University of Virginia Library

8. VIII.
THE SCENE AT WESTMINSTER HALL.

I have shrunk from dwelling at length upon the days
passed by the king at Carisbrooke and Hurst Castles;
for a stronger reason still, I shall pass hastily over the
last scenes of the tragedy, the memory of which still
affects me profoundly.

This human being, now approaching death, had his
weaknesses, his prejudices,—committed crimes more
than once,—claimed prerogatives inconsistent with the
liberties of England; but he had suffered, had grown
gray in prison, and all the glory of royalty had been
stripped from him, and now his enemies, in an evil hour
for them, were going to commit the blunder of making
a martyr of him by putting him to death.

The forms were speedily gone through with. From
Windsor Castle, where he had enjoyed a brief season
of tranquillity, not divested of hope, he was taken in his
coach, under an escort of troopers with drawn pistols,
to St. James's Palace in London, where his treatment
at once indicated that his fate was sealed.

I had remained with him, as had his grace the Duke
of Richmond, his faithful Herbert, and other friends.
We were mercifully permitted to share his last hours;
and the terrible details of these hours are here recorded
briefly.

It soon became known to us that the military power

was completely in the ascendency. General Cromwell,
its head, proceeded to turn out of parliament all opposed
to the fatal resolution at last reached. The king
was transferred to a wing of Edward the Conqueror's
Palace; and speedily came the order that he should
be brought to Westminster Hall for trial.

It was a dark and chill morning in January when
the order came. The king rose calmly, put on his hat,
took his cane and gloves, and bowed to the officer
bearing the order.

“I am ready, sir,” he said.

The officer did not return the salute. The days of
royalty, and the respect due it, had passed away now.
The officer simply pointed to the door.

The king went out, and found himself in face of a
body of armed men, who gazed at him, some with
lowering faces, others with undisguised pity and compassion.

“Forward, to Westminster Hall!” the officer commanded;
and the troop moved, escorting the king,
who walked in the midst. I was near him, and went
on in a dream, as 'twere. The fatal pageant affected
me as men are affected by things seen in sleep.

All at once, as the procession moved along, I heard,
from a window above, the hoarse words,—

“Here he is! here he is!”

I looked up. The king was passing the “Painted
Chamber;” and the hoarse speaker was General
Cromwell. For the third time in my life I saw this
terrible man:—first in Buckinghamshire, at Mr. Hampden's,
a shuffling, absent-looking countryman; again
at Naseby, a cold and immovable statue on horseback;

now a judge, pale and purple by turns, looking upon
his victim.

I heard afterwards that he and others had met here
to see the king pass, and that General Cromwell, after
uttering the words above recorded, added to Marten,
one of his associates,—

“The hour of the great affair approaches. Decide
speedily what answer you will give him; for he will
immediately ask by what authority you pretend to judge
him.”

“In the name of the Commons assembled in parliament,”
Marten replied, ironically, “and of all the
good people of England.”

The purlieus of Westminster Hall were nearly choked
with troops. These, too, seemed divided between bitter
enmity and compassion. Many of the citizens had
mingled with the soldiery, and cried aloud, as the king
came,—

“God save your majesty!”

The soldiers did not suppress this cry; and the fact
seemed to enrage their commander, Colonel Axtel.
Suddenly the tall form of that officer advanced, the
dark face full of anger. This sentiment became fury
when some of the soldiers, whose backs were turned to
him, shouted, compassionately,—

“Justice! justice!”

With a cane which he held in his hand, Colonel
Axtel struck them vigorously over the shoulders; and
the men who had just clamored for justice to the
captive now shouted as loudly,—

“Execution! execution!”

The king entered Westminster Hall in the midst of

his guard. Behind came the procession of his judges,
with the sword and mace borne before them.

The king sat down, keeping his hat upon his head,
and looked around him with calm and even curious
eyes. His bearing was composed, and his eyes seemed
to express a grave wonder at the scene. He was yethin
and pale, and the curls beneath his beaver were
silvered with gray.

The judges took their seats above him, and the ceremony
began. An advocate rose, and began to read
from a paper which he held in his hand that the king
was “indicted in the name of the Commons assembled,
and the people of England.”

The king interrupted him here with some words
which I did not hear. The advocate scowled at him,
but continued to read; whereupon the king extended
his slight cane, and touched him with the gold head
upon the shoulder. The head detached itself from
the cane, rolled on the floor, distinctly heard in the
profound silence; and the whole assembly, wound
to the highest pitch of nervous excitement, rose in
mass.

“God save your majesty! God save the king!”
rose from the crowd of people in the hall.

Scuffling succeeded: the troops, under direction of
their officers, were buffeting and hustling the malcontents.
The advocate's voice, loud and monotonous,
resumed the indictment. It was finished; and Mr.
Bradshaw, who presided, demanded of the king what
his plea was,—guilty or not guilty of the crimes laid
to his charge.

“I make no plea. I deny the authority of this

court, though not the power,” the king replied.
“There are many illegal powers, as those of highwaymen
and bandits. The Commons agreed to a
treaty of peace with me when at Carisbrooke, and
since that time I have been hurried from place to place.
Where are the just privileges of the House of Commons?
Where are the Lords? I see none present.
And where is the king? Call you this bringing a king
to his parliament?”

Bradshaw scowled, retorting in some violent words,
and a discussion ensued. The court promised to break
up in the midst of a brawl,—perhaps a conflict between
army and citizens. It was hastily adjourned,
therefore; and the king was reconducted to his prison,
the people shouting, as he passed,—

“God bless your majesty! God save you from
your enemies!”

The first scene of the first act had thus been played.
The rest followed rapidly, and the catastrophe was
at hand.

The king was again and again brought before his
judges. He resolutely refused, however, to acknowledge
the competency of the tribunal; and it was plain
that violent measures would be called for. These
were adopted. The king's enemies had gone too far
to recede: their own safety absolutely required that
his blood should be shed.

All was resolved upon at last; and for the fourth
time his majesty was conducted to Westminster Hall.

Bradshaw had already taken his seat, and wore a red
dress. The fact was ominous, and the proceedings
were brief.

“Read the list of members of the court,” growled
the president, Bradshaw.

The clerk began to read. At the name of “Fairfax,”
a voice from the gallery cried,—

“Fairfax has too much wit to be here to-day!”

All eyes were raised. The voice was seen to have
issued from a group of ladies who attended as spectators.

Colonel Axtel, commanding the soldiery, shouted,
with fury,—

“Present pieces!—fire!—fire into the box where
she sits!”

As he spoke, one of the ladies rose, in the centre
of the group. For a moment she remained motionless,
looking down with great scorn upon the rough faces of
the troops, who were confusedly raising their musquetoons.
She then slowly went out of the gallery; and
I heard from the crowd around me,—

“'Tis Lady Fairfax! They dare not harm her!”

The reading of the list proceeded. At the name
of Cromwell a new tumult rose.

“Oliver Cromwell is a rogue and a traitor!” cried
a second voice from the gallery.

Axtel raged; but the president made a gesture, and
the reading proceeded. The clerk concluded by declaring
that the king was “called to answer by the
people before the Commons of England assembled in
parliament.”

“'Tis false!” shouted the voice in the gallery; “not
one half-quarter of them!”

At this renewed interruption and open defiance,
Colonel Axtel seemed ready to lose his head. He

foamed with rage, and shook his clenched hand towards
the spot from which the voice had issued, shouting,
“Fire! fire on them!”

Bradshaw again interposed. Silence was obtained;
but a more important interruption was to come.

The president began to pass sentence.

“I demand,” said the king, “that the whole of the
members of the House of Commons, and such lords
as are in England, shall assemble to hear the sentence
about to be pronounced upon me.”

Bradshaw frowned angrily, and was about to proceed
without noticing this protest, when one of the court
started to his feet in great agitation and with tears on
his cheeks.

“Have we hearts of stone?” he exclaimed. “Are
we men?”

“You will ruin us, and yourself too!” came in a
hoarse undertone from those near the speaker, whom
they violently attempted to hold in his seat.

“If I were to die for it!” was the renewed protest.

Cromwell, who sat just beneath, turned and looked
at the speaker with lowering eyes.

“Colonel Downes,” he said, sternly, in his deep
voice, “are you mad?”

“No!”

“Can't you sit still?”

“No! I cannot and I will not sit still!”

He broke from those attempting to hold him down.

“I move,” he exclaimed, “that we adjourn to deliberate!”

Cromwell rose in a rage, and his eyes seemed to dart
lightning as he looked at Downes.

“You wish to save your old master!” he said, in a
storm of wrath; “but make an end of this, and return
to your duty!”

Cries and confused voices were heard, however,
throughout the great hall; and, doubtless reflecting
that nothing would be lost thereby, the court determined
to retire to deliberate. They went out at a
side door, and remained absent for about half an hour;
then they reappeared, defiling in, stern, silent, and
ominous.

Bradshaw took his seat in the midst of cries of
wrath, pity, and horror from the crowd, where Axtel
exerted himself to obtain silence.

In the midst of this silence, sentence was passed
upon the king.

He listened without a word, and, at the termination
of the sentence, rose and put on his gloves. Axtel
advanced and motioned to him. He obeyed the order
of the man who now stood in the place of the headsman,
passed through the crowd of furious soldiery,
who puffed the smoke of their pipes in his face, spat
upon him, and yelled, “Justice! execution!” in his
ears, and, entering his sedan-chair,—a luxury still
permitted him,—was borne back to his place of imprisonment,
a man condemned to die.

As he disappeared, a great cry rose above the crowd,
struck with awe and horror.

This cry was,—

“God help and save your majesty! God keep you
from your enemies!”

One of the soldiers, even, joined in this cry, and was
seen to do so by an officer, who felled him with one

blow. This took place as the king passed. He looked
at the unfortunate man with a smile of sad pity.

“Poor fellow!” he murmured, sighing: “'tis a heavy
blow for so small an offense!”