XXIII
Of the Coming Near of War
Even as I had expected, Philip Lisle consented willingly to give up his Rose to my keeping. From our first time of meeting there had been a kind of fellow-feeling ’twixt him and me, and we had grown to love each other in more than ordinary friendliness, so that he felt that I was to be trusted with his daughter’s happiness. But neither he nor my mother would hear aught of marriage yet awhile. Better to wait, said they, even were it ten years, until the land was settled, than to marry in the midst of so much anxiety and trouble. For at any time, said Philip, the tide of war might surge round us with flame and bloodshed, and things might occur which would be harder to cope with married than single. Better to wait until the land was at rest and we could marry with peace all around us.
So now there was a double inducement to me to long for the ending of the war, and I looked forward to the coming of peace with a hot impatience. But peace was not to come upon us for many a long day yet. With the advent of spring in that year, 1643, the rival armies began manoeuvring once more, and both sides became active in soliciting help and assistance. The King had taken up his headquarters at Oxford in readiness for the campaign, and had there gathered his army around him. Thither, ere spring was over, repaired Philip Lisle and Jack, having remained but a short time with us, and from them, at irregular intervals, came news of the war. At first their news was not over good. The King lost Reading. But then came tidings of success. The royal army overcame its opponents at Roundway Down and laid siege to Bristol. By the end of June that great city was in the King’s hands, and the counties of Devon, Somerset, Hampshire, and Wiltshire came under his power. The Parliamentarians began to lose heart. Hampden, one of their principal leaders, had been slain in a skirmish. The royal troops laid siege to Gloucester and seemed likely to take it. Everything looked rosy for the King’s cause, and loyal people began to pluck up a good spirit. There was some serious talk amongst the Parliamentarians of a treaty, which no doubt would have been carried out but for the pressure put upon the Commons by the London crowds, who swarmed round the House and refused to have any treaty. Then, however, came reverses to the King’s cause. The Earl of Essex raised the siege of Gloucester. Turning away from that city, he found the Royalist army barring his path at Newbury. A battle followed which neither side could claim. Essex continued his march. If it had not been for the fine powers of the Parliamentary infantry he would have suffered defeat, but the foot had been finely drilled and officered and withstood the fiery impulse of the Royalist charge with rocklike firmness. In this battle Falkland fell, weary, men said, of the war and its horrors. So matters stood after the battle of Newbury, each side being pretty much as it was before the campaign began.
But meanwhile there were other matters at work, as we heard through various channels. On the first day of July in that year the Synod known as the Westminster Assembly began to sit. It had two objects—to make England Presbyterian, and to bring the Scots to the help of the Parliamentary army. Perhaps the latter was the real object, as Parson Drumbleforth said, and the former the means whereby it was to be achieved. For with the Scots it was a case of no Presbyterianism, no Scottish army. Then came the making of that famous matter the Solemn League and Covenant, which was signed by members of Parliament who thereby bound themselves to bring the religion of England, Scotland, and Ireland into conformity. This Solemn League and Covenant became everywhere the test of faithfulness to the Parliamentary cause. Its effect began to be seen at once. The fierce, persecuting spirit of the Presbyterian broke out on every side. Anything that savoured of Episcopacy was ruthlessly destroyed or mutilated. The Cross at Cheapside was broken to pieces, and a similar fate soon overtook Charing Cross. The images, crucifixes, and altars of the ancient parish churches were destroyed; the painted windows were broken, and the spirit of wanton mischief seemed to be let loose throughout the land. The Earl of Manchester went to Cambridge and drove out from the University all who refused to fall in with the Covenant. There had been much talk about the persecution of the King, but under the new regime men were not even permitted to think for themselves. Anything more intolerant of other men’s opinions than the Presbyterianism of that day there could not be.
Now, however, rose up a new party, which combated the cruel intolerance of the Presbyterians, and finally vanquished it. The Independents, as they were called, were for liberty of conscience. They wanted it for themselves, and what they desired for themselves they were just enough to wish others to enjoy. They pleaded for full liberty for all men, Turks, Papists, Socinians, as for themselves. The Puritans, iron-bound and rigid in their love of mere outward uniformity, regarded this new doctrine with horror. They wished to keep the three kingdoms under their own rule, and to stamp out every other form of worship than their own Presbyterianism. They cried out loudly at the teachings of the Independents, and complained that such a dangerous doctrine as liberty of conscience should have arisen from a body which in a sense formed part of themselves. But the doctrine of liberty steadily gained ground. It was not probable that the gloomy religion of Scotland would ever be forced upon the English people, and men who saw their parish churches mutilated and destroyed by the fanatics of the League and Covenant, gained from what they saw an unconquerable aversion to the system which it was attempted to force upon them.
Now, at this time there were really three forces fighting for the supremacy in England—the King, the Presbyterians, and the Independents, and men who had eyes to see and ears to hear looked on at the three-cornered contest with eager hearts. The Parliamentary leaders on their side watched it with more than ordinary anxiety, for the new force, the Independents, lay in their own army under the command of that extraordinary farmer of Huntingdon, Oliver Cromwell. Whatever were this man’s faults, and whatever his virtues—and both have been doubtless exaggerated by his friends and enemies—there was one thing about him in which he was great above all Englishmen, namely, his resolute determination not to allow the Presbyterians to stamp out national life and thought in this land which is our own. How he and his Ironsides put the Presbyterian power aside, and indirectly made for the restoration of the English spirit you will see as this history advances. Already Cromwell was becoming a power in the land. The counties of Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, Cambridge, Huntingdonshire, and Hertfordshire had at his instigation bound themselves together under the name of the Eastern Association. In August, 1643, the Earl of Manchester took command of the associated forces, Cromwell being really his guiding spirit. Then within these counties Royalism was put down, and after beating the Royalist forces at Winceby on October 11, Cromwell held himself in readiness to attack the King’s army in Yorkshire.
But in Yorkshire at that time men were for the King, and the Royalist forces were largely spread over the county. The Marquis of Newcastle had raised the siege of Hull, and had succeeded in establishing a fair degree of power in many important districts and centres. In Yorkshire, Sir Thomas Fairfax, commanding the Parliamentary troops, was making a hard struggle to retain his ground, and was watching such towns as Leeds and Bradford, while at the same time he kept an eye on the fortified places, like Pontefract and Knaresborough. Little by little, however, Fairfax was being driven back, when an event happened which brought matters to a crisis. The Solemn League and Covenant was signed. A committee of Englishmen and Scotchmen were appointed to superintend the operations of the army. These arrangements duly carried out, the Scotch forces under the command of Leslie, Earl of Leven, crossed the border and advanced into Yorkshire. In June, 1644, Leven joined his forces to those of Manchester and Fairfax, and laid siege to the Marquis of Newcastle at York.
So now at last the red fire of war was close upon us, for the rival armies were, so to speak, but a stone’s-throw away. All day long we heard messages of some sort; now that the Scots were fifty thousand strong and would infallibly sweep away the King and all his army; now that the Royalist troops were on the march northwards to relieve Newcastle at York; and now that ere four-and-twenty hours had passed we should hear the booming of the rival artillery. But we heard no news from Philip or Jack; nay, we had no news of them ’twixt January and June in that year 1644, so that we were oft anxious about their welfare and wondered what had become of them. Those months indeed were remarkably trying ones to all of us, for my mother was anxious and afraid of the war coming our way, and Rose was troubled about her father, and Lucy fretted lest the enemy should shoot Ben in any of their skirmishes round Pontefract, which they seemed likely to besiege; and I was impatient and fretful, wishing that they would make an end of the matter, so that I might marry my dear one and live in peace on my land. For it seemed a long time to wait for her, and I was more impatient every day, and wished Roundhead and Cavalier could adjust their differences more speedily than they seemed desirous of doing.
But perhaps none of us were so anxious and troubled at this time as worthy Ben Tuckett, who, by reason of his residence in Pontefract marketplace, did hear much news on both sides of the question. For Ben never by word or deed let either party see that he favoured or disfavoured them, but talked little and listened much, saying in excuse that it is a deal better to be seen than to be heard, and that silence is pure gold, while speech is but ordinary silver. Nevertheless, whatever Ben heard he turned over in his mind with no little diligence, never forgetting anything nor letting any little matter slip. He mixed freely with men of both parties, each side curiously enough believing him to be one of themselves, and in this way he got to hear matters which ordinary folk did not hear of. But Master Ben’s love of knowledge ere long brought him into much trouble and perplexity of mind, for he presently found out that the Parliamentary troops would certainly besiege the Castle, which was now strongly garrisoned and equipped by the Royalists under Colonel Lowther. This news was disquieting to a peaceable and quiet tradesman like Ben, for he could not help foreseeing there would be bullets and cannonballs flying about the town, and sallies and skirmishes going on, and it occurred to him that a rough-handed soldiery might not be very nice about taking goods out of his shop without paying for what they took. What with thoughts like this and fears lest a stray bullet should some day find a billet in his brain as he stood at his shop-door, poor Ben grew careworn and anxious-looking, and lost a good deal of his sleek appearance. But he never abated one jot of his curiosity about coming events, and whenever he came over to Dale’s Field he had always some fresh scrap of news for us, gleaned from Royalist or Parliamentarian. And whatever it was, there was always one burden to Ben’s song concerning it—the war was coming upon us.