The King's Revenge: Charles II and the Greatest Manhunt in British History

by Jordan, Don

  Penruddock’s wife, Arundel, petitioned Cromwell, asking for clemency for her husband. If he was executed as a traitor all their family wealth would automatically be sequestrated and their seven children would starve. Cromwell had a gentler side when he wished to show it, but on this occasion he was implacable. The stability of the state came before the pleading of a mother for her children.

  The sentence on Penruddock was carried out on 16 May. As befitted a gentleman, he was beheaded. One other conspirator was beheaded and seven men of lesser social standing were hanged. In all, seventy or more rebels were shipped off to the West Indies to work in the sugar plantations.19

  Other rebels were luckier. The Earl of Rochester was arrested in Aylesbury. Demonstrating once more his wonderful ability to escape, he bribed the owner of an inn where he was held in temporary custody, and made his way to Cologne. Wagstaffe also made it out of the country. Dozens of conspirators were captured and condemned to death. Their sentences were commuted to transportation and, like their predecessors, they were ‘Barbadosed’.20

  The Penruddock/Rochester uprising had little chance of succeeding, but it had a great effect upon the manner in which England was governed. The military rule instigated by Desborough in the south-east was rolled out nationwide. Major-generals were appointed in each county to run what was in effect a police state. The activities of all royalist families were severely constricted. There was a precedent for such widespread suppression: the Puritan regime had turned Ireland into an even harsher police state. Just before the Penruddock rising, General Fleetwood, commander-in-chief in Ireland, ordered that any Irish who refused to move to Connaught under a mass migration programme were to be starved by having their crops confiscated. Shortly after this, all Catholics were expelled from Dublin. The dire effects of the Cromwellian colonisation of Ireland in the 1650s require no rehearsal here, for they have been thoroughly examined elsewhere.21

  The clampdown in England extended beyond Cavaliers to affect former friends, too. On a sad day in February 1656, Cromwell ordered his old ally Thomas Harrison to be imprisoned without trial. Along with his fellow Fifth Monarchist John Carew, Harrison had refused to swear he would not take up arms against what they saw as Cromwell’s betrayal of the Commonwealth. Harrison and Carew were imprisoned on the Isle of Wight where they were soon joined by the irrepressible Harry Vane. Vane had published a pamphlet on government entitled A Healing Question, which Secretary of State John Thurloe saw as a veiled attack on Cromwell.22 After Vane refused to refrain from further criticism, he was imprisoned. Under pressures from without and within, the great Puritan experiment in freedom was rapidly turning sour, as Cromwell himself acknowledged with his call for a national day of fasting to consider how the nation might be healed.

  The pressure continued; hard on the heels of the Penruddock uprising, royalists hatched another plot to murder Cromwell. At the heart of the scheme were two former Levellers with royalist money raised from foreign sources. Edward Sexby and Miles Sindercombe shared the belief that if the monarchy was restored, the people would find it so objectionable that they would tear it down and re-establish rule by the Rump Parliament. They were both former soldiers in the New Model Army and had notable histories of opposition to the army grandees. Sindercombe had taken part in the Leveller mutinies in 1649–doomed, small-scale rebellions against what they saw as the hegemony of the army grandees. Sexby had been an army agitator and had been vocal in the army debates in Putney, at which the Levellers tried, and failed, to make their case for universal male enfranchisement. He rose to the rank of colonel but was relieved of his command for allegedly withholding pay from his men. While languishing under an official cloud, he was dispatched on missions to Europe. Was Sexby deliberately disgraced so that he could forge links with royalist elements in Europe as a double agent? We don’t know, but it seems likely. Despite his chequered career, he remained close to Cromwell until the latter became Lord Protector.

  From then on, Sexby involved himself in various secret plans to oust Cromwell and restore the Rump. He developed links with exiled royalists close to Charles, whom he assured of his own royalist leanings. While Charles’s courtiers did not necessarily believe Sexby’s story, they felt they could use him. In turn, when Sexby met Miles Sindercombe in the Netherlands in 1654 or ’55, he felt he had found someone he could use as an assassin. Sindercombe had been cashiered by General Monck, when sub-commander of the parliamentary army in Scotland, for allegedly taking part in a Leveller plot. This made him an unemployed radical with a good knowledge of weapons and a grudge to nurture.

  Sexby realised that all previous attempts at insurrection had failed because they had featured no central action around which the rebellion could coalesce. To ignite rebellion, one single, exceptional act of violence was necessary. Only the murder of Oliver Cromwell would do it. Sexby commissioned Sindercombe to carry out the deed. The two men travelled to London. Once there, Sexby gave Sindercombe free rein to organise the assassination and gave him £1500. Since Charles was broke, this had to be obtained from the coffers of various royalist sympathisers.23 There was also a degree of separation that way. Sexby left Sindercombe to it and headed for Paris.

  Using the alias Mr Fish, Sindercombe hired a house in King Street, just to the north of St James’s Palace. Realising he required more people to help with organisation and the assassination itself, he hired former soldier John Cecil and a dubious character called William Boyes. In an act of inspiration, he took on a member of Cromwell’s life guard, John Toope, who had first-hand knowledge of the Protector’s habits and movements. Sindercombe promised Toope £1500 – his entire funds – to betray Cromwell. In the event, Toope had to settle for £10 up front.

  With Toope’s advice, it was decided to shoot Cromwell as he went by coach to the state opening of Parliament. Sindercombe hired rooms in another house, the yard of which overlooked the entrance to Westminster Abbey. The idea was that a fusillade of shots would be fired over the wall at Cromwell as he left the abbey for Parliament. The plan had the virtue of simplicity.

  Shortly after Sindercombe had hired the King Street house, word leaked out about his plans. One of Thurloe’s agents had information from Brussels that an assassin was renting a house in that location. Thurloe took no action except to ask his agent for more information from his sources. This uncharacteristic lapse might have cost Cromwell his life.

  On the morning of 17 September 1656, Sindercombe, Cecil and Boyes entered the yard, carrying an assortment of weapons. As the appointed marksman, Cecil stood on scaffolding which allowed him a vantage point from which he could see the street and the abbey door. What the conspirators had not appreciated was that crowds of people would be anxious to see the event. The streets quickly filled up and when Cromwell exited the abbey, Cecil could not get a clear shot. The plotters abandoned the plan.

  Undeterred by the farcical attempt at the abbey, Sindercombe decided to try again. Reverting to a plan that had failed two years before, he determined to kill Cromwell en route to Hampton Court. This time, the preparations would be much more elaborate. Mr Fish hired a coach house in a narrow street in Hammersmith, down which Toope had assured Sindercombe the Protector would travel. He was able to supply other vital information – the exact place in the enclosed coach where Cromwell habitually sat.

  Sindercombe believed the key to a successful assassination lay in the use of the most modern weaponry – and plenty of it. At an upstairs window he rigged up a frame to which he attached seven blunderbusses angled down to fire into any passing coach. The blunderbuss was a form of early shotgun, designed to deliver multiple shot. Seven fired simultaneously at short range would have a devastating effect.

  Sindercombe and his gang set up their armoury in the morning and waited – and waited. Cromwell never came. Toope had revealed the plot to Thurloe, who was now keeping his eye unfailingly on events. Cromwell didn’t make the journey.

  After this, a lesser man might have been forgiven for thinking it was
not his destiny to kill the Lord Protector – but not Miles Sindercombe. He made one more attempt. This time, there would be no problems with crowds, no inadequate intelligence on travel arrangements. The Protector was in the habit of riding in Hyde Park. All Sindercombe’s gang had to do was keep close watch and when Cromwell was seen riding into the park, head in after him, shoot him at close range and gallop off. Again, Cecil was to be the marksman. The double-dealing Toope seems not to have been involved. Nothing could go wrong.

  Sindercombe and his fellow conspirators duly spotted Cromwell entering the park. They attached themselves to the fringes of the crowds that always followed the Lord Protector on such occasions. To give themselves a clear escape route, they had previously broken the lock on one of the park gates. Cecil was mounted on a particularly fine horse capable of a speedy getaway. The only trouble was, the horse was so impressive that it attracted Cromwell’s attention. A keen admirer of horseflesh, he called Cecil over to discuss the animal. Completely nonplussed at this turn of events, Cecil trotted over to Cromwell and, instead of producing his pistol and shooting him, made polite conversation until Cromwell continued with his ride. His nerves shattered, Cecil watched as the Lord Protector rode away.

  True to the farcical nature of the enterprise, Sindercombe planned one last extravaganza: he would burn down Whitehall Palace and with it take Cromwell to a fiery grave. On the night of 8 January 1657, Sindercombe planted an incendiary device in the palace chapel with a slow-burning fuse designed to ignite its charge at midnight.

  Thanks to information from Toope, government agents had Sindercombe and his men under surveillance. When they left the chapel after setting up their bomb, they were followed. Other agents then entered the chapel and neutralised the device. Cecil was arrested without a fight, Boyes escaped and Sindercombe stood his ground and tried to fight off his attackers with his sword. He was taken captive only after the end of his nose was cut off, a fitting conclusion to his comedy of errors. Given Sexby’s links to the court of Charles II, there is little doubt that the plot was sanctioned by Charles himself, even though he publicly abhorred all suggestion of assassination as being ungentlemanly.

  Thurloe, honest as always, admitted to Cromwell that he had received early intelligence about Sindercombe but had decided not to act on it. Furious, Cromwell threatened to sack Thurloe, who managed to deflate his ire by pointing out that rumours and false intelligence came in on a regular basis and if he followed up on every one he would have no time left for his main tasks as secretary of state.

  When Thurloe told a packed meeting of Parliament about the full range of Sindercombe’s plotting against Cromwell and the state, one MP named John Ashe suggested Cromwell should become king in order to bring stability. Cromwell did not rise to the bait.

  Miles Sindercombe, ‘alias Fish’, was tried in Westminster Hall in February 1657. He pleaded not guilty to high treason. His reasoning was by now familiar thanks to its use by both sides in the argument – that those in power were not the true authority, and so on. He was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered. But Fish had one last trick to play on the Protectorate. He might not have been the most efficient assassin ever known but he did know a way to cheat his captors out of their prized public execution. On 13 February, Miles Sindercombe committed suicide in his cell in the Tower by drinking poison.

  Ten days later, a Bill deceptively called ‘The Humble Petition and Advice’ was brought before Parliament. This called for Cromwell to take the crown, for the restoration of Parliament’s upper house and for the introduction of a national state Church. The aim was nothing less than to return England to its condition before the Civil Wars. While the Bill was widely supported within conservative Presbyterian circles, it was anathema to all supporters of a Commonwealth and of worship according to individual conscience.

  Among those who drew up the Humble Petition was Lord Broghill, an Irish landowner who counted among his accomplishments the torture and murder of a Catholic bishop in Ireland during the Cromwellian offensive of 1650.* A more attractive supporter was Oliver St John, the Lord Chief Justice, who was a long-standing friend of Cromwell. Like Broghill, he now felt the country could only be brought to peace through the creation of a new establishment that looked and smelt much like the old one.

  For the following weeks, the country was held in suspense. Was a constitutional settlement possible that was agreeable to most parties? While Parliament debated the petition, Cromwell received deputations from independent congregations and sections of the army urging him to reject it at all costs. On the other side, the government mouthpiece, Mercurius Politicus, ran a series of polemics urging the Lord Protector to accept the crown. Towards the end of March, the Commons voted in favour of a single national Church. If that were not controversial enough, the MPs went on to vote by a majority of 132 votes to 62 that Cromwell should be offered the crown. Always cautious, Cromwell replied with ambiguous and reluctant phrases.

  In early May, several leading army officers, including Desborough, Lambert and Fleetwood, told Cromwell they could not support him if he became king. Two days later, Cromwell summoned Parliament to the Banqueting House to inform them of his decision. He must have enjoyed the theatricality of the location, knowing that Parliament would wonder quite what the symbolism represented. Under the great painted ceiling depicting the ascent of James I to heaven, the Lord Protector informed Parliament he would not take the crown.

  A few weeks later, a pamphlet entitled Killing No Murder appeared on the London streets. Its author was given as William Allen and it was aimed squarely at Cromwell, suggesting it would be an honourable act to murder him. The broadside was notable for its sarcastic wit and use of historical references to the murder of tyrants. It was as if the wisdom of Milton had been subverted, deflected away from the House of Stuart and towards the Lord Protector. Mockingly dedicated to ‘his Highness Oliver Cromwell’, the pamphlet set out

  to procure your Highness that justice nobody yet does you and to let the people see the longer they defer it the greater injury they do both themselves and you. To your Highness justly belongs the honour of dying for the people … you will then be that true reformer which you would now be thought: religion shall be restored, liberty asserted and parliaments have those privileges they fought for … all this we hope from your Highness’s happy expiration.24

  Among the candidates for authorship were the ubiquitous Edward Sexby and a Colonel Silius Titus. There were good reasons to attribute authorship to either man. Sexby’s credentials we already know; Titus was a Presbyterian who had changed allegiance from the parliamentary to the royalist cause and harboured strong political ambitions. He had been educated at Christ College and the Inner Temple and was known to have a biting wit (which he was to deploy as an MP following the accession of Charles II).25

  Killing No Murder posed three questions: who appointed Cromwell, was it right to kill a tyrant, and could the death of the tyrant (i.e. Cromwell) benefit the Commonwealth? The author left the first question open – sarcastically pointing out that as tyrants were appointed either by God or the people, it was impossible to say who had appointed Cromwell. The answer to the second and third questions was ‘yes’.

  The Protectorate immediately banned the publication. Three hundred copies were seized in London but it was too late and soon copies circulated on the Continent. Cromwell decided that the author was Edward Sexby. A line addressing the pamphlet ‘To all those officers and soldiers of the army who remember their engagements and dare be honest’ conjured up the younger agitator who had been so active in the army debates in the autumn of 1647.

  Historians generally believe Sexby was the author, though there is a possibility that Titus had some input. Charles II seems to have believed Titus was the author. Titus later openly advertised himself as such. It is worth noting that notoriety as the author of a work promoting political assassination proved no hindrance to Titus’s later career. After Charles ascended to the throne
in 1660, he promoted Titus steadily from gentleman of the bedchamber to Keeper of Deal Castle and Colonel of the Cinque Ports. Charles could not recommend Titus more highly, saying of him, ‘Nobody should make scruple of trusting’ him and that he was ‘very honest and entire to me’.26 The friendship clearly gives us a picture of where Charles really stood on the vexed question of political assassination.

  A month after the publication of Killing No Murder, Cromwell was reconfirmed as Lord Protector, to the fury of his enemies of all colours. He further outraged his adversaries by having the coronation throne dragged from Westminster Abbey and set up in Westminster Hall on the dais upon which the kings of England historically held court. Both royalists and radicals were incensed when he was installed on the throne dressed in regal robes. The only regal accoutrement missing was the crown (which, of course, had been torn apart along with all the other crown jewels, on Cromwell’s orders). Despite the public pomp, the publication of Killing No Murder had rattled Cromwell. He took extra precautions over his travel plans and was rumoured to wear a breastplate under his tunic.

  Although always surrounded by his life guards, the Lord Protector was not impervious to danger. Once, when he was driving a coach and four in a park for recreation, the horses bolted and Cromwell was thrown from the coach. As he hit the ground, a pistol shot was heard. It turned out that Cromwell always carried a pistol in his pocket for his own protection and it was this that had gone off, narrowly missing its owner.

  Sexby was arrested while attempting to sail to France. He was interrogated, confessed and was imprisoned in the Tower, where he died a few weeks later, having gone insane. So ended the life of one of the most intriguing figures of the seventeenth century.

  It seemed as if the era of plots had also come to a conclusion, but there was more to come. The year ended with dispiriting news for the Protectorate, that Charles was negotiating with the Spanish for an invasion fleet, even travelling to join the Spanish high command at Dunkirk. Meanwhile, Hyde informed royalist circles in England that a fleet could be ready by January. Thanks to intercepted letters, Thurloe was prepared and royalist activists were rounded up in a swoop on New Year’s Eve.