Cromwell

by Antonia Fraser

  But Richard Mayor, for all his comparatively obscure position as a Hampshire squire, had his doubts too. Oliver told Norton afterwards that he had been obliged to allay certain fears in the mind of his son’s future father-in-law concerning his own currently equivocal position in the public mind: “Some things of common fame did a little stick: I gladly heard his doubts and gave such answer as was next at hand, I believe, to some satisfaction.” However Oliver did not neglect Dorothy’s earthly dowry altogether in considering her heavenly crown: a few days later Oliver embarked on a long and detailed letter to Norton on the business side of the match – he was particularly anxious that Mayor should settle his manor on the young couple if he himself left no son – urging Norton to move fast since he, Oliver, might soon be otherwise employed: “I know thou art an idle fellow, but prithee neglect me not now.”37

  Oliver’s hunch that he might soon be busy in quite a different direction needed no special shrewdness in view of the hectic rumours of imminent attack which were now filtering down from Scotland. There were further plots to rescue the King: Cromwell warned Hammond of one on 6 April. Three days later, the apprentices in the City rioted and ran down Whitehall crying “Now for King Charles!” They had to be held back by the cavalry led by Cromwell and Ireton, who killed their leader in the process, and cut about a number of others. Said a newsletter afterwards: “This was the abortive issue of the design of the Malignant Party.” But it should more properly be seen as part of a general pattern of violence angled in favour of the absent monarch, which showed no sign of dispersing. There was more talk of crowning the young Duke of York, and a woman was even said to have borne a secret message on the subject from the Army Council to Charles himself, as a form of threat.38 However on 21 April the young prince himself, with great enterprise, put an end to such conjectures by escaping to the Continent disguised as a girl. With the definite news of a Scottish army under way, everything seemed to be flowing in Charles’s direction once more. On 28 April the vote in the House of Commons, won by one hundred and sixty-five to ninety-nine, in which even Vane voted with the Ayes, was a distinct sign of the times: “the fundamental government of the Kingdom”, i.e. the monarchical constitution, was not to be altered. As explosions of rebellion began to sweep the country, the Vote of No Addresses forbidding approaches to Charles was temporarily suspended. At Canterbury the rebels originating from the Christmas football match were actually acquitted. In Kent, Essex and Surrey there were vociferous calls for a personal treaty with the King and disbandment of the Army.

  The disgust and dread of the Army at such developments may be imagined. Disbandment had in fact been proceeding, under the presidency of Fairfax. Even Cromwell’s own pay had recently been reduced from Ł4. a day to Ł3, although he had demonstrated his own indifference to such values, by making a handsome remittance to Parliament of Ł1,500 out of monies owed to him for the prosecution of the war in Ireland; he also offered Ł1,000 a year for five years out of the Worcester estates granted to him. But by the end of April the Army was hardly in a mood to display any sort of tolerance or generosity to those they believed were intending to ruin them. Was it for this that they allowed their progressive diminution, that the Scots should descend on them, that Charles Stuart, that ogre, should plunge the nation into another bloodbath? The meeting of the Army Council at Windsor to consider the Scottish news showed from the first an absolute hostility to Charles as a person, the author of their troubles. On 30 April, about the same time as the English Royalists in the north helped by die Scots seized both Berwick and Carlisle, Cromwell was outlining to the Army Council the three alternatives now before them: a new model Church and State along the lines of the Levellers’ proposals, the restoration of Charles with more limited powers, or his deposition in favour of young Henry Duke of Gloucester and a temporary Protectorate. For what it was worth, a Royalist at the time believed that Cromwell still favoured the third alternative. But any suggestion of compromise was soon to be swept away. The next day, in the midst of the meeting of the Council, came the dramatic news that the AdjutantGeneral in Wales, Fleming, had been killed in a Royalist uprising which coincided with a mutiny of disbanded Parliamentary malcontents. The whole of South Wales was now up in arms. Fleming had been popular, and tears stood in the officers’ eyes, as they resolved instantly to subdue the kingdom once more, and above all to call to account the man who in their estimation was responsible for the renewed horrors of war- Charles Stuart. As Fairfax despatched Lambert to the north and Sir Hardress Waller to Cornwall yet another period of uncertainty in Cromwell’s life had ended in precipitate action. The die of the Second Civil War was fairly cast. To South Wales, with the largest force, went Oliver Cromwell.

  10 The mischievous war

  It was our duty, if ever the Lord brought us back again in peace, to call Charles Stuart, that man of blood, to an account for the blood he had shed, and mischief he had done to his utmost…

  RESOLUTION OF THE ARMY, April 1648

  On 3 May 1648 Cromwell took the road towards the wild and lovely land of Wales, to carry out his own ordained part in the Second Civil War, which was to subdue it. By 8 May he was at Gloucester. Here he made a short speech in front of each regiment, at the end of which he took the opportunity to remind the soldiers of his own claims on their loyalities, it being now two years since he had seen action: how

  he had often times ventured his life with them, and they with him, against the common enemy of this kingdom … and therefore desired them to arm themselves with the same resolution as formerly and to go on with the same courage, faithfulness and fidelity, as sundry times they had done, and upon several desperate attempts and engagements … for his part, he protested to live and die with them.

  No sooner had Cromwell finished than all the soldiers together gave vent to “a great shout and hallow”, throwing their caps in the air, showing that they too had their memories; unanimously they cried out that they would venture their lives and fortunes under his command, against any enemy either at home or abroad.1

  The Second Civil War, then, started in an atmosphere of much determination on the part of the common soldiers, as well as their leaders. This new certainty, in contrast to the hesitations of the previous conflict, concentrated not only on the malignants, those responsible for the inception of the war, but also on the arch-villain of the piece, Charles Stuart. One resolution of the Army in April had called him “that man of blood” and spoke of calling him to account “if ever the Lord brought us back again in peace” for “the blood he had shed and mischief he had done to his utmost …” In this tough mood the regiments headed for the southern Welsh borders, not only to an area generally believed to be “in a flame” as Cromwell wrote to Fairfax, but also to one owing much of its inflammability to the action of former Parliamentary supporters. Colonel John Poyer, for example, who now raised the south-western peninsula with the aid of redundant soldiers discontented by conditions of disbandment, had actually been made Parliamentary commander-in-chief for four counties at the end of the First Civil War.2

  Poyer was an interesting man, a convinced Presbyterian who was also fond of his drink – “a man of two dispositions every day” said Whitelocke “in the morning sober and penitent, in the evening drunk and full of plots”. He was indeed a man of much spirit in every sense of the word, public spirit because he rose from humble origins to become Mayor of Pembroke, and personal spirit for he showed daring and independence in his judgements: when he heard that the great Cromwell was coming after him, he declared that he would be the first man to charge against the Ironsides, and if Cromwell had “a back of steel and a breast of iron, he durst and would encounter him”. But the judgement of the Army now on his heels was that Poyer was “proud and insolent”, and worse than that, “a shameful Apostate” from their own cause.3

  It was thus the presence of their former supporters, both in the Royalist ranks and at their head, which gave the Welsh rising its peculiarly vicious character in the minds of
the advancing Army. The availability of such military expertise made it potentially dangerous. A contemporary newsletter spoke of Poyer terrorizing people into obeying him, thus wakening again “a discontented party in this kingdom, which began to fall asleep and to acquiesce in the orders of Parliament…” Simple people, far from the capital, in face of Poyer’s successes began to believe stories such as the return of the King, the restoration of the bishops, and London turning against Parliament. The fate of the army left in Wales had not been enviable, as the agile Welsh took to the hills. An English report complained that, at the same time they often spoiled or took away anything which might have been of use to the soldiers, “they being a spiteful, mischievous people”. There was a particular lack of forges and blacksmiths; one unfortunate Englishman was reported as having to pay 40s. to get his horse shod; “Mr Vulcan has shown himself a great enemy to our proceedings,” commented another sufferer. Since mottos in the hats of the socalled Welsh malignants made their desires painfully clear (one read: ‘I long to see His Majestic …”) the Parliamentary pamphlet on the subject ended by suggesting crossly that some unusual course should be taken to “bring down the stomachs of this little-less-than-barbarous people”.4

  But by the time Cromwell crossed into Wales the Royalists, under Colonel Laugharne, another former Parliamentary commander, had already suffered a crippling blow at St Pagans near Cardiff where they were heavily defeated by Colonel Horton. The remnants of the Royalist army now withdrew to Pembroke Castle, lying on the extreme southwest tip of the land; Cromwell was merely left with a few fortresses to mop up en route to meet Horton. He confronted the first of these, Chepstow Castle, an enormous proliferating structure on the banks of the Wye, on 11 May. Oddly enough, it was a stronghold he also had a personal interest in taking since, like many of the villages through which they had passed, it formed part of the properties of the Marquess of Worcester, theoretically granted to Cromwell by Parliament. For all pride of ownership, after a sharp struggle to enter the town Cromwell had to content himself with staying in a modest dwelling in a narrow street close to the bridge, while the castle itself, under its vigorous commander Sir Nicholas Kemoys, obstinately withstood siege. In the end Cromwell did not stay to see the conclusion, but leaving Colonel Ewer in charge, pushed forward to Cardiff, and so on round the much-inletted coastline of South Wales towards Tenby. Here the amazing position occupied by Tenby Castle, between two cliffs, with panoramic views as far as Ireland in fine weather, gave its occupant, another former Parliamentary officer, Colonel Powell, with a body of five or six hundred men, an excellent opportunity of holding out for a considerable length of time. Colonel Horton was left to besiege Tenby, while once more Cromwell moved on with the main body of the army.

  Tenby surrendered on 31 May, six days after the heroic Sir Nicholas had finally had Chepstow taken from him by storm, refusing to surrender. This left Pembroke. But here, before this undaunted castle, the great victor of Marston Moor and Naseby found himself bogged down for the next six weeks in a long and tiresome siege, which try as he might, he was unable to bring to a satisfactory conclusion. The truth was that Pembroke Castle had been so constructed as to be well-nigh impregnable under the conditions of medieval warfare, and if by chance these conditions were recreated, then the old fortress stood every chance of holding out as long as its supplies did. Taking its very name (Pen Broch, Head of the Inlet) from its position, it was situated above the harbour of Milford Haven, on a creek running down to the port, commanding the sea although not actually on it. Three sides of the haven surrounded the castle, at high tide the water lapping its soaring walls, and the third town side was fortified by a handsome ditch. Still an awesome sight today, by the middle of the seventeenth century Pembroke Castle had already witnessed much passage of British history since the first fortress was raised on its site just after the Conquest. From here Strongbow had set forth to conquer Ireland; from this castle Owen Cadogan had carried off that Helen of Welsh annals, the lovely Nest; here Henry Tudor – Henry VII – had grown to manhood, and close by here in 1485 he had landed on British soil once more to grab the crown at Bosworth, incidentally bringing with him Cromwell’s Welsh ancestor.

  Unfortunately Cromwell was singularly ill-equipped to deal with what thus might be described as the cradle of his family’s fortunes. While the Colonels Poyer and Laugharne were well dug in within with a considerable body of men, Cromwell himself had no suitable big guns with which to dent such walls of up to twenty feet in thickness, not much affected by his culverins and drakes. For all that the committee of near-by Carmarthen dutifully sent him shells and shot cast in their iron furnaces (Mr Vulcan was now more amicable) and Hugh Peter collected him some heavy guns from Milford Haven, he desperately needed a proper siege train from England; but when the vital shipment set out from the Bristol Channel, it was wrecked in a storm on the way and ended up at Berkeley in Gloucestershire. Then straightforward assault failed when the besiegers’ ladders proved to be too short for walls of such immense height, including a four-storey, seventy-five-foot keep. Another attempt to storm the castle was repulsed when one of Cromwell’s Majors failed to bring in the reserves of pikemen and musketeers at the crucial moment. In the subsequent fierce fighting around the town, Laugharne managed to steal out of the castle and attack the Roundheads most effectively from the rear, killing thirty of them.

  The Cromwellian camp was on the hills of Underdown, south-east of the town itself; Cromwell himself lived about two miles away at Welston Court, above Lamphey, with a rolling view to the haven; it was the house of a Captain Walter Cuney who had fought for Parliament at Tenby, and according to local tradition Cromwell spent much of his time there in bed from an attack of gout.* (* The York tavern in Pembroke Main Street is pointed out as the site of Cromwell’s Headquarters inside the town. A field near the Underdown camp is still known as Cromwell’s Field where the Roundhead dead are said to have been buried.) But the interminable lagging siege was enough to give any commander twinges of impatience, without need of the ravages of disease, particularly since the situation of the Army elsewhere in England called urgently for the attention of its most celebrated General. The main problem of the besieged was of course provisions, and this in turn reacted unfavourably on the mood of Foyer’s soldiers who had not expected at the start of the rising to be led by him to starvation and incarceration. On 14 June, when the siege had already been effective for over three weeks, Oliver wrote optimistically back to London that “in all probability they cannot live a fortnight without being starved”. He also repeated rumours of the exceptional discontent of the inhabitants, said to have threatened to cut Foyer’s throat. To this the Colonel, showing his usual bold front, merely replied that if relief did not come by Monday night “they should no more believe him, nay, they should hang him”. But Monday came, and with it no relief; it could only reach the beleaguered men by sea, and like Sister Anne in the fairy story of Bluebeard, they watched and waited from their high barbican, scanning the horizon of the haven; in vain, for there were no Royalist ships to be seen. When at long last some vessels were sighted at the end of the estuary, a great shout of rejoicing went up from the garrison, who believed that the young Prince Charles had come to their aid with a fleet. Alas for their hopes, these were the equally long-awaited Parliamentary ships. There was now only “a little bisquit” left to eat, and the horses were down to eating the thatch from the cottage roofs.5

  But Cromwell was wrong too. It was not a fortnight, but another month before Pembroke was finally induced to surrender, and then treachery probably played its part as well as hunger. One of this redoubtable castle’s assets was its excellent water supply. This came in part from a natural limestone cave in its vaults, known as Wogan’s Cavern, leading down to a Watergate on its south side, and in part from a conduit pipe leading to a hill near Monkton on the other side of the town. Cromwell seems to have considered first the idea of battering down this cavern, although the lack of damage there suggests he abandon
ed it; but he did cut the pipe, quite possibly as a result of the information betrayed by one Edmunds living at Monkton. If the tradition of Edmunds’s treachery is true – his family were said to have been known as the Cromwell Edmunds’s thereafter – the story ends sardonically with Cromwell hanging Edmunds for his pains, instead of paying him the lavish reward he expected. At all events on n July, Poyer and Laugharne, having little choice about it with their rebellious and starving troops, threw themselves on the mercy of Parliament.

  And on the whole Cromwell did show great mercy. In Henry Fletcher’s words in his biography, Cromwell’s aim was “not to be too prodigal of precious blood; knowing that victory to be cheapest which is won without blows”. Specifically there was to be no plundering in the town. But he also discriminated markedly between those who were Royalists by conviction, i.e. in both wars, who emerged comparatively lightly with a mere two years’ exile, and those who were renegades from the Parliamentary side. “The persons excepted are those that have formerly served you in a very good cause,” Cromwell reported back to the Speaker; “Being now apostasised, I did rather make election of them than of those who had always been for the king; judging their iniquity double; because they have sinned against so much light, and against so many evidences of divine providence.”6 The three leaders, Poyer, Laugharne and Powell were taken down to London to the Tower and all three given the death sentence, although at Fairfax’s instance only one was actually shot. According to the morbid if picturesque custom of the time, a child drew out the lots. For both Laugharne and Powell the lot read “Life Given by God”. But Poyer’s paper was blank, and it was thus, nine months later, that he was duly shot in public in the Piazza at Covent Garden.