The street before Whitehall was the place prepared for the execution. This arrangement had been made in order to render the triumph of popular justice over royal power more conspicuous, by beheading the king in sight of his own palace. All the surrounding windows and galleries were filled with spectators, and the vast crowd below were kept back by soldiery encircling the scaffold. Charles mounted it with a steady step, and the same dignified resolution of mien which he had all along so admirably maintained. Uncovering his head, he looked composedly around him, and said, in a clear, unfaltering voice, though only sufficiently loud to be heard by those near him, owing to the buzz of the crowd,
“People of England, your king dies innocent. He is sentenced for having taken up arms against Parliament. Parliament had first enlisted forces against him, and his sole object—as God is his judge, before whom he is momently to appear—was to preserve, as was his bounded duty, inviolate for himself and his successors, that authority transmitted to him by royal inheritance. Yet, although innocent toward you, and in that view undeserving of death, in the eyes of the Omniscient his other sins amply merit his coming doom; in especial, having once suffered an unjust sentence of death to be executed against another, it is but meet that he should now die thus unjustly himself. May God lay not his death in like manner to your charge; and grant that in allegiance to my son, England’s lawful sovereign at my decease, you may speedily be restored to the ways of peace.”
Lord Fairfax, with his regiment, prepared for the rescue of Charles, was proceeding toward the place of execution by a by-street, at the same time that the king was being conducted thither. On his way, he was passed by Cromwell, who then, for the first time, became aware of his purpose.
Much disturbed in mind at the discovery of a project so likely to thwart his own ambitious views, just ripe for fulfillment, the latter walked on for some moments in deep reflection. Presently quickening his pace, he turned a corner, and stepped, without knocking, into a house near by. His manner was that of a person perfectly at home in the premises, which, indeed, was the case; for James Harrison, the tenant, was one of his subservients, chosen by him in consequence of his austere piety, and great influence with his sect, of whom it will be recollected that Fairfax was one. Harrison’s appearance, though coarse, was not actually vulgar. He was a middle-aged man, tall and strongly made, and his manner, rough and military, might command fear, but could not excite ridicule. Cromwell found him in prayer, notwithstanding all the tumult of the day.
“I have sought thee, Harrison,” he said, “to beseech thee engage in prayer with Lord Fairfax, who is now on his way to rescue this Saul from the hands of the Philistines. He should first crave the Lord’s will in regard to his errand. Wilt thou not seek him and mind him of this?”
“I will e’en do thy bidding, thou servant of the Most High,” said Harrison, rising and accompanying him to the door. “Where shall I find Fairfax?”
“Thou wilt overtake him by turning speedily to the right,” replied the other, parting from him.
“One of his lengthy supplications at the throne of grace,” said Cromwell to himself, as he walked on, “will detain Fairfax until this son of Belial is destroyed.”
Meanwhile, upon the scaffold, Charles, after delivering his address, was preparing himself for the block with perfect equanimity and composure.
“There is but one stage more, sire,” said Juxon, with the deepest sympathy of look and manner. “There is but one stage more. Though turbulent, it is a very short one; yet it will carry you a long distance—from earth to heaven.”