Early on May 25th Monk was roused at Canterbury with the news that the fleet, which was bringing home the King, was in sight. There he had just arrived, the idol of the swarms of gentlemen that were flocking to Dover to welcome Charles and push their fortunes. He was worshipped and tormented as the fountain of honour. In his pocket he had a long list of importunate friends and enemies whom he had good-naturedly promised to recommend for places in the Government. His bodyguard was filled with noblemen. The very roads threatened to be blocked with the multitude of high-born supplicants, till the old disciplinarian, shocked at the indecency of the scramble, imperiously enrolled them into regiments and insisted on some order being observed.
Monk was "the sole pillar of the King's confidence," and so soon as the fleet reached Dover Roads Charles sent an express to say that he would not land till he came to him. No sooner was the summons received than he was on horseback again hastening to Dover. The critical moment had come. Every one then agreed that it was Monk who had restored the King, but how and why no one could exactly tell. As the boat containing the royal party touched the beach they crowded round to see the meeting of the two uncrowned kings, hoping that Monk's demeanour would lift the mist in which the future was wrapped and show them who was going to wield the sceptre. Charles himself was as nervous and anxious as the rest. This formidable figure that had arisen so suddenly and with such mystery, this man of darkness who had done as it were single-handed what for years had defied the efforts of his own most trusted councillors, and who yet forbade the very mention of reward, the perplexed King could only fear.
On the beach they met, and to every one's surprise the soldierly figure sank upon its knee and kissed the royal hand as deferentially as though it were the king who had made the general. Startled into an unwonted display of emotion Charles raised him, and embracing him with genuine fervour called him his father. Both were too moved for many words. Without more ado, amidst the shouts of the people and the thunder of the guns from forts and fleet, the two walked side by side to the royal coach. There the soldier of fortune took his place with the King and his brothers; and the Duke of Buckingham was clever enough, to every one's annoyance, to get possession of the boot uninvited.
The transports of delight which marked the whole progress to Canterbury were like a dream to Charles, so little could he understand it all. His first sensation, when he had time to realise his position quietly, was one of disgust at the indecency with which petitions for places had been showered upon him the moment he landed. It was impossible to satisfy them all, and the throne before him bid fair to be a bed of thorns; but far worse was yet to come. Hardly was he alone when the terrible general came into his room. Monk was no courtier, and his Court manners were already exhausted. It was a visit of business, and his way of doing business was aggressively direct. Without any preface or apology he went straight to the point, and in his blunt rough way told the King he could not do him better service than to recommend him councillors who would be acceptable to the people. With that he handed in his list of names. Charles nervously thrust it into his pocket, thanked the general, and dismissed him. Clarendon was sent for, and together they read the alarming memorandum. It contained the names of but two Cavaliers. Charles was aghast. What did it mean? Was this the solution of Monk's extraordinary conduct? Did he intend to be mayor of the palace to a roi fainéant? Clarendon knew as well as Monk the great revolutionary forces that were straining unseen beneath all the enthusiasm. He knew they were only kept under by an army which sympathised with them in its heart. The fleet was still riding off Dover; Monk had only to hold up his finger, and in a few hours the King would be on his travels again. The chancellor determined to get Morice to find out what the general intended. In an hour he came back. The general, he reported, was extremely pained that he had caused the King any uneasiness. He held the royal commission, and was there to receive orders, not to give them. The paper was merely a list of persons he had promised to recommend. The King was at perfect liberty to accept or reject them, only there were a few whom he heartily wished he could make use of.
The episode was ended; the King breathed again, but he never forgot the fright. Till the veteran passed away Charles never ceased to fear his power and love the hand that used him so gently. Ashley Cooper, whom Monk specially recommended, was sworn a Privy Councillor on the spot, together with the general himself, Morice, and the Earl of Southampton; but the King committed himself no further. Morice was also given the seals which Monk had refused to confer in spite of a heavy bribe, and the general himself received the Garter at the hands of the Dukes of York and Gloucester. He was offered the choice of any of the great offices of State, and he characteristically chose that of Master of the Horse. It had little or nothing to do with politics, and the patronage was extensive.
So the play was ended, and in a blaze of triumph such as England had never known the King entered London in the midst of a magnificent procession. Immediately behind him rode the lord-general beside the obtrusive Duke of Buckingham. Never before or since has a subject occupied such a position and arrogated less to himself. The ovation with which the King and his deliverer were received was deafening. Charles was perfectly dazed. He could hardly speak to his faithful Parliament as Lords and Commons met him jostling one another in a disorderly and excited mob. He recognised no one, and was so exhausted with the din that he could not attend the Thanksgiving in the Abbey. So as though the note of incapacity must be struck at the outset, he turned aside and took refuge in Whitehall. Still the glory of the conqueror was none the less, nor his satisfaction less complete. He could lay his head on his pillow that night with the happy consciousness that the burden of empire was lifted from his shoulders, that his country was at peace again, and still more, which was dearest of all to his great heart, that the triumph had been won without the cost of a single life.
[CHAPTER XIV]
THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY
To follow Monk's career after the Restoration in detail would here be out of place. It adds but little to our knowledge of the man and labours under the ban of anti-climax. To the student of history and government it is full of interest, yet so unobtrusive was his work that it is now hard to trace beneath the shifting strife of politicians. When men asked what after all this dull workday soldier had done that the country should idolise him as it did, Secretary Nicholas, who knew, was wont to say that even if he had not put Charles upon his throne, he would still have deserved all the bounties the King had bestowed upon him for his services after the Restoration.