St. George's Cross; Or, England Above All

Returning to the house, Le Gallais found the graceless monarch seated at table before a steaming bowl of porridge, while Rose was pouring him some cider.

"Odsfish," he heard Charles say, "I owe Captain Le Gallais thanks for a fair deliverance, and you, madame, a courteous usage under difficulty. But à la guerre comme à la guerre, and I have slept in worse conditions than those of your house, madame. Let me but bid farewell to your sweet sister, and I will be back in the castle before my absence has been observed. Ha! Captain Le Gallais, you must be my guide back to the quay. This part is strange to me."

All Charles's prayers were vain. Marguerite had a migraine, and could not have the honour of receiving the king's farewell. He finished his breakfast, took a courtier's leave of his hostess, and set forth on his homeward way, respectfully attended by Le Gallais. They walked through the streets in silence for some time, the king having quite enough sense to be ashamed of his situation.

"You have an interest," he presently said, "in yonder ladies, captain?"

"I have, sir. I am M. de Maufant's friend."

"And therefore my enemy, I take it. No matter, you have served me a good turn."

Soon the strangely-assorted couple approached the quay. Scarcely anyone being abroad at that early hour. Moreover they had come down to the bridge head by way of the Gallows-hill, to avoid the publicity of the main streets. As they parted, Charles turned kindly to his unwonted follower, and said once more—

"We shall not forget our obligation to you, Captain Le Gallais, whenever a time comes for proper acknowledgment. Meantime, if you will not own us as your king, tell me, as man to man, if there be anything in which Charles Stuart can serve you."

"Aye, is there," answered the Jerseyman, out of the fullness of his heart. "For your own sake, sir, leave us. We are a simple folk, unused to the ways of the great world, and only asking to be left in peace."

"By the faith of a gentleman," muttered Charles, as he made his way out to the castle, "the islander is right in his amphibious way. The solemn league and covenant is not amusing, but it cannot be worse than living here like a seal upon a rock; and when one goes forth to talk to a comely wench, being reconducted to one's rock by a Puritan with webbed feet. Yet he hath saved me from a shrewd pinch, and that is the truth."

It will not be supposed that Charles was all at once prepared to drop the little intrigue—so united to his already corrupted character, into which he had been led by Benoist's insidious suggestions, acting upon a mind always anxious for excitement, and predisposed by the talk of the deceased groom-of-the-chamber. But the danger which he had incurred was a warning in the opposite direction. Benoist was in hiding, and appeared no more in the castle; lastly, the negotiations with the Scots now became so urgent and so perpetual as to require his almost constant presence and personal influence. The opposing motives and conflicting opinions of his various advisers often kindled into violent altercation, in composing which the really excellent qualities of the young king's prematurely developed character had room for beneficial action. So the ladies of Maufant were left free from a troublesome persecution, against which, nevertheless, they took all due precautions.

Upon general grounds Charles was now willing enough to leave Jersey. The bluff firmness of Sir George Carteret, and the grave counsels of Nicholas, by whom the lieutenant-governor was usually backed up, were unwelcome to a sovereign; and his tiny kingdom afforded but little compensation, especially when he was forbidden to visit it, and was virtually prisoner on an almost insulated corner thereof. For Carteret and Nicholas had heard of his nocturnal adventure, and had extorted a promise from him not to go on land without their knowledge. They had also taken other precautions in the same behalf, which were perhaps more trustworthy.

It was finally determined that the king and his retinue should leave the island. The Scots' invitation was accepted on the terms proposed by what it was agreed to call "the committee of estates;" and Breda, in Holland, was named as the place where the final agreement should be engrossed and signed by the high contracting parties. Here Charles would be safe in the protection of his brother-in-law, the Prince of Orange, until matters should be ripe for his departure to Scotland.

EPILOGUE

Since the events related in the foregoing chapters nearly two years had gone by. Jersey had been saved from intrigues of the Queen and Lord Jermyn. Charles had gone to France, and thence to Holland, followed by the Duke of York, his brother, and later by Sir Edward Nicholas and the other members of his council and court. The lieutenant-governor, freed from even the slight control afforded by their presence, had given full scope to the worse parts of his peculiar and complicated character. More than ever was his administration of his native island marked by unblushing egotism. Oppressive, grasping, unguarded in speech, and almost unrestrained in action, he seemed, from one point of view, the model of a sordid, short-sighted despot, making hay while the sun shone. But he had a fund of caution which kept him from proceeding quite to extremes, and his energy and ability were undeniable, as was also his attention to business. Hence, while feared and even hated, he was still respected and obeyed. Most of the militia officers were his creatures, as were also—as we have already seen—the civil, judicial, and legislative officers of the little republic. The seat of his government was at S. Helier, while S. Aubin, on the opposite point of the bay, was filled with his skippers and their crews, and the traders who profited by their piratical proceedings. Hardly a week passed but some rich prize—usually an English merchantman—was brought in there, to be condemned by Carteret's court, and sold, together with her cargo, while the unfortunate mariners who had manned her were left to their own resources. Adventurers from all parts flocked to Jersey, to share the gains of this new and irregular trade, while the lawful commerce of England was menaced as with a cancer. With the resources derived from his maritime enterprise, joined to what he drew from his fines, taxes, exactions, compositions, and confiscations within the limits of the island, the unscrupulous governor was founding a sort of Christian Barbary, and becoming a hostile power no less than a public scandal. Nevertheless, he could on occasion make a generous use of his ill-gotten gains.[v. Appendix.] He sent money more than once to the necessitous court in Holland, continuing to do so until the king departed thence to Scotland. And he kept up such a stream of supplies for Castle Cornet, in Guernsey, as enabled Sir Baldwin Wake, the commandant, to hold out against all the force of the Parliamentary power in that island, and against all attempts by sea. Indeed this remarkable siege lasted longer than the fabled one of Troy, and the feat, however creditable to the handful of men by whom it was performed, and to Osborne and his successor Wake, was only rendered possible by the constant aid of Sir George Carteret. Most of all, however, did that energetic officer enrich himself, laying in fact the foundation of that greatness which afterwards culminated in his descendant, the famous Lord Granville, the rival of Walpole. He obtained from Charles a grant of Crown lands, including the escheated manor of Melèches. And he further appropriated to his own use the revenues of his personal enemies, the chief of whom were the exiled Seigneurs Dumaresq, of Samares, and Lempriere, of Maufant. It should, however, be added that he shed no more blood. In fact with the exception of the Bandinels and Messervy, Seigneur of Bagot (already mentioned), no one lost life for opposition to Sir George. He even attempted to conciliate some of his opponents, restoring Le Gallais to his post of captain in the militia, and empowering him to offer to Lempriere's wife the use of her house at Maufant, which he had confiscated. But that valiant lady resolutely refused to hold or inhabit under the favour of an usurper, and continued to occupy the lodgings on King's Cliff, though in constant straits for want of money. Marguerite, who, however wild and light others found her, was always faithful to her good sister, cast in her lot with Mme. de Maufant, with the consent of her own family at Rozel; and it was chiefly by her assistance that the expenses were in any way met. Le Gallais also lost no opportunity of visiting the ladies and ministering to their wants like a brother, to the great straining of his own slender savings. He carefully forebore to press Mlle. de St. Martin with a lover's suit, whether or no to that young lady's complete satisfaction we are not informed. In any case, her manner, though composed by trouble, gave no sign of the state of her feelings; and whether she was fond of Alain or weary of him, her self-control was equally to her credit. As for Alain, he seemed to be stupefied, rather awaiting ruin than expecting better times.

Matters were in this state, when one lovely day in September, 1651, Alain came before Mme. de Maufant and her sister as they sate knitting in the doorway.

"Great news!" he cried, as soon as he was near enough for the ladies to hear. "Great news! General Cromwell has thoroughly purged the garner. He has beaten and scattered the Scots at Worcester. 'Tis said Charles Stuart their king is taken prisoner. This 'crowning mercy,' as it is called by the lord general, befel on the 3rd, the same day last year he beat these same Scots at Dunbar. 'Tis a great and a bright day in his lordship's life."

"Count no man happy till his end," answered Rose gravely. "A day of triumph may be a day of doom when God pleases. And how does this event touch us, thinkest thou, Alain?"

"Why thus," replied the young man. "The general is not a man to bear with our lieutenant-governor's oppressions and piracies for ever. Like Satan in the Apocalypse, Carteret hath great wrath, because he knoweth that his time is short. For Admiral Blake hath been collecting his ships at Portsmouth, and our informant says that they were to sail to-day, eighty vessels of war. They carry a strong force of fantassins, pikemen, and arquebussiers, with the new snaphaunces devised in the low countries. Their commander is Major-General Haine, Prynne is there as commissioner, and, best of all, Michael Lempriere is on board!"

Rose looked at him with swimming eyes.

"And Michael Lempriere comes as bailiff. He said that he would. And then, when your fortunes are once more high, and you have no further need of me …"

Alain faltered and looked down. But for that gesture even his despondent mind might have been roused by the look that Marguerite cast upon him. But the dart was parried by the shield of an obstinate depression.

"I have arranged," he pursued, "with Sir George. You know that last year he sent out a ship of five guns to America, laden with passengers, all sorts of grain, and tools for husbandry. She was lost, being captured (that is to say) off the Isle of Wight by Captain Green, of the Commonwealth's navy. The stores were confiscated, but most of the passengers came back to the island, and have been here ever since awaiting a fresh opportunity for New Jersey. It will come soon, and I sail with the next venture."

"With the next fiddlestick," broke in Rose. "Speak to the silly fellow, Marguerite. This is the last time of asking."

Whatever may be thought of Alain's project of emigration, his information was true enough. Cromwell had determined to put a stop to the trouble caused by the present doings in Jersey. Yet he had no desire to repeat the severities of Ireland. The Jersey cavaliers were good Protestants, there had been no massacres, and their cause was warmly supported by Prynne—a man with whom the general could not wholly sympathise, but with whom he could still less afford to break on what appeared to him a not very important difference. Left to himself, he would not probably have been as stern with Jersey as he had been with the blood-stained Rapparees and their allies, solicited by the leader of the Moderates, he was willing to be won. So he readily agreed to the counsels of those who urged him to accept Prynne's offer of service, and appointed the Presbyterian confessor to accompany Blake and Haine as a representative of conciliation and indulgence.

Setting sail with a light north-east wind, the transports and their convoy, multiplied by popular rumour into a vast fleet of war, and really bearing nearly three thousand good troops and a quantum of field guns, made slow way out of Portsmouth harbour on Sunday, September 19th. Next morning they were in the open sea with all sail set. On the quarter-deck of the Constant Warwick, a fine frigate (the first launched by the new government) Lempriere and Prynne—now completely reconciled—paced slowly up and down, talking of the present situation and future policy. As they did so their eyes glanced from time to time on the fair sea scape, illumined by the early autumn sunlight, and shaded by the sails of the surrounding shipping.

"'Tis a fair show, Mr. Bailiff," said the English politician, "And one that ought to bring down our friend's stomach."

"Faith! I do not know," answered the Jerseyman. "Sir George will fight, I doubt. You know him as well as I."

"Nevertheless, he cannot fight to much purpose, and I see not how there can be any great effusion of blood. By himself he can do nothing, and who will be of his side? It is the divine asseveration of the wisest of men, Ecclesiastes vii. 7, 'Surely oppression maketh a wise man mad.' And if it be so, Cartwright should have but few sane men about him. Yet in his fall I pray he may find mercy. And I am forced to lean upon you, Mr. Bailiff, in that behalf."

"Non tali auxilio," began the quotation-loving bailiff. But Prynne gravely pursued his pleading.

"You may recollect what I said to the Commons' House three full years ago. Indeed it was the very night before Pride's Purge. If fines, I reminded them, if imprisonments, grievous mutilations, and brandings of S.L.—which I once called 'stigmata landis;' but 'tis an ill subject for jesting—could bespeak a true friend to liberty, why then sure I am one whose voice might well claim, a hearing. Yet it hath been far otherwise with yonder masterful men of the carnal weapon, who seek their own advancement in the name of the Commonwealth. I have never coveted the transient treasures, honours, or preferments of the world, but only to do to my God, country, aye, and king, too, the best public services I could, even though it brought upon me the loss of my liberty, the ruin of my mean estate, and the hazard of my life. When the late king did wrong I withstood him, to the extent of my poor capacity; but I was not for seeing the crown and lords of the ancient realm of England subverted or submerged by the flood of usurpation let in by some members of the Lower House. My speech of the 4th December, 1649–."

"I heard it," broke in the other, "And well do I remember the hum of assent and approbation with which it was received."

"It was printed no less than three times last year. Then followed my tractate upon their deposing and executing their lawful king; and other leaves against the arbitrary taxation of what I call 'the Westminster Junto.' Think you that these things can be forgotten, or that my being sent here with Haine is more than a hollow compliment? Recollect the word that we exchanged at my lodging in the Strand two years ago, and bear in mind that it is rather in your hands than in mine to temper justice with mercy when my friends shall be overthrown in yonder island."

So pleaded, and to yet greater length, the verbose but earnest advocate. But in truth he might have been more concise, less eloquence would have sufficed had not the idle hours of a sea voyage thrown open a wider door for its display. Lempriere was ready to promise anything on the joy of the long-wished for moment.

"Quod optanti Divum promittere nemoAuderet."

As he himself expressed the matter with wonted Latinity. His own nature would have disposed him to adhere to the promise given long ago, and still so urgently demanded of him by Prynne.

On the evening of Monday, the 20th of September, the flotilla was signalled in the north-western part of Jersey, where a vigilant outlook had long been maintained upon the very top of Plémont. The sea heaved to and fro in smooth fluctuations under the bright weather, which shed mild splendour over the violet surface, studded with orange rocks. With favouring airs the stately ships slid slowly on in crescent formation. They cast anchor for the evening in S. Owen's Bay, sheltered on the north by Grosnez Gape, and on the south by the cliffs that end in the Corbière—an extent of nearly five miles.

On shore all was bustle and preparation. Sir George's head-quarters were at his cousin's seat, the manor house of S. Owen. The sandy plains to seaward were held by companies of the island militia; the lieutenant-governor's own immediate following consisted of a small squadron of horse, raised and equipped by himself, but mounted on chargers especially presented to them by the king. Considering the natural difficulties of the coast, and that the equinox was at hand, the numerical disparity was not absolutely desperate. Jersey is a strong place yet. In those days of sailing ships and weak artillery it was a gigantic fortress, if only held by a wholehearted and determined garrison. Had that but been now the case, which, however, it was not. The population in general had no insurmountable feeling of hostility towards the de facto government of England. On the other hand, the hearts of the Cavalier party were not high. A rumour had been spread—not traceable to any distinct source—that Charles had been taken after the rout of Worcester. The public, ever credulous of ill tidings, fastened with morbid eagerness on such reports. "Sorrow and despair," writes a Royalist eye-witness with natural exaggeration, "could be seen in every face. The more dispirited began to cry out that it was in vain to contend any longer against powers that, like a torrent, bore down everything before them."

Carteret, who though ambitious and covetous, was never wanting in courage, energy, intelligence or versatility, turned the more obstinately to his task. Concealing his natural anxieties, he rode about from post to post in morion and buff coat, wearing a resolute countenance, and doing all that one man could do to keep up the hearts of his people and prepare a stout defence.

The position of Le Gallais, though humbler, was much more complicated. Nor was he possessed of sufficient strength of character to choose a distinct path and steadily pursue it. Determined enough, as we have seen, under excitement he could fight with his back to the wall. Nor was he one to shrink from any duty that was plainly pointed out to him. He could not prepare himself de longue main for a definite and consistent conduct; still less had he the power—often wielded by natures otherwise inferior—of striking a balance between opposing motives. His duty as a militia-officer was at complete variance with his desires as a friend of Lempriere's. He could not choose between them. He might have thrown up his commission and devoted himself to watching over his friends at King's Cliff. He might have cast his feelings to the winds and accepted the post of orderly officer to the Lieutenant-Governor which was offered him by Carteret. He chose neither line but adopted what he called "a middle-course," in other words left himself to be drifted on the current of events. He saw that the position of the cavaliers was hopeless if they had to maintain a long and unaided contest against the conquerors of Ireland and Scotland. He had no great trust in the willingness of the French, none whatever in their good faith. His ardent desire to prevent effusion of Jersey blood was a preoccupation that hid almost all other considerations from his mind. And he had trust in the discipline and morale of the Parliamentary troops, and in the presence among them of Prynne and Lempriere, which saved him from much anxiety as to the welfare of the ladies at King's Cliff.

As he sate, that night, by the camp-fire of a picquet of his company he heard two militiamen conversing, and recognised Benoist and Le Gros as the speakers.

"To what purpose are we here, mon voisin?" asked the former. "What good would the sacrifice of ourselves do the King now, when perhaps he has already undergone his father's fate and is no longer in this world?"

"If the King be dead, indeed," answered Le Gros, "I for one will not fire a single cartridge. All the same, he was a debonair prince, and once gave me a groat to drink his health when he saw me holding his horse."

"That he is a prisoner is certain," croaked Benoist. "And if prisoner to Maître Cromouailles he can only make his escape through one door. And that door does not lead to Jersey, though it may to Paradise."

Here the men got up and moved off in search of cider, which was being served out by the Governor's orders at a neigbouring farm-house. But their conversation mingled with the young Captain's thoughts as, wearied with the marchings and countermarchings of the day, he dozed in the still night air, lulled by the fire at his feet. Deep slumber must have followed, for he started from dreams of tumult to feel the vibration of air caused by a round-shot passing over his head. The wind had fallen to an almost complete calm: a light breeze of autumn morning breathed keen over the barren moor; bugles were sounding, drums rattling, men shouting as they collected their accoutrements and fell in under arms.

Four-and-twenty guns from the nearest ships were playing upon them, answered briskly by the little militia batteries that lined the bay. Gunboats began to stand in, laden with red-coated marksmen discharging their new pattern fire-locks. The militiamen on their part waded into the sea and gave such answer as they could from their clumsy old matchlocks: making good the deficiency—so far as noise was concerned—by shouts of vituperation; and calling on their assailants as "Rebels," "Traitors," and "Murderers of their King." The landing was frustrated for the time.

The next day was occupied in rapid movements from one part of the island to another, in order to meet feigned attacks by the enemy who were ready to turn any of those diversions into a real assault, on finding the Jersey people unprepared. The Lieutenant-Governor had no choice but to distract and weary his men, marching them backwards and forwards to S. Aubin, S. Clement, and Gorey, according as the invaders appeared at one or other of those landing-places. The militiamen were worn out by these tactics, and were moreover of the class on whom Carteret's oppressive taxations had long pressed with an almost intolerable weight. On the third day their strength was reduced both by fatigue and desertion; and in the afternoon, after more demonstrations a real landing took place in S. Owen's Bay, the original point of attack. Carteret, as soon as he perceived what was intended, galloped up his cavalry, ordering up a battalion of militia in support, under his cousin, the Seigneur of S. Owen. The English infantry formed upon the beach, and advanced to the attack with terrible shouts and cheers. The first troop of Carteret's horse met them boldly, and delivered a headlong charge; but the men who had fought Rupert and Goring were not to be intimidated by a handful of untrained cavaliers. The troopers were received with a volley that emptied several saddles; and retired, leaving several of their number dead and carrying off Colonel Bovil, a gallant English officer by whom they had been led, and who soon after died of his wounds. The second troop failed to support them, but guarded the retreat as the troopers drew off without renewing their charge. Meanwhile, the militia who should have been the third line dispersed and gained their homes. The red 'coats meeting no further opposition marched cautiously across the island, and encamped for the night on Gorey Common. Carteret, with such men—mostly Cornishmen and Irish—as remained with him, threw himself into Elizabeth Castle; the other forts, S. Aubin and Mont Orgueil, yielded, almost without show of resistance, in a few days.