"He that would old England winFirst with Ireland must begin."
"He that would old England winFirst with Ireland must begin."
"He that would old England winFirst with Ireland must begin."
The action which the Commons took at this crisis gives us a startling peep beneath the boards where the wire-pullers sat. Joint-committees were sent out to the various provinces, consisting each of two delegates, one nominated by the Commons and one by the Syndicate which was working the Irish concession. Reynolds and Goodwin were the two appointed for Dublin. On their arrival they were at once, without a shadow of right, admitted to the Council, and set to work to put Lisle at the head of the army instead of Ormonde, and oust from the governorship of Dublin the man who had supplanted the parliamentary candidate. They even tried to commit the army to an oath of fealty to Parliament, but £20,000 was all the money they had brought to satisfy arrears, and it was not enough to allay the distrust of the soldiers.
As the winter advanced the distress and discontent of the troops increased. Their clothes were in rags, many had not even boots to their feet, and proper food could hardly be obtained. They cried aloud for their pay, and the delegates saw a new device must be tried to silence the dangerous clamour. In testimony of the goodwill of the Parliament, they offered all such as should be willing to accept it a grant of rebel land in satisfaction of arrears. The idea was extremely ingenious and nearly succeeded. Monk was far too dull a man to see through it, and he at once subscribed the agreement. But there were many to point out what it meant. It was soon seen to be a mere device to commit the army to the cause of the Parliament, and those who had so hastilysigned insisted on withdrawing, for ruin stared them in the face. Ormonde had received instructions from the King to negotiate a pacification with the Irish rebels. In him the army saw their only chance of redress, and in spite of all the delegates could do they set out their grievances in a loyal address and sent it to the King.
By the end of January, 1643, Ormonde, strengthened by a new commission from Oxford, was able to exclude Reynolds and Goodwin from the Council, and after a few weeks spent in undisguised attempts to suborn the troops, they sailed for England, just in time to escape arrest on the royal warrant.
The cavalier had triumphed; but until he had carried out his instructions to come to terms with the rebels his victory was useless to the royal cause. The negotiations went on but slowly. The Anglo-Irish lords of the Pale were anxious for peace, but the Lords Justices were careful to obstruct Ormonde's diplomacy by forcing him into military operations. Their policy deferred the cessation, but only to make it more inevitable. Each expedition left the Government more exhausted. The scanty resources that remained were only the more rapidly consumed, and, though with the singleness of purpose that had marked his conduct throughout, Monk strained every nerve to do his duty, no real impression was made upon the rebels.
Very shortly after Ormonde's victory at Ross, Preston was threatening Ballinakill, twenty miles north of Kilkenny, and the garrison was only saved for the time by Monk dashing out of Dublin with half a regiment and four troops. Close to the town he met a large number of rebels, put them to flight, relieved the garrison,and returned safe to Dublin. Still food grew scarcer. Preston knew his game was a waiting one, and avoided an engagement. As time went on the English army could hardly be kept together. The troops were scattered about, working on lands by which the chief officers were pacified. Desertions in all ranks took place wholesale. Negotiations for peace were revived, and the military situation was in complete stagnation.
It was about this time that Monk heard of his father's death, and probably in consequence of this he asked and obtained leave from Ormonde to go home. There was an annuity of £100 a year to look after, which was left him by Sir Thomas's will, but the matter had to wait. In June Preston and O'Neill, the leader of the native Irish party, had advanced almost within touch of each other into King's County and West Meath. Ormonde, hoping to bring them to their knees, determined once more to try and force them to an action. A strong force of two thousand foot and three hundred and fifty horse was prepared and Monk called on to take the command. On the strength of his leave he refused, and all the pressure which the Lords Justices could bring to bear on him was of no avail. Sir John Temple, the father of Sir William, was the man who at last induced him to consent, and he marched. Under the nose of Preston, with less than a third of his numbers, he succeeded in relieving the important garrison of Castle-Jordan, but want of provisions rendered a forward movement impossible, and he was compelled to retreat without coming to an engagement.
On all sides the rebels were closing in. Ormonde learnt that Lord Inchiquin in Munster was in as desperate aposition as himself. Still he would not grant the rebels their terms, and Monk, in spite of all his grievances, stood by him with obstinate devotion. No more was heard of his leave, and all through those terrible weeks of danger and privation he held on to encourage the troops with his presence. In the autumn he was operating successfully in Wicklow, and occupying positions there to hold Lord Castlehaven and General Preston in check till the harvest was secured. But from the north O'Neill was advancing, and Monk was recalled to reinforce Lord Moore, who was opposing the Ulster Nationalists. Once more every effort was paralysed by the commissariat. Moore was killed, and Monk had to retire to Dublin to find all he had gained in Wicklow was lost.
Further resistance was hopeless. The army was at starvation point. Preston was raiding within two miles of Dublin gates, and north and south O'Neill and Castlehaven held in irresistible force the whole of the country on which the English relied for supplies. To add to Ormonde's embarrassments, ever since the Scots had declared for the Parliament Charles had been pressing him to conclude an armistice with the rebels upon any terms, and at last he gave way. On September 15th was signed that cessation from which, in insane contempt for the deepest feelings of his people, the King hoped so much, and which was at last to bring upon him so terrible a retribution.
As early as April Ormonde had received secret instructions which can have left him in no doubt as to the real meaning of the King's anxiety for the success of the negotiations. No sooner was the matter settled than the Lieutenant-General busied himself in carrying out his master's orders. Every man that could be spared was to be sent to the assistance of the King against the Scots, and the greatest care was to be exercised that they sailed under commanders who could be trusted.
Meanwhile, in face of the catastrophe they had so long apprehended, the parliamentary agents were not idle. They promised the troops full discharge of arrears and every other inducement to enter their service, and with such success that Ormonde considered it necessary to take the precaution of demanding the signature of a "protestation" from the officers who were to go to England. To his intense disgust Monk was called upon to formally pledge himself to be true to the flag under which he was about to serve. That he had any serious objection to the royal cause is hardly probable. His friends, Lord Lisle and Algernon Sidney, were not in Dublin to influence him. Monk, with the rest of theofficers, must have long lost faith in parliamentary promises of pay; and, moreover, through the Commons' antipathy to martial law, there had been trouble in Ireland of the same nature as that which led to his leaving the Dutch service. Then the prospect of coming to blows with the Scots, before whom he had been disgraced, had irresistible attractions for him. Morally there was nothing to prevent him entering the royal service. Although paid by the Parliament it was the King's commission he held. But to be asked to pledge himself to the politics of those for whom he fought was in his eyes a monstrous proposal, while to be called on to swear fidelity to the man whose commission he held was an insult. Rigid even to pedantry in his notions of military honour, he did not know what it was to swerve a hair's-breadth from the duty of his place. Through jealousy and disappointment, through every danger and temptation, he had been true to Ormonde, and now his reward was to be suspected of being able to forget what was due to himself as a soldier. It was more than he could tamely endure. Ormonde presented the protestation, and Monk flatly refused either to sign or swear, nor did he scruple to say plainly what he thought of it. Only one man had the spirit or honesty to follow his example, and that was Colonel Lawrence Crawford, the sturdy Scot whose bigotry would not now permit him to draw sword against the Covenant, and was ere long to bring down upon him the merciless resentment of Cromwell.
Monk was deprived of his regiment, and Warren reluctantly accepted the command. Ormonde could do no less, but so great was his respect for Monk's character and capacity that he took no further step. Monk wassimply granted leave to go home, and there the matter might have rested but for the injudicious conduct of his sanguine young admirer, Lord Lisle. The Parliament was about to send reinforcements into Ulster, and the choice of a commander lay between the Scotchman Munroe and Lisle. Munroe's recommendation was his influence with the old Scotch colonists, while Lisle claimed that he could command the services of Monk, and through him half Ormonde's army. Lord Digby, the King's Secretary of State, although his good opinion of Monk was unshaken by the rumours he heard, still took the precaution of warning Ormonde, and writing in the King's name a very flattering letter to the colonel himself. So far all was well. His spotless integrity was enough to lift him above every suspicion. Ormonde seems still to have had enough confidence in him to allow him to sail with the troops to Chester, when somehow he got to know that a special messenger from Pym himself had arrived in Dublin to urge Monk to prevent the troops joining the King.
It now was impossible for Ormonde to ignore the danger of the injured colonel's power for evil so long as he remained with the army, and he felt it his duty to send him to Bristol under arrest. Instructions went with him that he should be confined till further orders from Oxford, whither the Lieutenant-General sent a report of the step he had taken. "In the meantime," he says in his letter to Sir Francis Hawley, the governor of Bristol, "I must assure you that Colonel Monk is a person very well deserved of this kingdom, and that there is no unworthy thing laid to his charge, therefore I desire you to use him with all possible civility."
Hawley, who was one of Monk's innumerable kinsmen, interpreted his instructions so widely as to release the colonel on parole at once, indignant, as it seems, that a man of such distinguished service should be treated so shabbily. But his responsibility was not to last long. Digby showed Ormonde's despatch to the King, who decided at once that Monk was a man worth the trial to gain, and he was sent for to Oxford.
Lord Digby had ready for the injured soldier a most flattering reception. "Honest George" was but a child in the hands of such a man. The brilliant Secretary of State was irresistible with his polished wit, his scholarly discourse, and great personal charm. It was he who had provided Charles with his most trusted counsellors. It was he who had beguiled Sir John Hotham into betraying his trust at Hull. He had even a personal experience of ratting himself, and easily persuaded the colonel to give him his company to Christchurch, where the King lodged.
The inevitable result ensued. No one had in a greater degree the trick of attaching such men to him than Charles. No one had a keener eye for a weakness to be played upon. He was taking the air in the gardens of the College when the two visitors arrived, and we can see them even now as they meet amidst the trim lawns. The artful secretary making his presentation in a few flattering words that say everything to the King: the stalwart soldier saluting somewhat abruptly with a frank honest stare; and Charles with his careworn smile saying something that brings a flush to the handsome face he scrutinises. We can hear him speak of the daring journey to Rhé, of the breach at Breda, ofthe guns at Newburn, and of all that has since been done in Ireland. He is glad also to have so great an authority on military science in Oxford, as he wants some confidential advice on the prosecution of the war. We can see the look of half-amused surprise as honest George "deals very frankly with his Majesty," and tells him his army is only a rabble of gentility, whose courage and high birth are worthless beside the growing discipline that Fairfax and Skippon and Cromwell are teaching his enemies. Let the King cut down his numbers to ten thousand men, properly organised and equipped; let him officer them with real Low Country soldiers, and send the high-born amateurs to the right-about, and with such an army he would bring the rebels to their knees in a trice. It is hardly, perhaps, the answer his Majesty expected, but he trusts to hear more of the matter another time. So Monk is dismissed, delighted at the King's good sense and condescension. Pay, arrears, and all are forgotten. He is taken by assault, and soon informs Lord Digby he is ready to take service in the royal army.
The only question now was where the man who was worth a trial to gain should be employed. There was a general impression that he should go to Devonshire, where his eldest brother, Sir Thomas, was doing good work. But Monk made difficulties. A civil war in his native county was peculiarly distasteful to a man of his nature. Besides, his heart was not there. He had left it with the regiment that was devoted to him, and that was now, with the rest of the Irish brigade, investing Nantwich under Lord Byron. The fall of the place was looked on as certain; when all at once in themidst of the Christmas revels there was a cry that help was at hand. Under peremptory orders from London, Fairfax had left his winter-quarters about Lincoln, and had succeeded in penetrating Cheshire with a large force by the end of January. There was no doubt about Monk's destination then. The hardships of the unexpectedly long siege and two small reverses had seriously affected the temper of the Irish brigade, and their idol was hurried to infuse a better spirit into his old comrades for the coming struggle.
The sight of "honest George" was as good as another regiment to the besiegers, and when he took his place, pike in hand, at the head of the first file of his old corps, Lord Byron saw his force had got a new heart. Monk had in his pocket a commission to raise a regiment and a promise of the post of Major-General to the brigade, but in spite of this and of Warren's entreaties to take his old command, he insisted on retaining his humble position.
The very day after Monk joined the alarm was given that Fairfax was at hand, and the position of the Royalists was suddenly found to be desperately weak. Byron's army was investing the town on both sides of the river Weaver. Warren's and four other regiments of foot were on the left bank, and it was on this side that Fairfax was advancing. On the first news of his approach they had taken up a position at Acton Church, about a mile in rear of their works, where they intended to stop his advance, while to prevent a sortie of the garrison a small guard was left to hold the bridge by which the town was reached. On the other side of the river was Lord Byron with the rest of the infantry and all thehorse. Communications had been kept up hitherto by fords, but a sudden thaw had so swollen the river as to render them impracticable. Only by a ride of six miles could the horse reach the foot at Acton, and the way lay through lanes that the melting snow had rendered almost impassable. Still there was but one thing to do, and Byron galloped off along the river through the slush and mire, trusting there might yet be time to get round before the enemy attacked.
Meanwhile Fairfax had come in sight of the isolated foot. Monk's old Low Country comrade saw his advantage immediately, and continued his advance with the intention of cutting his way through the infantry to join hands with the garrison before Byron could come to the rescue. Nearer and nearer he pressed, opening a way through the hedges as he came straight across country. Suddenly there was an alarm in the rear-guard. In spite of the mud and narrow lanes and swollen river Byron was upon him at last. Quick as thought "Form your files to the rear and charge for horse!" was the order which rang from Fairfax's lips, and Byron's breathless troopers were hurled back from a solid wall of pikes and muskets. Three of the Parliament regiments had reversed their front and with the rest Fairfax dashed at Monk and his friends. Warren's was in the centre, and it broke at once. The rest stood firm but with flanks exposed. Pike in hand Monk raged through his disgraced regiment and rallied it for one more charge. Again it broke, and Fairfax poured in between the wings a resistless flood. At the same moment the garrison sallied out, forced the guard at the bridge, and fell upon the Royalist rear. All was over. Drowned in a sea ofarmed men that flowed on every side of them, the regiments which till now had held their ground could resist no longer. Surrender or flight was all that was left. Too late Monk found the regiment he was so proud of would not fight in such a cause. He even had to hear it said that a number of his men had turned their fire on the hard-pressed wings. Acton Church, around which the train was parked, was hard by, and thither with the rest of the officers he took refuge. For a while Byron hovered round to try a rescue with the horse, but the attempt was hopeless. Church, guns, baggage and all were surrendered, and after barely a week's service in the King's army Monk found himself a prisoner.
A few days afterwards nearly the whole of his old regiment had enlisted with Fairfax, while he and Warren were sent prisoners to Hull. But for such a man Hull was not safe enough. It had but recently been relieved, and was not out of danger so long as Lord Newcastle was at York. Fairfax and the other officers who had fought by Monk's side in the Low Countries knew well the value of his services, and impressed upon the Parliament that he was "a man worth the making," and not without effect. He was ordered up to London with Warren, and on July 8th brought to the bar of the House. There the two unfortunate officers were charged with high treason and committed to the Tower. No sooner were they there than Lord Lisle set about justifying his boasts to the Council. He was still doing his best to get appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and there could be no better testimonial to his fitness than that he could command the services of the officers in the Tower. Of Monk there was every hope, for he alone had refused to bind himself notto serve the Parliament, nor were the most enticing offers wanting to tempt him.
Already the New Model Army was in contemplation. Men of all parties saw that nothing decisive would ever be done except by adopting the methods which Monk had urged on the King. A compact mobile field-force, complete and organised in every detail on the Low Country system, must replace the unmanageable mobilised militia with which the war had hitherto been aimlessly dragged on. Cromwell had now definitely come to the front and thrown himself into the task. Except possibly Sir Jacob Astley, who was at Oxford with Charles, there was no one in the kingdom more fitted for the all-important work than Monk. Cromwell, who knew how to choose a man, must have been perfectly aware of his qualifications, even if he had not been as intimate as he was with Lord Lisle. Nor was it from Cromwell alone that the prisoner was tempted. Though all were agreed the weapon must be forged, they were by no means at one as to the hands in which it was to be placed. Independents and Presbyterians were manœuvring for the control. In spite of standing orders members were so constantly visiting the prisoners that the House had strictly to forbid the practice without special leave. The same day a leading Presbyterian was granted permission, and towards the end of October Monk's case was specially referred to the committee of examinations.
But they all mistook their man. He still held the King's commission. The war for which he had engaged was still raging, and the most brilliant offers that could be made him he only regarded as insults. Pressure waseven brought to bear, it is said, by a more rigorous confinement, but it was useless, and he indignantly refused his liberty except by a regular cartel.
Days and weeks went by and no exchange came. Although, as he had refused to desert in Ireland, he was not affected by the order which forbade the exchange of the other Irish officers upon any terms, Parliament had no intention of allowing so valuable an officer to get back to the royal camp. In vain Daniel O'Neill urged the King to procure his release for service in Ireland. Charles seems to have done his best. Clarendon says that many attempts were made to exchange him; that one was we know. Care, however, seems to have been taken by his would-be employers not only that these attempts should be unsuccessful, but that Monk should not even hear of them. The wretched colonel thought himself forgotten. His money was gone, and a penniless prisoner in those days was the most miserable of men. Of his annuity fifty pounds was all he had had, and on November 6th, but four months after his committal, he sat down to write an urgent appeal to his brother for another fifty. The letter concludes with a pathetic cry for his release: "I shall entreat you," he says, "to be mindful of me concerning my exchange, for I doubt all my friends have forgotten me. I earnestly entreat you, therefore, if it lies in your power, to remember me concerning my liberty; and so in haste, I rest, your faithful brother,George Monk."
In haste and in the Tower! But any excuse was good enough with the taciturn soldier if it saved words. And he might have saved them all. Exchange and remittance were alike out of the question with his hard-pressed brother, and as the weary months went by he thought himself indeed deserted. Once out of the very depth of his poverty Charles sent him a hundred pounds—an extraordinary mark of esteem as things went at Oxford then. But that was all. Bitterly he felt the seeming ingratitude, but in spite of all with obstinate loyalty he refused to desert his colours, and sat himself down to forget in the pursuit of literature the fancied wrongs under which he smarted.
Like many other active-minded men before and since, having absolutely nothing to do he determined to write a book. He had before him the example of Lord Vere and his brother-in-arms, Hexham, the literary quartermaster of his old Low Country regiment, and most worthily he followed in their steps. The book is full of vigorous and pithy aphorisms which flash on us the condensed opinions of a man who spoke little and thought much. We can hear, as we read it, the few well-digested words, rugged, blunt, and direct, with which he compelled the attention of councils of war and won the respect and admiration of his men. Its subdued enthusiasm tells us of a genuine soldier reverently devoted to his profession, and looking mournfully from the place apart, where his almost aggressive patriotism had placed him, at the distractions with which his beloved country was torn. It gives us as clearly as though we saw him face to face the key of the character that has been as much misunderstood and abused as any in history. He was an English citizen first, a soldier next, and a politician not at all. Of the real meaning of the strife he was incapable of grasping any conception. For him it was all a mere question of the interior, and in his eyes no question of theinterior, not even religion itself, was worth a civil war, or the sacrifice of England's military renown.
He called his workObservations upon Military and Political Affairs. The military part is admirable, and shows us the consummate soldier he was. It strikes one of the first notes of modern military science, and takes for its dominant theme the comparatively small part which actual fighting plays in the duties of a general and the success of a campaign. The political observations are more crude but equally characteristic. With the exception of some sagacious remarks on governing a conquered country, they are confined to the methods of preventing civil war. After recommending a strong centralised government, technical education, and uniformity of religion, if it can be obtained without danger, he enunciates those principles which caused him to take the final step at the great crisis of his life. Still under the influence of his Devonshire training he strongly insists on State colonisation as a means whereby sources of weakness may be turned into strength. "But the principal and able remedy," he says, "against civil war is to entertain a foreign war. This chaseth away idleness, setteth all on work, and particularly this giveth satisfaction to ambitious and stirring spirits; it banisheth luxury, maketh your people warlike, and maintaineth you in such reputation amongst your neighbours, that you are the arbitrators of their differences." And it is from this point of view that he expresses his only opinion on the great question that was coming. "A sovereign prince," he lays down, "is more capable to make great and ready conquests than a commonwealth, and especially if he goeth in person into the field."
When the manuscript was complete he gave it to Lord Lisle to take care of, and thus we may be sure that it was from Monk's pen that Cromwell, to whom Lisle would not have omitted to show his treasure, learnt something at least of his knowledge of war.
But literature was not his only consolation. There was another more to his taste and less to his credit. For there used to come to the Tower one Ann Ratsford, the wife of a perfumer who lived at the sign of the Three Spanish Gypsies in the Exchange. By trade she was a milliner, and in that capacity used to look after Monk's linen. She was neither pretty nor well bred; she had a sharp tongue and manners that were not refined. But the colonel was soft-hearted, and she was very kind; the colonel was so handsome and had such a soldierly air, and then all his friends had forgotten him and the perfumer was detestable. So the gloomy walls of the Tower were brightened with an unholy idyl, and thus began the intrigue which was to make a duchess of plain Nan Clarges, the farrier's daughter of the Savoy.
While Monk lay thus honour-bound in the Tower the New Model had done its work. The war was practically over, and Parliament turned its attention to clearing the prisons. On April 9th, 1646, a return was ordered of all soldiers of fortune then prisoners to the Parliament who were desirous of going abroad, with the intention that on taking the negative oath they should be permitted to do so. Under this order Monk must have applied, and on July 1st he got leave to go beyond the seas.
Besides the oath there was a further condition that he was to leave the country within a month of his release, but his friends seem to have had influence enough to get the time extended. With the close of the war Parliament was able to devote its energies to Ireland, and each party was scheming to appoint the Lord Lieutenant, in order to secure for itself the prestige of avenging the Protestant blood that had been shed. During Monk's imprisonment the situation there had changed considerably. Ormonde still held Dublin and the greater part of Leinster for the King, but Lord Inchiquin in a fit of pique had gone over to the Parliament, and from Cork was administering Munster as president in its name.The Scotch in the Ulster garrisons and plantations were also on the side of the Parliament. The rest of the island was in the hands of the Papal Nuncio, and recognised no authority either of King or Parliament. He had succeeded in uniting the Anglo-Irish under Preston and the native Irish under Owen O'Neill into one ultra-Catholic party, with vague aims at an independent state under the protectorate of Spain or the Pope.
Parliament saw something must be done to keep Inchiquin from returning to his allegiance and joining Ormonde; and being still unable to agree upon a definite appointment, they determined to send out Lord Lisle for a year. He immediately offered the command of his regiment to Monk. There was now no reason why he should not accept it. The war for which he had engaged was at an end, and the new service that was offered to him was one which he had been bred to think as noble as a crusade. It was against an enemy in open rebellion against England and in secret league with Spain.
But though perfectly willing to accept the negative oath, to which as a merely military precaution he had no objection, he utterly refused to take the Covenant. Till he did he was not qualified for a parliamentary commission.
By the end of September, however, Ormonde found it was impossible to hold out much longer, and rather than let Dublin fall into the hands of the Catholics, he offered to surrender it to the Parliament. At the same time he urged them to send out Monk and the Irish officers to take command of the army of occupation. The difficulties about the recusant colonel's appointmentbegan to vanish like magic. The Presbyterians, who, it must be remembered, were in theory Royalist, and practically becoming so every day in a greater degree, naturally were only too glad to accept a nomination of Ormonde's. Monk was sent for by the Irish committee of the Council of State sitting at Derby House. There he pledged his honour that he would faithfully serve the Parliament in the Irish war, and announced himself ready to start at a day's notice. What was said about the Covenant is a mystery, but the committee reported to the House that he was ready to take it. That he did not take it is certain, for this was the chief ground on which the Ulster-Scotch quarrelled with him three years afterwards. It is difficult even to believe that honest George said he was ready to do so. The ambiguous expression looks strangely like an ingenious piece of jockeying on the part of Lisle, who was a member of the Derby House committee, to make it easy for the Presbyterians to consent to Monk's appointment. At all events it had the desired effect, and with only one dissentient voice it was voted that Colonel Monk should be employed as the committee directed.
Lord Lisle was less successful in his own case. Not till Christmas did he get his route, and still there were obstacles which prevented him sailing till the middle of February. Even then he did not go to Dublin. Ormonde and the parliamentary commissioners had not been able to agree on the details of the surrender, and Lisle had to land in Cork. It was the 21st of the month before he reached his command, and his commission would expire on April 15th. Barely two months remained of his termof office, and that time was spent in incessant wrangling between Lord Inchiquin and the newly arrived officers. It is needless to say that the expedition was an entire failure, and on the first of May Monk and his friends found themselves once more back in London.
It shows plainly how Monk had kept himself clear of any political taint that he did not share in his chief's fall. The force which had been sent to occupy Dublin on the first overtures of Ormonde had been ordered on to Ulster pending the completion of the negotiations. On the eventual signing of the treaty of rendition, as a strong force was on its way from England, only a small part of the original army of occupation had been ordered to Dublin, and an officer was required to command the regiments which remained in Ulster. Everything pointed to Monk as the man. His appointment was strongly urged by his friends in the House, and probably by Cromwell himself, and in July he was gratified with a commission as Major-General over all the forces both Scotch and English, in the counties of Down and Antrim and all those parts of Ulster which were not in the command of Sir Charles Coote.
Michael Jones was supreme in Dublin, and with a man like Monk to second him he soon set the tide running back. Early in August he inflicted a crushing defeat on Preston, and O'Neill alone remained to be dealt with. But that was different. He was a wary old Low Country officer who had been long in the Spanish service. He knew his power lay in guerilla warfare, and nothing would entrap him into an engagement. He was a foe worthy of the new commanders' steel, but they knew the game as well as he. Allthrough August and the two following months Monk and Jones were raiding up and down, sometimes in concert, sometimes apart, burning, ravaging, plundering, and collecting provisions.
Such work was all that Monk could do with the forces at his command, and he did it well. To hold his ground till the great expedition, which was in contemplation for the conquest of Ireland, could start was all he could hope; and till one party or the other got the upper hand in the English Parliament that would never be. So while politicians at home were scheming as to who should set the King on his throne again and the sterner voices were beginning to mutter darkly that it was not there he must find his rest, honest George in his matter-of-fact business-like way was quietly busy with the duty of his place. For him the growing dissensions amongst his paymasters were nothing, except in so far as they found them too absorbing to make time to send him money and supplies.
Till the questions of the King and the command of the army were settled things were at a deadlock, and Monk was thrown on his own resources. It was now that he began to show how great these resources were, and how to the reckless courage and strategic sagacity of the soldier he added all the qualities that go to make the successful proconsul. In his province he was an autocrat. He had a commission to execute martial law, an extraordinary mark of confidence in those days, and governed despotically in a state of siege. Yet no administration had ever been more generally popular. So just or judicious were his decisions on every point that came before him that long after he was gone they were quotedas unassailable precedents. The Protestants began to feel the colony had got a new start in life.
Nor in the duties of judge and governor did he relax the unsleeping vigilance of the general. Time after time O'Neill attempted a raid, but it was only to fall into the midst of a force that scattered his troops like chaff; and when he succeeded in regaining the desolate fastnesses from which he had issued, it was but to hear how Monk's soldiers had swept down in his absence on some distant spot and carried off a precious booty of cattle and provender. For honest practical George was far too much of a soldier not to know the value of spies, and he used them unscrupulously. O'Neill could not move hand or foot before an iron grip was on him. Splendid soldier as he was he had met his match, and never could he get within striking distance of his enemy's magazines.
Nor was this all. For while the Irish were kept at a distance in a state of starvation the English soldiers were digging pay and provision out of the desolation, where once the wretched partisans of O'Neill had had their homes. And so by a happy combination of the patient industry of the ploughman and the daring activity of the mosstrooper Monk made the war support itself, a thing as strange as it was palatable to the authorities at home; and while he thus delighted his masters he no less attached his troops to him by his judicious distribution of loot, as well as by keeping an open house to which every officer had at all times a hearty welcome. His maxim was to "mingle love with the severity of his discipline," believing that "they that cannot be induced to serve for love will never be forced to serve for fear."
But troubles were at hand. The province was no bedof roses, or if it were, the thorns grew faster than the flowers as the breath of party strife began to reach it in fitful gusts. Ever since Ormonde had left Dublin he had been busily engaged with the King's friends, who were taking advantage of the growing royalism of the Presbyterians to form a new combination against the Parliament. In Scotland and Munster lay their chief hopes of backing a rising in England, and so well did Ormonde play his part that in April, 1648, the Independent officers under Inchiquin found it necessary to make a desperate attempt to save the province by seizing Cork and Youghal. The plot failed, Inchiquin at once showed his hand for the King, and Munster was lost to the Parliament. This was followed at the end of the month by a declaration from Scotland in favour of Charles, and the mobilisation of the forces of the Northern Kingdom.
The second Civil War had begun, and Inchiquin sought to improve his position by concluding a cessation and alliance with Clanrickarde and his Irish party, and by secretly negotiating with the Scots in Ulster. Already Monk had had sufficient trouble with them. At the outbreak of the Rebellion in 1641 Munroe had sailed from Scotland to the assistance of the old Scotch settlers. Since then he and his New Scotch, as they were called, had succeeded by their overbearing conduct in making themselves extremely unpopular with the Old Scotch, and Monk had plenty to do to hold the balance between them. Now there was a new complication. The Old Scotch party was as yet decidedly anti-Royalist. They had never forgiven Charles for his attempted alliance with O'Neill and the execrated authors of the Ulster massacres. It was then with Munroe and the NewScotch that Inchiquin sought to deal, and not in vain. Munroe adhered to the coalition, but his adhesion was kept a profound secret till the time came for action. The idea seems to have been that so soon as Ormonde arrived from France to take command in Ireland Monk should be seized. No attempt appears to have been made to tamper with him. Though Ormonde tempted Coote and Jones, he knew Monk too well to be ignorant that his sting could only be drawn by violence.
The danger was extreme, and the fate of the cause hung in a balance. Besides the three English officers, O'Neill and his Nationalists were all in Ireland that were not in arms for the King. Across St. George's Channel the Scots were already over the border with a force so formidable that none could foresee the issue when they and Cromwell met. Munroe held Carrickfergus and Belfast. Ormonde was on his way from France, and if ever Charles had a chance it was now. The fate of Ireland hung for the moment on Monk. With Ulster in Ormonde's hands O'Neill's last chance was gone, and Coote and Jones single-handed could never hold out.
But from Monk's vigilance the danger could not be concealed, and for him to know was to act. He saw his duty, he saw his chance, and sharp and sudden he struck his blow. One day in the middle of September Munroe was in his quarters ready for the moment of action, when suddenly there was a confused alarm, and before the Scotchman well knew what it meant he found himself a prisoner in the hands of Monk, and the towns of Belfast and Carrickfergus in possession of the English and the Old Scotch.
The bells were ringing for Cromwell's overwhelming victory at Preston when the news came that Ulster was safe as yet and Ireland reprieved. In an outburst of gratitude the Houses ordered a public thanksgiving, voted the hero of the hour a letter of thanks, appointed him Governor of Belfast, gave him the disposal of Carrickfergus and a gratuity of £500, and resolved to try and pay all his men's arrears. From that moment his fortune was made. The Independents were now supreme. For them his blow had been struck, and people began to forget he had ever drawn sword for the King.
Still in spite of his success his position in Ireland was anything but enviable. The Parliament was triumphant in England, but the account was still open between the Independents and the Presbyterians, and until it was closed little could be done for the relief of Ireland. Even when Cromwell had settled it with a squad of musketeers, and the execution of Charles had removed the great obstacle to a permanent settlement, much remained to be done before the great Irish Expedition could start. For the moment history turned on the race for Ireland, and a close race it was. The execution of Charles was followed by the Scots of Ulster declaring unanimously against the Republic. Coote was shut up in Derry, and Monk with the greatest difficulty escaped a surprise, and took refuge inDundalk.4The situation was growing desperate indeed. The Royalists held the whole country with the exception of the ground which was covered by the guns of the garrisons, or occupied by O'Neill's Nationalists. The English Expedition was farfrom ready, and Ormonde was leaving no stone unturned to make the whole island his own before it could sail. Again he was tempting Jones and Coote, though again he did not waste time on Monk. He was offering baits to O'Neill. He was urging the new King to come over and complete the work with his presence. So well was he working that in February the Papal Nuncio fled, leaving him in possession of the field. O'Neill's supporters began to desert. Every day the country which the Ulster chief could call his own grew less and less. The fall of Dublin and the other English garrisons began to stare the English Council in the face. Something must be done to stave off the end yet a little while, and the strangest and most obscure of all that time is the story of the means the Council employed for the work.
About the middle of February, 1649, Dr. Winstad, a worthy English Catholic physician residing at Rouen, went to welcome his friend, Sir Kenelm Digby, who had just ridden into the town on his way from Paris with several young gentlemen in his company. He was surprised to find amongst the party a "wry-necked fellow" with manners to match, and was pained to see his respected friend making a great fuss of the stranger although he did not scruple to "openly dispute against the blessed Trinity." He was certainly not fit company for Catholic gentlemen. But worse was yet to come. The doctor was soon informed that the wry-necked scoffer was none other than Scoutmaster-general Watson, the Head of the Intelligence Department of the New Model Army, and the whole party were possessed of passes to go into England, which he had procured for them from headquarters.
Thoroughly alarmed, the doctor wrote off to Secretary Nicholas to warn him that a desperate plot was on foot. Lord Byron happened to be there, too, on his way to Paris to urge the King's departure for Ireland, and just as he was getting into the saddle the news came to hisears. Sir Kenelm and his young gentlemen had kept their secret ill, and so soon as Byron reached Caen he was able to send off post-haste to Ormonde a warning that the ultra-Catholics were conspiring with the Independents to abolish hereditary monarchy in return for toleration of their own religion. He begged him to keep his eyes open in Ireland, where the plot might have very serious consequences. Secretary Nicholas caught the alarm and warned Ormonde of a possible alliance between O'Neill and the English officers.
At a moment when the great Presbyterian body was in the last stage of exasperation at the expulsion of its members from the House by Cromwell it seemed almost incredible that the Independents should dare to try and strengthen their position by the very scheme which ruined Charles. Yet it was all true. In spite of the storm which Glamorgan's attempt had raised less than three years ago, the Council of State was secretly holding out its hand to the blood-stained savages who were the very authors of the massacres about to be avenged. Such at least was the sentiment which the name of O'Neill and the Ulster Nationalists called up in England, and yet the risk must be run.
Ever since the preceding August, Jones had been in communication with O'Neill. An emissary of Monk's had been caught in secret negotiation with an officer from the Irish army. In October the Nuncio had announced to his superiors that there was a danger of the Nationalists joining with the Independents and "steeping the kingdom in blood." How far the proceedings were authorised from headquarters it is impossible to say. All we know is that for sometime past there had been strange rumours about in London and mysterious goings and comings of Catholic gentlemen whose passports were always in order. But now Ormonde had got definite information to go upon, and he acted with his usual address. His attempts to gain Jones and Coote were redoubled, and offers were made which seem to have shaken O'Neill himself. Monk was not spared. The Ulster Presbyterians, who had revolted from him, were set on to appeal to him with the only reasons to which his ears were open, and he found himself face to face with the moral dilemma that was to haunt him year after year till the Restoration brought him rest. To whom was the duty of his place? The Presbyterians argued that they could not recognise any authority but that of a covenanted Parliament, and urged Monk to join them in supporting their position. Monk replied that he considered himself bound by his commission to stand by thede factoauthority in England, which was the Purged Parliament and the Council of State, and demanded why they refused to do the same. They replied that thede factogovernment was not a lawful authority. It existed merely by virtue of its coercion of the lawful authority which was Parliament as it existed before Pride's Purge; and as an ultimatum they required him to take the Covenant and obey no orders but those of the Council of War at Belfast. Monk flatly refused. It was a difficult question. But his notions of duty pointed clearly to the thorny path of resistance, and he determined to defend Dundalk to the last.
Meanwhile the Independent plot had been maturing. Towards the end of March an agent from O'Neill hadappeared in London and managed, probably through Jones's recommendation, to communicate with the Council of State. The Council refused to receive him, but appointed a secret committee to hear what he had to say. The effect of their report was that the game was too dangerous, and the agent was ordered to leave London. Still if the game were too dangerous for the Council, Cromwell knew it was too good not to carry on a while longer, and there is little doubt that Jones received from him some secret instructions to that effect, which were communicated to Monk. It was absolutely necessary for the success of the coming expedition to Ireland that the Scotch and northern Royalists should be kept from joining hands with Ormonde, Clanrickarde, and Inchiquin, and so completing the investment of Dublin. The maimed and shattered forces of Monk and O'Neill were all that held them apart.
O'Neill for some time had been in receipt of ammunition and supplies from the English officers, and Cromwell either now or not long afterwards was giving him regular pay; but this would no longer do. At the end of April O'Neill wrote a Latin letter to Monk urging him to press the Council once more to conclude a treaty on the terms his agent had unsuccessfully offered. But for this there was no time. A strong force was advancing upon O'Neill under Lord Castlehaven. It was a crisis in view of which Monk may or may not have had his instructions. At any rate he replied to O'Neill's letter asking what his terms were, and then after a short negotiation concluded with him on May 8th an armistice for three months, in order to give time for communication with England. The convention included a general defensive and offensivealliance between them against Ormonde for the time, provided always that no agreement was to be made by either with any one in arms against the Parliament.
The effect was immediate. The Scots lost heart and ceased to press Monk, and he had leisure to forward O'Neill's new terms to England. How far he knew Cromwell was behind "the special friends and well-wishers to this service" who were advising him is uncertain. At any rate he was aware the Council must not know all, and that Cromwell was the man to address. So he sat down and wrote a long letter thanking the general for his many favours, and telling him the whole story of how his own desperate position and the necessity of keeping O'Neill from accepting Ormonde's terms had decided him to take the step he had. "I do not think fit," he continues, "to signify this to the Council of State, but do wholly refer the business to you either to make further use of it, or else to move it, or as you conceive most fit to be done. Since there was great necessity for me to do it, I hope it will beget no ill construction." And so he concludes beseeching Cromwell "to continue his good opinion" towards him.
It was well for Monk he took the cautious line he did. Up to the end of the first week in May the Council had been sending him flattering letters of encouragement and promises of ships, provisions, and everything he asked for. A large sum of money was actually on shipboard consigned to him. When suddenly the day before the armistice was concluded a messenger was galloping down to the coast to stop it. Special precautions were taken to prevent the reason of this sudden order being known, and we can only guess that something of Monk'spurpose or secret instructions had leaked out. But some one there was to smooth things over, and before the week was out the money was on its way again with a letter addressed by the Council to Monk thanking him for his services and integrity.
Whatever it was that Cromwell thought most fit to be done, it was not to reprimand Monk. His vast preparations for the conquest of Ireland were approaching completion, and by the armistice he gained the delay he required. All that was wanted was to keep the treaty secret till he was well on his way, and then he could do without it. Meanwhile Monk was allowed to believe that his conduct was approved by the authorities at home, and told to keep the whole matter a profound secret.
It was not long before he had to test the value of his treaty. Early in June Ormonde had concentrated all his forces and advanced to Dublin. Taking up a position there he detached Inchiquin to take Drogheda and Trim, and so open up communication with his allies in the north. At the end of the month Drogheda fell and Inchiquin advanced to besiege Dundalk. Monk at once sent to O'Neill to come to his assistance. O'Neill replied that he could do nothing for want of ammunition. Monk was ready to supply the want, and told his ally to send up a strong convoy to receive it. All went well till the party was returning laden with supplies. So hospitably had they been treated in Dundalk that most of them were drunk. Indeed no precautions seem to have been taken to prevent a surprise, possibly because O'Neill was still coquetting with Ormonde, and had some understanding that he should be allowed to get ammunition from Monk. At any rate before his menreached their camp a detachment of Inchiquin's army fell upon them and cut them to pieces. Hardly a man escaped, the whole of the train was captured, and so great was the panic in O'Neill's quarters when the news of the disaster came, that the whole army fled in disorder to Longford and left Dundalk to its fate.
It was a trying moment for Monk, and one in which the blunt narrow-minded soldier of fortune stands out in his fearlessness and staunch self-reliance a figure almost heroic. The end for which he had been striving so long was nearly gained. Any time within the next few weeks Cromwell might set foot in Ireland. The army was gathered at Milford. The Lord Lieutenant had left London. The race for the key of England was now neck and neck. One more struggle and success might still be won. So like a true man Monk resolved at all hazards to cling to his charge till he could cling no more.
His troops were his only fear. Arrears and the O'Neill treaty had been a sore trial to their devotion, but still they were the only tools he had. Calling them about him he told them what he meant to do, and begged that, if any there feared to stand by him, he would be gone. A single man stepped from the ranks and said he could not fight by the side of Popish rebels red with Protestant blood. He was dismissed with a safe-conduct, and the rest pledged themselves to stand by their beloved commander till the last.
It is sad to tell how night cooled their courage. Next day when Inchiquin appeared before the walls the sight was more than their conscientious scruples and empty pockets could endure. Wholesale they desertedto the enemy, till Monk at last was left with but seventeen faithful out of all his force. Still he would have held out, though resistance then meant certain death. Fortunately the seventeen faithful were not so obstinate, and he was but one against them. By main force they compelled him to surrender. Inchiquin gave him handsome terms. They were simply that he should be allowed to dispose of himself and his property as he pleased, and in pursuance of them he presently sailed for England.
But his troubles instead of being ended were only begun. No sooner was he landed at Chester than he found public opinion in a high state of agitation over his armistice. He was interviewed by excited politicians: he was eagerly asked what induced him to make so monstrous an alliance; but little could be made of him. The cautious, taciturn soldier must have been a difficult man to interview, and to every inquisitive attack he replied that he had the warrant of his superiors for what he had done. He had obeyed his orders, he had done his duty, and he had no fear of the consequences; nor did it concern him whether the treaty was justifiable or not.
Once ashore he lost no time in hurrying on to Milford Haven to report himself to Cromwell, who as Lord Lieutenant was his immediate superior. There he found matters worse even than at Chester. The soldiers had got wind of the unlucky armistice and were deserting in large numbers. They had enlisted to avenge innocent Protestant blood, and found themselves asked to join hands with the monsters who had shed it. The stories of the massacres were still believed, and feeling ran veryhigh. One of Milton's first commissions from the Government had been aimed at involving their opponents in the execration with which Ormonde's peace with the Irish Papists was regarded, and men's ears were still ringing with his tremendous invective against the Ulster Scots for joining hands with a man who had so stained himself with the touch of Antichrist. It was a time when Cromwell must have repented his patriotic resolve to command the Irish army. He well knew the danger he ran in leaving London. He was sure his Presbyterian and Cavalier enemies would leave no stone unturned to damage him and his party. And here at the very outset the weapon which Milton had been wielding with such deadly effect was placed within their reach. The connection between the Independents and the Papists once exposed, there would be a resistless outcry such as had greeted the Glamorgan disclosures, and the cause of individual liberty, of toleration, of independency would be lost for ever. Whatever the cost the truth must not transpire.
Such must have been Cromwell's thoughts as Monk was announced. What would we not give to see that meeting now, to see those two men, so alike and yet so widely different, face to face at a moment so dramatic! Cromwell with the fierce earnestness that carried all before it telling his friend that no more must be said about the warrant of his superiors, that on his own shoulders he must for the sake of the good cause take the blame; telling him how he had laid his confidential letter and O'Neill's terms before the Council, and how they had voted entire disapproval of the whole scheme, and had not even dared to put it before Parliament. And then the honest soldier, hurtto be so deserted, but yet borne down by the resistless personality of his commander, consenting at last for high reasons of state to lie. He who, as Clarendon said, was never suspected of dissimulation in all his life passed his word to lie, and Cromwell knew—none better than he—a man that was to be trusted.
So much is all we can gather of that meeting on which so much depended. No sooner was it over than the scapegoat was hurried off to London. No time was to be lost. The rising storm must be allayed before it got beyond control, and Cromwell could not sail till he knew the end. There was a magic sword lying almost in his enemies' grasp, and till it was removed he could not leave—no, not for all Ireland.
Armed with letters to Cromwell's friends Monk arrived in London early in August. "They should commit him to the Tower," said one when he knew he had come. "Better commit the Tower to him," was the reply, for Cromwell's letters made friends plentiful. It would even appear that Oliver's partisans in the Council had a hint to make things as smooth for Monk as was consistent with their own safety, and very cleverly they went about it.
It was of course now necessary that they should make a report of the whole affair to Parliament. The secrecy which had been ordered in reference to the matter was removed by vote. Monk was sent for and examined as to his reasons for taking the course he had. He replied without hesitation that it was an act of military necessity, and what he had done was entirely on his own responsibility in expectation of the Council's confirmation. Nothing could be more satisfactory. He was ordered to draw up a report explaining the position and to attendthe House with it on the following Wednesday. He was further informed that the Council disapproved of the whole matter from beginning to end; all which things were next day embodied in formal resolutions for report to the House, and it is worth remarking that this was the only occasion during the whole month on which Lord Lisle attended the Council.
On the 10th Monk went down to the House with his report. Jones's despatch announcing his great victory over Ormonde and the safety of Dublin had just arrived. After it had been read Monk was called to the bar and presented his report. But the House was not so easily satisfied as the Council. The Opposition were still strong, and they felt they were being hoodwinked. Monk's letter to Cromwell had been laid on the table with the rest of the papers, and in it was the fatal admission that he had been advised by some well-wishers to the cause. The House demanded to know who those persons were.
It must have been an anxious moment for many there as the Speaker's voice ceased and silence fell upon the eager throng while they listened for Monk's reply. Who could tell he would stand staunch at that trying moment?
"I did it," said Monk with his stolid air, "on my own score without the advice of any other persons. Only formerly I had some discourse of Colonel Jones, and he told me if I could keep off Owen Rowe and Ormonde from joining it would be a good service."
"Had you any advice or direction," continued the Speaker, "from Parliament, or the Council, or the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, or any person here to do it?"
"Neither from Parliament," answered Monk categorically, "nor the Council, nor the Lord Lieutenant,nor any person here had I any advice or direction. I did it on my own score for the preservation of the English interest there, and it has had some fruits accordingly."
There was no denying that. Lying on the table before them was Jones's despatch, in which he attributed his great victory to the fact that Ormonde had been compelled to detach Inchiquin to oppose O'Neill. Monk was ordered to withdraw, and a long debate ensued. The Opposition felt their weapon was being filched from their hands, and they argued long for a vote of censure, while Monk waited anxiously without. At last the question was put, "That this House do approve the proceeding of Colonel Monk?" The House divided, and the motion was lost. Then it was put that "the House do utterly disapprove, and that the innocent blood which hath been shed is so fresh in the memory of this House that the House doth detest and abhor the thoughts of any closing with any party of Popish rebels there who have had their hands in shedding that blood." But an amendment was moved by adding words to the motion that Monk's conduct was excusable on the ground of necessity. In this form it was carried, and Monk was safe.
Cromwell had won. He was still lying in Milford Haven. The money for which he had stayed had been sent off a fortnight ago: the corn-ships had gone some days before; yet still he tarried. On August 12th the news of the momentous vote reached him, and next day he sailed. If it was not this that loosed his moorings the good tidings came at least with strange opportuneness, and permitted him to leave England with his greatest anxiety allayed.
The victory was indeed complete. At the end of theweek the official press came out full of flattering expressions about Monk. A full account was published by authority for the information or delusion of the public. In vain the opposition "Man in the Moon" railed, and said the whole thing was a "blindation." The public were satisfied with the result, and the incident was at anend.5
And now for the last time in his life Monk knew what it was to be out of employment. His brother, Colonel Thomas Monk, the zealous Cavalier, had recently been killed by a fall from his horse, and George seems to have used his leisure to go down to Potheridge and take possession of the family estates, which fell to him as heir-in-tail. It was probably at this time that he became fully impressed with the abilities of his kinsman Mr. Morice, who was afterwards to influence his career so profoundly. This remarkable man, scholar, historian, recluse, and man of business, had been managing the Grenville property with great skill ever since Monk's uncle, Sir Bevil, had been killed at the battle of Lansdowne, and the colonel found he could not do better than commit his own property to the same stewardship.
But that it was not only in this manner that he enjoyed his repose and consoled himself for the way the Government had treated him is only too clear. For it was in this year that the frail Mrs. Ratsford was separated from her husband.