Miriam Cromwell, Royalist. A romance of the Great Rebellion

Front matter

Miriam Cromwell Royalist BV THE SAME AUTHOR. Kathleen Clare Her Book, 1637-1641. With Illustrations. Crown Svo, 6s. " Miss M'Chesney has done something more than write a winning and pathetic story ; she has given us a very convincing portrait of a great and romantic personage." — Daily Chronicle. "Told throughout with no less power than sym plicity and sincerity." — Daily Telegraph. "A work of quite unusual literary finish and beauty. A bright and true poetic imagination beams through its every page The story is of the keenest interest, full of true pathos and of great beauty It deserves to take a place in literature. Sweetness, nobleness, pathos, grandeur, and tragedy are all here." — Scotsman. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, Edinburgh and London. slIMriam Cromwell IRo^altet A Ro7nance of the Great Rebellion By Dora Greenwell M-Chesney ' ' Snch a bold Sweet surmise tofelicitie Hath neighboured me, and unto pain Knit up my life with longing vain, And neared it to a purpose high; A nd still runneth, till life flit by, Through all my days a wound red, Runneth still a golden thread." — DORA GREENWELL.

William Blackwood & Sons Edinburgh and London, 1897 All Rights reserved TO E. v. G. A memory this of knightly life, The heart-beat of an olden strife, And visions of the dead ; Across the sundering dusk they rise On dimmer days of greyer skies And suns which set less red. Take, Friend, the written word, at will To chide or praise, remembering still, Whatever dreams may be, Another book is yours and mine, — Immutable its graven line, — Our Book of Memory. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE

Prologue

— THE LIFTING OF THE AX . 1 I. THE SETTING UP OF THE STANDARD . 9 II. THE PURITAN FORECAST . . . .17 III. A CAPTAIN OF THE HORSE ... 29 IV. LOVE AND THE CAUSE .... 42 V. ESTRANGEMENT . . . . .51 VI. THE COLOURS OF MY KING ... 62 VII. INGATHERING ..... 74 VIII. FROM THE FIELD OF BATTLE ... 83 IX. THE KING'S MESSENGER .... 94 X. MIRIAM'S RIDE . . . . .112 XI. PRINCE RUPERT AT THE FORGE . . . 134 XII. A BRUSH WITH THE ROUNDHEADS . . 148 XUI. THE TOUCH OF THE STEEL . . . 164 XIV. AT THE MARKET-CROSS .... 179 XV. THE KING'S OXFORD .... 195 XVI. THE NEW LIFE AND THE OLD . . . 212 XVII. ARRAIGNMENT ..... Vill CONTENTS. XVIII. 'ENTER THE QUEEN .... 247 XIX. A MASQUE OF PEACE .... 266 XX. THE QUEEN'S PARTY .... 279 XXI. AT THE SUN-SETTING .... 292 XXII. OUTSIDE THE GATE .... 306 XXIII. MASTER HEATHCOTE HIS GARDEN . . . 326 XXIV.

THROUGH THE FIRE .... 342 XXV. PARTINGS ...... 355 XXVI. THE OUTLOOK ..... 364 XXVII. PRINCE RUPERT AT THE PLEASAUNCE . . 380 XXVIII. PORTENTS ...... 402 XXIX. THE NIGHT OF NASEBY .... 415

Epilogue

— THE FALLING OF THE AX . . MIRIAM CROMWELL— ROYALIST.

PROLOGUE.

. THE LIFTING OF THE AX. A stir, a silence, and a stir again, as the throng gathered betwixt Westminster Hall and the bank of the Thames swayed to and fro. It was very chill and gray that March afternoon in the year 1641, yet the people waited there patiently, as those who are assembled to look on some high pageantry. And truly it was not every day that any 'prentice lad or waterman could gaze his will on the chiefest man in the kingdom, set front to front with death. So those who might not find place in the great Hall had pressed past the guards in Palace Yard and crowded in the narrow lane leading to the river's edge and the Westminster Wharf, and so they waited. " Will they bear the ax before him?" asked a woman's voice ; and a man answered grudgingly, " Nay, nay ; knowst not the King hath forbid it ?

" At which a stern -visaged man in the outskirts of the throng A MIEIAM CROMWELL — ROYALIST. spoke aloud and fiercely, "The King may forbid that he shall see the ax, but not that he shall feel it." As the threat broke forth, a girl pressed in the midmost of the people caught at her companion's arm. "I will not abide," she said; "Robin, why didst thou bring me hither ? " "Nay now, Miriam," returned the other, a lad of some fourteen years, "what is there to be a-feared on?" " I do not fear," answered the girl, with a touch of pride, "but I like it not; meseems this is but an ill pastime. Come with me, brother ! " " We cannot away," protested the lad ; " seest not how we are pressed in on by all the folk ! and for the pastime, I know not, 'tis a sight I had liever look on than the caged lions i' the Tower ; truly not an ill saying, by all men tell of him," and the boy's heedless laugh rang gaily out.

" All men tell of him ! " a man close by echoed the words angrily. " The town is thick with lies, sown broadcast by the Faction." But the dissenting voice was speedily silenced, as the speaker, caught by half-a-score angry hands, was plucked and thrust from the crowd, pursued by many a cry of " Straffordian," and " Irish Papist," till he disappeared in the mouth of a neighbouring passage. During tbe moment's tumult the brother and sister had drawn closer together, and it was in a tone of relief that Robin cried, suddenly — " Look, Miriam, 'tis surely cousin David yonder." Miriam, following his gesture and looking as best she could between the heads of the throng, saw a youth just emerging from the deep shadow cast by the huddled, steep - roofed houses into the somewhat THE LIFTING OF THE AX. 3 gray and sullen light of the more open space by the river.

The boy, whose quick eyes had singled him out, was not slow to attract the new-comer's notice by a lusty shout or two, and in short space of time the three stood together. "Hast forgot Miriam?" cried Robin, as the other two looked on each other for a moment in silence. " 'Twas I that brought her hither, half against her will ; and right glad I was to see thee, cousin David. Now look to her a little, I would fain see the barges more nearly." " This is but a darksome time for meeting, Miriam," said the new-comer, whose face was pale and grave as with the impress of strong feeling but newly past, " and 'tis so long since we have come together." " You are from the Hall ? " asked Miriam. " Mine uncle Oliver is there. We are biding with him — but you will know. Come you thence ? " " I left it but this moment," he answered, with a deep drawn breath.

" The trial is over for the day ; they kept him long enow, though, and we are all spent and weary." "Truly a dark hour," sighed the girl. "Ay, the darkness of the shadow of death," he returned, solemnly, " or for him or for England ; for truly methinks one or the other must fall. I pray God it may be that iniquitous Minister." " You hate him so ? " said Miriam ; " yet methought many that looked on him were moved." " Ay, some," he answered, bitterly ; " weak hearts ; men that put their hands to the plough and look back, — not by such is freedom achieved. I tell thee, Miriam" — ancl he turned on her a look steel bright and stem — "that man must die, if England is to — ROYALIST. live : not he alone — we are all of us here tried for life and death. According as is the issue of this venture shall be the course of life for each of us."

Miriam's eyes, wide and troubled, met her cousin's fixed gaze for a moment, then his look softened. " But, dear cousin," he said, " 'tis scarce of such matters we should speak at our first meeting after so long a space. I would it had not been in so strange and ill-omened a spot. Yet I do trust light shall come out of this darkness. Hist ! how they murmur! he is coming, the grand Apostate." And indeed there rose from the waiting ranks a sound, little above a breath at first, but waxing louder. It was made up of many voices blending and beating, and still the burden of it was wrath and menace. The short stern words of those who knew well what had been the work and will of this man mingled with the louder outcry of those who knew not why they shouted, saving that one who had been high above them was now brought low, and that one who had been the greatest in the land stood now defenceless before them.

And so while they pressed and murmured, Lord Strafford, with his guards about him, came slowly out from Westminster Hall to the waiting barge which should bear him to the Tower, — came out for a moment into the free air and unimpeded light as he passed from one prison to another. Miriam would not then have turned away had place been made for her : she stood motionless, her eyes fixed on the advancing guards whose halberds rose high above the heads of the throng. She did not heed nor hear the voices round her, as one cried that now taxes would be lightened, ancl another that THE LIFTING OF THE AX. 5 here was an end of gathering the murderous Irish Papists together to slaughter honest folk. Over the girl's mind had fallen like a sudden cloud a sense of the pain and peril that darkened all the land.

She had heard of strife ; now the deadly conflict which had in truth begun was brought before her. Death was here wellnigh in bodily presence, a shadow as the night in the midst of the noonday. Miriam watched the slow advance of those glittering halberds with deepening awe, and her breath came hard, for there seemed a pressure in the very air. Now the first of the men were upon them, pushing back the people, but, as it chanced, Miriam and her companions were left in the front rank of the crowd. The movement broke in on her thoughts, and roused her to note how the voices all around died away at the nearer approach of the prisoner. The prisoner — was he that, this grave, proud man, before whom the people fell silent as at the passing of a monarch 1 Miriam's gaze rested on the great Minister — the " wicked Earl," as so many were wont to call him — for a moment only, but that moment sufficed to flash the picture full upon her.

Clad in deep black, a sombre figure among the soldiers in their martial array, his tall form a little bowed, not with age, since he was in the full prime of manhood, Lord Strafford moved still with so much the mien and bearing of command, it was small wonder that those around thought only of his former power and forbore to brave him. He seemed to take slight heed of the gazing throng, for his glance had in it nothing either of fear or defiance, but was full of a statesman's deep and brooding thought. Yet there was sternness and pride enough iu the lines of the strong-hewn face, the firm lips and deeply - furrowed brow, before the frown of — ROYALIST. which, it had been said, no man dared hold his own. All tliis Miriam saw swiftly and surely, but as the Earl passed and she bent forward to watch yet an instant more — was it perchance one of those distant taunting outcries, or the inner goad of some thought or memory, that roused him to cast so lion-like a glance around ?

The soul of the man sprang to his eyes in sudden fire — scornful, sorrowful, remonstrant — a passion his iron will checked almost before it was revealed. Miriam Cromwell forgot her creeds and training in one quick leap of the heart : she had prayed for the victory of her people, now she cried aloud to the enemy of England and of freedom, " May God shield and deliver you, my Lord!" She felt her cousin's hand close fiercely on her arm, then drop suddenly away, but she did not turn. Lord Strafford had paused at the cry which was strange and unlooked for, as no word of hatred had any more the power to be. The girl's eager face and clasped hands were visible across the halberd which a startled soldier had hastily stretched before her. The Earl did not speak, but bared his head as in greeting, and thanked her with a smile which, brief as it was, touched the stern face with light.

Yet Miriam thought strangely that, but for that smile she had never read the under lying sadness of Lord Stratford's look ; a sadness not born of that hour's pain or peril, but grown as deep as life itself. Long after, in her remembrance of that scene, Miriam thought that so he must look who saw beyond his own tragic fate, beyond the ax and block, to the ruin of his lifework, and to the wreck of a kingdom. But that was in the later years, when such a vision had become reality and none could fail to read the story blazoned on a hundred battle-fields. THE LIFTING OF THE AX. 7 The long moment, so fraught with crowding thought and feeling, had passed ; the crowd followed to the edge of the river where the Earl's barge awaited him, and Miriam and David stood face to face with the sense of a great distance between them.

He was the first to find words. " I thought you true kinswoman of those brave and godly men who have fought for the rights of England," he cried, his eyes, clear and stern, fixed upon her. " Oh, Miriam, what a fall is here ! how will you dare meet Master Hampden's eyes again ? " Miriam faced his accusation with a sad gentleness ; she still felt the solemnity of the scene she had so lately looked on. " I will not have strife with you, David," she said ; " I am nor changed nor fallen, and I feel no need of shame. But you are hard, methinks ; it is not well to triumph over them that be desolate and afflicted." " Nay," he answered, quickly, " nor would I for any quarrel of mine own ; but this is an enemy of England, and an enemy not yet overcome. Miriam, dost thou not understand ? The Earl is not condemned — he may conquer yet."

Miriam shook her head. " I believe not that he can conquer," she said, sadly and musingly. " The people hate him, and who is there can stand against a nation ? Care you for what shall come after, for I do feel assured his power is past — Oh, David !" she cried with sudden passiou, " verily, there is much betwixt us ; how couldst thou face him and not grow sad at heart ? " David paled a little at her reproach, but he answered steadfastly, " I have looked on the sufferings of England and heard her groans till there is no space in my heart for any pity of her oppressor. Condemn me not — ROYALIST. Miriam, for in faith I would give mine own heart's blood to the cause which demandeth him as a sacrifice." The groups of people by this had melted away, and the place seemed strangely solitary. Miriam did not answer; she turned away from her cousin with a quick gesture of farewell, and moved to the water's edge.

She stood there motionless and silent a moment ; the rising wind breathed chill on her. Ear out on the river she could see the prisoner's barge, a lessening blot on the steely surface of the water. Miriam watched it intently : what an air of solitude there had been about the Earl's dark figure, and how the light had glinted — cruelly — on the halberds of the guard. She turned away at length, with a sigh, her heart aching with vague sorrow and foreboding, to find her way back to the life she knew. David had lingered, awaiting her, but neither spoke. The barge was swallowed up in the gray distance, and about them the twilight was gathering. Two or three men brushed past them in the dimness, hastening perhaps, as so many others, to the palace at Whitehall. " Death to the traitor ! death ! " they were shouting, and the word rang back along the silent streets — Death !

Chapter I. The Setting Up Of The Standard

The August day was drawing to its close, and the late light lay warm and golden over the orchard, where two girls sat together working. In truth, perhaps only one was working, for the younger had dropped her hands upon her knee and was looking out under the gnarled branches, brightening now with fruitage, to the fair sweep of Midland country beyond. Serene and spacious, the wide green fields yellowing to the harvest stretched away, unbroken by any line of hedges, to the soft blue grey distance. Nowhere a rugged outline or touch of keener colour broke the general harmony of the scene, no cloud shadowed its peacefulness. " Miriam," said the elder maiden at length, as she turned the fine linen on which she had been sewing so steadily, " what is't thou'rt thinking on ? " Miriam turned with a slight start, as one roused from a dream.

" Truly I do not know," she confessed, smiling ; " I was scarce thinking. How thou hast outstripped me, Rachel; 'tis so sweet and still at this time o' day, I fear me I forgot my tasks " " But not to know thine own thoughts ! " returned — ROYALIST. her companion, with a gravely puzzled glance. " Thou knowest David is awaited on the morrow," she added, suddenly. " Yes," said Miriam, with some wonder, " I know — but He will bring us tidings of all that is done in the world without, yet on such a. day I scarce care to hear of strife. Methinks the orchard is wellnigh as fair now as in blossom-time, Rachel." " I love it best so," answered Rachel, looking up at the bending boughs.; " 'tis not so soon past, and hath a look of comfort." " Nay, but 'tis surely fairest in the spring-tide, all clad in sudden shining white," cried Miriam.

" 'Tis for ever like to a miracle in mine eyes — and methinks the very trees must be glad so to blossom as the rose," and she drew her hand gently down the rough trunk of the tree against which she had been leaning. "I can scarce think the world so evil, it is very fair," she added after a moment. " My father saith," returned Rachel, gravely, " that all fairness discerned by the eye of the flesh, not of the spirit, is but a temptation." Miriam shook her bright head thoughtfully. " There are all manner of fair things praised in the Holy Book," she said, half under her breath. Then as Rachel made no answer, she fell to her work again, and there was a silent, busy pause. About the two young figures fell the sun -barred shade of the apple-trees, and the warm sweet stillness that enfolded them was broken only by the brief note of some hidden bird.

The flickering light caught at Miriam's ruffled hair, wdiich would not be drawn quite smoothly under her coif, and brightened it to burnished gold. That was the only colour which answered to THE SETTING UP OF THE STANDARD. 11 the sunbeam, for the two girls were clad in straitly fashioned, sad-coloured gowns after the Puritan fashion. They worked for some little space without a word — no unusual thing, for idle speech was not looked on with favour in the Endicott household ; then Rachel spoke again. " I shall be right glad to have David with us once more — I have fears for him sometimes ; he is so stead fast in his espousal of the righteous cause, methinks he would gladly suffer for't." " But all things are peaceful now," answered Miriam ; " I would they might abide so. Doth it not seem good to live, here in the open ! in the summer-time ?

I weary for the free air, such days when I am busied in the still room ; 'tis wrong, I know," she added, penitently. " Nay, 'tis scarce wrong, methinks," said Rachel, re assuringly; "but come, we must to the house now, the shadows grow long, — stay ! what was that sound ? " "A horse's hoofs," answered Miriam, after a moment's intent listening. " Go not yet, Rachel ; 'tis belike some friend of Master Endicott." "It might be David, but he could scarce come till the morrow; or 'tis perchance thine uncle Oliver, Miriam. We can wait here a moment, an' thou wilt." Rachel seated herself again on the fallen tree which had served them as a resting-place ; but Miriam remained standing, her hands lightly clasped, her eyes fixed on the broadening, brightening gold of the western sky where the sun was going royally down — so beauti ful it was that she forgot all else as she gazed.

" And the building of the wall of it was of jasper," she said, half aloud, finding expression in the words of the one book always open to her, " and the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass, and the foundations of — ROYALIST. the walls of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones." A cry from Rachel startled her, and turning from her visionary New Jerusalem, Miriam saw a man hastening toward them across the grass. And a well-known voice, which yet seemed scarcely known in its new tone of passion and exaltation, cried aloud through the still summer air — " The King's Standard is set up — have you heard the tidings? — King Charles hath drawn the sword upon his people — the Standard is set up at Nottingham. The time is ripe, at last — at last — now shall be trodden the wine-press of the wrath of God !

" Silence followed the words — a silence very different from the sweet hush which had lain before over the orchard ; and David Endicott, for it was he, came for ward more slowly. As the excitement which had kindled within him died away, his face showed pale and grave. His eyes sought Miriam, but it was his sister Rachel who spoke. " Is it assured ? there have been wild tales." " I come from Nottingham, I have seen all," he answered. " Have patience, you shall hear — I would fain quiet mine own spirit ere I go within, for there are grave matters to speak of with my father. Yea, I saw all." He paused with a long breath, and Rachel coming to his side laid a hand on his arm. " Thou art wearied, David," she said, gently ; " come rest thyself for a little, and then tell thy tale." He shook his head.

" I am not wearied, but 'tis a solemn thing to thiuk on that which hath come to pass ; 'tis the only remedy, but 'tis a grievous one. That lifted standard, Rachel, hath given over all England to strife and battle, till THE SETTING UP OF THE STANDARD. 13 that God counteth us worthy once more of peace, ay, and of the freedom for which we fight ; when that may be, no man can know. Truly King Charles and his Ministers must answer for much." "War," said Rachel, with deepening terror — "war, oh, 'tis cruel; was there no other way?" "None!" answered David, "and 'tis well that he who is truly guilty should be the first thus to draw the sword in the sight of all. And war can scarce be more cruel than the prison and the pillory, and all that the godly have suffered from so long." " Methought all men looked for peace after that Lord Strafford died," said Miriam, slowly, speaking for the first time.

"You chid me, David, whenas I would have felt pity for his fate, saying he must fall as a sacrifice for the nation's weal, as well as for his own iniquities." "And so it did verily seem," he returned, "and so methinks it might have been, had but the King taken warning by the fall of his Minister; but all things went amiss thereafter instead of mending, 'tis over a year agone now." "Ay," said Miriam, "that was in May — I mind me the trees were all a-blossom. He died ; and now we have war, not peace." "But surely, Miriam, I meant not to chide thee," said David, gently. " Pity is for all men, however evil, mayhap the King even " " Did'st see the King ? " she broke in. " I saw all," he answered, a far-off look coming into his gray eyes, as if he gazed once more on the scene. " 'Twas first thought to set the Standard on the highest tower of the castle, but that pleased not his Majesty, so place was made for it on a little hill hard ROYALIST. by the park.

There were many folk from the town went out to see the spectacle, and I went with them, for I was fain to look on the King and to judge, in so far as I might, whether he is a tyrant at heart or but misled by his advisers ; and now I am scarce the wiser, for his countenance is hard to read." "Was there a great array of armed men?" asked Rachel, with some fear in her eyes; "did it look like to a battle ? — oh, such a battle as may come ere long." " No," returned David, " there were not many soldiers gathered yet, and but little pageantry. But the King was there with some of his councillors, Lindsey and Southampton, Falkland, his face all sad and shadowed, and Edward Hyde his friend. And the King's nephew, Prince Eupert, who is come over from Germany to help to lay waste his mother's land. Those that were of the King's party in the crowd looked but downcast and whispered of ill omens, and truly it might seem so.

The soldiers were scarce equipped for war, and there was naught of bravery, only the gentlemen were as ever gaily apparelled, with their scarfs and plumes. Rupert's mantle was red — bright red — as though dyed in blood. When they came to the little hill the drums ceased their dull beating, and the King halted and looked round upon the throng : he hath a cold, sad face and a wandering glance. I saw behind, through the trees, the distant castle — 'tis half in ruin, though a king was forced to hold court there. The sky was gray and chill, and there was a wild wind chasing the torn clouds and sighing about us. Truly, there was no good presage, but all seemed desolate enow — only some of those about the King looked high-hearted and fearless. The King gave a parchment to his herald, who THE SETTING UP OF THE STANDARD. began to read the proclamation, and then the king stayed him and took the parchment again to make some change, so the man stumbled and read amiss as he went on.

Then in the midmost of it all the great staff of the Standard, the which was driven deep into the hard ground, gave a groan like a live thing and bowed itself to fall. It was Prince Rupert — I saw him — who signed to some of his men to hold it up, and they had need to obey him quickly. But thrice the Royal Standard swayed and strained in their grasp, and came all but prone upon the ground — and all the people beholding it murmured aloud." David Endicott ceased, shaken with the memory of that supreme hour, and neither of his listeners found voice for a word. Rachel sat with bowed head, her lips moving in prayer. Miriam was still standing as when she had turned away from the sunset, but her face had grown white and her dark eyes dilated. " It is so sad," she said, brokenly, " oh, 'tis sad ! And so the Standard fell."

" Miriam," cried David with sudden sternness, " for what dost thou grieve ? is it for the enemies of right eousness, for the evil plight of this King and his iniquitous councillors ? " At the words she turned and fronted him with a grave fearless glance. " David," she said, " why art thou so quick to think evil ? Surely I would shed my blood for the victory of peace aud right. I am sad for all England, yea, for its King and its people, and if I spake of the Standard — I have sorrowed for the fall of a brave tree ere now, and is this less grievous ? Is not thine own heart, David, heavy within thee ? " " Not so," he answered, firmly ; " this is an hour for — ROYALIST. grave and high thoughts, but not for sorrowing. If I spoke ill to thee, Miriam, 'tis only that I would have thee give thy whole heart to our cause. 'Tis a marvellous thing to have thus laid in our hands the work of freeing England from bondage, and Christ's people from persecution.