XLII
Of the Scene Before Whitehall
I spent five days in travelling to London, riding my own horse all the way, and keeping him up to his five-and-thirty miles a day by letting him have his fill of good food and a long night’s rest between each stage of the journey. To me this adventure was full of novelty and incident, for I had never been further south than Sheffield, and knew nothing of England outside my own county, save what I had seen in the neighbourhood of the Peak when we went in search of Rose. My eyes, therefore, had plenty of occupation as I rode along the Great North Road, which busy highway I followed all the way to London, passing through the market-towns of Doncaster, Newark, Peterborough, Huntingdon, and Hatfield, in each of which I saw something worthy of notice. My mind, indeed, had never any occasion to be idle, for there was always some new object or matter claiming my attention—now a troop of soldiers passing along the road, or a country squire and his family going to their seat, now a company of drovers taking their cattle to Smithfield, and now a Cavalier riding along with dejected looks. At the inns where I rested o’ nights there was always plenty of company and no lack of conversation, but in this I engaged little, being minded to hold my tongue and let other folk do the talking. Nevertheless, I kept my ears open to what was said, being anxious to know what news was being noised abroad. The talk at all the wayside inns was of the King, men asking all travellers from London what tidings there were of his Majesty and what it was intended to do with him. Anxious, however, as all men were for news, there were few that ventured on giving their opinions on these great matters, for the army was at that time all-powerful, and a man hardly dare speak what was in his mind for fear of being heard by someone who might do him an injury.
It was late in the afternoon of the 6th of December when I came in view of the capital, and passed by the villages of Edgware and Tottenham on my way to Westminster. Then indeed I began to wonder exceedingly at the mightiness of the great city, where everything was new to me. The crowds going in and out along the streets filled me with amazement, and the great buildings by which I rode made me wonder at their size and appearance. Coming to a halt at the end of the Strand, I was forced to inquire my way to Westminster, where I intended to lodge, and was presently conducted by a boy past Whitehall to a street over against the ancient abbey, where I found the home of one Master Goodfellow, who had been recommended to me by Parson Drumbleforth. There I dismissed my guide, and having aided my host in stabling my horse, I sat down to my supper in my lodging, feeling very strange in the middle of that great city where I knew no one.
Now, this Master Goodfellow with whom I had taken up my lodging was a verger at the great Abbey of Westminster, and had been recommended to me as a good Royalist by our Vicar, who had known him in times past and had abode with him at the time of his own visit to London in the year 1637. Master Goodfellow was now an ancient man, and looked with much sadness on present events, as he told me while I sat at supper, having begged him to favour me with his company. Presently, being convinced that I was faithful to the King, he began to tell me such news as he had heard during the day.
“ ’Tis the army,” said he, “that rules everything nowadays, Master Dale, so men are finding out. For, look you, the administration of laws is now but an empty show, for these Roundheads do as they please with every ancient institution. You have not heard what they have done today?”
“Nay, sir,” I answered, “I am but newly arrived, having ridden straight to your door.”
“All London is ringing with the news,” he said, shaking his head sadly, “and the sober citizens know not what to make of it. For yesterday, Master Dale, the Commons declared for a reconciliation with the King his Majesty, which they had a right to do, being the lawful representatives of the people. But this was not to the liking of the army, and this morning one of its leaders, Colonel Pride, went down to the House with a body of men, and prevented all such members as were displeasing to the army from entering to their duties. Yea, and now men are saying, Master Dale, that the remainder of the members will obey the army in everything.”
Thus, indeed, matters turned out, for within a week the Commons passed a resolution that the King should be brought to justice, and he was removed from Hurst Castle, where the army had had him in safe keeping, to Windsor, where he was strictly guarded. And after that men were talking at every street corner and in all the alehouses of what would be done with his Majesty.
For the first day or two of my abode in London I did naught but wander about that wonderful city, admiring the strange sights and places of which I had often heard travellers talk. Many a time had I listened to Parson Drumbleforth as he told Jack and me of the great things he had seen in London town, and now that I saw them for myself, I was bound to confess that our good Vicar had not made too much of his story. What London is like at this present time I know not, for I have never been near it since that first visit of mine, and after that it was almost consumed in the Great Fire of 1666, but I have very clear memories of how it looked in the year 1649. So many places of historic interest were there to see, that I hardly knew which way to turn when I set out to view the city, but by Master Goodfellow’s advice I first inspected the Tower of London, a great and awful place, strongly guarded and surrounded by impregnable walls and deep moats, and with the Thames running at its south side. At this wonderful place I looked many an hour, only turning from it to admire the great bridge across the river, upon which houses and shops were built, and at each end of which stood high, battlemented gates furnished with portcullises. From this bridge, too, I watched the river, crowded with ships and vessels of all sorts and of all nations. Or, passing from that part of London through crooked, narrow streets, enclosed by high wooden houses, I made my way to the great church of St. Paul, whose spire rose high into the air. Here, too, I was lost in admiration of the famous cathedral, but I could not avoid thinking that it was not so beautiful as our own York Minster. All round St. Paul’s were streets which I was never tired of exploring and wandering in, such as Cheapside and Bread Street, where were many shops and houses of citizens, and inns over whose doors some sign hung to show that accommodation was there provided for man and beast. For city life was quite new to me, and the contemplation of it afforded me much food for my mind, in which, however, there was always a strong conviction that I much preferred my own homestead and the green fields around it to the crowded and narrow streets of the city.
My admiration did not prevent me from attending to my business, which was to prosecute my claim for compensation from those who had despoiled me of my goods. On the day following that of my arrival I went under Master Goodfellow’s directions to Westminster Hall, where I found as many lawyers as would have made a regiment of foot, and by one of these I was directed to some office where such matters as mine were attended to, and where, according to General Cromwell’s instructions, I made a presentation of my case. Now, I had thought that I had naught to do but state my grievance and have it redeemed, but I speedily found that there were many formalities to go through before an end came. For I was sent from one official to another, and from this office to that, so that I grew well sickened of the whole affair, and was minded to return home and forego my claim. But upon reflection I decided that it would be an unmanly thing to let myself be robbed in that way, and I therefore determined to stay and see the matter out. By the time I had arrived at that conclusion, however, it was close on to Christmas, and I was informed that naught could be done for me until the New Year was come. So there I stayed, wanting and yet not liking to go away, and spending my time in walking about London and Westminster, seeing such sights as the great city had to show. And I spent my Christmas with Master and Mistress Goodfellow, longing very much on Christmas Day morning for a sight of home and the dear faces I had left there.
Now, when the New Year came, there were new affairs of state to be adjusted, and these were so important that no man thought of his own business, but watched the great drama which was being played out before his very eyes. I could prosecute my own claim no further, for all the answer I got was that it was under consideration; but though I was anxious to return home, my curiosity about such events as were then happening kept me waiting in London. Those events truly were awful in themselves, for each led to the deposition and execution of the King. On the 1st of January the Commons, or rather that portion of them left by Colonel Pride, appointed a new tribunal, which they called the High Court of Justice, to try the King’s majesty on a charge of high treason against his subjects. Four days afterwards the same body put forward a declaration that the people of England were, under God, the source of all just power, and that the Commons, being the representatives duly elected of the people, had no need of approval from either the House of Lords or the King. On the 9th this High Court of Justice was formally constituted and the trial of the King definitely arranged for.
There were many who all this time doubted that the King would really be put upon his trial, for they held that the sovereign is above the law, and that the army after all would shrink from carrying matters to such extremities. But during the next ten days affairs went forward, and on the 20th his Majesty was brought to Whitehall for his trial. Then indeed London was in a state of great excitement, for it was rumoured by some that the King would be put to death, and by others that he would be banished across seas. As for all those who had been true to his Majesty, their hearts were filled with sorrow to think of his sad condition.
On the morning of the 21st of January Master Goodfellow and I rose early and made our way to the entrance of the great hall, where his Majesty was to appear before the men who had constituted themselves his judges. There were great crowds about Westminster and Whitehall, and the Roundhead soldiers were assembled in much force, as though to check any demonstration in the King’s favour. By dint of hard work and much pushing through the crowds we managed to secure places near to the door by which his Majesty was to enter, and there we abode very uncomfortably for two or three hours, swayed hither and thither by the crowd, the members of which kept up a continual talk and chatter as to what would take place before the judges. As for me, I wished I was well out of it, for I was squeezed and shoved against more than I had a mind for. But at last a great hush fell over the crowd around us, and a way being made by the troopers, there appeared a small body of guards, in whose midst walked the King. And then for the first time I saw his Majesty Charles the First, in whose cause I had fought and suffered.
Now, there was a perfect stillness as the King came along, and the great crowd was motionless save where some man tried to lift himself high enough to look over the shoulders of those before him. The King held himself very erect, and looked into the faces of the crowd with a calm and serene gaze, so that to me he seemed the very picture of a highborn gentleman, who knew naught of fear nor asked for favour. Yet there were deep lines upon his face, and his hair was thickly sprinkled with gray, and his eyes had a look of suffering in them. And so he and his guards went quickly by, and as they passed there were one or two in the crowd, myself included, who said heartily, “God save your Majesty!” upon hearing which the King inclined his head in our direction and smiled upon us, and entered the hall. We hung about the entrance that day, listening to such scraps of news as came from the trial chamber. First we heard that of the hundred and thirty-five members of the court only sixty-seven were present, and that one of these was General Oliver Cromwell. Then came news that when they called on Fairfax to answer his name, his lady answered from the gallery that he was not there and never would be, and that they wronged him to name him. After that we heard that the King, on being called upon to answer the charges brought against him, did deny the authority of that tribunal and refused to plead. Upon that the trial became naught but a formality, for the judges had it all their own way, and finally, on the 27th, they sentenced the King to death.
It was on the morning of the 30th of January that they beheaded the King before Whitehall. We rose before it was light, and at once made our way across the gardens and parks lying between Westminster and Whitehall, so that we might come near to the scaffold on which his Majesty was to die. This they had caused to be erected in front of the windows of the banqueting hall, and the carpenters were busy finishing it when we arrived. There were already great crowds of people gathered together, and when the sun rose it shone on as sad a scene as ever I saw. For there was the palace of Whitehall, its roofs slightly covered with snow, and the trees in its gardens and courtyards silvered with frost, and against all this whiteness the black drapery of the scaffold made a dark blot. Then came the soldiers, musketeers, and pikemen, and troopers, stern-faced and resolute, and set themselves to surround the scaffold and to drive the people back from coming too near it. But I and my companion had worked our way into a corner at the foot of the scaffold, and there we were permitted to remain. And after that an hour went by and the scaffold was empty save for the block that stood in its midst, and the soldiers stood motionless and grim, and the great crowd behind them increased in size until it filled the ground from Charing Cross to Westminster.
At last a window, looking upon the scaffold, was thrown open, and a little group of men stepped out and drew near to the block in the centre. A tall man in dark clothing, with a mask over his eyes and nose, carried an axe; another similarly attired accompanied him, and with these two were several musketeers and an officer, who posted themselves at the corners of the scaffold. And then a great and awful silence fell upon the crowd, for the King appeared at the open window and stepped upon the scaffold, followed by the Bishop of London and Colonel Hacker, who had had his Majesty in keeping. The King was calm and confident, and he smiled as he looked up at the sky and let his eye travel across the great multitude, where many a head was bared. He removed the jewel from his neck and handed it to the Bishop, to whom he said some last words; then he stretched himself upon the scaffold, and the uplifted axe fell swiftly. A deep sigh rose from the great crowd, and there were hundreds around me that uttered sobs and cries.
We were close upon the scaffold. A bright jet of blood spurted across the boards near to me. I raised my kerchief and dipped it in the King’s blood, and have it to this day—a memento of that terrible event.