lieutenant-Colonel, who is described in no measured terms, as one whom they all desired that the Parliament would depose or God convert, or "the devil fetch away quick."[310]
1642, September.
From Northampton the same correspondent writes informing his friend that on Wednesday a fast was kept at Coventry—which is described as a city, having four steeples, three churches, and two parishes, and not long since, but one priest—where they heard two sermons, but before the third was ended an "alarum" came for them to march. By ten o'clock they got their regiments together, and about two in the morning proceeded towards Northampton.[311] The military pillaged the parson of Barby, and brought him away prisoner with his surplice and other relics. At Long Buckby the soldiers had hard quarters, insomuch that they were glad to "dispossess the very swine, and as many as could quartered in the church." Some stragglers sallied into the neighbourhood of the town, and returned "in state, clothed in surplice, hood, and cap, representing the Bishop of Canterbury." On Friday morning, Mr. Obediah Sedgwick "gave a worthy sermon," and Wharton's company marched rank and file to hear him. Mr. John Sedgwick had been appointed to preach in the afternoon, but news having arrived that Prince Rupert had plundered Harborough, and fired some adjacent towns, this circumstance spoiled the service. On Sabbath morning Mr. Marshall, "that worthy champion of Christ," preached, and in the afternoon Mr. Ash officiated. These by their sermons "subdued and satisfied more malignant spirits than 1,000 armed men could have done, so that we have great hopes of a blessed union."
Troops on the March.