[CHAPTER XII]
ON THE WINGS OF THE STORM
With Monk's success his real difficulties began. His first act was to attend the Council of State. The Oath of Abjuration was tendered to him and he refused it. A third of the Council had done the same, and amongst them irreproachable Republicans. He suggested a conference between the two parties to settle the point. For the present he certainly could not take it. He must consult the Coldstreamers. "The officers of my army," he said, and his words must have sounded strangely like a threat, "are very tender in taking oaths." So he returned to his apartments to be besieged with callers. Politicians were there eager for a word on which to work, and astute foreign ministers at their wits' end what to report to their respective governments. For every one a discreet answer had to be provided. All Sunday the game continued with little relief, except a secret information that Scot's son had been boasting how in a few days the general would be in the Tower with his head in danger.
Monk wisely took no more notice of the information than to display his force by lining the way from Whitehall to Westminster with a "triumphant guard" as on Monday he went down in state to receive the thanks of Parliament. Scot had told him that a declaration of his devotion to the House and his dislike of the addresses was expected. It was a trying ordeal, but his blunt honesty took him through. A chair of state had been placed for him at the bar, but he refused to sit, as unbecoming a servant of the Parliament. Standing he received the fulsome vote of thanks, and then leaning over the back of the chair, he made his modest acknowledgments, protesting he had done no more than his duty. As though he were making an official report of matters in which he had no personal concern, he told them that on his way to town he had observed the country to be very anxious for a settlement, and that a number of addresses had been presented to him. The demands they contained and his own unexceptionable answers were summarised with soldier-like brevity. "But although I said it not to them," he continued, "I must say (with pardon) to you; that the less oaths and engagements are imposed (with respect had to the security of the common cause) the sooner your settlement will be attained to.... I know all the sober gentry will close with you if they may be tenderly and gently used. And I am sure you will so use them; as knowing it to be the common concern to amplify and not lessen our interest, and to be careful that neither the Cavalier nor the Fanatic party have a share in your civil or military power." In conclusion he respectfully called attention to the advisability of confirming the land-grants of the Irish soldiers and adventurers, and of settling several points for the better and more equable administration of Scotland.
Nothing could have been done better. The immediate effect of the speech was an immense increase in Monk's popularity. The conservative Republicans were delighted at his deferential demeanour; their ladies, returning from Mrs. Monk's reception at Whitehall, approved her sweetmeats, and complacently noted how she had helped them to wine with her own hand; while the country at large read the general's speech as a threat to the oligarchy which oppressed it. The city was enthusiastic, for not only did it begin to doubt the sincerity of his devotion to the Rump, but by his conclusion about Ireland the capitalists saw in him their champion. And, as we have seen, at such a crisis the capitalists had then the same peculiar influences which they have exercised under similar conditions in more modern times.
In fact from this moment the city became the scene on which the drama of the Restoration was to be played out. A week ago Mordaunt had arrived on a special mission from Charles to assure the Corporation of his constitutional intentions should he return, and the city had definitely turned its face to the King. The situation which the prevailing political uncertainty had brought about was no longer endurable. Trade was in a state of complete stagnation. Property was felt to be unsafe. The city was without a single representative in Parliament. It saw the moment had come for a decisive step, and two days after Monk's speech, on the ground that the sitting Parliament was not a representative assembly, the Common Council resolved to pay no more taxes till the House had filled up its vacancies.
Monk's principles were immediately put to a severe test. It was late at night when the vote of defiance became known at Whitehall, but a summons came for his instant attendance at the Council of State. The hours went by and he did not return. His friends remembered young Scot's boast, and gathered in alarm. Ashley Cooper tried to take his seat in the Council-chamber, but found it locked and guarded. Mrs. Monk hammered on the door and cried frantically to her husband, but not a sound came back. In despair she retired to her apartments, and it was past two before she was relieved by her husband's reappearance. Then it was only for a moment. To his friends' dismay he briefly told them that at daybreak the city was to be occupied, and then refusing to listen to any one went to bed. His paymasters had ordered him to coerce those on whom all his hopes depended, and he was going to obey.
The movement was punctually carried out, and no sooner were the guards set and the troops at their quarters than Monk, in accordance with his instructions, sent for a number of the leading citizens and placed them under arrest. This done, to the amazement of his officers, he ordered them to remove the city gates and portcullises, and the post and chains by which the streets were barricaded. In vain they protested, in vain his most devoted followers tendered their commissions. His only reply was to order the subordinate officers to do the work of their superiors. Of so astounding a piece of obedience no one knew what to think. The common soldiers were inclined to look upon it as a joke; the officers were in despair. At last a deputation of the Corporation waited on him to expostulate, and promise that if he would desist the Common Council would meet early on the morrow and reconsider its determination.
Monk at once complied, and reported to the Council of State recommending a lenient course. They replied brutally that they had dissolved the Common Council, and that he was not only to take down the gates but to break them in pieces. Again he obeyed. "Now, George," cried Haslerig when he heard of it, "we have thee for ever, body and soul." On the morrow, with growing anger, the troops recommenced the hateful work. They fraternised with the people, and together they railed at the Rump. Morley, who held the Tower, came and offered to declare against the men of Westminster if Monk would only give the word. His warmest friends went to reason with him, but the general sat in his quarters at the Three Tuns, near Guildhall, grimly chewing his tobacco, and no one dare speak to him. So extraordinary was his conduct that his officers began to believe he had some deep design. The orders were carried out to the last letter; guards were set at all the important points, and in the afternoon the rest of the army marched back to its quarters about Westminster.