It was a pleasant afternoon in the
month of July, 1642, when three young people sat together
on a shady bank at the edge of a wood some three miles
from Oxford. The country was undulating and picturesque,
and a little more than a mile in front of them rose
the lofty spire of St. Helen’s, Abingdon.
The party consisted of two lads, who were about fifteen
years of age, and a girl of ten. The lads, although
of about the same height and build, were singularly
unlike. Herbert Rippinghall was dark and grave,
his dress somber in hue, but good in material and well
made. Harry Furness was a fair and merry-looking
boy; good humor was the distinguishing characteristic
of his face; his somewhat bright and fashionably cut
clothes were carelessly put on, and it was clear that
no thought of his own appearance or good looks entered
his mind. He wore his hair in ringlets, and had
on his head a broad hat of felt with a white feather,
while his companion wore a plain cap, and his hair
was cut closely to his head.
“It is a bad business, Harry,”
the latter said, “but, there is one satisfaction
that, come what may, nothing can disturb our friendship.
We have never had a quarrel since we first met at
the old school down there, six years ago. We
have been dear friends always, and my only regret
has been that your laziness has prevented our being
rivals, for neither would have grudged the other victory.”
“No, indeed, Herbert. But
there was never a chance of that. You have always
been Mr. Gregory’s prize boy, and are now head
of the school; while I have always been in his bad
books. But, as you say, Herbert, we have been
dear friends, and, come what will, we’ll continue
so. We cannot agree on the state of the kingdom,
and shall never do so. We have both taken our
views from our parents; and indeed it seems to me that
the question is far too difficult a one for boys like
us to form any opinion of it. When we see some
of the best and wisest in the land ranging themselves
on either side, it is clear that even such a wise
noddle as yours to say nothing of a feather
brain like mine cannot form any opinion
on a subject which perplexes our elders and betters.”
“That is true, Harry; but still ”
“No, no, Herbert, we will have
no argument. You have the best of it there, and
I fall back upon authority. My father, the colonel,
is for the king; yours for the Parliament. He
says that there are faults on both sides, and indeed,
for years he favored the Commons. The king’s
acts were unconstitutional and tyrannical, and my father
approved of the bold stand which Sir George Elliot
made against him. Now, however, all this has
been changed, he tells me, and the Commons seek to
rule without either king or peers. They have
sought to impose conditions which would render them
the lords absolute of England, and reduce the king
to a mere puppet. They have, too, attacked the
Church, would abolish bishops, and interfere in all
matters spiritual. Therefore, my father, while
acknowledging the faults which the king has committed,
and grieving over the acts which have driven the Parliament
to taking up a hostile attitude to him, yet holds
it his duty to support him against the violent men
who have now assumed power, and who are aiming at the
subversion of the constitution and the loss of the
country.”
“I fear, also,” Herbert
said, “that the Commons have gone grievously
beyond their rights, although, did my father hear me
say so, I should fall under his gravest displeasure.
But he holds that it is necessary that there should
be an ecclesiastical sweep, that the prelates should
have no more power in the land, that popery should
be put down with an iron hand, and that, since kings
cannot be trusted to govern well, all power should
be placed in the hands of the people. My own thoughts
do incline toward his; but, as you say, when one sees
men like my Lord Falkland, who have hitherto stood
among the foremost in the ranks of those who demand
that the king shall govern according to law, now siding
with him against them, one cannot but feel how grave
are the difficulties, and how much is to be said on
either side. How is one to choose? The king
is overbearing, haughty, and untrue to his word.
The Parliament is stiff-necked and bent upon acquiring
power beyond what is fair and right. There are,
indeed, grievous faults on both sides. But it
seems to me that should the king now have his way and
conquer the Commons, he and his descendants will henceforth
govern as absolute monarchs, and the liberty of the
people will be endangered; while on the other hand,
should the Parliament gain the upper hand, they will
place on a firm basis the liberties of Englishmen,
and any excesses which they may commit will be controlled
and modified by a future parliament, for the people
of England will no more suffer tyranny on the part
of the Commons than of the king; but while they cannot
change the one, it is in their power to elect whom
they will, and to send up men who will govern things
moderately and wisely.”
“At any rate,” Harry said,
“my father thinks that there is neither moderation
nor wisdom among the zealots at Westminster; and as
I hear that many nobles and country gentlemen throughout
England are of the same opinion, methinks that though
at present the Parliament have the best of it, and
have seized Portsmouth, and the Tower, and all the
depots of arms, yet that in the end the king will prevail
against them.”
“I trust,” Herbert continued
earnestly, “that there will be no fighting.
England has known no civil wars since the days of the
Roses, and when we see how France and Germany are
torn by internal dissensions, we should be happy indeed
that England has so long escaped such a scourge.
It is indeed sad to think that friends should be arrayed
against each other in a quarrel in which both sides
are in the wrong.”
“I hope,” Harry said,
“that if they needs must fight, it will soon
be over, whichever way fortune may turn.”
“I think not,” Herbert
answered. “It is a war of religion as much
as a war for power. The king and the Commons
may strive who shall govern the realm; but the people
who will take up arms will do it more for the triumph
of Protestantism than for that of Pym and Hampden.”
“How tiresome you both are,”
Lucy Rippinghall interrupted, pouting. “You
brought me out to gather flowers, and you do nothing
but talk of kings and Parliament, as if I cared for
them. I call it very rude. Herbert is often
forgetful, and thinks of his books more than of me;
but you, Master Harry, are always polite and gentle,
and I marvel much that you should be so changed to-day.”
“Forgive me,” Harry said,
smiling. “We have been very remiss, Miss
Lucy; but we will have no more of high politics, and
will, even if never again,” he said sadly, “devote
all our energies to getting such a basket of flowers
for you as may fill your rooms with beaupots.
Now, if your majesty is ready to begin, we are your
most obedient servants.”
And so, with a laugh, the little party
rose to their feet, and started in quest of wild flowers.
The condition of affairs was at the
outbreak of the civil war such as might well puzzle
older heads than those of Harry Furness or Herbert
Rippinghall, to choose between the two powers who were
gathering arms.
The foundations of the difficulty
had been laid in the reign of King James. That
monarch, who in figure, manners, and mind was in the
strongest contrast to all the English kings who had
preceded him, was infinitely more mischievous than
a more foolish monarch could have been. Coarse
in manner a buffoon in demeanor so
weak, that in many matters he suffered himself to
be a puppet in the hands of the profligates who surrounded
him, he had yet a certain amount of cleverness, and
an obstinacy which nothing could overcome. He
brought with him from Scotland an overweening opinion
of the power and dignity of his position as a king.
The words absolute monarchy had
hitherto meant only a monarch free from foreign interference;
to James they meant a monarchy free from interference
on the part of Lords or Commons. He believed
implicitly in the divine right of kings to do just
as they chose, and in all things, secular and ecclesiastical,
to impose their will upon their subjects.
At that time, upon the Continent,
the struggle of Protestantism and Catholicism was
being fought out everywhere. In France the Huguenots
were gradually losing ground, and were soon to be extirpated.
In Germany the Protestant princes had lost ground.
Austria, at one time halting between two opinions,
had now espoused vehemently the side of the pope,
and save in Holland and Switzerland, Catholicism was
triumphing all along the line. While the sympathies
of the people of England were strongly in favor of
their co-religionists upon the Continent, those of
James inclined toward Catholicism, and in all matters
ecclesiastical he was at variance with his subjects.
What caused, if possible, an even deeper feeling of
anger than his interference in church matters, was
his claim to influence the decisions of the law courts.
The pusillanimity of the great mass of the judges
hindered them from opposing his outrageous claims,
and the people saw with indignation and amazement
the royal power becoming infinitely greater and more
extended than anything to which Henry VIII. or even
Elizabeth had laid claim. The negotiations of
the king for a marriage between his son and the Infanta
of Spain raised the fears of the people to the highest
point. The remembrance of the Spanish armada was
still fresh in their minds, and they looked upon an
alliance with Spain as the most unholy of contracts,
and as threatening alike the religion and liberties
of Englishmen.
Thus when at King James’ death
King Charles ascended the throne, he inherited a legacy
of trouble. Unhappily, his disposition was even
more obstinate than that of his father. His training
had been wholly bad, and he had inherited the pernicious
ideas of his father in reference to the rights of
kings. Even more unfortunately, he had inherited
his father’s counselors. The Duke of Buckingham,
a haughty, avaricious, and ambitious noble, raised
by King James from obscurity, urged him to follow the
path of his father, and other evil counselors were
not wanting. King Charles, indeed, had an advantage
over his father, inasmuch as his person was stately
and commanding, his manner grave and dignified, and
his private life irreproachable. The conflicts
which had continued throughout the reign of his father
between king and Parliament speedily broke out afresh.
The Commons refused to grant supplies, unless the king
granted rights and privileges which he deemed alike
derogatory and dangerous. The shifty foreign
policy of England was continued, and soon the breach
was as wide as it had been during the previous reign.
After several Parliaments had been
called and dissolved, some gaining advantage from
the necessities of the king, others meeting only to
separate after discussions which imbittered the already
existing relations, for ten years the king dispensed
with a Parliament. The murder of the Duke of
Buckingham by Felton brought no alleviation to the
situation. In Ireland, Wentworth, Earl of Strafford,
ruled with tyrannical power. He was a man of
clear mind and of great talent, and his whole efforts
were devoted to increasing the power of the king, and
so, as he considered, the benefit of the country.
In Ireland he had a submissive Parliament, and by
the aid of this he raised moneys, and ruled in a manner
which, tyrannical as it was, was yet for the benefit
of that country. The king had absolute confidence
in him, and his advice was ever on the side of resistance
to popular demands. In England the chief power
was given to Archbishop Land, a high church prelate,
bent upon restoring many of the forms of Catholic
worship, and bitterly opposed to the Puritan spirit
which pervaded the great mass of the English people.
So far the errors had been entirely
upon the side of the king. The demands of the
Commons had been justified by precedent and constitutional
rule. The doings of the king were in equal opposition
to these. When at last the necessity of the situation
compelled Charles to summon a Parliament, he was met
by them in a spirit of absolute defiance. Before
any vote of supply would he taken, the Commons insisted
upon the impeachment of Strafford, and Charles weakly
consented to this. The trial was illegally carried
on, and the evidence weak and doubtful. But the
king’s favorite was marked out for destruction,
and to the joy of the whole kingdom was condemned
and executed. A similar fate befell Laud, and
encouraged by these successes, the demands of the Commons
became higher and higher.
The ultimatum which at last the Puritan
party in Parliament delivered to the king, was that
no man should remain in the royal council who was not
agreeable to Parliament; that no deed of the king should
have validity unless it passed the council, and was
attested under their hands; that all the officers
of the state and principal judges should be chosen
with consent of Parliament, and enjoy their offices
for life; that none of the royal family should marry
without consent of Parliament or the council; that
the penal laws should be executed against Catholics;
that the votes of popish lords should not be received
in the Peers, and that bishops should be excluded
from the House; that the reformation of the liturgy
and church government should be carried out according
to the advice of Parliament; that the ordinances which
they had made with regard to the militia should be
submitted to; that the justice of Parliament should
pass upon all delinquents, that is, upon all officials
of the state and country who had assisted in carrying
out the king’s ordinances for the raising of
taxes; that a general pardon should he granted, with
such exceptions as should he advised by Parliament;
that the fort and castles should be disposed of by
consent of Parliament; and that no peers should be
made but with the consent of both Houses. They
demanded also that they should have the power of appointing
and dismissing the royal ministers, of naming guardians
for the royal children, and of virtually controlling
military, civil, and religious affairs.
As it was clear that these demands
went altogether beyond the rights of the Commons,
and that if the king submitted to them the power of
the country would be solely in their hands, while
he himself would become a cipher, he had no course
open to him but to refuse assent, and to appeal to
the loyal nobility and gentry of the country.
It is true that many of these rights
have since been obtained by the Houses of Parliament;
but it must be remembered that they were altogether
alien at the time to the position which the kings of
England had hitherto held, and that the body into
whose hands they would be intrusted would be composed
solely of one party in the state, and that this party
would be controlled by the fanatical leaders and the
ministers of the sects opposed to the Established Church,
which were at that time bitter, narrow, and violent
to an extent of which we have now no conception.
The attitude thus assumed by Parliament
drove from their ranks a great many of the most intelligent
and enlightened of those who had formerly sided with
them in their contest against the king. These
gentlemen felt that intolerable as was the despotic
power of a king, still more intolerable would it be
to be governed by the despotic power of a group of
fanatics. The liberty of Englishmen was now as
much threatened by the Commons as it had been threatened
by the king, and to loyal gentlemen the latter alternative
was preferable. Thus there were on both sides
earnest and conscientious men who grieved deeply at
being forced to draw swords in such a quarrel, and
who felt that their choice of sides was difficult
in the extreme. Falkland was the typical soldier
on the royal side, Hampden on that of the Commons.
It is probable that were England divided
to-morrow under the same conditions, men would be
equally troubled upon which side to range themselves.
At this period of the struggle, with the exception
of a few hot-headed followers of the king and a few
zealots on the side of the Commons, there was a general
hope that matters would shortly be arranged, and that
one conflict would settle the struggle.
The first warlike demonstration was
made before the town of York, before whose walls the
king, arriving with an armed force, was refused admittance
by Sir John Hotham, who held the place for the Parliament.
This was the signal for the outbreak of the war, and
each party henceforth strained every nerve to arm
themselves and to place their forces in the field.
The above is but a brief sketch of
the circumstances which led the Cavaliers and Puritans
of England to arm themselves for civil war. Many
details have been omitted, the object being not to
teach the history of the time, but to show the general
course of events which had led to so broad and strange
a division between the people of England. Even
now, after an interval of two hundred years, men still
discuss the subject with something like passion, and
are as strong in their sympathies toward one side
or the other as in the days when their ancestors took
up arms for king or Commons.
It is with the story of the war which
followed the conversation of Harry Furness and Herbert
Rippinghall that we have to do, not with that of the
political occurrences which preceded it. As to
these, at least, no doubts or differences of opinion
can arise. The incidents of the war, its victories
and defeats, its changing fortunes, and its final triumph
are matters beyond the domain of politics, or of opinion;
and indeed when once the war began politics ceased
to have much further sway. The original questions
were lost sight of, and men fought for king or Parliament
just as soldiers nowadays fight for England or Prance,
without in any concerning themselves with the original
grounds of quarrel.