Cromwell, the Lord Protector

by Antonia Fraser

  The Protector was still very lame from his experiences by the beginning of November. And he had other causes of depression and irritability, quite apart from the controversies with Parliament, as a result of which he was reported to have exclaimed about this time that he “would rather keep sheep under a hedge than have to do with the government of men”. In November died old Mrs Cromwell, his mother, at the age of eightynine – “whose Saint-like Mother we did lately see Live out an Age, long as a pedigree’, wrote Marvell. Her health had, hardly surprisingly, been failing for some time, and just after the death of the King, Oliver had had to put off a visit to Richard Mayor since “truly my aged mother is in such a condition of illness that I could not leave her”. But her faculties were in no way impaired so that she was able to enjoy a close and loving relationship with her only son to the last days of her life, a fact much noted by contemporaries. Mrs Cromwell was indeed a woman of the most upright character. She was also of sufficient spirit to complain when she had been moved from Cockpit to Whitehall to mark the elevation to Protectoral grandeur; according to Ludlow she “was not so easily flattered by these temptations”. She also feared for her son’s life, trembling whenever she heard musket fire that it might be the assassin’s shot. Whatever her great age, the very length of their relationship could only add to the sorrow in a deserted son. Her last blessing was poignantly recorded by Thurloe: “The Lord cause his face to shine upon you, and comfort you in all your adversities, and enable you to do great things for the glory of your most high God, and to be a relief unto his people; my dear son, I leave my heart with thee, a good night.”46 She died shortly afterwards. Oliver was overcome with sorrow. According to observers, he betrayed his sense of loss acutely by his outward demeanour thereafter. And for all the departed lady’s strong views against grandeur, he accorded her a funeral in Westminster Abbey, of a Sunday evening, illuminated by hundreds of flickering torches. Having moved into the sphere of rulers, it was as though he wished to dignify his woe in a stately manner, whatever the faint motherly voice of Puritan protest from his past.

  The feeling that the times were out of joint persisted. In January Cromwell was writing to his friend Lieutenant-General Wilks, complaining gloomily that he needed all of “what little faith and patience” he possessed to cope with his difficulties – “so unwilling are men to be heard and atoned”.47 In this context, the gesture of a man like that old soldier known as Theauro John, who had witnessed Oliver’s original recruiting at Huntingdon and now lived in a tent at Lambeth, could only be an additional annoyance. Theauro John lit a public bonfire, throwing on to it a Bible, a saddle, a sword and a pistol saying that these were the new Gods of England. He then departed for the doors of Parliament, where he laid about him with his own sword, before being hauled off to prison. But the regime, so outwardly unchallenged that in Puritan fashion, on the Christmas Day of 1654 the House of Commons obediently sat through the erstwhile feast, was in fact menaced by more serious opponents than the flamboyant old soldier.

  The Levellers, originally that party of dissent in the Army, had never ceased their opposition to any governmental moves that departed from the principles of the original Agreement of the People. The danger of the Levellers however was not in their principles as such, but in the converts they might make as opposition to Cromwell’s personal rule grew, and above all the allies they might seek. A Leveller-Royalist axis of rebellion could, after all, present the most serious challenge to the Protectoral regime. And then there were the disaffected republicans such as Haselrig, Bradshaw and Lord Grey of Groby who might well be in a mood to join with them. When therefore a petition was drawn up in November 1654 by certain of Cromwell’s old comrades, Colonels Okey, Alured and Saunders on the unsatisfactory nature of the present Government, their action was held to be more menacing than its first appearance warranted. This petition had been actually drafted by that Leveller of long standing, John Wildman; it called in question the basis of Cromwell’s power, and demanded “a full and free Parliament” to reconsider those freedoms originally requested by the Agreement. The plan was to secure a multitude of Army signatures to the petition, and to distribute it as widely as possible, including Scotland. But the petition was rapidly seized, and the three Colonels court martialled, although they were subsequently cleared of treason. In Scotland, where a proper conspiracy seems to have been developed under Colonel Robert Overton, Monk acted with his characteristic despatch, imprisoned Overton and made sure that he, Monk, not Overton remained in command there. On 10 February, Wildman himself was seized, in the very act, ink wet, of dictating a rousing pamphlet against “the tyrant Oliver Cromwell”, and the Leveller conspiracy was at an end.

  There is no evidence that the Levellers had any effective links with the Royalists whose own ill-timed attempt at throwing off the yoke, was to come about slightly later.48 It was true that the Royalists always hoped for Leveller assistance, as a result of which individuals treated with each other – John Lilburne for example had negotiations with the Duke of Buckingham. On the other hand, what is clear is that Cromwell himself did believe in this union of the two forces of resistance in his speech of 22 January to Parliament. And this conviction certainly coloured his later attitude to the Levellers. In this connexion, the truth is less important than the nature of his own belief. For his relations with Parliament had not improved with the months, and in January 1655 finally reached their crisis over the passage of a militia bill. A man who was threatened with rebellion in his own army, and who feared that the rebels were joining up with his worst enemies at home and abroad, was hardly likely to approve a motion that “the militia of this Commonwealth ought not to be raised, formed, or made use of, but by common consent of the people assembled in Parliament.”

  In the mood of one who sees spies under every bed, Cromwell was able to show his old quick decisive ruthlessness. The five months’ minimum period of Parliament’s sitting, which under the Instrument of Government would have made 5 February the first possible date of their dismissal, was suddenly discovered to apply to lunar as opposed to calendar months. On 22 January 165 5, once more Cromwell faced his Parliament with what even he himself admitted to be “a long speech”, but this time it turned out to be a speech of dismissal.49 On this occasion however it was noticeable how much of his talk showed a positive dislike for the men who confronted him. There was no mention now of a historic role: this time it was the tone of a pedagogue gravely disappointed in his flock, who recalled that first “hopefullest day that ever mine eyes saw” of the previous September, only to contrast it with his progressive frustrations since.

  As Cromwell’s public disgust mounted, from time to time his anger led him to some picturesque phrases of his favourite Scriptural derivation, as when he outlined the results of the Protectoral Parliament’s efforts: “There be some trees that will not grow under the shadows of other trees. There be some that choose (a man may say so by way of allusion) to thrive under the shadow of other trees. I will tell you what hath thriven … Instead of the peace and settlement, instead of mercy and truth being brought together, righteousness and peace kissing each other, by reconciling the honest people of these nations, and settling the woeful distempers that are amongst us … weeds and nettles, briers and thorns, have thriven under your shadow, dissettlement and division, discontent and dissatisfaction together with real dangers to the whole.” And so that none could mistake his meaning, Cromwell repeated the analogy once more with evident satisfaction: “I say, the enemies of the peace of these nations abroad and at home, the discontented humours throughout these nations, which I think no man will grudge to call by that name or to make to allude to briers and thorns, have thriven under your shadow.” Still later he came back to it again, talking of “these weeds, briers and thorns” nourished by the enemies of the Commonwealth through opportunities given to them by this Parliament.

  The Biblical allusion, as with that previous phrase which had captured Oliver’s imagination, the covenant with dea
th and hell which the Irish (or alternatively the Scots) clergy were said to have made, was to the words of Isaiah. Indeed, in his use of the particular metaphor of “briers and thorns” and his other references, there is much evidence to support the view that at times, Cromwell, unconsciously or otherwise, strongly identified himself with the prophet, another man much tried by the obstinate iniquities of his own generation. As Cromwell repeated it through his speech, so had Isaiah reiterated the words “briers and thorns” in different forms, as an evocative term to conjure up the desolation to be expected by the people of Israel if they did not heed the counsels of the Lord.* ( * “And I will lay it waste: it shall not be pruned, nor digged; but there shall come up briers and thorns.” Isaiah, Chapter V, v. 6; see also Chapter VII, v. 23,24,26; Chapter IX, v. 18; Chapter X, v. 17; Chapter XXXII, v. 13; Chapter LV, v. 13, for other references to thorns and briers.)

  While they had occupied themselves with their unworthy transactions “that Cavalier party (I could wish some of them had thrust in here to have heard what I say)” he interposed sarcastically, “the Cavalier party have been designing and preparing to put this nation in blood again …” And he dropped those additional dark hints referred to earlier, of “the correspondency held with the interest of the Cavaliers, by that party of men called Levellers”. Cromwell concluded his analysis of Parliament’s imprudent activities by observing that he too was at liberty to walk abroad in the fields or take a journey, yet he would hardly consider it wise to do so when his own house was on fire. The meaning of this was clear. Those who had walked abroad, would not be allowed to return to the House. So, in his next words, Cromwell proceeded to declare Parliament dismissed after appealing jointly to God and his duty to the people. Their presence, he said, was no longer for “the profit of these nations, nor for the common and public good”.

  Yet for all Cromwell’s apprehensions at the way his Commonwealth was being undermined, the first open Royalist attempt to upset its structure, which followed closely on Parliament’s dismissal, only served to prove the steely strength of the Cromwell-Thurloe control. This is not to belittle Cromwell’s genuine ferocity at what he considered the foolhardy or even criminal risks taken by the Parliament. In any case he had some justice on his side in his reproaches, since the Army pay had been allowed to become badly in arrears, which was hardly the best way to maintain the security of the country. Had, as Cromwell suspected, Levellers really been joined to Royalists, the story of the frail but gallant Penruddock rising of the spring of 1655 might have read very differently. As it was, the whole enterprise was from the beginning marked by those deficiencies of planning, cohesion and plain direction, which form such a dismal antiphon to all Royalist conspiracies of the Interregnum.50 The original concept was of six regional conspiracies, organized by the local associations under the general command of Lord Rochester who would land with the King’s orders from the Continent. Thus far the divided command of Glencairn and Middleton was avoided. But the wisest heads among the Royalists during this period were always well aware that the chances of an insurrection succeeding without foreign aid of some sort to promote or initiate it, were minimal. And the consequences in the shape of future repression might be disastrous. Nevertheless, in the absence of any prospect of such aid, King Charles was still persuaded to give his agreement to a rising in mid-February.

  It was typical of the organization that, although the speedy swoop on Wildman and the Levellers persuaded the Sealed Knot that their efforts should be postponed, not every conspirator was informed of the delay. So a pathetic little affray of its own, quickly quashed, took place in the West Country. In spite of these warning shots, the rising itself was scheduled to take place a month later in mid-March. But from the first, in every area save one, it was a fiasco. There were no signs of life at all in Leicestershire and Staffordshire; in the Midlands generally it was only considered necessary to ban football matches and race meetings to preserve the peace. In the North, there might at least have been a chance of something bolder, since considerable underground preparations had been made in Northumberland, Durham and Yorkshire. As it was the Royalist rendezvous at Marston Moor (a location which history should have taught them was not propitious) petered out in arrests, although the King’s agent Rochester at least was able to escape south disguised as a grazier.

  It was only in the West that the rising showed any kind of bite, and that due to the heroic if misguided efforts of the former Royalist soldier who gave the rebellion his name – Colonel John Penruddock, who was in charge of the Wiltshire side of the Western Association. With the King’s emissary from overseas, Sir Joseph Wagstaffe, and his own cousin Edward Penruddock, he did at least show the flag of courage, although the odds were by now so heavily weighted against him, that it would have been a miracle had he succeeded. The Government had lost no time in strengthening their resources, strengthening the Tower garrison, and bringing back troops from Ireland. The London militia had been called up under Skippon. The guard round Whitehall was also stiffened. Ignoring the omens, on the night of 12 March Penruddock and Wagstaffe entered Salisbury, opened up the jails to enlist the prisoners and arrested in their place the two judges and the sheriff. There was some suggestion of hanging them, but in the end it was agreed merely to take the sheriff hostage in his nightclothes. Four hundred men now marched out of Salisbury together.

  This was however the high point of the rising. For now it seemed there were no more glories to be achieved commensurate with the seizure of the night-gowned sheriff. The Marquess of Hertford, who had arranged to join them, failed to arrive. There were hopeful but ultimately useless attempts at raising further troops in Dorset at Blandford and elsewhere. None of this prepared Penruddock’s little band for the arrival of the formidably equipped Desborough, who had been despatched hotly after them by the central Government. Penruddock in desperation had to turn towards Cornwall, traditional home of Royalism. But even here en route, the two major towns of Taunton and Exeter made it clear that they regarded the insurgents merely as unwelcome disturbers of the peace. It was at South Molton beyond Tiverton that a small group under Captain Croke of Colonel Berry’s regiment finally engaged them, with catastrophic results. Although Wagstaffe managed to escape, the rest of the captured force were taken back to Exeter.

  So little a threat had the rising ever constituted, that Cromwell felt himself able to deal with the offenders mercifully by the standards of the time. He even allowed trial by jury, although local juries had an unpleasant habit of acquitting local men. It seems that only thirty-nine men were condemned to death, of whom not more than fifteen died. Penruddock himself was of their number, but he met death as he had lived, bravely; on the Government’s side he was spared the dreadful indignities of being drawn and quartered.

  Cromwell and Thurloe, then, could well feel proud of the way their machine had met its first overt challenge, and Thurloe in particular could congratulate himself on the fact that one of his agents, Colonel John Bampfylde, was deeply integrated into Royalist conspiratorial circles in Paris, from where he had been able to supply much helpful information. Nor was the rapid manner in which five thousand volunteers had been raised for the London militia, and further volunteers in forces round the country including Gloucestershire and Bristol, less encouraging. Describing it all to John Pell, the Protectoral agent in Switzerland, afterwards, Thurloe reflected with satisfaction that Cromwell could have drawn on twenty thousand men within fourteen days, leaving out of account the Army: “So far are they mistaken who dream that the affections of this people are towards the House of Stuart.”51 England in the spring of 1655 appeared to lie in a clamp, and it was difficult indeed to see how the Royalists – or for that matter the Levellers still less the Fifth Monarchists would be able to free it. At the same time, in the past twelve months of the Protectorate it had also enjoyed some measure of “well-regulated liberty” as Milton had admiringly called it in his Second Defence. But Milton had been careful to defend this liberty, distinguishing
it from other more obvious brands, as being the product of special circumstances those troubles through which the nation had passed. That was the problem which now faced Cromwell: not to look back at the briers and thorns that had grown up under his Parliament’s shadow, but to work out some more successful formula for the future. The trouble was that the experience of the briers and thorns seemed to incline him, not towards loosening the-wellregulated liberty, but towards tightening the clamp.

  19 At work in the world

  God has brought us where we are, to consider the work we may do in the world, as well as at home.

  CROMWELL IN 1654 TO THE ARMY COUNCIL