[CHAPTER XXII.]
HOW THE EARL OF DERBY ARRIVED AT WORCESTER.
The end of August had arrived. The anniversary of the battle of Dunbar—fought on the 3rd of September, 1650—was close at hand. Cromwell, as we have shown, had resolved to wait for this auspicious day, if he should not be forced by the king to accept a battle sooner. But Charles had been so much discouraged by the failure of the camisade that he hesitated—perhaps too long—before risking a general engagement. A few unimportant skirmishes had taken place between the outposts, sometimes with advantage to one party, sometimes to the other, but these were all.
The interval was employed by Cromwell in making strong intrenchments at Perry Wood, where he had mounted a battery with heavy guns. As this battery threatened Fort Royal and the city, Charles was eager to attack it, but was dissuaded from the hazardous attempt by his generals. The jealousies among the Royalist leaders, already alluded to, had increased in bitterness, and, in consequence of these disputes, which he found it impossible to check, he could form no plan with the certainty of carrying it out. All his designs were frustrated.
Cromwell, on the other hand, took counsel from no one. His instructions were implicitly obeyed. What his precise plans now were could only be conjectured. They were known to Lambert, Fleetwood, Ingoldsby, and the generals stationed at Upton, but to no others.
Charles had recently changed his quarters, and had removed to the ancient mansion belonging to the mayor, where he enjoyed greater privacy than he could command at the palace. The residence he had chosen is one of the largest old houses in the city, and stands at the north end of New-street, looking into the Corn Market. Over the porch is the appropriate inscription, "Love God—Honour the King." Here he could retire when completely worn out by the ceaseless toils of the day, certain of being undisturbed.
On the evening of Monday, the 1st of September, he was seated in a large old-fashioned room on the ground floor of the ancient mansion referred to. The dark oak panels were hung with tapestry, and the cumbrous oak furniture was of Elizabeth's time. He had just dined, but had eaten little, and was in a very despondent mood. Careless, who was in attendance, filled a large silver goblet with claret, and handed it to him. The king raised the cup to his lips, but set it down untasted.
"I never saw your majesty so downcast before," remarked Careless. "A cup of wine will cheer you. The claret is good, I'll answer for it, for I have emptied a flask."
"Wine will not rouse my spirits," rejoined Charles, gloomily. "I am quite worn out. I will hold no more councils of war. They are utterly unprofitable. There is no deliberation—no unanimity of opinion—each plan, however promising, is violently opposed. What will be the end of it all?—certain defeat."
"Yes, I own your generals are difficult to manage, my liege," replied Careless. "But you humour them too much, and in consequence they presume on your good-nature, and disregard your authority. Enforce obedience to your commands. That is Old Noll's plan."