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good points of his character, and threw the worst into the shade. The story of his escape has always been popular. Children and grown-up people read it with equal attention. Oak-apple day is still kept up by schoolboys. Rival villages contend for the scenes of different adventures. Scott has made the tale the groundwork of one of his novels; and there is scarcely an historical romance which is not forever alluding to old haunted castles and priests' hiding-places where Charles II., rightly or wrongly, is supposed to have been concealed. His route might to this day be traced by the traditions which may be still gathered at the different places along the road where he stopped. And yet Charles was far from a hero; and the center of every story should have something heroic and ideal in it. Still, even in this tale of his flight, there is many a curious anecdote, many a noble trait exhibited in quarters where it might be least expected. The old gray houses are many of them still standing where Charles hid, the old traditions are still in the mouths of men, and we should like to say something of them before they pass away forever.

We would, however, here protest against the novels we have just been speaking of. Teaching history by such means is not teaching history at all, but only the theories and views which certain writers may choose to adopt. Not even Sir Walter Scott's great name can give credit to the custom. Chatham may learn history from Shakspeare, but not every reader is Chatham, nor every writer Shakspeare. What we want to know is not what certain people who once actually lived and played important parts on this earth, from which we, their descendants, are now reaping the results for good or evil, might or might not do under certain circumstances existing only in the writer's mind, but what they actually did do in the circumstances in which they were placed. The use of history is not to make men sympathize with this or that party, but to make men sympathize with whatever is good and noble in any party. Setting aside the presumption of putting our poor words into the mouths of great men, there must be always a dangerous tendency to darken or to ennoble certain characters for the exigencies of the plot; and in spite of all the beauties of "Woodstock," it is to us a most painful tale,

showing how far a great man like Scott could misrepresent for artistic and other purposes the character of Cromwell. If we must have fiction, let us also have fictitious characters who shall become real to us in proportion as they are truthfully and naturally delineated; for if novelists once become historians, we shall soon have historians novelists.

And now at last for our tale. In the beginning of August, 1651, Charles II. marched from Scotland into England. He seems to have thought that the English would speedily at his presence forget the oppressions of his father and the StarChamber-that they would forget, too, the verse, which they seemed at that moment to know better than any other, which told them "to put not their faith in princes." There was far more of Quixotism than chivalry in the enterprise. Charles had succeeded but indifferently in Scotland, where his strength lay; and he thought to be victorious in England, where he could hardly count upon a man. Manifestoes were published, offering pardon to all the rebels, with the exception of some of the leaders, who would submit, and promising further, "a lasting peace settled with religion and righteousness;" but manifestoes are easily published, and the English just then did not seem to think them necessarily true, even though published by a king. The Scotch army, inferior to Cromwell's in number, made up for their numerical weakness by harsher discipline. Apple-stealing was punished with death; what punishment was allotted to graver offenses we are not told.* At Warrington the first encounter of any importance took place, where Lambert and Harrison had concentrated some 7000 men. The bridge over the river had been partially broken down, but Charles in person, leading his troops over planks hastily thrown from pier to pier, gallantly led the way. Harrison and Lambert retreated, in pursuance of Cromwell's orders. On the 22d the Royalist army reached Worcester, civitas et in bello et in pace semper fidelis, with its walls in ruin, but with a very loyal mayor. The hostile garrison fled, and Charles, abandoning his intention of going on to London from the

ford edition of Lord Clarendon's "State Papers." The object was of course to conciliate the English as much as possible along the road.

"Prisoner's Letter from Chester:" in the Ox

fatigued state of his army, ordered the | the next night, Charles perceiving himself walls to be immediately repaired.* For to be gradually surrounded by a net-work the next two or three days the King oc- of soldiery, determined on a night-attack; cupied himself with royal ceremonies, and his Scotch soldiers occupied themselves with quarreling with an eminent divine of the city, a Mr. Crosby, who, in his ultraloyalism, had unduly exalted the King to the headship of the Church. Meanwhile, the Earl of Derby was defeated in Lancashire by Lilburn, and was forced to seek refuge at Boscobel House, on the borders of Shropshire and Staffordshire; from whence, having recovered from his wounds, he joined the King at Worcester. On the 26th, Charles held a review of his forces on the Pitchcroft, a large meadow on the banks of the Severn; and on the same day, in London, the Lord Mayor publicly burnt by the hands of the common hangman Charles's manifesto, and in its place issued another, wherein Charles Stuart is ominously spoken of as a traitor and a public enemy. Cromwell, too, was now fast approaching. The county militias had, on his way, all flocked round his standard, and on the 28th he was with some thirty thousand men before Worcester, taking up his position at Perry Wood and Red Hill, eminences commanding the city on the east side and nearly opposite to the Royal Fort. On the same day Lambert had forced the passage of the Severn, at Upton, some little way below Worcester, his men "straddling across the parapet" of the nearly broken-down bridge, and maintaining themselves in the tower of Upton Church against Massey, who, being wounded, retreated across the Trent by Powick bridge into Worcester. Affairs now looked hopeless for the Royalists. But Englishmen, Royalists or Puritans, are not in the habit of despairing: so on

* One of the original orders is still in the possession of Mr. Page, of Salwarpe, near Droitwich, and runs as follows:

"CHARLES R.

"You are hereby required to send out of your parish thirty able men, to work at the fortifications of this city, and in regarde of the necessity to beginne to-morrow morning. (Monday, at five o'clock,) whereof you and they are not to faile, as you tend our displeasure. Given at our Court at Worcester, the 24th of August, 1651.

"To the constables and tything men of Salwarpe. "And you are to bring with you spades, shovels, and pickaxes."

The postscript proves with what haste the order was given.

and some 1200 to 1500 men, under Gene-
ral Middleton, wearing their shirts over
their armor to recognize each other in the
darkness, attacked Cromwell's head-
quarters at Red Hill. But a Puritan in
the city, one Guise, a tailor, had given in-
formation of the project, and the Royalists
were defeated with loss. Poor Guise
suffered the next day for his information.
He saved his friends' lives, but lost his
own. The Republicans, however, did not
forget his services: Parliament soon after-
wards voted his widow £200 in money,
and an annuity of £200. During the next
three or four days Cromwell poured in
strong_reinforcements to Powick, on the
river Teme, which, together with the
Severn, separated his troops on the west
side from the city, and was now guarded
by the Royalist Montgomery. The third
of September saw Charles on the Cathe-
dral tower, watching the movements of
the enemy. The Lord General had de-
tached a thousand men to cross the Se-
vern by means of pontoons, at a place
called Bunshill, a little above its junction
with the Teme, with a view to outflank
Montgomery, whose force was now being
attacked at Powick bridge. Charles has
tened to the scene of action. But, simul-
taneously with this movement
on the
western side, the Fort Royal on the east
of the city was attacked. Charles re-
turned to head-quarters, leaving Major
Pitscottie, with three hundred Highland-
ers, to oppose the one thousand men at
Bunshill. The battle soon became general.
Cromwell led on his men in person. In
vain Pitscottie and his gallant three hun-
dred offered resistance.
As soon as
Cromwell was over, he laid a bridge across
the Teme, close to its junction with the
Severn, over which Fleetwood's right
detachment passed, whilst his left marched
on to Powick bridge to help in the en-
gagement against Montgomery. The
bridge was fiercely contested. Cromwell's
men there now seeing that assistance was
coming up, and that Montgomery would
be cut off in the rear, plunged boldly into
the river. Montgomery, his ammunition
being exhausted, was forced to retreat,
bravely fighting, though, at every hedge
and ditch, till driven across the Severn
bridge into Worcester.

So much for the battle on the western

side of the city. As soon as the Protec- | streets hat in hand, begging them to stand tor saw that his troops would be victori- by him and fight like men; in vain did he ous, he hastily returned by his bridge implore them. At last, seeing all hope across the Severn to Red Hill, and re- gone, all courage lost, he cried out: "I doubled the attack on the Royal Fort. had rather that you would shoot me, than Charles now marched out of his entrench- keep me alive to see the sad consequences ments, leading on his Highlanders and of this fatal day." And now Cromwell's best infantry, supported by his English men were pouring into the city on all Cavaliers. Desperate was the struggle. sides. General Dalzell's brigade in St. The Puritans gave way, leaving their John's on the west side of the town, cannon; but they gave way only to come threw down their arms. Lord Rothes back stronger, as a wave retires to the ocean and Sir William Hamilton gallantly defor fresh strength. Charles's men fought fended the Castle Hill until fair terms of with all the valor of despair; their ammu- surrender could be obtained. Some of the nition was gone, but they still fought on English Cavaliers made a desperate resist with the butt-ends of their muskets. Now ance in the Town Hall until they were was the time for Lesley to charge with his all cut to pieces or made prisoners; whilst cavalry; but he hung back. The Royal- Lord Cleveland, Major Carlis, and others, ists at last broke. Cromwell seized the rallied a handful of men and charged the guns in the Royal Fort, and played them enemy, "filling the streets with the bodies upon the fugitives. Through Sidbury of horses and men," and thus securing the they fled in confusion into the town. An King's retreat. By six in the evening ammunition-wagon was overturned in the Charles had fled through St. Martin's gateway, and the King was forced to Gate; once more at Barbon's bridge, leap off his horse and hurry into the town just out of the town, he tried to rally his on foot, his pursuers close upon him.* men; but it was to no purpose. Behind Charles's men now began to throw away him now lay Worcester, with its houses their arms. In vain did Charles, having pillaged and its citizens slain for his sake, mounted again, ride up and down the and he forced to fly for life. Well might he say: "I had rather that you would shoot me, than keep me alive to see the sad consequences of this fatal day." Sad indeed they were; his poor Scotch soldiers, betrayed by their accent, wandered about the country starving, until at last mercifully knocked on the head by the peasantry. So ended the battle of Worcester, "as stiff a contest for four or five hours as ever I have seen," as Cromwell wrote.

*This is the version in "Boscobel," which proceeds to say, that in "Friar's street his majesty put off his armor, and took a fresh horse." Now in that copy of the old edition of 1662, which we have before alluded to, there is written, in the handwriting of the 17th century, against the words, "given to ye king by Mr. Bagnal," which is curiously corroborated by Nash, who at the same time, however, gives a rather different version of the ammunition story: "The king would certainly have been taken by Cromwell's cavalry, who were close at his heels, had not one of the inhabitants drawn a great load of hay into Sidbury Gate, which blocked up the entrance, so that the horse could not enter. The King, who was a very small distance before his enemics,

dismounted, and crept under the hay into the town; as soon as he was entered the city, a cry was made to mount the King; when Mr. William Bagnal, a loyal gentleman who then lived in Sidbury, turned out his horse ready saddled, upon which his Majesty fled through St. Martin's Gate, and so to Boscobel. To a son of this Mr. William Bagnal, Dr. Thomas, when Dean of Worcester, of which diocese he was afterwards bishop, married his eldest daughter; and from his papers this anecdote is transcribed."-Collections, for the city of Worcester, made by Mr, Habingdon in the Appendix to Nash's "Worcestershire," second edition, 1799, vol. ii. p. 106. See also pp. 323, 324, where Nash states that Bagnal never received either his horse or saddle, or any recompense for them. We have followed the author

of "Boscobel," as he is supported by Bates in his "Account of the Rise and Progress of the late Troubles in England."

VOL. XLIV.-NO. IV.

Charles's expedition could have but one result: and that which took place was the quickest and the best. Had Lesley or Dalzell fought that day as they should, the issue must still have been the same with increased misery a few days later. For it was impossible that a boy like Charles with a handful of men, their ammunition ill supplied, could withstand a veteran like Cromwell, with England at his back.

of Charles's men will ever command reThe bravery and devotedness spect, and shed a lustre round a worthless cause.

And now at this day at Worcester, many of the places connected with the battle are still in existence. Perry Wood still stands, and the entrenchments are still visible, and the peasant will show you

30

bodies of the enemy were quartered, Through its silent streets they went with all secresy, stopping at a lonely roadside house out of the town for refreshment: and just when daylight was dawning they found themselves at White-Ladies, a seat of the Giffard family. The King's horse,

as a balance against all the royal oaks a tree where the devil is said to have appeared to Cromwell. The railway now runs along where the hottest engagement took place. Sidbury and St. Martin's Gates have disappeared, and large lime trees are growing on the site of the Royal Fort; but the Commandery is still stand-by way of precaution, was stabled in the ing, and the rooms may be seen where Charles slept and the Duke of Hamilton died. Powick old bridge still stands, crooked and narrow, spanning with its massive arches and abutments the streams of the Teme and Langhern, and was admirably calculated by its position for defense. A brass cannon is preserved in the Town Hall, presented to Charles by the Count de Berg, thus refuting the statement in the prisoner's letter from Chester that the Royalists were only supplied with sixteen leathern guns. A curious item too is met with in the corporation annals with reference to the poor Scotch soldiers-"Paid for pitch and rosen to p'fume the hall after the Scots, 28."*

All along the Kidderminster road that September night was hurry and confusion; the King knew not whither to fly. London was proposed, but no one except Lord Wilmot fell in with this plan. Scotland was next thought of, and the royal party, separating themselves from the main body, turned northwards. Darkness overtook them, and at Kimer Heath, near Kidderminster, they lost their way. In this dismal plight Lord Derby remembered Boscobel House. So on their perilous journey they again went. Stourbridge must be passed through where

very hall. No time could be lost. Mr. Giffard sent for Richard and William Penderel, who with their other brothers, were tenants on his estate, and to them committed the King. Blue ribbon, and George of diamonds, and garter, and princely ornaments had to be flung away. The King's long black hair was cut country fashion. His hands and face smeared over with soot. He had to exchange his own clothes for a coarse noggen shirt, a common countryman's green and greasy suit, and leathern doublet. Whilst they are busy disguising him, news is brought that the enemy is close at hand. The King is hurried through a secret door, and hid in Spring Coppice. Into the thickest part of it do they plunge. Morning has broken, and the rain is pouring heavily on the royal fugitive as he sits shivering at the foot of a tree. All his friends, with the exception of Wilmot, who remains in the neighborhood under the protection of John Penderel, have now left him, not even daring to know where he is hid, for fear that under coërcion they might betray the secret. They attempt to rejoin Lesley's horse, which is as useless in retreat as it was in battle, and is soon cut to pieces. Lord Derby, with many others, is taken prisoner. The Duke of Buckingham, Lord Leviston, with a few more, contrive to escape. Richard Penderel manages to procure a blanket for the King, and his sister-in-law,

* It seems to be a trait with the English people, especially with the commonalty, to adhere staunchlythe good wife Yates, brings a mess of through good and ill to their favorites, and as an example of this we may notice with what affection Worcester has ever held to the Stewarts, in spite of all their black ingratitude. To this day is the custom of placing oak-boughs, on the 29th of May.

over the doorways still kept up in Worcester, and it is still there popularly believed that a figure over the entrance of the Guildhall of a man's head, with his ears nailed back, represents Cromwell in pillory, whilst the two Charleses stand comfortably below in their royal robes. Mr. Noake in his "Notes and Queries for Worcestershire" gives a portion of an old song bearing on this point, which may still be heard among the lower orders:

"The Worcester people being hurt full sore, sir, Nailed Cromwell's head by the ears above the Town-hall door, sir.

Chorus. Heigho, what will they do?

milk, and some butter and eggs," declaring with true womanly affection, "that she would rather die than discover him." A poor court this wet wood for a King; and yet these poor people were sincerer courtiers than ever Charles had before known.*

In the dusk of the evening Charles and

The peasantry to this day, along the road from Worcester to White-Ladies Hill, still point out with more or less truth the places where the king halted; and at Wolverley, in the dell upon which Lea Castle stands, the spot is still shown where the king crossed. -See Mr. Noake's "Notes and Queries for Worces

They're always finding something new." tershire," p. 325.

his guide stole out of the wood with the intention of making for Wales. At his guide's house Charles was again disguised, and assumed the name of Will Jones: kings even in our times have been reduced to such necessities. They then started for Madeley, on the banks of the Severn. On their road there, an incident befell them, which we give in the words of the author of "Boscobel:"

Richard Penderel knew it not, and had then in his

"Before his Majesty came to Madeley he met with an ill-favored encounter at Evelin Mill, being about two miles from thence. The miller, it seems, was an honest man, but his Majesty and house some considerable persons of his Majesty's army, who took shelter there in their flight from Worcester, and had not been long in the mill, so that the miller was upon his watch; and Richard unhappily permitting a gate to clap through which they passed, gave occasion to the miller to come out and boldly ask: Who is there?' Richard, thinking the miller had pursued them, quitted the usual way in some haste, and led his Majesty over a little brook, which they were forced to wade through, and which contributed much towards the galling of his Majesty's feet, who, as he afterward pleasantly observed, was here in some danger of losing his guide, but that the rustling of Richard's calves'-skin breeches was the best direction his Majesty had to follow him in that dark night."-Pp. 225, 226.

Madeley, the seat of Mr. Wolfe, is reached safely about midnight, and the tired King, for better safety than in the house, passes the night and the whole of the next day in a hay-loft, for the Welsh expedition had to be given up, as the enemy had posts on the Severn, which it was found impossible to evade; and a little before evening the King and his guide beat their retreat to Boscobel, Charles's hands and face having been previously stained with walnut leaves by Mrs. Wolfe. To avoid their friend, the miller, they were forced to wade the stream, Charles plunging in first, being a swimmer, and helping his guide over. About five in the morning they reached Boscobelwood, where the King found Major Carlis, who led the forlorn hope at Worcester, and who, as the author of "Boscobel" quaintly says, "had seen not the last man born, but the last man killed at Worcester." The King and the Major climbed up into a thick pollard oak, or, in the language of the country people of the present day, a dorrel tree." Through its thick, close branches and its yellow

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autumn leaves they could peep and see the red coats of their enemies passing close under them, peering into every cor ner of the wood. Evening at last rescued them: and now

"When all the paths were dim, And far below the Roundhead rode, And hummed a surly hymn,"

they returned to Boscobel House, where William Penderel lived, and where his good wife, Joan, provided the King with a supper of chickens. At supper a coun cil is held as to the next day's provisions, and Major Carlis proposes a campaign against a neighboring sheep-fold, which he successfully performs the next morning, killing a sheep with his dagger, and Wil liam Penderel bearing it home in triumph; an exploit which reminds us of some of the scenes which Charles Edward must have witnessed in the Cave of Corado, The next day, which was Sunday, the King appears to have spent partly engag ed in cooking mutton chops, and in his own private devotions.

We must now return to Lord Wilmot's proceedings; the reader will remember that he still remained in the vicinity. He had found refuge at Moseley Hall, the seat of Mr. Whitgreaves, only eight miles from Boscobel, and from thence had gone on to Bentley Hall, at Colonel Lane's invitation. Communication is opened by the means of John Penderel between him and the King, and it is determined that Charles, on this Sunday evening, shall join him; so bidding Carlis farewell, who afterwards escaped to France, the King mounted on Humphrey Penderel's millhorse, set out for Moseley Hall, with the five brothers for an escort. The King complained of his steed's action, and we must not forget the reply: "Can you blame the horse, my liege, to go heavily when he has the weight of three kingdoms on his back?" Cheered up by the honest miller's joke, they reach Moseley in safety through the rain and darkness. And here we take leave of the Penderels; they were a right loyal brotherhood, whom neither threats nor bribes could prevail to betray their King. It is the faithfulness and devotedness of such true men that gives the real interest to our story, and proves how good human nature ever is, and what noble, faithful hearts are beating beneath coarse vests. Refreshment is brought to Charles, who stands

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