7. VII.
THE HOUR AT LAST.
Three days afterwards,—days passed by myself as a
captive in the same room with the king,—Colonel Hammond
made his reappearance.
“Your majesty will be released from further imprisonment
in this apartment,” he said, stiffly. “I
am directed to announce so much by the parliament,
who will send further orders. If agreeable to your
majesty, you may now descend to dinner, which is prepared
in the great hall.”
The king inclined coldly, and was about to decline.
“I pray your majesty to descend,” I said. “Your
health fails from confinement.”
The sad smile, now habitual with him, came to his
lips.
“Content,” he said; “but you use but feeble reasoning,
friend.”
I assisted him to make his toilet, and he descended to
the great banqueting-hall of the castle, where a crowd
of persons had assembled, as was customary then, to see
the king dine.
The king had no sooner taken his seat than the company
were startled by a sudden apparition. This was
a solemn, funereal, and cadaverous personage, clad in
black, but wearing a military belt and scarf, who stalked
into the hall, posted himself opposite the king, and
fixed his eyes upon him in sombre silence. The king
gazed at this strange person with undisguised surprise,
but, finding that he was apparently dumb and might be
deaf, did not address him: the whole meal passing in
silence.
As the king rose, I approached the funereal personage.
“Your name, if I may ask, sir?” I said.
“Isaac Ewer, an unworthy follower of the godly
cause.”
“Colonel Ewer, I think.”
“I am so called.”
“Your object?”
“I am come to fetch away Hammond to-night.”
These words dissipated all doubt. This singular
personage, representing the “Independents” of the
army, had come to order away Hammond, who represented
the parliament. From this moment it was obvious
that Charles I. had ceased to be the prisoner of
the civil power, and had become the prize of the military.
The full significance of the change may be stated
in a few words: the name of Isaac Ewer appears among
the regicides.
This man had just uttered the words I have recorded,
and Colonel Hammond had started up, as though determined
to resist this summary order from the military
authorities, when I heard a familiar voice near me,
and, turning my head, saw Colonel Cooke. How this
faithful friend of the king gained access to the castle I
never discovered. He had been released months before,
and had passed from my mind; but I afterwards
knew that he had kept watch over the king and laid
many plans to effect his escape.
Colonel Cooke now approached the king hurriedly,
and said to him, in the midst of the confusion,—
“Your majesty must attempt to escape.”
“To escape?”
“At once,” he replied, quickly. “The army has a
plan for seizing you immediately. This must be prevented.
All the preparations are made. We have
horses all ready here, concealed in a pent-house. A
vessel is at the Cowes waiting for us. We are prepared
to attend you.”
The king turned pale.
“No,” he said. “I have given my word to Hammond
and the House that I would make no further such
attempts. They have promised me, and I have promised
them; and I will not be the first to break promise.”
“Your majesty means by they and them the parliament?”
“Yes.”
“They have no power to protect you! You are a
dead man if—For God's sake, your majesty, consent!”
The face of the speaker flushed.
“For the queen and your children's sake!”
The king shook.
“No, I cannot: do not tempt me!” he murmured.
“My honor of gentleman alone is left to me!”
A thundering knock was heard at the door as the
king uttered these words, and a file of soldiers entered,
in front of whom advanced, with heavy tramp, two or
three sombre-visaged officers.
They went straight to the king.
“You must come with us,” said one of them.
“Who may you be?” the king asked.
“Officers from the army. Come!”
“Whither?”
“To the castle.”
“`The Castle' is no castle! I am prepared for any
castle, but tell me the name.”
“Hurst Castle.”
“Indeed!” the king said, calmly. “You could not
have named a worse.”
In truth, the selection of that gloomy fortress, a
species of dungeon, fitted for murder, seemed an
ominous indication of the designs of the king's captors.
It stood on a desolate promontory, approached from
the Isle of Wight by a narrow causeway; and an hour
afterwards the king was conducted thither.
In this sombre keep he was immured now, and I confess
my heart sank. I had remained with his majesty,
along with others, and experienced very great solicitude
for his safety. Everything now seemed to depend upon
the result of the struggle between the army and parliament.
The latter was known to embrace a number of
prominent persons who favored the king's release: if
the army were overthrown, the king, thus, would be
saved.
One morning came intelligence that the army under
General Cromwell had crushed the parliament. Soon
afterwards the rattling chains of the drawbridge were
heard as the ponderous mass fell. The emissary of the
army had come to conduct Charles I. to Windsor
Castle.
He was conducted thither. A month passed: I had
begun to dream of happier times for this poor husband
and father, so long the sport of his enemies, when, on
the 15th of January, 1648, a squadron of horse appeared
and escorted the king to London.
The hour had come.
