The first halt was at Haddington. Everything had gone well, and the general was sitting down to supper with his officers amidst the hopeful excitement that marks the first move to the front. Hardly, however, had grace been said when some officers from London were announced. They presented the general with a packet. He tore it open where he sat, read it through, and then tossing it to his officers abruptly left the room without a word. With cries of rage they found it was a treaty into which their commissioners had been cheated and coerced, and which conceded to the Committee of Safety every point upon which the Scotch army had insisted.
It was a blow heavy enough to crush the stoutest heart, and at daybreak the general returned to Edinburgh, where the news had already raised a storm of fury. Officers crowded to head-quarters with despair and anger on their faces, and eagerly waited till Monk had done his breakfast. At last he strode into the ante-room and began talking up and down in sullen silence. Not a word was spoken till his confidant, Dr. Gumble, ventured to accost him. "What do you think of this agreement?" said the general abruptly. The doctor replied at once by asking leave to escape into Holland, for whatever the rest might hope he knew his life was not safe. "What!" cried Monk angrily, "do you lay the blame on me? If the army will stick to me I will stick to them." A burst of enthusiasm greeted his words. Every officer present vowed he would live and die with him, and shout after shout of joy re-echoed through the city as the news spread through the ranks of the soldiers.
A confidential council was called in the afternoon, and it was decided instead of repudiating the treaty to prolong the negotiations. To this end it was resolved to request a conference at Alnwick to explain doubtful points in the articles on the ground that they appeared to be inconsistent with the commissioners' instructions. Next morning a general advance to the Border was ordered, and by the end of the month the head-quarters were at Berwick. Another delay was gained, and to prevent the possibility of a premature collision Monk withdrew his outpost in Northumberland. Every day some encouraging news added a fresh value to the armistice. Clarges had returned to London, but before he left Edinburgh Monk had told him that if he restored the Parliament he should not feel it his duty to prevent the secluded members resuming their seats. With this the astute commissary had been able to satisfy Lord Fairfax on his way south, and was now able to announce that the Yorkshire gentlemen would be ready to rise for a free Parliament by the middle of January. The old Council of State had met in secret at the capital, and sent down to Monk a commission as general of all the forces in England and Scotland. Fleetwood was growing more suspicious of Lambert every hour, and in his anxiety to come to an understanding with Monk agreed to the proposed conference. Lambert was in despair. His army at Newcastle was showing signs of insubordination. Money was running short. The ranks were full of sectaries devoted to Fleetwood. He knew that further delay meant ruin, and he despatched Colonel Zankey to Berwick with fresh proposals on his own account to hasten the ratification of the treaty. Zankey arrived early in December, in company with the retreating outpost from Alnwick. In high spirits at this new sign of discord in the enemy's camp the Council met. A long bantering discussion ensued. Every argument which Zankey could urge was made light of, his terms refused, and Monk, well satisfied with the day's work, went to bed—but not to rest.
At one o'clock in the morning he was aroused with alarming news. A strong brigade of Lambert's cavalry with two guns had seized Chillingham Castle, which was but twenty miles from the Border. Furious to think that the precious armistice was broken, and still more that Lambert should have taken advantage of the withdrawal of the outposts to cover an advance with a flag of truce, he ordered Zankey's instant arrest. It was a fearful night. The darkness was impenetrable and a storm was raging. But at such a moment nothing mattered to the tough old campaigner. In an hour his orders for the army were written, and he was galloping away recklessly to inspect the fords uphill and downhill along the frozen roads, regardless of the protests of his staff. "It was God's infinite mercy we had not our necks broke," wrote one of them afterwards. At Norham the storm had increased to such a fury that he was compelled to take shelter in the castle. By daylight, however, he had visited every pass over the Tweed, and a little before noon he reached Coldstream, where he intended to make his head-quarters. Here was the best ford over the river, and he had ordered a strong force to muster for its protection. So well had his orders been obeyed that he found his troops had already consumed everything that was fit for food or drink in the place. But "old George" was as indifferent to hunger as he was to fatigue. In dismay his staff saw him sit down in a small cottage and quietly take out a quid of tobacco. It was for him all that Captain Bobadil boasted. His staff stole away to hunt for a dinner, and when they returned the general was still serenely chewing where they had left him.
Lambert's supposed advance had proved a false alarm. It was but an unauthorised raid for plunder. But it was enough to show the old strategist his danger. If Lambert had the sense or power to make a dash over the Border with his thousands of horse and mounted infantry, Monk was so weak in those arms that he would be compelled to retreat, and retreat meant ruin. Everything depended on a strong defensive position, and with consummate skill he marked one out. The bulk of the little army was stationed on the right at Kelso, and intrusted to Morgan, who had orders to exercise it daily in the general's pet formation of mixed files of horse and foot. From Kelso as far as Berwick every pass was occupied, and the troops quartered in the neighbouring villages and farmsteads. Yet within four hours, so nicely was every detail adjusted, the whole force could be concentrated on a given point. The position was practically impregnable. The desolate character of the country in its front rendered an attack in force impossible. Even if Lambert could have induced his pampered army to move, he could not have fed them for the time a concentration would take in the fearful weather that prevailed. If he attempted a turning movement by the Carlisle road Monk would get three days' start in London, and the Scotch army was too strong to be checked by any force that Lambert could safely detach from his main body.
To perfect his masterly disposition Monk established himself in the centre at Coldstream. His quarters were a smoky little thatched cottage with but one room. His bed was so small that he used it as a pillow, with his legs and body resting uneasily on benches. Indeed he and his officers suffered here every hardship that bad lodging, worse food, and intense cold could inflict; but such was the spirit which the general's example infused that the only effect of their sufferings was to arouse a cheery spirit of freemasonry among them. Till their dying day it was their pride to be called Coldstreamers. They never ceased to bore their friends with Coldstream stories, nor tired of joking about the chapel in the cowhouse and the beer that went bad before it got cold.
Severe as were their privations, for the rest of the year they had to bear them with as much of the general's equanimity as they could attain. As for him, he never left his quarters for a night except once, to meet the delegates of the Scots Convention at Berwick for the final settlement of the affairs of the interior while he was away. For the rest comfort was not wanting. The colder it grew the more difficult it was for Lambert to move, and if good liquor was scarce, good news flowed in plenty through the secret channels which Clarges had laid. In London riots were being suppressed with bloodshed, and mutiny was threatening at Newcastle. The Fanatics of Fleetwood's party, of whom the army was full, began to distrust Lambert's ambition, while Monk's judicious refusal to allow the Scots to arm restored the confidence of those who had hitherto suspected him of malignancy. The Irish regiments had not forgotten him; the Parliament's guards were plainly inclined to its champion; at head-quarters mutinies daily alarmed the Council; and Fleetwood's only idea of restoring discipline was to fall on his knees at the head of the disaffected regiments and say his prayers.
Still the negotiations could not be prolonged for ever, ingenious as was the committee which Monk had appointed to carry them on. It was therefore an immense relief when tidings came that the governor of Portsmouth had opened his gates to Haslerig, Morley, and Walton. Monk at once sent to Lambert to say that as three of his fellow-commissioners had returned to their duty he could not continue the negotiation without consulting them. "He has not used me well," said poor Lambert, and refused to grant a pass to Portsmouth. Monk's messenger had to return, but not empty. He came bursting with news. Vice-Admiral Lawson had declared for Monk's programme, and the fleet was threatening to blockade the Thames. In the same hour from Portpatrick arrived an officer to tell how the general's old comrades had seized Dublin Castle, and that the Irish army was ready to assist him actively. In the midst of the thanksgivings for these mercies a kinsman of Lord Fairfax stole over the hills to announce that the Yorkshire gentlemen would be ready to fall on Lambert's rear by New Year's Day, and at the Yorkshire general's request Monk promised to watch Lambert "as a cat did a mouse," and to advance to their assistance the moment there was a sign of a movement against them.
Indeed things were going almost too well. Price grew alarmed that the Rump was going to triumph completely, and though his dangerous presence was tabooed by Monk he stole into head-quarters in the dead of night. Rousing the weary soldier from his uneasy couch he implored him to remember the "old known laws." "Mr. Price," said Monk passionately, "I know your meaning, and I have known it. By the grace of God I will do it if ever I can find it in my power; and I do not much doubt but that I shall." Then seizing both his chaplain's hands he said again, "By God's help I will do it." It is perfectly clear that Monk's love for his country inspired him with a desire to see monarchy re-established by a free Parliament as the only durable settlement, and that at this moment he was very hopeful about it.[9] It is equally certain he did not intend to restore Charles by force; and even if a Stuart were in his eyes worth a drop of English blood, even if he had had any faith in a settlement that was founded in civil war, his creed was still unshaken, and he meant so far as in him lay to keep the army from meddling with the civil power. He held the commission of the Rump, and had signified his intention to be loyal to it by signing a manifesto of the army by which he bound himself to restore the Parliament as it was before the late coup d'état.
Price's anxiety was but too well justified. On the last day of the year a messenger came ploughing through the snow to Coldstream with startling news. Fleetwood's army had mutinied. "The Lord had spit in his face." He had given up the game, and the Rump was sitting again at Westminster. Fortunately it was not the end of the tidings. Fairfax had been compelled to rise prematurely, owing to the discovery of his plot, and Monk promptly issued orders for the little army to concentrate on Coldstream. Despatch after despatch interrupted his preparations. Lilburne's regiment had deserted to Fairfax, and the whole Irish Brigade had followed its example. It was clear that Lambert's only chance was a swift back-stroke at Fairfax, and Monk determined to anticipate the intelligence he hourly expected. As the first gray beams of the year 1660 began to streak the leaden sky they lit up a memorable picture. Erect in his saddle amidst the trampled snow sat the warlike figure of the great soldier of fortune, on whose sagacity hung the destiny of Britain; and past him filed rank after rank the vanguard of his toil-stained troops as they strode cheerily on to cross the white plain of the frozen Tweed.