John Royston. A sketch during the civil war in the north of England

Preface

. In this world of ours there is no scarcity of hypocrites and imposters, but we must remember they are the weak ones of our race. They simply parody the strong. If we would rightly apprehend the true centres of force at any important epoch, it is not the weak but the strong that we must seek to understand ; and in order to understand we must sympathize with them. Such sympathy need not, of course, express agreement, but it implies that subtile comprehension which springs from the union of knowledge and imagination. So far as in me lies, I have tried to bring my readers into sympathy with some of the creators of conviction at the commencement of our Civil War. These men do not of necessity possess any eminence, but in the Puritan, the Papist, the Anglican, and the Royalist, I have sketched characters which would powerfully influence those who came in contact with them.

The hypocrites and imposters lie at the back of these, and may be sought out by those who care to find them. Many great historic names will be encountered in the following pages. In describing such men as King Charles I., Laud, Strafford, Montrose, Fairfax, Vane, and Cromwell, no amount of research has been deemed too great so long as an accurate portraiture was achieved. The books most constantly in use have been S. R. Gardiner's History of England and History of the Great Civil War, —

PREFACE.

. VI Carlyle's Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell, — Markham's Life of Fairfax, — besides various others. Among the minor characters, such as Sir Henry Slingsby and Mr. Brathwaite, there are many actual individuals, but where personal details chance to be more or less uncertain, I have sometimes allowed myself to re place the actual by a fictitious name. Both I myself and the sources of my information are not unlike the sketch I have given in my introductory chapter. But, though I possess a certain number of old documents, by far the larger portion of my store has been collected during many visits to London, at the Public Record Office, at the Heralds' College, at the reading room of the British Museum, and at the literary inquiry room in Somerset House among the old wills. As to the language used in this book, a word of explanation may be necessary.

The use of one of our broad Yorkshire dialects is confined to a few pages. As a rule readers are left to read-in our northern intonation if they choose. A few odd grammatical constructions are allowed slightly to colour the talk of such men as Baron Aldborough, Mr. Ayscough, and farmer Royston. They are what I used to hear in youth among the rough country squires and farmers of the north. Living, as I do, beside the Tees, there is scarce a place referred to in this book with which I am not familiar. But of all other scenes, that which awakened my keenest interest was Marston Moor, where was fought the great battle that ended the Civil War in the north of England. W. G. W. The Old Hall, Hurworth-on-Tees, 1st Oclober, 1897. CONTENTS. Chapter. Page. I. Introductory ..... i II. The Village Stocks ... 7 III.

The Chaplain ..... 13 IV. The Continental AVar ... 20 V. ALDBOROUGH . . . . .29 VI. Laudian Parsons .... 40 Ani. Mr. Greville ..... 51 VIII. The Coming Storm ... 59 IX. Tyneside ...... 62 X. The Border Fortress ... 69 XI. A Spy ! A Spy ! . . . . .76 XII. Montrose ..... 85 XIII. The Battle of Newburn . . - 93 XIV. Strafford ..... 101 XV. Mr. Ayscough .... 107 xvi. Tees Water . . . . 115 XVTI. ROYSTON OF ERYHOLME . . .121 XVTII. AVaiting . . . . . 131 XIX. The Cryptogram . . . .138 XX. Cousin Tom .... 146 XXI. The Puritan . . . . 154 XXII. The Hall at Eryholme . . 162 XXIII. Mr. Calverley at Home . . -171 XXIV. Scouting ..... 180 XXV. The Raid ..... 188 XXVI. A Foreign Friend ... 198 XXVII. The Old Recusant's Story . . .206 XXVLII. Toleration ..... CONTENTS. VIII Chapter. PaSe- XXIX. The Army Plot . . • • .231 XXX.

Dorothy . . . . • 242 XXXI. On the Road . . • • .249 XXXII. The Dark Lane End ... 258 XXXIII. The Wayside Inn . • • .266 XXXIV. His Majesty's Mail ... 276 XXXV. Nameless Friends . . . .284 XXXVI. A Yorkshire Tale ... 291 XXXVII. Justice ...-•• 29§ XXXVIII. A Midnight Ride .... 3°7 XXXIX. Decollatus . . • • • 3T3 XL. The Tide Turns . . • • 3l9 XLI. No Popery . . . ■ -329 XLH. Heyworth Moor .... 340 XLIH. Royal Reasons . . • • 352 XLIV. Fairfax ..... 357 XLV. A Dangerous Task .... 367 XLVI. The Interpretation . . . 376 XLVII. Marston Moor . . . . .384 xlviii. The Battle .... 393 XLIX. Conclusion . . . . • 4°4

Chapter I

introductory. IT matters very little who or what I am ; but my house will possess interest in the eyes of those for whom I am about to write. It belonged in former times to the family of my maternal grandmother, whose maiden name was Royston. There used to be Roystons here, or hereabouts, for many generations ; and it is said they were related to the Roystons of Eryholme, a place much lower down the Tees than Romaldkirk. I think this idea must be correct ; for Monk Grange was certainly left by one of the Roystons of Romaldkirk to my grandmother's ancestor, Anthony Royston, who was just as certainly one of the old Eryholme stock. All this, however, belongs to times long, long ago ; for the Anthony Royston to whom this house was left was killed some years before the outbreak of the great Civil War.

For the benefit of those whose knowledge of geography is limited, I may say that this our ancient village of Romaldkirk is situated on the upper portion of the Tees, five miles above Barnard Castle, and three more from Rokeby, — a place now made so famous by the poem of my dear father's friend. Yes, I have heard my father say that, while in this neigh bourhood, Sir Walter (who at that time was plain Mr.) Scott was here on several occasions. He was much interested looking over this old house, though he somewhat offended my mother by saying it bore a resemblance to his own "Last Minstrel," inasmuch B as it "seemed to have known a better day." But my good father told her that she did not appreciate or understand the feelings of an antiquary ; and I can truly say that I have loved and valued my old house much more for the interest Sir Walter took in it.

Of course the name of Monk Grange is enough to link it with times before the dissolution of the Monasteries ; and that parts of it were in some way connected with one of the old religious houses is evidenced by the remains of ecclesiastical tracery, some empty niches, and a built-up Gothic archway in my larder wall. Few men could have a parlour more suggestive of far off thoughts than this. The ideas it conjures up are not less charm ing for the shadowy vagueness of their details. I would rather have such softened outlines than sharp drawn pictures of the actual. When I was a Cambridge Undergraduate, forty years ago, I kept in Trinity first court. I was proud of my old rooms, and of the names of various distinguished men who had once occupied them ; but there was nothing in them to be compared to this old fire-place.

How insignificant does my modern little grate appear ! The pattern on the ceiling shews that this room is not a quarter of the size of what this fire-place must once have warmed. I suppose the whole of the large room must have been wainscoted, though only a few portions still remain ; and that these have not been brought from some other place is proved by the way in which the panels correspond with the transoms and the mullions of this broad window. Until a few years ago the wainscoting was painted of a sicklypea-green tint, but I had it carefully scraped, and, in spite of my sister's dis paraging remarks, I know that I possess as lovely a piece of ancient oak as any man of antiquated tastes need wish to look upon. Grizzle has, however, become more reasonable of late; for, when we heard of the new fashionable fancy for old pots, she huuted up these broken-down sets of blue and white, and gave me no rest till I hung them up against the wainscoting.

I was obliged to do it myself, for I was certain she would never have troubled to use wires instead of nails ; and, even if she had, INTROD UCTORY. 3 it would have been beyond the powers of a woman to have set the pieces in the centres of the panels, — though I kept that last point to m3'self. Well, after all, I do think those plates and saucers set off the old oak a bit, and Grizzle, too, looks happier at having got her way, and proved herself to be a woman of fashionable tastes. As I pass my eye round the room, the broad seat below the leaded and mullioned window serves to show the great thickness of the wall ; and for the moment some pretty rays of coloured light are shot through what may well have been some fragments of stained glass taken from the long vanished chapel of the monks. If that other side of the room were only wainscoted, it would be the most interesting of all ; for it contains not only my books, but several other objects that I value much.

There hangs that wonderful piece of needlework, which is said to have been wrought by the young wife of one of the Roystons of Eryholme as long ago as 1688. It must have been very brilliant then, for it is wrought upon what was once white satin, and those great projecting lumps, which press so on the glass, are meant for mountains. If closely looked at, these are found to be on a foundation all stitched over with silk and gold or silver thread. The perspective is something marvellous, for beyond the stags and elephants and mountains, we see the whole story of Cain and Abel being enacted by themsejves. Next to this piece of needlework comes the portrait of old Jonathan Hartop of Aldborough. Yes, he died in 1791, and was one hundred and thirty-eight years of age.* When my father was a boy he walked some miles with him on Christmas day two years before his death, and he had some talks with him at other times.

Although in his old age he lived at Aldborough, he was a native of London. He could remember the great fire, and several times over told my father how angry John Milton had been with him, when he tried to make a present of fifty pounds to the blind *See Geo. Smeeton's Biographia Curiosa, London, 1822. old poet. His third wife was in some way connected with Oliver Cromwell, and it must have been through her that he came into possession of Cooper's beautiful portrait of the Lord Protector. And then he knew John Royston and his wife, Dorothy, and was never tired of telling all he knew about them, for he loved them much. And now that I have mentioned them, my eye goes naturally to the last piece of furniture I have to speak about. It is an old cabinet of inlaid walnut wood with drawers below and doors above, and is said to have been brought from Italy.

Until I had it renovated, no one could have imagined what a lovely piece of furniture it is. The long brass hinges, that come half across the doors, have been reburnished, and the rust removed from the key, which is, indeed, a wonder of elaborate workmanship in steel. When the doors are open, they disclose a number of small drawers clustered around an inner cabinet, which brings me to what I term "my treasure and my dread," for it is full of documents. Some of these are by my father, but others date back as far as the earlier years of Charles the First. It is my sister who makes me dread these treasures. She is ambitious, and wants me to write a book about them ; saying, that " to have a brother in print would be something to be proud about in no mistake." She has heard how, when I was a school boy — heaven help me, fifty years ago — I used to make up stories for my young companions.

What sort of stories those might be I cannot tell ; but I know that to make one now would be, for me, an almost superhuman effort. Still Grizzle is determined. Perhaps she only wants to keep me quiet at some work ; and yet I am sure she is ambitious. Surely an old gentleman like me might be left the master of his own movements, — might be left to enjoy his garden, and on wet days to burrow in books most certainly not written bvhimself. Well, after all, that inner cabinet, or rather what it contains, has suggested a sort of compromise between my sister's ambition and what she is pleased to term my indolence. After beating my brains for long, I have come to the conclusion that my powers of INTRODUCTORY. 5 imagining a story have been left fifty years behind. But this does not mean I cannot write a book ; for, while dwelling on the mass of information contained in that old cabinet, there has dawned on my mind the idea of Editorship; so that it is not beyond the range of possibility that my sister may yet have the proud satisfaction of possessing a brother who is in print.

I can't help thinking that with my considerable knowledge of the period of the Civil War, I might be able to pull together the information scattered over these documents into such an historical perspective as to make what may approach to a connected narrative. Yes, it is to that period the documents for the most part refer ; but the most living point of interest, to me, lies in the fact that, in a remote degree, they are personal to myself, for most of them relate to the family of my grandmother. There are no Roystons remaining here, but some of her great-great-nephews like sometimes to visit the old scenes of which they have so often heard. It was only last year that my godson, Dick Royston, was here. He was never weary of rummaging about my ancient furniture, and getting hold of all the old stories and traditions of his far-away relations.

It was Dick who, for the first time in my life, induced me to examine carefully the documents I have already mentioned. My interest was quickened by his enthusi asm ; and together we perused and arranged the contents of the cabinet. There are copies of wills, there are marriage settlements, and innumerable certificates of registers. There are pedigrees extracted by Rouge Croix and the Somerset Herald from the records at the College of Arms. There are packets of letters reaching back into the times of the Civil War ; and there is a considerable portion of a manuscript written by Mr. John Royston, gentleman, of Suffolk Street in the parish of St. Martin's-in-the- Fields, London. Now, with regard to this gentleman, I possess an advantage which my godson declared to be without a parallel : for, while we were turning over the fragile pages of the manuscripts last year, I suddenly discovered that the writer was no other than the Mr. John Royston of whom old Jonathan Hartop of Aldborough used to talk so much.

He knew both John Royston and his wife, and stayed some weeks with them in London, at their house in .Suffolk Street. I remember my father saying the house stood very near to that one occupied by Charles the Second's beloved Moll Davis, grandmother to the unhappy Earl of Derwentwater. Jonathan Hartop's visit was, however, cut short by a very sad event, for a relation of Mrs. Royston was brutally assassinated within a few yards of Mr. Royston's house. He saw the murder, and seems never to have recovered the shock, for he had a touch of paralysis soon after, and did not live much longer. Considering the great age of Hartop, it was wonderful how enthusiastic he used to become when talking of this Mr. and Mrs. Royston. He told my father how at Mr. Royston's house high-minded men of the most antagonistic principles were content to meet; and of how the old host and hostess seemed able to draw out all that was best and most attractive in those who came in contact with them.

They were in fact as beautiful au old couple as could well be seen ; and, though without children, were absolutely happy in one another. The}- seemed in the eyes of all who knew them, to be surrounded with an abiding atmosphere of graceful goodness. Although the sympathies of both, aud especially of the lad}-, were Royalist, yet the conduct of the Court at Whitehall had disenchanted them of any romantic sentiment towards the king. The high favour with which the king regarded Mr. Royston's two cousins, Sir George Rawdon aud Sir Richard Aldborough ; and the intimacy sub sisting between Mrs. Royston and two such people as the Lady St. Leger and the Lady Isabella Bruce ; served to open the wav into the court for both Mr. and Mrs. Royston. Their oppor tunities were used very sparingly ; and, in the midst of outrageous profligacy and profanity, they led a pure and heavenly life, till, about the close of the reigu of Charles the Second or the beginning of that of his brother James, John Royston and his beloved Dorothy were laid side by side in the Parish Church of St. Martin's in-the-Fields.

INTRODUCTORY. 7 The materials I have to base my work upon belong almost exclusively to the time embraced between the battle of Newburn and that of Marston Moor, the former in 1640, and the latter in 1644. Hence they restrict me to what I may term the student period of Mr. Royston's life. As to the latter portion of his life, we have little beyond the memories of Mr. Hartop : but, as to the earlier, I shall not overlook a few dislocated fragments that serve to throw some light upon his mental habits during the few years in which he moves before us.

Chapter II

the village stocks. And now, as there is no escape from the task of weaving my strange store of documents into some sort of narrative, I am forced to start with some of the earlier and more isolated fragments, inasmuch as it is among these that I first come across some names of later interest. The very earliest letter I possess mentions those very stocks which, in spite of the wear and tear of more than two centuries, still catch my eye as I look out upon the village green. And there, at no great distance to the right, is just such a flock of geese as frightened little Tony Royston all that time ago ! If the pedigree of those geese could be made out, I should not be surprised to learn that they were the lineal descendants of the paternal gander that is mentioned as so much scaring John Royston's little brother.

A long pedigree must spring from steadiness and long possession of the soil. I have never heard of the time in which our geese did not possess our green, and they are most steady in every respect, except upon their legs. Indeed their characters are so well established that I have never heard anyone, either at Michaelmas or Christmas, refer to them otherwise than as " most excellent ; " and, as to any youthful escapades, I am certain that not one of them ever turned out to be a " wild " goose. And though my dear old uncle used always to conclude his Christmas dinner with the classical remark that " Brandy is the Latin for goose," he must have left the general sobriety of their conduct quite untouched ; for, even if his Latin were to be relied upon, the reference must surely have been to the roast, and not to the responsible goose, — which indeed is known to take only to the water.

Well, so far as our geese are concerned, little Tony might be popped down this very morning on the green, without being conscious of any change occasioned by the lapse of over two centuries. It must have been to all intents and purposes the same lumbering crowd which went waddling along before their little persecutor, until their weak brains and heavy bodies found time to communicate through that enormous length of neck. And then, all at once, they face round on Tony and his waving branch of fir, and with outstretched necks and hisses, make for the terror-stricken little boy. Tony dropped the branch he had been hitherto waving in triumphant confidence, and began to beat as swift a retreat as running backwards would allow. It was the first of his many lessons in military manœuvres. But while he was effecting this strategic movement in the rear, he entirely forgot those stocks, aud the two persons whom he had watched the night before being made fast therein.

Who were these men ? The first was a tall loose-jointed man of about forty. His straight black hair, though short, was cut into a number of tags, which hung below the broad brim of his steeple hat like ugly tassels. The colour of his face, and of what he would have called the whites of his eyes, betokened that condition of the liver, which so frequently predisposes a person to irritable, discontented, and captious modes of thought, that a friend of mine looks at both heresy and schism as bilious complaints. Assurance Cobby, or, as he was most commonly spoken of, "Gobby Cock sure," may well, from his sour-milk complexion, have been bilious ; THE VILLAGE STOCKS. 9 but he was more than that. He was a determined, if uneducated man, who caught at any text in Scripture which seemed to justify his bitter animosity against the ecclesiastical and political arrangements of the time : and, if he hated that popish word "infallible," his ignorant self-confidence had not only suggested, but had also made his nick-name stick.

Yes, Gobby Cock-sure was one of those repulsively unhappy beings who rise like mud in a time of popular disturbance. He was really a Londoner, who, having got his ears into some danger, was carryiug his bad temper into the remoter districts of England. For a few weeks he had been lodged with friends at Barnard Castle ; but as ill-luck would have it, had wandered up to Romaldkirk. Irritably awake to the ecclesiastical movements of the time, it is not surprising that he became aware of certain almost secret arrangements for remov-ing the Communion table to the east end of the church. I do not know exactly what it was he learned ; but some notion may have been suggested by the bearing of the Rector, who looked like one dreading a great catastrophe. Gobby seems to have known that a stranger of the " right " sort, — an out and out Protestant, — had been asked by the Rector to preach on the following Sunday.

This only roused his anger more, for he saw in the request of the ill and harassed Rector a mere mask to allay suspicion in the parish. He brooded on the swelling tide of popery. He went into the venerable church, and everything he saw still further fanned the flame of his fanaticism. The very building was shaped into a cross — or what he would have termed an accursed popish "crucifix." There were the prayer books. What prayer could ever come out of a book ? And such a book ! Was it not the same book, only done into English, that had been used by the poor blinded fools who went to hell before the reformation. A Reformation indeed ! Not half a reformation while bishops still remain to lift their heads. Yes, Popery like this began when Apostles first made bishops; and such Popery will only end when men like Gobby Cock sure have the lead.

And then there is the "graven image" of Lord Fitz-Hugh upon his tomb ; and there are paintings upon the pillars ; and there is a window, where a silly maid looks out on Peter, and a lusty cock is crowing above his head. The whole place, in the nostrils of Gobby Cock-sure, stinketh of Popery; and in another moment he continueth the reformation by sending a footstool right through St. Peter and the cock ; and that is why he has passed the night in those same stocks. And who is his companion in tribulation ? Nothing was known for certain about him, except that he had been found upon the premises of Squire Rayne under most suspicious cir cumstances ; but this would not have detained him in the stocks, if it had not chanced that two of the most respected yeomen in the place had spoken in a way that shewed it most desirable to learn more about him.

They felt sure, or almost sure, that he was no other than the notorious Jim Wilder, the most brutal ruffian (though not the leader) in a well-known company of highway-men. It was said that Jim Wilder had committed a crime of such atrocity, that even the captain of the outlaws was roused to indignation ; and that an almost deadly quarrel had ensued. Whether the man now in the stocks was Wilder, it was as yet impossible to say with certainty ; but some persons who knew the outlaw's face had been sent for, and a few hours more would clear up all uncertainty. Whoever the fellow might be, he was obviously a formidable customer. Quite as tall as his companion in captivity, he had perhaps twice his girth taken round the shoulders; and the defiant recklessness of his red weather-beaten face, was in striking contrast with the sour look and sallow visage of the fanatic at his side.

Whatever had passed during their long hours of enforced and uncongenial companionship, they were silent now. Both were watching little Tony's backward movements. The °-eese had so thoroughly absorbed his thoughts, that he was utterly oblivious of the stocks, until he found himself seized by the red faced ruffian, in whose iron grasp he struggled helplessly, and then burst into a prolonged wail of terror and distress. "Eh, now, my pretty man," exclaimed the fellow, "don't spoil the face of Beelzebub with them little fists. It's a beautv THE VILLAGE STOCKS. 11 alongside of t'other. Here, shall I pass you on to Gobby Cock sure ? Look at the prick eared knave. Listen to his sanctimoni ous snuffle. They'll have those asses ears off, one of these fine days. I hope they'll scoop them well out by the roots.

They'll slit that yellow snuffling nose, and let out some honest speech at last." And thereupon followed a torrent of abuse, decorated with words and phrases so altogether suitable to Beelzebub, that the Round-head clapped his hands over the threatened ears, turned up the yellows of his eyes, and groaned like the blacksmith's broken bellows. "Now little squeaker," continued this son of Belial, "as you don't seem inclined to rush into his arms, stop your howling, and catch hold of these big boots of mine. I want, if possible, to get them off. Aye, so, so. Why, you're quite a little man. Now for t'other. That's bravely done. Here with them both — here, just under this bit of sacking by the seat. And now remember that if ever you want help from Beelzebub, you've only got to shout loud enough, and I'm your man.

Come, give Old Nick a kiss. and seal the compact." Completely fascinated by the resolute audacity of the ruffian, the poor child had, up to this point, rendered mechanical obedience ; but the brutal grasp and the liquor laden breath which now enveloped him, effectually broke the charm, and he screamed both loud and long. The village was aroused. Fore most of all the rest came the parish Beadle with his staff and keys ; and five minutes more would have brought many more to help poor little Tony. " How now, thou Gallas," exclaimed the panting Beadle, "put down the bairn out of thy foul grip, or I'll crack thine head anon ! " It was a part of the ruffian's game to humour the official, so that in an almost cringing tone he remarked that, knowing his own unworthiness of any attention, he had felt constrained to use the terror of the little gentleman to bring his honour, as the cramp, through the absence of his boots for so many hours, was past all bearing.

"Boots! " exclaimed the Beadle, "why, I could swear you had them on last night; but I's getting sadly short of sight." "Swear not at all," put in the Round-head, with a snuffle; and for his interference received a blow from the official staff that called forth vociferous applause from Beelzebub. The indignation of the Beadle had now been turned upon the Sectary, who, even while rubbing his smarting shoulders, cast a yellow glare upon the injurious possessor of the staff, exclaiming, "God shall smite thee, thou whited wall ! " With well dissembled indignation, his comrade in the stocks twisted himself round as far as possible, and gave him a back hander on the mouth ; asking what he meant by prophesying evil against dignities in that way, and in the presence of his honour. The Beadle's sense of importance was gratified, and he turned a more kindly eye upon the speaker.