Hey, everyone. Welcome to the show. Great to
be diving into this one. Absolutely. Can you
imagine a regime seemingly rock solid built on
this? incredible force of personality and let's
face it, military power. Suddenly just teetering
right on the edge of collapse the moment its
leader dies. It's a classic historical pressure
point, isn't it? Yeah. That moment of transition.
Exactly. And today we're diving right into that
kind of historical drama, a moment where the
unexpected death of a, well, a towering figure
really unleashed this whirlwind of ambition,
fear, and just this desperate scramble for order.
We're talking about the death of Oliver Cromwell,
of course. Yeah. And the chaotic period that
followed. Precisely. This deep dive looks at
that pivotal time in English history, you know,
post -Civil War, heading towards the Restoration.
It's a thrilling glimpse into the raw dynamics
of power. The fragility beneath the surface.
Totally. So if you're fascinated by those moments
where history just hangs in the balance, and
if you want to uncover some surprising insights
into how societies cope when leadership vanishes.
Or appears to vanish. Good point. Then be sure
to like and subscribe for more deep dives like
this one. We'll be using Henry Reese's book,
The Fall, as a key guide here. It meticulously
details the events after Cromwell's death. That's
right. The Fall. Link is in the description if
you wanted to check it out on Amazon. Prepare
yourselves because you're going to see how quickly
even the strongest authority can dissolve. And
how unexpected people step up or try to. And
how that deep, deep desire for just some kind
of stability ultimately shapes a nation's future.
It kicks off, fascinatingly, with this almost
surreal quiet right after Oliver Cromwell dies.
That's September 3rd, 1658. Okay. His son, Richard,
is proclaimed protector in London the very next
morning, September 4th. Very formal, very official.
So it looks smooth on the surface. Remarkably
so. The Privy Council manages transition within
about 18 hours, which is pretty quick. Well,
there's no clear hereditary succession principle
here, not like a monarchy. And crucially, there
wasn't definitive written proof that Oliver had
actually nominated Richard under the terms of
the humble petition and advice, the sort of constitution
of the time. Ah, OK. So the legal basis was maybe
a bit shaky or at least not explicitly documented
right then? Potentially, yes. Yet outwardly,
it's calm. So let's unpack that calm, because
as you hinted and as Reese points out, underneath
that quiet surface, there were huge anxieties
beforehand about what would happen when Oliver
died. Absolutely massive anxieties. You have
figures like Thomas Fairfax noting the huge significance
of the change, but also commenting on the, well,
the quietness as if nothing had really happened.
John Tillotson writing from London reported this
deep sense of peace. People just didn't seem
to notice any alteration. Which is just bizarre,
given Cromwell's dominance, right? So what's
going on? Is this genuine acceptance of Richard
or is it something else? Relief, maybe? I think
relief is a big part of it. That initial calm.
It probably wasn't deep -seated acceptance of
Richard himself. More like everyone collectively
holding their breath relieved the immediate chaos
hadn't erupted. Because the fear of chaos was
real. Oh, absolutely. Six months before Oliver
died, someone wrote, urging him to name a successor
precisely to stop a chaos of confusion. John
Thurlow, Cromwell's intelligence chief, a key
insider. Right. He sensed... General consternation
at the prospect of Oliver's death. He feared
our own divisions far more than, say, a royalist
comeback. Interesting. Internal collapse was
the bigger worry. Exactly. Sir Archibald Johnston
noted the great apprehensions before Oliver died,
contrasting sharply with the lack of obvious
grief or fear immediately after. Richard Baxter
recalled Richard being quietly settled, even
though many expected total confusion and discord.
So the expectation was meltdown. Pretty much.
George Downing called it a most surprising, astonishing
mercy that things went so smoothly because many
thought Oliver's death would open a wide door
for Trey Stewart, Charles Stewart, the exiled
king. Okay, so the key insight here is that contrast.
The expected chaos versus the immediate, almost
unsettling order. Precisely. It tells you a lot
about the underlying fragility and fear beneath
the protectorate's surface. That apparent ease
reveals how the political nation, the people
with influence, viewed the regime at that specific
moment. So was it just relief or was there some
level of genuine buy -in to the protectorate
continuing, even under Richard? It's complex.
There was probably a degree of pragmatic acceptance
among some. They'd lived through immense upheaval.
Civil wars, regime change. Exactly. Stability
was likely the top priority for many. And Richard,
initially at least, seemed to offer continuation.
Plus, the government machinery, the Privy Council,
acted quickly and decisively. That likely shut
down any immediate challenges. And there wasn't
a clear alternative ready to step in. Not one
that commanded universal support, no. That definitely
helped Richard in those first hours and days.
Okay, but then it gets even more interesting
because it wasn't just quiet acceptance. We see
this flood, almost, of addresses and petitions
coming in publicly backing Richard. Yes, a very
public display of endorsement. Many of these
declarations really hammered home the idea that
Oliver himself had nominated Richard. Ah, so
emphasizing legitimacy through Oliver's will.
Right. They praised Richard's sweet and peaceable
entrance. Some even used that biblical analogy,
Richard, as Joshua taking over from Oliver's
Moses. Powerful imagery. And they constantly
cited the humble petition and advice as the legal
basis for his succeeding his father. The address
from the East Riding of Yorkshire was apparently...
particularly over the top in its praise. Okay,
but here's the kicker. Was this genuine popular
support bubbling up? Yeah. Because Reese points
out the Army Command was actually circulating
templates for these addresses. Bingo. That certainly
suggests, well, orchestration, doesn't it? It
really does. A bit stage managed. The Army's
hand is undeniable. The fact that civilian documents
often use the exact same phrasing as the Army
templates, that's more than coincidence. But
it's not just the Army. Provincial elites saw
an opportunity here, too. They had their own
reasons to publicly back the new guy. Like what?
Local interests? Absolutely. Exeter, for example,
might have wanted to show they were cooperative
now. Newcastle probably wanted to soothe worries
about royalist sympathies in their area. York
put on a big show to emphasize its own regional
importance. So demonstrating loyalty, managing
perceptions. And proven they could hold large
gatherings without things getting out of hand.
That was important, too. So it's a mix. Some
genuine support, perhaps. Some calculated self
-interest. Definitely some military pressure.
And maybe not always deep enthusiasm, even when
an address was sent. The example of Great Yarmouth
is telling, right? Slow to endorse Richard, quick
to back Charles a second later. Exactly. Allegiances
were very fluid. It highlights the performative
nature of much of this support. Right. A calculated
performance. Now let's talk about Richard himself.
He wasn't exactly groomed for this, was he? Not
like his father trained him up. That's a really
crucial point. Richard was 40 when he took over,
so not some kid. He was apparently quite personable,
easy manner, could give a decent speech. Okay,
some skills. And he had been increasingly involved
in public life from the mid -1650s. He got onto
the Privy Council in December 1657. So some exposure.
Yes, but those persistent rumors about him maybe
heading the government in Scotland, they never
happened. It hints maybe Oliver or others were
hesitant to give him real executive power. Interesting.
And the historian Henry Hallam made a really
sharp observation. He contrasted Oliver's apparent
lack of effort in preparing Richard for the top
job with a very deliberate way he did prepare
his other son, Henry, for his role running Ireland.
So Henry got the real training Richard got? Well,
he was chancellor of Oxford University. I guess
so. Prestigious, yes. but hardly an apprenticeship
for Lord Protector of Three Nations in Turmoil.
Not quite the same skill set needed. So we have
this guy, pleasant enough, some public profile,
but lacking deep political and military experience,
stepping into his father's massive shoes. And
stepping into a situation dominated by the army.
You simply can't talk about this period without
focusing on the army. Which had been Oliver's
power base, but also a source of trouble for
him and clearly remained a potential problem
for Richard. Absolutely. We know the protectorate
collapses in April 1659 and the army is key to
that. So it's easy to look back and see the army
as Richard's opponent from day one. But it was
more complex. Oh, yes. Tension between the Lord
General Cromwell, then Richard, and senior officers
was baked into the new model army from way back,
at least 1647. Oliver himself had cashiered plenty
of senior officers over the years. It wasn't
some monolithic, obedient tool. It was politicized.
Highly politicized. Yeah. With its own ideas,
its own grievances, and one long -held belief
within the army command was about keeping a really
large officer corps more than strictly needed.
Why? What was the logic there? Well, the official
line was it made the army easier to manage in
peacetime. And it meant you had experienced guys
ready to step up if needed. Quick promotion.
Makes some sense. But Henry Cromwell, Richard's
brother in Ireland, he called it an expensive
passion. He basically said it was about preserving
jobs and patronage for the boys. A mix of military
logic and self -interest, probably. An expensive
passion, especially when the state was already
struggling financially. Precisely. And that situation
got massively worse because of Oliver's foreign
policy. Specifically, the war with Spain. Ah,
yes. Started in 1655. The protectorate probably
could have afforded its armies without foreign
wars. But the Spanish War blew spending sky high.
How so? Huge increase in naval costs, obviously.
Then there was the cost of garrisoning new territories
like Jamaica and Dunkirk. The estimates Rees
cites suggested added maybe 500 ,000 pounds to
600 ,000 pounds a year to the budget. A colossal
sum back then. Wow. And that hit hard. By April
1659, the cost of the Navy in these overseas
garrisons was actually more than the cost of
the armies in England, Scotland, and Ireland
combined. Incredible. So by the time Richard
takes over, the financial situation, especially
for the Navy, must have been desperate. Absolutely
dire. The admiralty commissioners themselves
reported in September 1658, just as Richard is
becoming protector, that the Navy was on the
brink of ruin. Why? What happened? Suppliers
had lost confidence. They weren't getting paid.
So they started demanding cash up front, which
the government didn't have. A classic debt spiral.
And the big reason for this collapse was successive
cuts to the monthly assessment tax levied on
England. That tax was vital. Right, the assessment
tax. That seems key to the whole financial picture
of the interregnum. Can you break that down a
bit? Sure. The government had three main income
sources. Customs duties, excise taxes, and this
assessment tax. Customs and excise were fairly
predictable, but they had natural limits. You
can only tax trade so much. Exactly. The assessment
tax, though, was the big variable. It was levied
monthly on England, and the rate could be changed.
Any changes had huge implications for how much
military force the government could afford. So
Cromwell knew cutting it would hurt. Oh, he understood
the impact perfectly. But the tax was unpopular,
politically sensitive. Still, its big attraction
was efficiency. Low admin costs, people generally
paid promptly, nonpayment wasn't a massive issue.
Samuel Pepys later recorded Robert Blackburn,
a key financial administrator, talking about
how efficiently it was collected. But it was
still a heavy burden. A very significant burden,
especially compared to pre -war taxation levels.
Reese gives an example from Hithe showing just
how much it had increased. OK, so Richard inherits
this situation. Shaky legitimacy, a politicized
army with its own demands and absolutely dire
finances worsened by war. Not exactly an easy
start. Not at all. And then amidst all this,
you get this really unexpected twist. Significant
support for Richard coming from the political
Presbyterians in the 1659 Parliament. To Presbyterians,
weren't they often opponents of Cromwell? Excluded?
Purged? Many of them were, yes. That's what's
so remarkable. Guys who'd been kicked out during
Pride's Purge in 1648 who'd opposed Cromwell
in the 1654 Parliament, barred from the 1656
one. Suddenly, in 1659, they're defending Richard's
protectorate. Wow. Who are we talking about?
Figures like Colonel John Birch, John Maynard,
Samuel Gott. John Swinfen, men with serious political
weight. And they weren't just passive supporters.
They actively managed debates for Richard, arguing
for the humble petition and advice. Why the sudden
change of heart? What was their motivation? It
seems overwhelmingly pragmatic. They feared the
alternatives, total chaos or worse, direct military
rule by the army radicals. So Richard was the
lesser evil, a bulwark against the army. Essentially,
yes. They focused on what Reese calls the negative
virtues of the Humboldt petition, basically.
The fact that it hadn't been imposed directly
by the army. It represented for them a civilian
constitution, however flawed. A kind of pragmatic
constitutionalism. Exactly. And their leadership
was effective, at least initially. They managed
to bed in this civilian structure and the Republican
opposition in parliament couldn't win key votes
against them. So Charles Coote reported things
becoming more serene with a possible path to
a stable settlement. Fascinating. A temporary
alliance of convenience driven by fear of the
army. But the army wasn't just going to sit quietly,
were they? They issued this humble representation.
Right. April 6, 1659. This wasn't humble at all,
really. It was a very strongly worded reminder
to Richard and Parliament about the army's grievances.
Hate and indemnity again. Top of the list. pay
arrears and legal protection for things they'd
done during the wars. They said they were breaking
cover due to imminent dangers and necessities.
Strong language. And significantly, they gave
it to Richard on the 6th and had it printed and
out on the streets the next morning. A very public
power play. What was their goal? What do they
want Parliament to do? They wanted Parliament
to stop debating constitutional niceties and
focus on their needs, pay, indemnity, national
security, practical stuff. But Parliament had
other priorities. And Parliament wasn't exactly
thrilled by this, I imagine. That anti -military
feeling. It just exploded. Once you had a full
House sitting, that resentment found its voice.
MPs saw the Army acting like a fourth estate,
basically another branch of government, interfering
with impudence. The Army meeting separately didn't
help either. Not at all. That weakened the parliament's
reputation. Richard did meet senior officers,
told them their petition was being considered,
and they should go back to their commands because
MPs were unhappy and the cavalier threat was
always there. How did that go down? Apparently,
there were some pretty bad tempered exchanges.
The gap between them was widening rapidly. And
looking back, it seems Richard's handling of
this whole escalating crisis between parliament
and the army was, well, clumsy. Clumsy is one
word. Ineffective, maybe? Hindsight is easy,
of course. But Reese suggests that earlier, more
decisive action might have made a difference.
Letting the Army's general counsel meet while
also letting the commons behave provocatively
just infuriated the Army. So he alienated both
sides. He seemed unable to control either. And
when he finally did take a drastic stand. dissolving
parliament on April 18th, Reese argues it was
based on really misguided advice. Misguided how?
His advisors seem to have massively overestimated
how much actual support Richard had within the
army itself. People like Nehemiah Bourne were
scornful, saying the protector had no real pull
with the soldiers. Lady Ranelagh was scathing.
She said Richard provoked the army based on false
promises from flatterers. And the core issue
was Richard himself just didn't command that
personal loyalty his father had. It seems not.
There might have been some initial encouraging
noises. Maybe Richard hinted he backed the army
against Parliament over his role as Generalissimo.
But it didn't translate into real support when
push came to shove. Apparently not. Any chance
of reconciliation probably evaporated completely
with that parliamentary debate on April 21st,
the one about who controls the militia. Ah, yes.
That must have hit a nerve with the army, control
of the armed forces. Absolutely fundamental.
For parliament to even debate taking control
of the militia away from the protector and the
existing army structure. It was seen as the ultimate
provocation, a direct challenge. Betrayal, even.
That's how the army saw it. A clear sign Parliament
wanted to supplant them with a new force loyal
only to Parliament. Reese sees the fact this
debate even happened as a massive failure of
political management by Richard's court. And
the inevitable result of all this escalating
tension and mistrust. The dissolution of parliament.
Yeah. Which Edward Montague, a key figure, later
called a great and fundamental error. Others
agreed. Hugh Peter lamented the trampling upon
the authority of what he thought was the best
parliament and most freely chosen. Even Richard
reportedly knew it was his ruin and resisted
it initially. So Parliament's gone. Richard's
authority is collapsing. Where does he look for
muscle? His brothers, Monk in Scotland, Henry
in Ireland, Lockhart in Dunkirk, they commanded
troops. On paper, yes. They looked like potential
pillars of support. Monk, especially, owed his
career to the Cromwells, generally seen as loyal.
Lockhart wasn't keen on the rum Parliament that
would soon return. Mountague, commanding the
fleet, expressed fears and sorrow at the protectorate's
fall. So why didn't they prop him up? A combination
of things, it seems. Confusion news traveled
slowly, events in London were chaotic, communication
was poor. Then there were their own vulnerabilities,
their own ambitions, perhaps. And critically,
Richard's own passivity. He doesn't seem to have
actively rallied them or given them clear direction.
He just didn't act decisively. Apparently not.
So that potential backing just... when untapped.
It paints a picture of a leader totally out of
his depth. And while historians might try to
be more generous now, his contemporaries weren't
holding back, were they? No, they were often
brutal. Reese notes that while reappraisal is
fair, maybe the rehabilitation has gone far enough.
Contemporaries like Nathaniel Fiennes flat out
blamed Richard's conduct. Lord Falkenberg scorned
his lack of courage. Lucy Hutchinson famously
said the job was too big for him, calling him
a meek temperate and quiet man. Not the qualities
needed right then. So Richard's effectively sidelined.
Parliament is dissolved again. The army is back
in the driving seat. What are their options now?
The Council of Officers met on April 23rd. They
debated three main paths forward. One, try to
keep governing under the existing humble petition
and advice somehow. Two, recall the rump parliament,
the one they'd kicked out years before. Three.
Try to create some entirely new form of government.
Radical options on the table. There was even
talk of the army just raising money itself without
any parliament. Extraordinary. Recalling the
rump wasn't the obvious or most popular choice,
though. Why not? Lady Ranelagh put it well. The
rump was remembered as much for its failings
as its merits. But they needed to act fast. Why
the urgency? Fear of royalist uprisings flaring
up. The likelihood of peace between France and
Spain, which could free up foreign powers to
intervene. And, fundamentally, no money. Army
and Navy finances were collapsing. So the rum
seemed the quickest, maybe the only viable path
to some kind of legitimacy. Seems that's how
they saw it. And as part of that, they quickly
agreed to restore commands to officers to a brisk.
Oliver Cromwell had previously removed Lambert,
Oakey, Sanders, Packer, a signal of change within
the Army itself. And recalling the rump must
have energized the Republican opposition that
had been simmering away. Absolutely. You could
see organized opposition brewing from at least
February 1658 with that Republican petition.
The one that forced Oliver to dissolve his second
parliament. That's the one. Talk about the good
old righteous cause. We don't know exactly who
wrote it, but it had prominent radical signatories
like Henry Jesse, Hansard Nollis. And it wasn't
secret they printed copies, circulated them openly.
How much support did it have? Josias Berners
claimed 10 ,000 subscribers, mainly from the
separated churches, the independent congregations.
They had surprisingly effective networks. So
the rump returns. What's the reaction across
the country? Celebration. Dread. A real mix.
Many were deeply unhappy. William Lawrence called
it a dreadful change. Henry Newcomb thought it
would be a scourge to the nation. James Sharp
noted pamphlets appearing that basically equated
Presbyterians and Cavaliers as joint enemies
of the rump. Robert Bailey feared for the established
church. So lots of opposition. Yes, but interestingly,
some royalists were apparently appalled too.
Why? Wouldn't they welcome more chaos? Because
they recognized the rump, for all its flaws,
could govern effectively. They feared it might
actually succeed and stabilize things, which
would kill off hopes for a quick restoration
of the king. Huh. That's ironic. But despite
the mixed welcome, the rump moved fast to secure
its power, especially militarily. Very fast.
Very decisively. Monk, up in Scotland, was watching
correspondence like a hawk. Across England, they
clamped down hard. Hundreds of suspected royalists
or potential troublemakers were arrested. Names
like Howard, Hollis, Rug Popup. And in London.
Full -on military occupation, essentially. Army
guards everywhere, militia patrols ramped up,
weapon checks, river patrols on the Thames, searches
for horses to stop insurgents moving quickly.
They weren't messing around. Not at all. Even
the inns of court got searched. Gunsmith shops
had their arms secured. Householders had to account
for every lodger, every apprentice. Ferry travel
was restricted, passes needed. Security got so
tight, royalists just had to go to ground. Colonel
Barkstead felt confident they had abundantly
broken any immediate plots. And this wasn't just
brute force they were coordinating information
to. Yes, systematically. The Council of State
sent regular updates to Monk in Scotland, commissioners
in Ireland, Lockhart in Dunkirk, Downing in the
Netherlands. Downing got weekly news summaries.
Keeping everyone on message. And informed. News
of Lambert defeating Booth's Rising was spread
quickly. Officers in Scotland relayed news to
Highland Lairds. The council demanded frequent
updates for the localities too. Lambert, when
campaigning, was sending messengers back to London
multiple times a day. Impressive communication
for the time. And just like with Richard, we
see petitions being organized, this time in support
of the rump. We do. And just like before, royalists
scoffed, saying they were composed at Westminster.
Not spontaneous. Same old story. And recent research
suggests these petitions did share a family likeness
in their wording, hinting at central coordination
again. The actual scale of support is hard to
gauge. You hear figures like many thousands above
a thousand. The only one that survives with actual
names from Buckinghamshire has about 800 signatories.
So some organized support, but maybe not a massive
popular wave. What about the more radical elements?
Were they energized by the Rump's return? Hugely.
You see, impressive recruitment for local militias,
driven by pure commitment, not pay, a real sense
of engagement. And those senior army officers
Oliver had turged. They came flooding back, seeking
vindication, expecting to get their old commands
back. A sense of restoration for them, too. And
a belief among many radicals that God himself
had restored the rump. People like John Reed
in Dorset, George Joyce in London, were active
again, pushing for control of the militias to
be given only to the faithful. Though there were
grumbles that some MPs weren't thorough enough
in purging unreliable figures from command. So
despite the challenges, the Rump seemed to have
a pretty firm grip initially. The failure of
the royalist risings suggests that. It does suggest
their grip was stronger than perhaps later historians
assumed. They could mobilize supporters. They
had administrative competence. They had an imposing
army, at least initially. And they had constitutional
authority, however contested. Effective opposition
needed more than just discontent. It needed coordination
and legitimacy. But that army unity, it was always
fragile, wasn't it? And it fractures again. It
does. After the Army interrupts Parliament again
in October 1659, the Army leadership tries to
blame the rump for the chaos that follows. But
Parliament supporters hit back, pointing out
that Army officers actually had a majority on
the committee responsible for Army appointments,
basically saying, you guys are partly responsible
for this mess, too. And even within the rump
itself, key figures started pulling in different
directions. Hesselridge and Vane. Yes, they'd
worked together initially. But by September 59,
clear differences emerged. Loyalty to the Commonwealth
ideal, religious toleration, the whole constitutional
setup, they disagreed. Vane seemed to favor consensus,
tweeting to avoid a complete break with the army,
which he saw as disastrous. While Hesselridge
was more confrontational. Appeared to be. Lord
Warriston recorded trying to talk Vane down,
telling him not to take too much offense at the
army. It shows the tightrope Vane was walking.
And these divisions were reflected within the
army, too. Officers getting removed who had actually
supported the rump's return. Exactly. Officers
like Ashfield and Packer were removed in October,
even though they'd backed the rump. But they'd
also promoted petitions criticizing some of Parliament's
actions. Packer's a good example. A defender
of Parliament, but alienated by hostility towards
his fellow officers. He'd opposed Richard Cromwell
and publicly repented for it earlier. Complex
loyalties all around. So October 1659, the army
dissolves the rump again. They set up this committee
of safety. Did they have a clear plan this time?
Apparently not. Nedim's description of the army
in 1653, irresolution and unpreparedness. Reese
suggests it applied just as well in 1659. They
issued a declaration justifying themselves, but
no clear roadmap. Unlike Cromwell in 53, who
set up councils. Right. Cromwell avoided immediate
elections, deemed too risky, set up a council
of state and a council of officers. The parallels
are limited, though. Monk's presence looms large
in 59, and the army arguably had fewer options.
And the leadership within the army, specifically
Charles Fleetwood, the commander -in -chief,
he seems quite weak in this critical moment.
Fleetwood does seem overwhelmed. He relied heavily
on God and Cromwell's legacy rather than decisive
action. He'd been a capable number two under
Oliver, even disagreed with him sometimes, but
he wasn't a natural leader in his own right.
Lacked decisiveness. And maybe oversight. There's
that story about his wife, Bridget, getting involved
with the Derby petition without him seeming fully
aware. Clarendon's account paints him as pious
but paralyzed by indecision as the Committee
of Safety crumbled. Ultimately, he failed the
people who looked at him for leadership. While
Fleetwood flounders in London, what about Hesselridge,
the staunch rumper? He apparently retreated to
his estate completely in despair of doing anything.
He feared raising troops would just help the
Royalists. He preferred... to close with the
army in all their exorbitances rather than risk
more division. Even the rump's own council estate
hesitated to act decisively, according to Clarges.
And Monk, still up in Scotland. Still there,
but in a tricky spot by early December. Lambert's
army facing him was larger, more experienced.
Monk's position looked precarious. Yet somehow,
the rump comes back, and the army's authority
just evaporates. Why? Largely, it seems, due
to this paralysis of will in the army leadership
in London. Monk must have seemed like a threat
to various groups, though. Oh, definitely. Lambert's
troops were probably eager to march into Scotland.
The independent churches were very wary of Monk,
fearing he'd roll back their freedoms. Royalists,
meanwhile, got their hopes up based on some of
his statements. Baptists down in Cornwall were
complaining about royalists getting too bold.
That dread of a royalist restoration actually
pushed Monk's own negotiators towards making
a deal with the English army. Interesting. But
Fleetwood and Lambert, instead of confronting
Monk militarily, tried to accommodate him. It
seems so. Despite efforts by figures like John
Owen to sway Monk, they didn't denounce him outright.
They allowed Clarges, Monk's man, to travel north
and negotiate. It suggests they recognized their
own weakness and wanted to avoid an army civil
war. And then comes the game changer, Portsmouth.
Hessleridge and two other dismissed rump MPs
show up there in disguise. December 3rd. 1659.
A massive moment. The governor, Nathaniel Witham,
declares for Parliament. Suddenly, the Rumpers
have control of a major port city. And that tipped
the balance. Decisively. Within three weeks,
Hesselridge marches towards London with about
5 ,000 soldiers. That, plus the Navy defecting
to Parliament's side, just completely broke the
Committee of Safety's military government. The
officers in London lost their nerve. As Maesden
put it, their wheels fell off. Portsmouth was
the occasion that brought us hitter back to the
rump. But did Portsmouth inspire other places
to rise up for the rump? Not really, no. There
were some failed attempts in Kent. A few horsemen
fought their way into Portsmouth, but suckered
losses. The rump commissioners were effectively
sealed off there. Claims other towns declared
for them were mostly false. London's city government
stayed neutral. London staying neutral is key.
Hugely. The commissioners even wrote asking for
a safe place in London for MPs to meet, but got
silence back. They actually considered moving
Parliament to Portsmouth. It shows how isolated
they were initially. And that tension between
the rump and the city of London? Yeah. It ran
deep, didn't it? The city leadership was often
Presbyterian, not keen on the rump's radicalism.
Exactly. A prickly distance is how Rees describes
it. They might cooperate on security against
royalists, but fundamentally there was distrust.
Flashpoints over the city's rights, customs,
and especially Parliament, trying to use London's
militia outside London. Parliament backed down
on that initially. But then the rump provoked
them. By trying to force John Ireton to serve
a second year as Lord Mayor. The city united
against that, and the rump had to back down again.
A very strained relationship. But Portsmouth
ultimately was enough to break the military government
in London. Yes. The stalemate between Fleetwood
and Admiral Lawson's fleet became irrelevant.
The final nail was probably Major John Bremen,
part of the force besieging Portsmouth for the
Committee of Safety, defecting on December 20th.
Another failure of leadership by Fleetwood, allowing
potentially mutinous officers like Bremen and
Rich to keep commands. It looks like negligence,
yes. Bremen had a long radical history going
back to 1647. His defection just triggered a
wider collapse of the army's will. So the rump
returns triumphant and ready for revenge. That
was the fear. and it seems, the reality. Jono
and Warnmonk, a restored rump, would seek retribution.
Weriston sensed a judgmental mood. The main target.
The army in England that had kicked him out.
A purge. A big one. Hesselridge, Morley, and
Watton, the heroes of Portsmouth, ratified Monk's
purges in his own army and removed officers in
England deemed politically suspect based on their
actions. Not just intentions, actions. Harsh.
Very. Officers pleaded for mercy, some in the
army argued for forgiveness, but clemency wasn't
on the rump's agenda, according to Ludlow. Many
lost commissions just for following orders or
having the wrong family connections. Officers
were scrambling for powerful patrons, huge turnover,
even among those the rump itself had commissioned
just months before. Soldiers ended up under totally
unfamiliar officers. A destabilized army. And
meanwhile, Monk is marching south from Scotland.
Still unclear what he's really planning. Very
unclear. On January 3rd, he declares he's moving
into England because he heard Lambert was marching
back to London against Parliament. He gets to
York. Pauses on January 12th. Was he planning
a restoration yet? Probably not definitively.
What did he believe in? Parliamentary government,
it seems. But maybe not this rump. His instincts
were closer to the MPs secluded back in 48, the
Presbyterians. He resented attempts to mess with
his regiments. He wasn't impressed by the support
he'd got from the old Council of State. So he
kept his options open. Very much so. His instructions
for negotiating with the English army included
provisions for a new parliament. He told his
own troops he wanted a parliament chosen by the
people and protected from violence. The Speaker's
acknowledgement from London was lukewarm. Monk
clearly doubted the rump could settle the nation.
He sent his chaplain Gumbel to London to suss
out the designs and affections of the people
in power while he continued south, slowly. Taking
his time. And while he marches, that call for
a free parliament gets louder and louder. Yes,
it had emerged during Booth's rising, but now
gains real momentum. It appealed to lots of people,
especially in the Northwest, who just wanted
proper parliamentary rule, not necessarily the
king back immediately. Who supported it? A coalition.
Presbyterians, some royalists, united mainly
by opposition to the rump and its interfering
army, those secluded Presbyterian MPs saw their
chance to reverse the purge, get back into parliament,
and maybe steer things towards a limited monarchy.
They disliked the rump more than they distrusted
the royalists. At this point, yes. And the exiled
royal court saw the opening. They authorized
talks with Presbyterians, hoping free parliament
would become a stepping stone to restoration.
Deal with the details later. But this free parliament
movement... Rees suggests it wasn't as powerful
or widespread as sometimes portrayed. Compared
to the 1648 movement for a treaty with the king,
it seems weaker. Nearly half of English counties
produced no declaration for it in 1660. London
hesitated, didn't lead. Big towns were cautious.
Magistrates often suppressed demonstrations.
And some of the evidence for support is dodgy.
Yes. Some publications claiming support were
misleading or false. Petitions with iffy numbers
or origins, like from Leicestershire and London,
at least four supposed county declarations were
probably fakes. Propagandists like Roger Lestrange
and William Prynne were very active, sometimes
using false names, making it hard to gauge genuine
feeling. So Mike is approaching London. The free
parliament call is growing, but maybe patchily.
How does the rump react to Monk now? After Monk's
blunt letter of February 11th, they finally realized
they had to engage seriously. They started talking
about their serious intentions for a full and
lasting settlement. The council tried to narrow
the gap. They wanted Monk to move his troops
to Whitehall. Better communication, show unity.
Conciliatory noises. Lots of them. Efforts to
find money for the London regiments. Warm words
about restoring the city's rights. Crucially,
they dropped that oath of abjuration for council
members. The one renouncing the stewards. A big
concession. But this reasonableness, it might
have worried Monk, things moving too fast towards
a settlement he didn't control. Possibly. He
needed to keep control of the pace. And then
the secluded Presbyterian members are readmitted
to Parliament in late February. What were their
aims? Were they all on the same page? Impossible
to know for sure individually. Some probably
genuinely wanted a new, freely elected Parliament.
Others might have just told Monk that to get
back in, planning something else. Each of those
73 MPs meeting Monk on Feb 21st was likely calculating
their own best move. And their return just created
more tension within Parliament. Absolutely. Rumpers
like Thomas Scott hated it. And by early March,
some of those secluded members were apparently
thinking of breaking their deal with Monk and
not calling a new parliament, trying to hang
on to power themselves. So the long parliament
might just keep sitting. That was the fear. Peeps
heard talk of a doubtful posture. People wanted
to retain power. Rumors flew Monk seizing power.
Monk restoring Richard Cromwell. The long parliament
staying put. The initial welcome for the secluded
members turned into suspicion they'd just entrenched
themselves. But Monk wasn't having it. He pushes
for dissolution. He did. He urged them to dissolve
and call elections. Pressure mounted. There were
reports Monk even discussed his opposition to
the late king with the royalist court, probably
to reassure Presbyterians. Finally, on March
16th, 1660, they voted to dissolve. New Parliament
to meet April 25th. A momentous day. Huge. And
before the vote, many MPs rushed to declare Charles
I's execution an execrable act, covering their
backsides. Robert Reynolds gave a long speech
justifying himself. Only Thomas Scott stood by
the regicide. Still some resistance to Monk.
Displeasure that he opposed restoring the House
of Lords. They added a clause to the dissolution
bill preserving the Lords' rights. And then...
The so -long -lived parliament finally expired.
And any last gasp of military resistance? Blambered.
His attempt at an insurrection against Munk failed
completely. Captured back in the tower by Easter
Tuesday, April 24th. All almost without a drop
of blood. The game was up. This whole last year
of the republic, Reese emphasizes the incredible
confusion, the... fog of information. It must
have been impossible to know what was really
happening. Terribly difficult. Communication
was slow, unreliable. News was manipulated. A
contemporary said, never was more said and less
known. Newspapers complained about the abuse
of press freedom as much impedance as ignorance.
Rumors everywhere. Constant wild rumors. Richard
Cromwell dying. Henry Cromwell lost at sea. Charles
Stewart landing here, there, everywhere. James
Naylor made governor of Bristol. Even rumors
the Rumper commissioners had joined Monk. Each
side in the army spun its own version of events.
They couldn't even agree how many towns followed
Portsmouth's lead. People didn't trust printed
news. Widespread mistrust. Forgeries, false attributions
were common. Fleetwood had to publicly deny saying
things attributed to him. Even genuine letters
were suspected. Calculated propaganda from Clarges.
Masked propaganda from the English army. Pamphlets
with fake authors, Lestrange and Prynne, were
masters of disguise. And amidst this swirling
confusion, a massive military presence everywhere.
Troops were everywhere. Maybe 28 ,000 regulars
by late 1659. Military actions dotted the country
over Tennant Hall, the siege of Portsmouth. But
whose side were they on? Often unfathomable,
like this situation in Taunton. And restoring
civilian government didn't mean fewer soldiers.
Ironically, no. Numbers actually went up to nearly
39 ,000 by February 1660, which meant heavy billeting,
troops taking free quarter, civil disorder aggravated,
apprentice riots in Bristol, clashes between
civilians and soldiers after Monk's letter, and
the MP's return. So confusion, misinformation,
troops everywhere with unclear loyalties. No
wonder people felt passive, afraid to act. Exactly.
Civilians were in a fear to act anything. Political
passivity set in among politicians too. Lentol
reluctant to take his seat as speaker. MPs developing
convenient illnesses. Even Lucy Hutchinson wanted
out of partisan politics. Sir John Bennett just
pleaded to be left alone to live quietly. And
public reactions to all this. Peeps famously
describes London going wild with joy when Monk
declared for a free parliament. Yes, bonfires
and bell ringing in London. But outside the capital,
reactions seem much more mixed, more cautious.
Manchester was careful about lighting bonfires.
What were the main priorities for most people,
especially the property classes? Order, stability,
and getting rid of the huge financial burden
of the army. Lester asked Monk to avoid the town
and refused to back the county petition for a
free parliament. Many places suppressed disorders
related to the free parliament calls. Maintaining
order was paramount, even for some royalists.
So beneath all the political maneuvering, the
dominant mood was just this deep desire for settlement.
Any settlement. That seems to be the core issue.
The want of a real, settled, and regular government.
The constant fear of the nation being still upon
the cast of a die. John Evelyn lamented being
no closer to settlement after 10 years. People
complained constantly about the rapid changes,
the uncertainty. Even army officers hated the
tottering state. Which leads to this pragmatic
acceptance of the restoration, even if people
weren't enthusiastic monarchists. Yes. Many just
accepted the need to accommodate the likely return
of the monarchy as the best way to get stability.
Though, as Reese notes, those who made shameless
last -minute conversions got scorned. Luke Robinson
is a prime example. John Lawson, the admiral,
faced later condemnation for his shifts. Richard
Inglesby, the regicide, suddenly couldn't remember
signing the death warrant. Convenient memory
loss, and we see all these individuals who'd
been major players trying to navigate this treacherous
transition, some successfully, some not. Menzel
and Montague were unusual in approaching the
royal court relatively early. It's interesting,
others with known royalist links waited so long.
Anthony Ashley Cooper, later Shaftesbury, had
a very complex path before finally opposing the
Committee of Safety. Lord Brokill, always well
-connected, eventually backed the restoration.
George Downing navigated brilliantly, if ruthlessly,
betraying former colleagues to thrive under Charles
II. And others weren't so lucky or perhaps so
adaptable. Colonel John Oakey, whose allegiances
shifted, ended up executed as a regicide. Colonel
John Hewson fled into exile despite naive protests
of loyalty. Sir Archibald Johnston of Worreston,
the opportunist, met a tragic end. Bolster Road
Whitelock tried hard, but his comparison of Monk
to Booth was disastrous. Edmund Ludlow, the staunch
Republican, saw reconciliation attempts fail
as his anxiety grew. It really highlights the
personal dramas within the grand political shifts.
Looking back, could things have gone differently?
Could the protectorate or the restored rum have
survived? We suggest both could potentially have
survived. The key rupture, the point of no return
perhaps, was that break between the army and
parliament in October 1659. That made the republic's
fall a real possibility. After that, restraint
and conciliation just became rarer and rarer.
Even if Hesselridge had been more politically
astute. A lasting parliamentary alliance was
always unlikely, Reese argues. But perhaps, just
perhaps, a more skillful handling of Monk by
the Republicans might have delayed the republic's
fall. Though it might also have made the end
more violent. A sobering thought. Thank you for
walking us through that incredibly complex and
dramatic year. It really is a deep dive into
the mechanics of political collapse and transition.
It's a period that reveals so much about power,
fear, and the fundamental human need for order.
Absolutely. For everyone listening, what stood
out to you most about this period? Was there
a particular moment or figure that surprised
you? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
We'd love to hear your takeaways. And what questions
do you still have about Richard Cromwell, Munk's
motivations, the Rumpf's failures? Keep the conversation
going. Definitely. And maybe a final thought
to leave you with. Reflecting on these events
from over 350 years ago, in our own world, which
often feels saturated with information and buffeted
by political shifts, how do we tell the difference
between genuine stability and just a temporary
quiet before the next upheaval? That's the enduring
question, isn't it? The events of 1659 offer
a compelling historical lens to think about that.
Thanks for tuning in. Thanks, everyone. See you
next time.