diminish his influence, or even supersede him. For this purpose Colonels Montague and Desborough were joined in the new commission. The appointment of the latter was nominal, as he continued at home one of the commissioners for the navy. But Montague was sent to sea; and, as he was entirely subservient to the protector, men perceived that the object was to balance the interest of Blake in the affections of the sailors. The death of that naval hero quieted the protector's fears; and, says Ludlow sarcastically, "the loss of that great man was lamented by Cromwell much in the same manner as that of Ireton and General Dean had been*.” This mention of Blake leads us to the recital of the last exploits of his life. Having visited the coast of Portugal to water and victual his fleet, he heard of a rich Spanish fleet being on a homeward voyage, and he sailed to the Canaries to intercept it. The Spaniards took refuge in the bay of Santa Cruz, in the island of Teneriffe. The bay was protected by a strong castle and seven forts, united by a land communication ; and the Spanish admiral drew along the mouth of the harbour a strong boom, while he placed six galleons in readiness to pour a broadside on the assailants, and the smaller vessels directly under the forts. This situation was deemed perfectly secure; but Blake was not to be intimidated. With one squadron he himself attacked the galleons, while Stayner, with lighter vessels, entered the harbour. Ludlow, vol. ii. p. 603. The Spanish ships were burned, the batteries silenced; and, the wind proving favourable, the English came off with the loss of only forty-eight lives. It was on this occasion that the remark was made, that the English were devils, not men. This was the last exploit of Blake, who died, on his voyage home, of a scorbutic complaint.-To illustrate his character, we shall here relate a circumstance which occurred on the Spanish coast anterior to the war. Some of the sailors having gone ashore at Malaga, had, with the thoughtlessness peculiar to their class, laughed at the veneration paid to the host, when the multitude, instigated by one of the priests, fell upon them and beat them severely. On their return to the ship, they immediately complained to their admiral, who demanded reparation of the viceroy. He answered that he had no power over the priests: Blake replied that he would not trouble himself with inquries on that subject, but intimated to him, as the temporal authority, that if satisfaction were not instantly made he would burn the town. The threat was effectual; the trembling priest was sent to apologize for his conduct. He excused himself on the ground that the sailors had provoked them by insulting the religion of a country they had entered. Blake was too wise and just to approve of their conduct, but he told the priest that the complaint ought to have been made to him, when he would have severely chastised the offenders; but he would have him and all the world know, that none should punish an Englishman but an Englishman. When this was reported to the Dunkirk taken. Cromwell's last illness protector and his council, he, with that disposition which men at the head of affairs generally evince, to arrogate all the exploits of the age-a disposition in which they have been too generally supported by historians-exclaimed, that he would have the name of an Englishman as much respected as that of a Roman had ever been. Blake was magnificently buried in Henry VIIth's chapel; but though his character has been justly eulogized by the royalists, his body was not permitted to repose in the tomb, having been taken up and flung into a pit*. Cromwell having agreed with Cardinal Mazarine to assist the French government on land, 6000 men were sent to the Continent; and in a battle at Dunkirk, which led to the surrender of the town, they fully supported the English character. Dunkirk was given up to England, and was regarded by the protector, who appears to have indulged mighty ideas, as a most valuable acquisition t. We now return to a more particular account of and death. Cromwell, whose health daily declined. When, busy in his career of ambition, he had sought his present lofty preeminence, he had been blind to the dangers *Clar. vol. vi. p. 600-2. Harris's Life of Cromwell, p. 396-9. Biog. Brit. See Siècle de Louis XIV. ch. v. + Ludlow vol. ii. p. 560-2. Clar. vol. vi. p. 640, et seq. Whitelocke, p. 673. Thurloe's State Papers, vol. vii. et seq. Harris's Life of Cromwell, p. 400, et seq. From the gallantry of the English troops on this occasion, I have no doubt that had Cromwell's army, with that intrepid leader at their head, been pitched against Turenne and Condè together, these captains would quickly have been deprived of their laurels. that must necessarily attend his elevation. The enthusiasm that, in his better days-for it is to be hoped that he was corrupted by success, and not inherently vicious-had kindled the ardour of his own spirit, and diffused itself around him, making him brave every danger, was now stifled; because he found himself in a state of envied greatness, cut off from sympathy with his former comrades, tormented with jealousy of those he had trusted, detested by those who had started with him for the attainment of an honourable purpose, beset with dangers which threatened not only to degrade him from his unworthy situation, but to humble him and his family to destruction, and load his very memory with infamy, and bereft of expedients to conduct the machine of government much longer, while his hypocrisy stood unveiled, and he could neither advance nor retreat with safety. He had reason also to apprehend assassination, a species of danger to which the human nerves are least commensurate. The hazards of the field, where there is a call upon one's honour, every courageous mind can meet; but never to repose one's head without dread of the poignard, must appal the stoutest heart; and Cromwell's, with all its fortitude and bravery, was so far from being superior to it, that he is alleged to have worn concealed armour sometime before his death, and, for a short period also, never to have slept for two nights successively in the same chamber. Domestic afflictions hastened his dissolution. Amid all the active bustle of life, the fortunes of the field, and the dreams of ambition, Cromwell's affections centered in the bosom of his family, and from affliction there fortune could not secure him. His mother, whom he loved with the tenderest filial piety, died subsequently to his usurpation, and his favourite daughter, Mrs. Claypole, was taken from him this summer, while the manner of her death is said to have added infinitely to his distress; his inexorable refusal of the life of Dr. Huet having, it is alleged, broken her spirit. He never could overcome his grief at such a loss; and a complication of disorders, with care and distress of mind, terminated in his death on the third of September, 1658, the day of the year which, as the anniversary of Dunbar and Worcester, he had ever accounted fortunate. As to his prayers, the conduct of his chaplains, and the manner of his death, they are little to be relied on*. There is some truth, however, in the following passages by Ludlow, that he "manifested so little remorse for having betrayed the public cause, and sacrificed it to his own ambition, that some of his last words rather became a mediator than a sinner, as he recommended to God the condition of the nation which he had so infamously cheated, and expressed great care of the people whom he had so manifestly despisedf." A great hurricane occurred on the day of his death, which his admirers interpreted into a sign from heaven, that it could not take away so great a man without warning the nation of the loss it had sus *Orme's Life of Dr. Owen, p. 242. |