It was well for Monk he took the cautious line he did. Up to the end of the first week in May the Council had been sending him flattering letters of encouragement and promises of ships, provisions, and everything he asked for. A large sum of money was actually on shipboard consigned to him. When suddenly the day before the armistice was concluded a messenger was galloping down to the coast to stop it. Special precautions were taken to prevent the reason of this sudden order being known, and we can only guess that something of Monk's purpose or secret instructions had leaked out. But some one there was to smooth things over, and before the week was out the money was on its way again with a letter addressed by the Council to Monk thanking him for his services and integrity.
Whatever it was that Cromwell thought most fit to be done, it was not to reprimand Monk. His vast preparations for the conquest of Ireland were approaching completion, and by the armistice he gained the delay he required. All that was wanted was to keep the treaty secret till he was well on his way, and then he could do without it. Meanwhile Monk was allowed to believe that his conduct was approved by the authorities at home, and told to keep the whole matter a profound secret.
It was not long before he had to test the value of his treaty. Early in June Ormonde had concentrated all his forces and advanced to Dublin. Taking up a position there he detached Inchiquin to take Drogheda and Trim, and so open up communication with his allies in the north. At the end of the month Drogheda fell and Inchiquin advanced to besiege Dundalk. Monk at once sent to O'Neill to come to his assistance. O'Neill replied that he could do nothing for want of ammunition. Monk was ready to supply the want, and told his ally to send up a strong convoy to receive it. All went well till the party was returning laden with supplies. So hospitably had they been treated in Dundalk that most of them were drunk. Indeed no precautions seem to have been taken to prevent a surprise, possibly because O'Neill was still coquetting with Ormonde, and had some understanding that he should be allowed to get ammunition from Monk. At any rate before his men reached their camp a detachment of Inchiquin's army fell upon them and cut them to pieces. Hardly a man escaped, the whole of the train was captured, and so great was the panic in O'Neill's quarters when the news of the disaster came, that the whole army fled in disorder to Longford and left Dundalk to its fate.
It was a trying moment for Monk, and one in which the blunt narrow-minded soldier of fortune stands out in his fearlessness and staunch self-reliance a figure almost heroic. The end for which he had been striving so long was nearly gained. Any time within the next few weeks Cromwell might set foot in Ireland. The army was gathered at Milford. The Lord Lieutenant had left London. The race for the key of England was now neck and neck. One more struggle and success might still be won. So like a true man Monk resolved at all hazards to cling to his charge till he could cling no more.
His troops were his only fear. Arrears and the O'Neill treaty had been a sore trial to their devotion, but still they were the only tools he had. Calling them about him he told them what he meant to do, and begged that, if any there feared to stand by him, he would be gone. A single man stepped from the ranks and said he could not fight by the side of Popish rebels red with Protestant blood. He was dismissed with a safe-conduct, and the rest pledged themselves to stand by their beloved commander till the last.
It is sad to tell how night cooled their courage. Next day when Inchiquin appeared before the walls the sight was more than their conscientious scruples and empty pockets could endure. Wholesale they deserted to the enemy, till Monk at last was left with but seventeen faithful out of all his force. Still he would have held out, though resistance then meant certain death. Fortunately the seventeen faithful were not so obstinate, and he was but one against them. By main force they compelled him to surrender. Inchiquin gave him handsome terms. They were simply that he should be allowed to dispose of himself and his property as he pleased, and in pursuance of them he presently sailed for England.
But his troubles instead of being ended were only begun. No sooner was he landed at Chester than he found public opinion in a high state of agitation over his armistice. He was interviewed by excited politicians: he was eagerly asked what induced him to make so monstrous an alliance; but little could be made of him. The cautious, taciturn soldier must have been a difficult man to interview, and to every inquisitive attack he replied that he had the warrant of his superiors for what he had done. He had obeyed his orders, he had done his duty, and he had no fear of the consequences; nor did it concern him whether the treaty was justifiable or not.
Once ashore he lost no time in hurrying on to Milford Haven to report himself to Cromwell, who as Lord Lieutenant was his immediate superior. There he found matters worse even than at Chester. The soldiers had got wind of the unlucky armistice and were deserting in large numbers. They had enlisted to avenge innocent Protestant blood, and found themselves asked to join hands with the monsters who had shed it. The stories of the massacres were still believed, and feeling ran very high. One of Milton's first commissions from the Government had been aimed at involving their opponents in the execration with which Ormonde's peace with the Irish Papists was regarded, and men's ears were still ringing with his tremendous invective against the Ulster Scots for joining hands with a man who had so stained himself with the touch of Antichrist. It was a time when Cromwell must have repented his patriotic resolve to command the Irish army. He well knew the danger he ran in leaving London. He was sure his Presbyterian and Cavalier enemies would leave no stone unturned to damage him and his party. And here at the very outset the weapon which Milton had been wielding with such deadly effect was placed within their reach. The connection between the Independents and the Papists once exposed, there would be a resistless outcry such as had greeted the Glamorgan disclosures, and the cause of individual liberty, of toleration, of independency would be lost for ever. Whatever the cost the truth must not transpire.
Such must have been Cromwell's thoughts as Monk was announced. What would we not give to see that meeting now, to see those two men, so alike and yet so widely different, face to face at a moment so dramatic! Cromwell with the fierce earnestness that carried all before it telling his friend that no more must be said about the warrant of his superiors, that on his own shoulders he must for the sake of the good cause take the blame; telling him how he had laid his confidential letter and O'Neill's terms before the Council, and how they had voted entire disapproval of the whole scheme, and had not even dared to put it before Parliament. And then the honest soldier, hurt to be so deserted, but yet borne down by the resistless personality of his commander, consenting at last for high reasons of state to lie. He who, as Clarendon said, was never suspected of dissimulation in all his life passed his word to lie, and Cromwell knew—none better than he—a man that was to be trusted.
So much is all we can gather of that meeting on which so much depended. No sooner was it over than the scapegoat was hurried off to London. No time was to be lost. The rising storm must be allayed before it got beyond control, and Cromwell could not sail till he knew the end. There was a magic sword lying almost in his enemies' grasp, and till it was removed he could not leave—no, not for all Ireland.