The Soldier, the Gaoler, the Spy and her Lover

by Simon Parke

  ‘So what restraints appeared?’

  ‘No restraints, as far as I know; and all these matters were punctually observed, believe me.’

  Why did he have to answer to her, anyway? Firebrace did wonder. She was the king’s whore, not his queen.

  ‘Yet the king is still here on the island.’

  ‘Because his majesty informed me that his condition was one of great melancholy.’

  ‘Great melancholy?’ said Jane with dismay. This was no reason for delay.

  ‘Some persons near to him, so it transpired, had refused to serve him in his escape.’

  ‘What persons?’

  Why had Sir William not allowed her to stay in Newport and arrange these things herself? Was Sir William himself to blame? There was blame to be laid somewhere.

  ‘And so he let go of the plan,’ said Firebrace.

  ‘Let go of it?’

  ‘He quite let go of it and gave the order to discharge the barque and horses that awaited him . . . which, with much sadness, I did.’

  ‘Thank you. You can go.’

  ‘This is my home.’

  ‘Yes – of course, I’m sorry.’ She was beside herself.

  ‘I did all I could, Mrs Whorwood. I have not withheld any part of myself in these endeavours.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  She felt a malady overwhelming her. She saw everything of value washed away in a flood, and felt rage at the rising waters and the fools who had let them rise: those around the king who had let him down, betraying him in his needy hour, like Christ in Gethsemane.

  *

  The army council were struggling. They sat round a table at Windsor and drafted an order for the reimprisonment of the king at Carisbrooke; but they did so with Hammond on their mind. How would he receive the order? Was the former soldier still their friend?

  It was a question much debated in the requisitioned manor house where they met, watched by a dog who seemed surprised to see them.

  ‘I believe we can trust Major Rolphe to do the right thing,’ said Ireton to the council. ‘But can we trust Hammond in like manner?’ Silence followed, though everyone had a view. ‘He is much entertained by his paintings, I discover. And presently imagines parliament his master.’

  Rolphe was solid in the army’s cause. A shoemaker from Blackfriars, he was reckoned to have at least thirty more shoemakers in his company – so a troop well prepared for a march. And all of them Independents, aware that agreement between parliament and the king, should it occur, would make their manner of believing a crime.

  So here was a loyalty Ireton could trust. ‘Certainly Rolphe is no lover of parliament!’ he said confidently. ‘We have a friend there, a true-hearted Englishman.’

  The irony was not lost on some in the room, for while Ireton warmly commended Rolphe on this occasion, in last year’s Putney debates he had savaged the poor man, when Rolphe had argued for an extension of the franchise. Ireton’s response then had been to name him an ‘idiot destroyer of the nation’s fabric’.

  ‘When you need a man, you warm to him. Is that not so, Henry?’

  *

  The delicate mission of speaking with Hammond was given to Colonel Isaac Ewer.

  Ewer was the army commander in Portsmouth, and formerly butler to the Barringtons at Swainston, a house not more than three miles from Carisbrooke. So in a manner he was going home . . . but not as he once was. He had left as a servant, but returned now as a colonel. He would be opening doors for no one; the castle would be opening its doors to him.

  ‘You are to deliver two letters to Colonel Hammond,’ said the army council in their instructions to Ewer. ‘One – sealed – from General Fairfax. The other – unsealed – written by Henry Ireton. This second letter will be shown to Hammond first. It contains full and adequate explanation as to why his duty in this matter lies with the army rather than with parliament.’

  This was quite plain to Colonel Ewer.

  ‘You are to watch the governor closely as he reads,’ continued the letter. ‘If you discern in his face an attitude of agreement and acceptance, then you are to hand over to him a full set of orders from the army council, and instruct him to remain at his post.’

  Hammond would surely agree?

  ‘If, however, his spirit remains hardened against these arrangements, then you are to escort him, with any force necessary, to army headquarters here in Windsor and consult with Major Rolphe, who shall take charge of the castle. You may speak with any honest officers as you find to be faithful and secret.’

  Colonel Isaac Ewer hoped that Hammond would be in agreement with the army’s wishes, for a further delicacy to his mission existed. Ewer had been a lieutenant-colonel in Hammond’s infantry regiment; Hammond had been his commander. But since Hammond’s posting to Carisbrooke, Ewer had gained both promotion and influence at army headquarters and returned now as one who outranked his former commander; the subordinate had become master. How would Hammond handle this new scenery?

  Ewer’s mission was delicate indeed.

  *

  Hammond was furious.

  Presented with due humility by Ewer, the island governor held Ireton’s proposals in a quivering hand.

  He’d greeted him warmly enough, for they’d been close in battle and no camaraderie equals this. Yet a distance fast formed between them, all the starker for the closeness once known. They sat with Major Rolphe, impassive throughout, as Hammond’s discomfort grew.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, wishing to be clear, ‘you ask me to lock the king away again? Is that really your meaning?’

  ‘That is the army’s meaning,’ said Ewer. ‘And therefore ours.’

  Hammond stood up, amazed; he could not stay seated.

  ‘You ask me to return him to his hutch here at Carisbrooke, with guards all around?’

  ‘We ask that you obey your commander, General Fairfax, yes.’

  ‘And this is the command of Fairfax, is it? There’s nothing of Ireton here?’

  He spoke with a sceptical tone, but for Ewer this was a straightforward affair.

  ‘Our general is Fairfax, the both of us.’

  ‘But how, in all conscience, can I do this, Ewer – while parliament and king treaty together?’

  ‘They have no authority to treaty together.’

  ‘No authority? They are the rulers of this land!’

  ‘They were so – and look where that rule has brought us. Distrust seeps through this nation like blood in a bandage. You will remember that.’

  ‘But they’ve extended the conversation for another week in hope of success. There is optimism that an agreement may be found. And I am to deny them that week? Am I, at your bidding, to deny our nation that week?’

  ‘You are asked to intrude upon a treaty that spells ruin for the honest and the faithful of this land. Our public differences, disturbances, miseries and wars are caused by a single fellow; and this fellow must now be caged and brought to justice.’

  ‘And that is so easily done?’

  ‘A good regiment behind you makes many things easy, Colonel. We were soldiers together, we understand these things.’

  ‘No,’ said Hammond quietly.

  ‘No?’

  ‘I say no to this scheme – and I will not alter in this.’ He could not proceed in this affair, he was quite certain. ‘To reach the place that you desire, a dark place, you must first climb over my conscience, for I serve parliament in this matter and will wait to hear from them. When they instruct me in this manner, then I will follow.’

  Ewer stared at him with indifference: a comrade who had deserted; and the conversation done.

  *

  The king lay on his bed, though not at peace. He was listening to night-time gunfire across the street from Sir William’s house – a troubling lullaby.

  He had no
t bothered to undress, being in poor spirits, unable to eat the pickled oysters. And when sleep came, it brought only nightmare. He dreamed ‘of certain and terrible visions and that a party of armed men had conspired together to bereave me of my life’. He asked who fired the guns.

  ‘They are musketeers sent by Hammond,’ said Firebrace, who had been cleaning his fireplace.

  Hammond? A man who could no longer be trusted, it seemed; though really, he never could be, always a parliament lackey.

  ‘And the cause?’

  ‘Some faithful subjects, sire – faithful to yourself – have been told to leave the island, and they take offence at the idea.’ Charles nodded. ‘They took an oath, sire, “to live and die together, in prosecuting their design: to null and obstruct the army’s power and to sacrifice their lives for the preservation of his majesty’s royal person from the hands and protection of disloyal subjects”.’

  ‘They act well. No surrender.’

  ‘Loyal subjects do not surrender, your majesty. They have no care for themselves.’

  Hammond had soon discovered the house where the ringleaders met and sent in musketeers, which was when the shooting began . . . and then the groans; the groans of war, and the dead carried away. The king at the window counted only five of Hammond’s men dead, which somehow didn’t seem enough.

  Unfortunately, a small fire had then started in the house of the plotters – it was not a castle, after all, nor built for the rough ways of gunshot. The troops took advantage, forced their way into the building and dragged out the bloodied survivors, who were still blessing his majesty. A most moving scene . . .

  But the next day, parliament’s commissioners left the island. The talking was over.

  *

  Hammond also left the island that morning, though not with the commissioners.

  He set off by himself, along rough Dorset roads, and much stirred by recent developments. Since Ewer’s arrival, quite appalling enough, he’d received a letter from Fairfax, which ordered him to present himself at Windsor. It also informed him – and this particularly grated – that Colonel Ewer would guard the king during Hammond’s absence. He was to be secured in Carisbrooke Castle until parliament gave their answer to the army’s demands.

  Hammond left reluctantly, but felt honour-bound to obey his commander-in-chief. His wife, Lady Fairfax, had a mind of her own – a rather shrill lady by all accounts – but Hammond warmed to his general and rode now in obedience beneath a grey November sky. He’d made his feelings plain before leaving, however. He’d announced his intention of opposing Ewer by force, if necessary, and left the king in the charge of Major Rolphe rather than Ewer – with injunctions to resist any attempt to remove Charles from the island.

  Whether he could trust the shoemaker Rolphe remained to be seen; but he could trust him more than the upstart Ewer, the former butler who had risen way above his station. It was time Hammond’s voice was heard, and so he journeyed into a cold north wind towards Windsor.

  *

  The day was kept as a fast at the king’s residence, which meant no meat (apart from fish) and fewer courses. And on this holy day, the king listened to Dr Ferne preach on Habakkuk 2.3: ‘Though it tarry, wait for it, because it will surely come, it will not tarry.’

  Whether this was good news for the king was not clear; it could be heard variously, as the rain began to spatter against the window. And later, as darkness fell, he sat down to write to his son Charles, who he had not seen for three years. He wondered how things were with him: a distracted boy when young, a sensual lip, the ladies said . . . but not without courage. ‘The corn is now in the ground,’ he wrote. ‘We expect the harvest. If the fruit be peace, we hope the God of peace will in time reduce all to truth and order again.’

  His son was hardly a spiritual boy – but perhaps he could be made so? There was a loud knock on the door; it was Firebrace. Charles lowered his quill, unhappy at the disturbance, as the visitor spilt his fears.

  ‘God almighty preserve your majesty, for I fear some ferocious attempt on your person!’

  Calming him as best he could, Charles discovered his reasons. Firebrace had seen soldiers carrying pistols, loitering outside his quarters, and feared abduction.

  ‘There is yet a door of hope open, your majesty,’ said Firebrace. ‘The night is dark and I can now safely bring you into the street and conduct you to your old friend Mr John Newland, who has a good boat ready – and a good heart to serve you.’

  ‘Mr Newland again?’

  ‘You can commit yourself to the mercy of the sea, where God will preserve your majesty.’

  ‘I’m not sure a winter sea knows mercy, Firebrace.’

  ‘Kinder than those villains,’ he jerked with his thumb towards the street. ‘I fear this night they will murder you.’

  Charles explained that even if there was danger, he could not escape, as he had given his parole and must be true to his word, though Firebrace observed that his word had not stopped him planning escape before. Charles did not respond. He was listening, becoming aware of horses, the night movement of troops and cavalry. The king had received intimations of this: that tonight, a considerable army was arriving on the island, fresh troops appearing under darkness, which suggested some extraordinary design afoot.

  ‘It must be a sizeable plan, that such a body of men is so privately landed with the wind howling and the rain falling fast.’

  ‘And not a good plan, your majesty.’

  The footsteps outside the door ceased. No longer were the soldiers passing, they were staying. Sentries had been placed outside the king’s front door. There was a knock and Firebrace cautiously opened the door. It was Captain Edmund Cooke, and they were glad to see him. He was formerly of Hammond’s regiment and now a messenger. He’d been sent by the king to Carisbrooke Castle to enquire after his present safety, and he now reported back, wet from his travels and drying by the king’s fire. He had scattered the guards a little and now felt duty stirring.

  ‘Suppose, sire, I should not only tell you that the army may very suddenly seize you – Major Rolphe merely says “not tonight” – but that horses await you and a boat at Cowes!’

  He was excited by the thought, as was Firebrace.

  ‘Then we are set!’ said Firebrace, new plans forming. ‘And how might we leave?’

  Cooke said he had the password and saw no difficulty in his proposed scheme: to smuggle the king from this place. He asked the king concerning his resolve in this matter.

  Silence.

  ‘Your majesty?’

  The king sat on the edge of his bed, head bowed.

  ‘They have promised me and I have promised them,’ he said. ‘I will not break first.’

  ‘I fear it will not be long,’ said Cooke, hope draining from his face.

  ‘What troubles you, Captain?’ said the king. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘Your face is not well.’

  ‘Not well when I consider the greatness of your majesty’s danger, and your unwillingness to avoid it.’

  ‘Let me make us some food,’ said Firebrace, who was at his wit’s end.

  ‘Food is the talk of defeat,’ said the captain, ‘the refuge of the prisoner.’

  ‘And that is what I am, Cooke. I am the royal prisoner.’ Spoken quietly. ‘There is no boat for me now; we will rest.’

  Firebrace and Cooke withdrew to their quarters and the king lay down once again. He had slept in more comfortable beds and wished for Jane beside him, that they might swive one last time. Henrietta would understand entirely, with only a little complaint. He removed his cravat but then stopped. He would remain dressed . . . but seek rest before the morning light and all it might expose.

  *

  ‘Are you Colonel Robert Hammond?’ called out the horseman, approaching him.

  Hammond was nearing
Richmond and had first taken the speaker for a rascal, drawing his sword as he rode. He felt angry and fearless; the one made him the other.

  ‘Who asks?’ he said.

  ‘I bring a message from the House of Lords, sir – sent this day and with much urgency.’

  ‘The House of Lords?’ His tone changed.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And what is that message?’

  ‘You are not to leave your post, sir.’

  ‘But I have already left my post! Do I appear to be sitting in a castle?’

  The messenger paused for a moment. ‘Then you are to return to your post, sir. This is the wish of parliament.’

  ‘And you have authority?’ He did not wish for another Dr Weals.

  ‘I have here the instructions, passed on under seal.’

  The courier reached into his bag and withdrew some parchment. Hammond took it, broke the seal and read. It was clear that he must return to Carisbrooke; he was a man under orders and here was a higher call than Fairfax. He was a parliamentarian and these were the commands of the House of Lords, the highest court in the land. He would return to Carisbrooke and deal with Ewer.

  ‘I thank you, sir – and you can tell your masters that I gladly obey. I will return to Carisbrooke to protect the king from all who might do him harm.’

  And then a sound, a sound he knew – horsemen, approaching from behind, the sound of cavalry that had once scared the royalists, and now scared Hammond. He looked about to see Ewer and twenty of his troops.

  ‘Get out of my way, Ewer,’ he said.

  ‘That is not possible, sir.’

  ‘I must return to Carisbrooke, as ordered by the House of Lords.’

  ‘There are no lords now, Colonel Hammond, just the Commons . . . the common people.’

  ‘The common people? Are you a Leveller now, Ewer?’

  ‘And you will accompany me to Windsor.’

  ‘I go to Carisbrooke.’

  ‘Windsor, sir.’

  ‘And if I do not?’

  ‘You will accompany me to Windsor, sir. This is how it shall be.’

  And the fire in his belly died, for Hammond was quite without choice; and in a short while, he was riding with Ewer and his troops, away from Carisbrooke and his command, never to return to the island or his custody of the king. It had been a strange care, and he remembered the date of its starting, 13 November 1647 . . . and the day of its ending, this day of 29 November 1648.