Eager to propitiate the Scots, he kept open house at Dalkeith, and through the influence of the Countess of Buccleuch the nobility began to accept his hospitality. They soon came to have a liking for the kindly general. He received them indeed so cordially, and seemed so anxious to be on good terms with them, that there is no doubt some of them began to see in the simple-minded soldier a possible instrument for the revival of their party. Early in November, 1655, he had intercepted two autograph letters from the king, one addressed to "2," whom he knew to be Lord Glencairn; the other to "T," a cypher he did not understand. The letter, however, was of a highly compromising nature. "T" was told that the King was assured of his affection, and he was encouraged to be ready when the time was ripe. According to his usual practice Monk took copies of both the letters and allowed them to proceed to their destination. The copies he forwarded at once to Cromwell, assuring him that he would soon know to whom the "T" letter was delivered, and be able to deal with him as he deserved. To his intense annoyance it was delivered to himself. Cromwell seems to have thoroughly enjoyed the joke, but Monk was furious, and vented his anger by arresting Glencairn, whom he evidently suspected of being at the bottom of it.
Yet in spite of all he could do the Cavaliers chose to believe that he was a king's man at heart, and to make him the object of their intrigues. His uneasiness was increased by his new chaplain Price, who, having obtained considerable influence over Mrs. Monk, set her on to advocate the martyr's cause. It must be confessed that the general was a little henpecked at home, and a little afraid of his wife's sharp tongue; so, like a wise man, he let her talk treason to her heart's content without reply, and told Price whenever the subject was mentioned that he had no sympathy with the cause of a man who had shown himself hopelessly incapable of governing. If the martyr had been fit to reign, he used to say, he would have taken his advice and fought the Scots in 1638.
Still they all pretended not to believe him, and his nervousness became chronic. Cromwell was only amused at his distress. He never forgot the letter to "T." The joke appealed to the Protector's peculiar sense of humour. Nearly three years later, when Monk one day returned to Dalkeith, he found a letter had been mysteriously left with the guard. It proved apparently to be one of the same tenor as the first, and more furious than ever he sent a copy of it up to the Secretary of State. "I did not think fit to trouble his Highness with it," the general wrote, "it being, as I conceive it is, a knavish trick of some Scotchman or other.... I hope God will enable me as I make them smart for this roguery and the former report which they made of me." Of course Thurloe told Cromwell, and the Protector could not resist adding his well-known "drolling" postscript to his next despatch. "There be some that tell me," he wrote to Monk shortly before his death, "that there is a certain cunning fellow in Scotland called George Monk who is said to lie in wait there to introduce Charles Stuart; I pray you use your diligence to apprehend him and send him up to me." Clearly he was poking fun at his lieutenant. The Protector knew well enough he was to be trusted implicitly. He sent him up all his most disaffected troops, knowing that under Monk's stern discipline they would soon be brought to their senses. He gave him full powers to cashier any officer he liked. He abandoned his intention of reducing the army when Monk said it was not safe. He even left him nearly two years without a Council to watch him, and only restored it upon Monk's urgent and repeated entreaties for help in his work.
As part of their intrigues the Cavaliers industriously spread reports that Cromwell was afraid of his lieutenant. They said the Protector tried to get him out of Scotland by offering him the command of the great Jamaica expedition, and that Monk, seeing through his designs, refused. As a matter of fact Cromwell did want to see his darling project conducted by the most able and experienced commander in his service, but reluctantly abandoned the idea in consequence of a confidential report that Scotland would not be safe out of Monk's hands. So the post was not offered him. If it had been he would certainly have accepted it. To lead such an enterprise was the dream of Monk's life. The rumour was revived in 1658 because the general did not attend Cromwell's "other House," to which he had been called. It was said that he had refused the summons, but it was untrue. The real explanation of his absence is that there were at the time signs of a Royalist descent, and he told the Protector he dared not come till some one was appointed to take his place. No one was appointed, and he remained.
In fact he was an ideal governor. Everything seemed to go smoothly, and he never bothered except now and then for money that was due. In spite of the endless questions that must have arisen every day, half his letters to the Secretary of State at this period contain apologies for having no news. A great part of the rest consist of information on purely English affairs. The hard-worked and anxious Protector knew well how priceless is such a governor, and could laugh securely at what the Cavaliers said when he knew what a bugbear to his trusty friend were Charles Stuart and all his works.
But while Cromwell laughed and Monk fumed at the Cavalier tricks we must cast a glance down into Devonshire, where a web more subtle and secret than any that had yet been tried was being spun to catch the incorruptible proconsul. Almost at the end of the world, in his rectory at Plymtree, sat Nicholas Monk. There all through those dangerous and unquiet times he had "possessed a sweet and comfortable privacy" after his own heart. To-day a messenger disturbed him at his books. It was a letter from cousin John asking him to come and see him. Sir John Grenville was the son of Sir Bevil by Elizabeth Monk, and nephew to George's old friend Sir Richard. He was a great man now, and an active figure in Lord Mordaunt's new group of ardent young Cavaliers who were trying to goad the old Royalists of the "Sealed Knot" out of the lethargy to which they had been reduced by fines and failures and distrust of the King and each other. A little flurried, we may be sure, the quiet parson hurried away, but found with relief it was no business of state. Only Sir John had a fat living fallen vacant, and he thought cousin Nicholas might like it. He wanted nothing for it either, only if he should ever happen to have any business with cousin George up in Scotland perhaps Nicholas would not mind making himself useful. Certainly he would not; so in due course he finds himself in clover at his new living of Kelkhampton, and a distinct step is taken to the Restoration.
As yet Grenville knew it was useless to approach his cousin. He had taken the Protector's commission and had promised Cromwell, it was said, to support his dynasty. So when Oliver died in September, 1658, Richard was duly proclaimed at Edinburgh; but in spite of Monk's efforts it was without a note of enthusiasm. The soldiers grumbled when the ceremony was over that they had to support a man they did not know. "Old George for my money," said one with applause; "he is fitter for a Protector than Dick Cromwell!" No doubt Oliver thought so too. He had told Richard always to follow Monk's advice; and one of the new Protector's first acts was to send Dr. Clarges, Monk's brother-in-law, and now Commissary-General for the Irish and Scotch armies, on a special mission to Scotland, to seek the advice and support of his father's right-hand man.
It was excellent advice that Clarges brought back. True to his simple creed, Monk told Richard he must break the political power of the army and gather round him to share in the government the natural leaders of the people. He showed him exactly how to do it, but Richard was too weak or too indolent to follow his instructions. His only idea was to offer Monk a large sum of money to support him by force. Dearly as he loved riches, Monk refused. He had pledged himself to the Cromwells, and that was enough. Richard would want all his money himself. Every day the Republican army, with Lambert and Fleetwood at its head, grew stronger, and the "new Royalists," as they called the Cromwellians, grew weaker. Before he had been eight months on the throne Richard gave up the struggle, dissolved his Parliament, and weakly identified himself with the army. The inevitable result followed. At the end of May he abdicated in favour of a military republic.
The leading officers formed themselves into a provisional government, and took immediate steps to recall the Republican remnant of the Long Parliament, which since its expulsion by Cromwell had come to be looked upon as representing the "good old cause" of the Commonwealth. It was at all events a pretence of constitutionalism, and Monk seized the excuse to sullenly acquiesce in the new order. "Had Richard not dissolved his Parliament," he always said, "I would have marched down to support it," and in view of his subsequent conduct there is every reason to believe he meant what he said. But Richard had pusillanimously thrown up the game before his friend could help him, and Monk was not a man to plunge his country into civil war in such a hopeless cause. And so when his kinsman Cornet Monk arrived from Ireland on a special mission from Henry Cromwell he found he was too late.
The first act of the restored "Rump" was one of the last importance. In their eagerness to get control over the army they insisted on every officer receiving his commission from themselves at the hands of the Speaker. Monk accepted a new commission with the rest, and from that moment he was as devoted a servant to Parliament as ever he had been to Cromwell; but, unlike Cromwell, the new Government committed the folly of not trusting him. The Council of State immediately set to work to fill his army with their own nominees. Monk protested, and refused to permit the new men to act without the Speaker's commission. Fortunately public business was so disturbed in London that most of these commissions never arrived.