3. III.
THE ESCAPE FROM HAMPTON COURT.
In narrating the adventures of his majesty from this
time to the end of his career,—adventures with which
I was more or less connected, and in which I may be
said to have borne a not unimportant part,—I shall
occupy as little space as possible, indulge in few notices
of public events, and mention only the salient incidents
leading by a sort of fatality as 'twere to the window at
Whitehall. I would fain pass over all. But that is
impossible. At least I shall narrate rapidly.
Joyce, the ex-tailor, was thus far friendly to the king,
that, without asking any one's authority, he permitted
me to remain at Hampton Court and share his majesty's
imprisonment, under the guise of private attendant
or secretary.
From that moment I resolved to effect the king's
escape, if possible. I ventured upon every opportunity
to urge his majesty to attempt it, declaring to him my
conviction that otherwise his life was in danger. His
choice lay between flying to France, where he would
regain his beloved queen and find a place of safety, or
remaining to undergo all that the malice of his bitter
enemies might devise.
For months he resisted my appeals, which I scrupled
not to make in season and out of season. Finally, one
day, after a stormy and exciting interview with a commission
from parliament, he said to me,—
“Your advice is good, Mr. Cecil. This day's scene
has decided me to leave Hampton Court, if possible.
Now let us try and devise some means.”
These words filled me with joy. I believed—with
what truth let events which followed determine—that
the king's life was in danger. I said, therefore, with
animation,—
“Your majesty shall have it in your power to leave
Hampton Court secretly,—to-morrow night, if you desire.
Leave the arrangement of all to me.”
“You have a plan?”
“I have had it for months, your majesty.”
“And afterwards?”
“France,” I said.
The king knit his brows.
“The King of England a wretched fugitive!” he
muttered.
“Or his queen a widow and his children fatherless,”
I said, briefly.
He looked at me with deep sadness, and said,—
“Would that be so great a calamity to them, friend?
All connected with me is unfortunate. But go: do
what you will.”
This was all I wanted. I saluted profoundly, left
the apartment, sauntered past the guard out into the
park, where the gentlemen of the king's suite were
permitted to walk, and, finding myself out of sight of
the sentry, hastened down to the bank of the river.
Here I stopped and waved my hat. Ten minutes
afterwards a boat detached itself from the opposite
bank, and lazily crossed, propelled by the paddle of a
waterman. The boat reached me. I entered, and was
paddled across. Five minutes after reaching the opposite
bank I was mounted upon a superb horse, which
had stood bridled and saddled in a shed attached to
the waterman's hut, and was going at full speed towards
the south.
Half an hour's ride brought me to the manor-house
of Colonel Edward Cooke,—the gentleman with the
fine stud of horses, to whom the queen had written
when her children were threatened at Oatlands.
Colonel Cooke was a warm loyalist, and his swift
horses were needed then to bear the royal children, in
the event of danger, from the country. They were
now to be put in requisition to effect the escape of the
king.
I had long before arranged everything with Colonel
Cooke. It was his horse I bestrode. And I now saw
him advance quickly as I galloped up the avenue leading
to his mansion.
“What intelligence, Mr. Cecil?” exclaimed Colonel
Cooke, who was a tall and stately old cavalier,
with a heavy mustache and royale, shaggy eyebrows
half concealing a pair of dark piercing eyes, and the
erect bearing of the thorough militaire. “What intelligence,
I pray you? Has his majesty consented to go
with us?”
“He has consented,” I replied, with ardent feeling.
And, leaping from my horse, I entered, and informed
Colonel Cooke of my interview with the king.
“Faith! his majesty decides in time, and just in
time,” was the colonel's comment. In his glowing
cheeks I read a satisfaction which, cool and reserved
as he was, the old soldier could not conceal. He went
and poured out two flagons of wine.
“To our success!” he said. “And now for our
arrangements, Mr. Cecil. I and my friends are ready.
His majesty shall bestride an animal fit for a king.
The jades they ride yonder at Hampton Court will have
no showing! Come! Now for every arrangement!”
The plan was speedily agreed upon. Colonel Cooke,
with a party of friends, was to be at the waterman's
hut the next evening at sunset, with horses saddled
and ready, and two led horses for the king and myself.
His majesty would then steal forth to enjoy the evening
air. The guard over him had been relaxed recently,
and this would not be hazardous. The river's bank
would be reached, the stream crossed in the boat,
then to horse, and, encircled by friends, he would fly
to France.
I left Colonel Cooke with a close grasp of the
hand, reached the river, was paddled over, and regained
Hampton Court without having excited the
least suspicion. Ten minutes afterwards I was alone
with his majesty, and told him of the plan for his
escape.
“So be it,” he said, calmly. “Whither I will bend
my course afterwards may be left to the future to
decide.”
I saw that the king could not yet bring himself to
the resolution to take refuge in France; but to this I
thought he must surely be driven. I therefore lost no
time in combating his indecision, proceeded to prepare
for the flight, and finally lay down with a beating
heart, impatient for the morrow.
That morrow dawned, dragged on,—never was day
so sluggish!—but finally evening came, and the king
descended to the hall of the palace, I following him.
As he attempted to issue forth, the man on guard
held his musquetoon across the doorway.
“You cannot pass,” he said, roughly,—for he was
one of the Independents.
“You will surely suffer me to walk in the park for
the benefit of my health?”
“No!”
The sound of feet tramping towards us was heard,
and the guard saluted. It was a sergeant, with a new
sentinel.
“Sergeant,” I said, “this man on guard here bars
the way against his majesty, who wishes to walk for
exercise in the park.”
“He obeys his orders,” was the consequential reply
of the sergeant, who was about five feet in height.
“He was right, then, sergeant,” I said, saluting;
“but you, a superior officer, are fortunately here now.
Has his majesty your permission to walk for half an
hour beneath the trees?”
I had conquered my man. “Superior officer” and
“permission” effected the victory.
“Hum! Well,” said the highly-flattered small personage,
“if only for half an hour. Orders are strict;
but I will send an escort to keep you in sight. Pass!”
A moment afterwards the king and myself were on
the lawn, the man just relieved from guard following
us at a distance and lowering at us.
All depended now upon giving the signal without
being discovered. I succeeded in doing so by gliding
behind a clump of bushes on the bank of the stream.
I saw the boat put off at the signal and slowly paddle
across, and the king sauntered, at a sign from me,
towards a spot agreed upon. Behind came the guard:
it was impossible to escape him.
“Enter the boat, your majesty,” I said, hurriedly,
“and leave me to deal with this man.”
The king shook his head. “I will not desert you,
friend. Come! He can fire but once upon us, and I
fear not bullets.”
Naught I could say moved the king. Thus no course
remained but to risk everything. We were now at the
bank; the boat touched it. The king leaped on board,
dragging me after him, and the boat darted into the
stream again.
The sentinel uttered a tremendous imprecation, and,
taking deliberate aim, fired at the king. The ball only
clipped a feather from his hat, and there was no more
danger now,—from the sentinel at least. The shot
would give the alarm, however,—the troops would soon
hasten towards the bank.
We were not mistaken. The boat had not reached
the opposite shore when the grassy banks in Hampton
Court suddenly swarmed with soldiers. Loud cries
to halt rose from the crowd, and a volley from their
musquetoons whistled around us as the boat ran aground.
The king's friends, headed by Colonel Cooke, hurried
down the bank and bore the king to shore.
“There is no time to lose now, your majesty,” said
the colonel. “Your horse is ready. I beseech you
hasten!”
The horse, a superb hunter, was led up quickly,
and the colonel held the king's stirrup. His majesty
mounted, and all did likewise. As we did so, half a
dozen boats put off from the opposite shore.
Colonel Cooke caught the king's bridle, exclaiming,—
“Come, your majesty!”
“In an instant, sir,” was the calm reply. “I would
take a last farewell of my palace.”
And, reining in his horse, he sat quietly for some
moments, gazing at Hampton Court.
“'Tis very beautiful; and I was once very happy
there!” I heard him murmur.
He remained for some moments gazing towards the
stately edifice with the same sad expression; then he
turned his horse slowly, just as the boats full of soldiery
touched the bank.
“Come, gentlemen!” he said.
And, striking the spurs into his horse, he set out for
the southern coast. Behind him thundered the rest.
The spirited horses swiftly bore their riders beyond
danger. King Charles I. had effected his escape from
Hampton Court.
