Chapter V: The Restoration

The welcome with which Charles was received amounted to frenzy. Bonfires were made all over the City; up went the maypoles again; the church bells rang; the mob paraded rumps of beef, which they afterwards roasted and devoured; they made everybody drink the health of the King upon their knees; they broke the windows of leading Puritans; they made Monk’s soldiers drunk. It was not only the King who had come to his own again; it was the return of merriment, feasting, dancing, singing, mumming, sports, music, laughing, the pride of the eye, the delight of the ear, the joy of the world, the careless, reckless, headlong happiness of youth in the things that belong to youth. The kingdom of God upon the earth had been attempted. Perhaps the Puritans mistook the nature of that kingdom; perhaps they were only wrong in believing that the time was ripe for the advent of that kingdom.

From the Crace Collection in British Museum]

But let us begin this reign with the words of those who looked on at the Restoration:—

“Mem. that Threadneedle Street was all day long and late at night crammed with multitudes crying out, ‘A free Parliament!—A free Parliament!’ that the air rang again with their noise. One day, he, coming out on horseback, they were so violent that he was almost afraid of himself, and so, to satisfy them (as they used to do to importunate children), said, ‘Pray be quiet, ye shall have a Free Parliament!’ This was about seven, or rather eight, as I remember, at night; immediately a loud halloa and shout was given, all the bells in the city ringing; and the whole city looked as if it had been in a flame by the bonfires, which were prodigiously great and frequent, and ran like a train over the city; and I saw some balconies that began to be kindled. They made little gibbets, and roasted rumps of mutton; nay, I saw some very good rumps of beef. Health to K. Charles II. was drunk in the streets, by the bonfires, even on their knees.”

And Pepys writes:—

“In Cheapside there were a great many bonfires, and Bow bells
and all the bells in all the churches as we went home, were
ringing.” [Hence he went homeward, it being about ten at night.]
“But the common joy that was everywhere to be seen; the number of
bonfires!—there being fourteen between St. Dunstan’s and Temple
Bar; and at Strand Bridge I could at one time tell thirty-one
fires; in King Street seven or eight; and all along burning, and
roasting, and drinking for rumps; there being rumps tied upon
sticks, and carried up and down. The butchers at the May-Pole in
the Strand rang a peal with their knives, when they were going
to sacrifice their rump. On Ludgate Hill there was one turning
the spit that had a rump tied upon it, and another basting of
it. Indeed, it was past imagination both the greatness and the
suddenness of it. At one end of the street you would think there
was a whole lane of fire and smoke, so hot that we were fain to
keep on the other side.... Everybody now drinks the King’s health
without any fear, whereas before it was very private that a man
dare do it. Monk this day is feasted at Mercers’ Hall, and is
invited, one after another, to all the twelve Halls in London. Many
think that he is honest yet, and some or more think him to be a
fool that would raise himself by endeavouring it.... This morning
comes Mr. Edward Pickering; he tells me that the King will come in,
but that Monk did resolve to have the doing of it himself or else
to hinder it.”

When Parliament met all the members must have understood what was going to happen. On the 3rd of May, Sir John Greville presented to the House a letter from Charles. It was resolved that his promises were satisfactory and that the Government should be once more by King, Lords, and Commons. Six Commissioners representing the House of Lords, twelve for the House of Commons, and twenty for the City of London, were appointed; they were instructed to take over £50,000 for the King, £10,000 for the Duke of York, and £5000 for the Duke of Gloucester; the City Commissioners added a gift of £10,000 for the King.

“There was great joy in London,” Pepys states, “and at night more bonfires than ever, and ringing of bells, and drinking of the King’s health upon their knees in the streets, which methinks is a little too much.”

On the 26th of May 1660 the King landed at Dover; on the 29th he entered London. The cavalcade which did honour to the occasion was worthy of a mediæval riding.

“First marched a gallant troop of gentlemen in Cloth of Silver,
brandishing their Swords, and led by Major-General Brown; then
followed another troop of two hundred in velvet coats with footmen
and liveries attending them in purple; then another troop, led by
Alderman Robinson, in buff coats, with cloth of silver sleeves,
and very rich green scarves; and after these a troop of about two
hundred, with blue liveries laid with silver, with six trumpeters,
and several footmen, in sea-green and silver; then a troop of
two hundred and twenty, with thirty footmen in grey and silver
liveries and four trumpeters richly habited. Then another troop
of an hundred and five, with grey liveries and six trumpets; and
another of seventy, with five trumpets. And then three troops
more, two of three hundred, and one of one hundred, all gloriously
habited and gallantly mounted. After these came two trumpets with
his Majesty’s arms; the Sheriffs’ men in red cloaks, richly laced
with silver to the number of fourscore, with half-pikes in their
hands; then followed six hundred of the several companies of London
on horseback, in black velvet coats with gold chains, each company
having footmen in different liveries, with streamers, etc. After
these came kettle-drums, and trumpets, with streamers, and after
them twelve Ministers at the head of His Majesty’s Life Guards of
Horse, commanded by the Lord Gerrard; next the City Marshall, with
eight footmen in divers colours; with the City Waits and Officers
in order; then the two Sheriffs, and all the Aldermen of London in
their scarlet coats and rich trappings, with footmen in liveries,
red coats laid with silver and cloth of gold; the Heralds and
Maces in rich coats; then the Lord Mayor carrying the Sword, bare,
with his Excellency (the General) and the Duke of Buckingham, bare
also; and then, as the last to all this splendid triumph, rode the
King himself between his royal brothers, the Dukes of York and
Gloucester; then followed a troop of Horse with white colours; and
after them the General’s Life-Guard led by Sir Philip Howard, and
another Troop of Gentry; and last of all five regiments of the Army
Horse, with Back, Breast, and Head-Pieces, which diversified the
Shew with delight and terror.”

At the Coronation in April of the following year, the City, still in a fever of loyalty, raised four triumphal arches, and organised a procession as magnificent as that of the entry. After the Coronation was the Banquet, at which Pepys was so fortunate as to be a spectator:—

“A little while before the King had done all his ceremonies (in
the Abbey) I went round to Westminster Hall all the way within
rayles, with the ground covered with blue cloth, and scaffolds all
the way. Into the Hall I got, where it was very fine with hangings
and scaffolds one upon another, full of brave ladies. The King
came in with his crowne on and his sceptre in his hand, under a
canopy borne up by six silver staves carried by barons of the
Cinque Ports, and little bells at every end. And after a long time
he got to the farther end, and all set themselves down at their
several tables.... I went from table to table to see the bishops
and all others at their dinner. And at the lords’ table I met with
William Howe, and he spoke to my lord for me, and he did give him
four rabbits and a pullet, and so Mr. Creed and I got Mr. Minshell
to give us some bread, and so we at a stall eat it as every one
else did what they could get. I took a great deal of pleasure to
go up and down and look upon the ladies, and to hear the musique
of all sorts; but, above all, the twenty-four violins. About six
at night they had dined. And strange it is to think that these two
days have held up fair till now, that all is done, and the King
gone out of the Hall, and then it fell a-raining and thundering and
lightning as I have not seen it do for some years, which people
did take great notice of. I observed little disorder, only the
King’s footmen had got hold of the canopy and would keep it from
the barons of the Cinque Ports, which they endeavoured to force
from them again, but could not do it till my lord Duke of Albemarle
caused it to be put into Sir R. Pye’s hand, till to-morrow, to be
decided.”

The Fifth Monarchy men who have already been mentioned as rising against Cromwell were, on the reappearance of Charles, mad enough, or fanatical enough, to attempt a second rising, the history of which is curiously picturesque, and shows also the strange religious distractions of the time.

From a contemporary print.]

Between the King’s accession in May and the end of the year these fanatics seem to have done nothing. Many of their leaders, including Colonel Overton, Major Wild, Cornet Day, and others, were arrested on suspicion of dangerous symptoms. The Fifth Monarchy people had a meeting-house in Swan Alley, Coleman Street. Here on the sixth day of January 1661, the Sunday after the arrest of their leaders, they assembled in a state of mind approaching frenzy. What followed was madness pure and simple. Their preacher, Thomas Venner, the wine cooper, had acquired a competent fortune by his trade. He was believed to be a man of sense until his understanding was confused with enthusiasm. He, in common with his sect, looked on Charles as a usurper upon Christ’s dominion. On this particular Sunday his madness and the madness of his followers broke out. He assured them that the time of the Fifth Monarchy had arrived; that those who believed in it and expected it should be protected by Divine interference so that no weapon should hurt them, and not a hair should be touched among them all; but one should chase a thousand and that two should put ten thousand to flight; that the Reign of Jesus was beginning that day upon the earth. Filled with enthusiasm the people drew up a declaration called “A door of Hope opened,” in which they affirmed they would never sheath the sword till Babylon (meaning the Monarchy) became a hissing and a curse; till there would be left neither remnant, son, nor nephew; that when they had led captivity captive in England, they would go forth into France, Spain, and Germany; that they would rather die than take the oaths of supremacy and allegiance; that they would make no league with monarchists, but would rise up against the carnal, to possess the gate of the world; to bind their kings in chains and their nobles in fetters of iron.

From an engraving by P. Vanderbanc.]

When they had adopted this promising declaration they marched out in a body of sixty only, but well armed, down Cheapside to St. Paul’s Churchyard, shouting as they went for “King Jesus.” In St. Paul’s Churchyard they were accosted by a man who cried out for King Charles. Him they slew immediately. By this time the Mayor, Sir Richard Brown, heard of the tumult, and sent a company of the trained bands to suppress it. The number of the company thus sent out is not known, but they were not strong enough. Instead of suppressing the fanatics they were themselves totally routed and put to flight. The Fifth Monarchy men then marched through the City without opposition; they passed out at Bishopsgate; then, evidently not knowing what to do next, they crossed Moorfields, marched along Chiswell Street, and, turning south again, re-entered the City at Cripplegate. It would have been better for them had they dispersed and gone home for the night, satisfied with their triumph and now convinced of their invulnerability. Unfortunately they heard of a troop of horse waiting for them somewhere, and so retreated, killing a headborough on the way, to Beech Lane. Here they encountered some opposition which caused them to march north as far as the heights of Hampstead. They found shelter, such as it was, for the night in Ken Woods, which are still left exactly as they were then. In the morning—they must have been wretched after a winter night in the open and with no food—they were attacked by more troops and dispersed, some of them being taken prisoners and committed to the Gatehouse, Westminster.

Next day they rallied again and returned to London. This was the last day of the Rising. It was a day of sturdy and obstinate fighting. I do not know any other example where such a handful of men held out so long against such odds. Nor can one understand where the men got their ammunition. They fought on Sunday evening, Monday and Tuesday; they are described as firing in good order; where, then, did they procure their ammunition?

When they arrived once more in London they divided into two small parties; one of them marched towards Leadenhall, where they were followed by the trained bands which dispersed them. The other party, under Venner, marched on Haberdashers’ Hall in Maiden Lane, hoping to catch the Mayor. But he evaded them. They then repaired to Wood Street, presumably intending to go out again by Cripplegate; the Horse Guards now came upon the scene, and a fierce fight ensued, in which Venner was dangerously wounded and two of their preachers killed. They then retreated in good order; outside the gate they stationed ten men in an alehouse with instructions to hold it; seven of the ten were killed, a large number of the trained bands, and twenty of the rebels. Fourteen were taken; eleven were executed with the customary formalities; and here they made an end; probably no further search was attempted after the rest of the rioters. It was wiser not to ascertain how many of these fanatics there were and who they were. We hear, however, very little more of the Fifth Monarchy men. As for the poor fanatics, they affirmed to the last that if they had been deceived, the Lord Himself was their deceiver.

E. Gardner’s Collection.]

On the 30th day of January 1661, the anniversary of King Charles’s execution, in the year following the Restoration, a remarkable procession took place through the streets of London to Tyburn. Horsemen led the way and brought up the rear; there were trumpets and drums; guards marched on either side; in the middle, one behind the other, on their sledges, sat Lord Munson, Sir Henry Mildmay, and Robert Wallop with ropes about their necks. The Act of Indemnity had spared their lives, but it had not spared them other penalties, and they went through the form of being drawn to execution. Arrived at Tyburn they were taken off the sledges and carried back to the Tower, there to pass the remainder of their days.

Three more of the regicides, Okey, Corbet, and Berkstead, who had escaped to Hanau in Germany, were decoyed by Sir George Downey, the King’s resident at the Hague. He treacherously assured Okey that he had no directions to look for him; whereupon all three left Hanau and repaired to Delft, where they were arrested and sent home for trial. They were of course convicted and executed. No more honourable and conscientious man than Corbet ever existed. The death of these three was followed by that of Sir Harry Vane. Neither Vane nor Lambert was among the judges of the King. The House of Lords wished, however, to exclude both from the Act of Indemnity; the House of Commons desired to include them. The Chancellor assuring them that their lives were safe, both Houses agreed in a petition to the King:—

“Your Majesty having declared your gracious pleasure to proceed only against the murderers of your royal Father, we, your Majesty’s most humble subjects, the Lords and Commons assembled, not finding Sir Henry Vane or Colonel Lambert to be of the number, are humble suitors to your Majesty that, if they shall be attainted, execution of their lives may be remitted.”

Charles broke his word and Vane was executed, showing to the last the firmness and courage which only a good conscience could give, this belongs to national history. He suffered on Tower Hill. His friends urged him after his sentence to make submission to the King. He replied:—

“If his Majesty does not think himself more concerned for his honour and word than I am for my life, I am very willing he should take it; and I declare that I value my life less in a good cause than the King does his promise.” (_Clayton_, ii. p. 164.)

Sir Harry Vane was a scholar of Oxford; he had travelled in France and stayed awhile in Geneva, where he had adopted the religious principles which ruled him through life. So much was he considered when quite young that the King entreated Laud to bring him to a more orthodox way of thinking. To avoid Laud’s frequent reproofs Vane went to America, where, at the age of four-and-twenty, he became Governor of Massachusetts Bay.

The Act of Indemnity excluded the late King’s judges and certain persons who had been active in procuring the King’s execution. The trials of the State prisoners under the exceptions of this Act took place at the Old Bailey. On October 11 they were all sentenced to death as traitors, with the customary barbarities. Major-General Harrison, the Rev. Hugh Peters, Mr. Thomas Scot, Mr. Gregory Clement, and Colonels Scroop (or Scrope), John Jones, Francis Hacker, and Daniel Axtell were sentenced. Most of them were executed at Charing Cross.

The case of Harrison was the most important. There is no doubt that he took an active part in bringing Charles to the block; yet he subsequently refused to assist Cromwell in his ambitions; he was imprisoned by Cromwell and deprived of his commission; on his release he retired to a private life, and refused to fly when the King returned. Brought before the Court, he made no attempt to deny the fact; on the contrary he gloried in it:—

“The act of which I stand accused was not a deed performed in a
corner; the sound of it has gone forth to most nations; and, in
the singular and marvellous conduct of it, has chiefly appeared
the sovereign power of Heaven.... I have often, agitated by
doubts, offered my addresses, with passionate tears, to the Divine
Majesty, and earnestly sought for light and conviction. I still
received assurances of a heavenly sanction, and returned from such
devout supplications with tranquillity and satisfaction. These
frequent illapses of the Divine Spirit I could not suspect to be
interested illusions: since I was conscious that for no temporal
advantage would I have offered injury to the poorest individual.
All the allurements of ambition, all the terrors of imprisonment
have not been able, during the usurpation of Cromwell, to shake my
steady resolution or bend me to a compliance with that deceitful
tyrant: and, when invited by him to sit on the right hand of
the throne—when offered riches, splendour, and dominion, I have
disdainfully rejected all temptations, and, neglecting the tears of
my friends and family, have still, through every danger, held fast
my principles and my integrity.”

He then refused to say more and submitted to the sentence of the Court. The scene of the execution was Charing Cross; the day, October the 14th, 1661. Evelyn met the carts carrying away the mangled quarters. “Oh!” he cried, “the miraculous providence of God!”