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Lucy Hutchinson (1620–1681). Memoirs of Colonel Hutchinson. 1906.

The Life of John Hutchinson: 1663

The colonel continued his usual retiredness all that winter and the next summer, about the end of which he dreamt one night that he saw certain men in a boat upon the Thames, labouring against wind and tide, to bring their boat, which stuck in the sands, to shore; at which he, being in the boat, was angry with them, and told them they toiled in vain, and would never effect their purpose; but, said he, let it alone and let me try; whereupon he laid him down in the boat, and applying his breast to the head of it, gently shoved it along, till he came to land on the Southwark side, and there, going out of the boat, walked in the most pleasant lovely fields so green and flourishing, and so embellished with the cheerful sun that shone upon them, as he never saw anything so delightful, and there he met his father, who gave him certain leaves of laurel which had many words written in them which he could not read. The colonel was never superstitious of dreams, but this stuck a little in his mind, and we were therefore seeking applications of it, which proved nothing in the event, but that having afforded one, I know not whether the dream might not be inspired. The boat representing the commonwealth which several unquiet people sought to enfranchise, by vain endeavours against wind and tide, paralleling the plots and designs some impatient people then carried on without strength, or counsel, or unity among themselves; his lying down and shoving it with his breast, might signify the advancement of the cause by the patient suffering of the martyrs, among which his own was to be eminent, and on the other side of the river to land him into walks of everlasting pleasure, he dying on that shore, and his father’s giving him these laurel leaves with unintelligible characters, foretold him those triumphs which he could not read in his mortal estate. But to let dreams pass,—

I cannot here omit one story, though not altogether so much of the colonel’s concern, yet happening this summer, not unworthy mention. Mr. Palmer, a certain nonconformist preacher, was taken at his own house in Nottingham, by the mayor of the town, for preaching upon the Lord’s day, and some others with him (whereof one was formerly a servant of the colonel’s, and had married one of his maids), and put into the town’s gaol, where they continued about two or three months. There being a grated window in the prison, which was almost even with the ground, and looked into the street, all people coming by might see these poor people, kept in a damp, ill-favoured room, where they patiently exhorted and cheered one another. One Lord’s day, after sermon time, the prisoners were singing a psalm, and the people as they passed up and down, still when they came to the prison, stood still, till there were a great many gathered about the window at which Mr. Palmer was preaching; whereupon the mayor, one Toplady, who had formerly been a parliament officer, but was now a renegado, came violently with his officers, and beat the people, and thrust some into prison that were but passing the streets, kicked and pinched the men’s wives in his rage, and was the more exasperated, when some of them told him how ill his fury became him who had once been one of them. The next day, or few days after, having given order the prisoners should every Lord’s day after be locked in the coal-house, he went to London and made information, I heard oath, to the council, that a thousand of the country came in armed to the town, and marched to the prison window to hear the prisoner preach; whereupon he procured an order for a troop of horse to be sent down to quarter at Nottingham to keep the fanatics in awe. But one who had relation to the town, being then at court, and knowing this to be false, certified to the contrary and prevented the troop. After the mayor came down, he was one night taken with a vomiting of blood, and being ill, called his man and his maid, who also at the same time fell a bleeding, and were all ready to be choked in their own blood, which at last stopping, they came to assist him; but after that he never lift up his head, but languished a few months and died.

While these poor people were in prison, the colonel sent them some money, and as soon as their time was expired, Mr. Palmer came to Owthorpe to give him thanks, and preached there one Lord’s day. Whether this were taken notice of is not evident, but within a short time after, upon the Lord’s day, the 11th of October, 1663, the colonel having that day finished the expounding of the Epistle to the Romans to his household, and the servants being gone out of the parlour from him, one of them came in and told him soldiers were come to the town. He was not at all surprised, but stayed in the room till they came in, who were conducted by Atkinson, one of those Newark men, who had so violently before prosecuted him at the parliament, and he told the colonel he must go along with them, after they had searched the house; for which the colonel required their commission, which at the first they said they need not show, but after they showed him an order from Mr. Francis Leke, one of the deputy-lieutenants, forthwith to repair to his house, to search for and bring away what arms they could find, and to seize his person. All which they did, and found no arms in the house but four birding-guns, that hung open in the kitchen, which being the young gentleman’s, at that time they left. It was after sunset when they came, and they were at least two hours searching every corner and all about the house, and the colonel was not at that time very well in health, and not having been for six months before on horseback, had neither horses nor saddles at that time in the house; the coachman was also gone away, and the coach-horses turned out, and it was as bitter a stormy, pitchy, dark, black, rainy night as any that year; all which considered, the colonel desired that they would but stay for the morning light, that he might accommodate himself; but they would not, but forced him to go then along with them, his eldest son lending him a horse, and also voluntarily accompanying him to Newark, where, about four of the clock in the morning, he was brought into the Talbot, and put into a most vile room, and two soldiers kept guard upon him in that room.

And now what they ailed we knew not, but they were all seized with a panic fear, and the whole country fiercely alarmed, and kept at Newark many days at intolerable charges, and I think they never yet knew what they were sent for in to do, but to guard Colonel Hutchinson; who being at first put into a room that looked into the street, was afterwards removed into a back room, worse, if worse could be, and so bad that they would not let the Duke of Buckingham’s footmen lodge in it; and here he continued, no man coming at him nor letting him know why he was brought in. The next day Mrs. Hutchinson sent him some linen, and as soon as the man came, Tomson, the host of the inn, would not suffer him to see his master, but seized him and kept him prisoner two days. Mr. Thomas Hutchinson had a mare which the innkeeper had a desire to buy, and his father persuaded him to let him have her worth money, who thereupon agreed on the price, only Tomson desired him to let him try the mare six miles, which he condescended to, upon condition that if Tomson rid the mare above six miles he should pay the money for her, and furnish Mr. Hutchinson with a horse home, or to my Lord of Newcastle’s, or any other occasion he had while he was at Newark. Upon this bargain Tomson had the mare, but instead of going but six miles, he led a greater party of horse than those who first seized the colonel, to Owthorpe, and coming in after sunset, to the affright of Mrs. Hutchinson and her children, again searched their house more narrowly if possible than at first, with much more insolent behaviour, although they found no more than at first; but they took away the birding-guns they had left before, and from Owthorpe went to Nottingham, where they took one Captain Wright and Lieutenant Franck, who had been Lambert’s adjutant-general, and brought the poor men to Newark, where they are yet prisoners, and to this day know not why. Several others were taken prisoners, among the rest one Whittington, a lieutenant, who, being carried to prison, ‘Col. Hutchinson’, said he, ‘hath betrayed us all’; such were the base jealousies of our own party over him, who, because he was not hanged at first, imagined and spoke among themselves all the scandals that could be devised of him, as one that had deserted the cause, and lay private here in the country to trepan all the party, and to gather and transmit all intelligence to the court, and a thousand such things, giving each other warning to take heed of coming near him. Those who began to render him thus odious among his own party were the Lambertonians, in malice because he had openly opposed their rebellious insolencies against the parliament. Franck and Whittington, etc., were of these, but the colonel would not put himself in hazard to rectify their unjust thoughts, and had no resort of his own friends, the soberer and honester men of the party; only, as much as the straits that were upon him would allow, when any of them were in distress, would send them relief. Hereupon some, convinced of the injuries they did him, about this time sought to do him right, in some meeting where one of the Buckingham’s trepans was, and said he was unchanged in his principles, which was all that ever I could hear was informed against him, but anything would serve for those who sought a pretence.

While the colonel was at Newark, Golding, the papist, was a very busy fellow in spying and watching his house at Owthorpe, and sending in frivolous stories, which amounted to nothing, but declaring his pitiful malice, as they that received it afterwards told the colonel.

When Tomson came back, Mr. Hutchinson, out of the window, spied his own gun, which some of the men brought in, and soon understood that this rogue had made use of his own horse to plunder him. At night Tomson, the host, came up into the colonel’s chamber, and behaved himself most insolently, whereupon the colonel snatched up a candlestick and laid him over the chaps with it; whereupon Mr. Leke, being in the house, and hearing the bustle, with others, came in with drawn swords, and the colonel took that opportunity to tell him that he stood upon his justification, and desired to know his crime and his accusers, and that till then he was content to be kept as safe as they would have him, but desired to be delivered out of the hands of that insolent fellow, and to have accommodation fit for a gentleman; which when they saw he would not be without, for he would eat no more meat in that house, they after two days removed him to the next inn, where he was civilly treated, with guards still remaining upon him.

It was not passion which made the colonel do this, for he was not at all angry, but despised all the malice of his enemies; but he having been now four days in Newark, Mr. Leke came every day to the house where he was kept by Leke’s warrant, and never vouchsafed so much as to look on him, but put him into the hands of a drunken insolent host, who daily affronted him; which, if he would have suffered, he saw would be continued upon him, therefore knowing that Leke was then in the house, he took that occasion to make him come to him, and thereupon obtained a remove to an accommodation more befitting a gentleman.

While he was at the other inn, several gentlemen of the king’s party came to him, some whom he had known, and some whom he had never seen, complimenting him, as if he had not been a prisoner; which he very much wondered at, and yet could never understand, for by his former usage he saw it was not their good nature: but whether this carriage of his had made them believe innocency was the ground of his confidence, or whether the appearance of his great spirit had made them willing to oblige him, or whether even his virtue had strucken them with a guilty dread of him, though a prisoner, certain it is, that some who had been his greatest enemies began to flatter him; whereupon, in a Bible he carried in his pocket, and marked upon all occasions, he marked that place, Prov. xvi. 7, ‘When a man’s ways please the Lord, he maketh his enemies to be at peace with him.’

The 19th of October, Mr. Leke, with a party of horse, carried the colonel to the Marquess of Newcastle’s, who treated him very honourably; and then falling into discourse with him, ‘Colonel’, saith he, ‘they say you desire to know your accusers, which is more than I know’. And thereupon very freely showed him the Duke of Buckingham’s letter, commanding him to imprison the colonel, and others, upon suspicion of a plot; which my lord was so fully satisfied the colonel was innocent of, that he dismissed him without a guard to his own house, only engaging him to stay there one week, till he gave account to the council, upon which he was confident of his liberty. The colonel, thus dismissed, came home, and upon the 22nd day of October a party of horse, sent only with a wretched corporal, came about eleven o’clock with a warrant from Mr. Leke, and fetched him back to Newark to the inn where he was before, Mr. Twentyman’s, who being still civil to him, whispered him as soon as he alighted, that it was determined he should be close prisoner; whereupon the colonel said he would no more pay any sentinels that they set upon him, yet they set two hired soldiers, having now dismissed the county, but the colonel forbade the inn to give them any drink, or anything else upon his account. The next day, being the 23rd, Mr. Leke came to him and showed him a letter from my Lord Newcastle, wherein my lord writ that he was sorry he could not pursue that kindness he intended the colonel, believing him innocent, for that he had received a command from Buckingham to keep him a close prisoner, without pen, ink, or paper; and to show the reality of this, with the order he sent a copy of the duke’s letter, which was also shown the colonel; and in it was this expression, ‘that though he could not make it out as yet, he hoped he should bring Mr. Hutchinson into the plot’. Mr. Leke having communicated these orders to Mr. Hutchinson, told him he was to go to London, and should leave him in the charge of the mayor of Newark.

Because here is so much noise of a plot, it is necessary to tell what it hath since appeared. The Duke of Buckingham set a-work one Gore, sheriff of Yorkshire, and others, who sent out trepanners among the discontented people, to stir them up to insurrection to restore the old parliament, gospel ministry, and English liberty; which specious things found very many ready to entertain them, and abundance of simple people were caught in the net; whereof some lost their lives, and others fled. But the colonel had no hand in it, holding himself obliged at that time to be quiet. It is true he still suspected insurrections of the papists, and had secured his house and his yards, better than it was the winter before, against any sudden night assaults.

After Mr. Leke was gone, the mayor, one Herring, of Newark, a rich but simple fellow, sent the jailer to Mr. Hutchinson, to tell him he must go to his house; which the colonel refusing to do voluntarily, without a mittimus from some magistrate, the mayor sent five constables and two soldiers, who by violence both forced the colonel out of his quarters, and into the gaol without any legal commitment, although the colonel warned both the jailer and the men of the danger of the law by this illegal imprisonment. The colonel would not advance at all into the prison, into which the men would fain have entreated him; but when they saw they could not persuade, they violently thrust him in, where the jailer afterwards used him pretty civilly: but the room being unfit for him, he got cold and fell very sick, when, upon the 27th of October, Mr. Leke, with the marquess’s secretary, came to him, and found him so, and acquainted him that the marquess had received express orders from the king to send him up in safe custody to London. Mr. Leke finding him so ill, was so civil as to permit him to go by his own house, which was as near a road, that he might there take accommodations for his journey, and be carried up at more ease in his own coach; Mr. Leke himself, being necessitated to make more haste than he could have done if he had stayed for the party that was to guard the colonel, went away before, and left his orders for sending him away with Mr. Atkinson, who first seized him. The same 27th day, at night, his house at Owthorpe was again searched, and he and his wife being abroad, all their boxes and cabinets were broken open, and all their papers rifled, but yet for all this they could find nothing to colour their injustice to him.

Having been falsely and illegally imprisoned, from six o’clock on Friday night, the 23rd of October, till ten o’clock in the morning, October 28th, he was then, in order to his going to London, brought by Beek, the jailer, to Twentyman’s, the inn from whence he was haled, to stay there till a commanded party of the county horse came to guard him to London. But one division of the county who had warrants sent them, not coming in, Atkinson sent into that part where the colonel lived, and his own neighbours coming slowly and unwillingly to that service, he was forced to stay there all that day till night in the custody of the jailer. At night, when he was in bed, the mayor being drunk, commanded him to be carried back to the jail; but the jailer, weary of his drunken commands, sat up with two soldiers, and guarded him in the inn.

The next day, the party not being come in, a mean fellow, that was appointed to command the colonel’s guard, one Corporal Wilson, came and told him that he must not go by his own house, nor have the privilege of his coach, but be carried up another way; whereupon the colonel sent to Atkinson, to desire him he might not be denied that civility Mr. Leke had allowed him; but he was so peevish and obstinate that the colonel was sending his son post to the Marquess of Newcastle’s to complain of his malicious inhumanity, who would have forced him on horseback without any accommodation, when he was so taken ill that he could not have ridden one stage without manifest hazard of his life: and yet Mr. Cecil Cooper and Mr. Whalley, though justices and deputy-lieutenants, could not prevail with him, till he saw the colonel as resolute as himself: and then at last, by their mediation (wherein Mr. Cecil Cooper did something to redeem his former causeless hatred, which made him plunder the house, and detain the plunder when it was ordered back), the colonel, about sunset, was sent out of Newark, with those horse that were come in, to stay for the rest at his own house. Being driven in the night by an unskilful coachman, the coach was overturned and broken; but about twelve of the night they came safe home. Thus the colonel took his last leave of Newark, which being a place he had formerly subdued, and replete with so many malicious enemies to the whole party, and more particularly to him, upon no other account but that he had been the most formidable protector of the other parry in this country, he expected far worse treatment from the generality of the town; who were so far from joining in joy of his captivity, that when he was forced through their streets, they gave him very civil respect, and when he came away, civil farewells, and all muttered exceedingly at their mayor, and said he would undo their town by such simple illegal proceedings. The colonel regarded all these civilities from the town, who were generally much concerned in his injuries, and from Cooper and others, not as of themselves, but as from God, who at that time overawed the hearts of his enemies, as once he did Laban’s and Esau’s; and was much confirmed in the favour of God thereby, and nothing at all daunted at the malice of his prosecutors, but went as cheerfully into captivity as another would have come out of it.

They were forced to stay a day at Owthorpe, for the mending of the coach and coming in of the soldiers, where the colonel had the opportunity to take leave of his poor labourers, who wept all bitterly when he paid them off; but he comforted them and smiled, and without any regret went away from his bitterly weeping children, and servants, and tenants, his wife and his eldest son and daughter going with him, upon Saturday, the 31st of October.

Golding, the night before he went, had sent him a pot of marmalade to eat in the coach, and a letter to desire all grudges might be forgotten, and high flattering stuff, by his man, who was to be one of the guard, which, he said, he had chosen out the best he had, and his best horse, and if he did not pay him all respect, he would turn him away; and as the colonel came by his door, came out with wine, and would fain have brought him into the house to eat oysters, but the colonel only drank with him, and bid him friendly farewell, and went on, not guarded as a prisoner, but waited on by his neighbours. Mrs. Hutchinson was exceedingly sad, but he encouraged and kindly chid her out of it, and told her it would blemish his innocence for her to appear afflicted, and told her if she had but patience to wait the event, she would see it all for the best, and bade her be thankful for the mercy that she was permitted this comfort to accompany him in the journey; and he with divers excellent exhortations cheered her, who was not wholly abandoned to sorrow, while he was with her, who, to divert her, made himself sport with his guards, and deceived the way, till upon the 3rd of November he was brought to the Crown, in Holborn. From thence, the next day, he was carried by Mr. Leke to the Tower, and committed there close prisoner, by warrant, signed by Secretary Bennett, the 20th of October, whereby he stood committed for treasonable practices, though he had never yet been examined by any magistrate, one or other. His wife, by his command, restrained herself as much as she could from showing her sadness, whom he bade to remember how often he had told her that God never preserved him so extraordinarily at first, but for some great work he had further for him to do or to suffer in this cause; and bade her be thankful for the mercy by which they had so long in peace enjoyed one another since this eminent change, and bade her trust God with him; whose faith and cheerfulness were so encouraging that it a little upheld her; but, alas! her divining heart was not to be comforted: she remembered what had been told her of the cruel resolutions taken against him, and saw now the execution of them.

On Friday, November the 6th, he was sent for by Secretary Bennett to his lodgings at Whitehall, which was the first time he was examined, and the questions he asked him were: 1st. ‘Where he had lived this four or five months?’ To which he answered, ‘Constantly at home, at his own house in Nottinghamshire’. 2nd. ‘What company used to resort to his house?’ He told him, ‘None, not so much as his nearest relations, who scarce ever saw him’. 3rd. ‘What company he frequented?’ He told him, ‘None; and that he never stirred out of his own house to visit any’. Bennett said, ‘That was very much’. 4th. ‘Whether he knew Mr. Henry Nevill?’ He answered, ‘Very well’. 5th. ‘When he saw him?’ He said, ‘To his best remembrance never since the king came in’. 6th. ‘When he wrote to him?’ He said, ‘Never in his life’. 7th. ‘When Mr. Nevil wrote to him?’ He said, ‘Never’. 8th. ‘Whether any messages had past between them?’ He said, ‘None at all’. 9th. ‘Whether none had moved anything to him concerning a republic?’ He said, ‘He knew none so indiscreet’. 10th. ‘What children he had?’ He said, ‘Four sons and four daughters’. 11th. ‘How old his sons were?’ He said, ‘Two were at men’s estate, and two little children’. 12th. ‘Whether his sons had not done anything to injure him?’ He replied, ‘Never that he knew of, and he was confident they had not’. 13th. ‘Where he went to church to hear divine service, common prayer?’ He said, ‘Nowhere, for he never stirred out of his own house’. 14th. ‘Whether he heard it not read there?’ He answered, ‘To speak ingenuously, no’. 15th. ‘How he then did for his soul’s comfort?’ He replied, ‘Sir, I hope you leave me that to account between God and my own soul’. Then Bennett told him his answers to these had cut him off of many questions he should have asked, and he might return. So he was carried back to the Tower with only two of the warders which brought him thither.

Not long after one Waters was brought prisoner out of Yorkshire, a fellow of a timorous spirit, who, being taken, was in so great a fear, that he accused many, guilty and not guilty, to save himself; and caused his own wife to be put in prison, and hanged the dearest friend he had in the world, and brought his wife’s brother into the same danger; some say through fear, others that he was a trepanner from the beginning, for he drew in all the people whom he accused. Whatever he was, he was so utter a stranger to Colonel Hutchinson, that he never saw his face; yet that day he was examined at Whitehall, Colonel Hutchinson was in great haste fetched away from his dinner at the Tower, and told he should be examined in the king’s own hearing; which he was very glad of, and with great haste, and formality, and strictness he was carried by the deputy-lieutenant and a strong guard by water from the Tower to Whitehall; and when he came to land at Whitehall Stairs, one Andrews, an officer, with two files of musketeers, was ready to receive him, and led him to Bennett’s lodgings, where he observed a great deal of care to place the guard at the outward door in the court, and to keep the chamber door continually shut, that none might peep in, but a few gentlemen who were admitted to come now and then and stare him in the face at the door, but none were in the room for a long space but Andrews and himself, till at the last his keeper thrust himself in. The colonel, having stayed two hours, concluded that he should now be confronted by some accuser, or at least have an examination more tending to treasonable practices than his first seemed to do, especially understanding that Mr. Waters had been many hours before in the house, and was yet there. But at last, parturiunt montes! and out comes Secretary Bennett! who, taking him to a window apart from Mr. Andrews and the keeper, most formally begins thus: ‘Mr. Hutchinson, you have now been some days in prison, have you recollected yourself any more to say than when I last spoke to you?’ Mr. Hutchinson answered, ‘He had nothing to recollect, nor more to say’. ‘Are you sure of that?’ said the secretary. ‘Very sure’, said Mr. Hutchinson. ‘Then’, said Bennett, ‘you must return to prison’. And accordingly he was carried by the same guard back again to the Tower, where he was kept with a great deal of strictness, and some weeks passed before his wife was admitted to see him; for whom, at the last, Sir Allen Apsley procured an order that she might visit him, but they limited it that it must not be but in the presence of his keeper. The lieutenant, in hope of a fee, gave leave that her son and daughter might go into the room with her, who else must have stood without doors; but he would not permit her to take lodgings in the Tower, which, being in a sharp winter season, put her to great toil and inconvenience, besides excessive charge of providing his meat at the Tower, and her company in another place: meanwhile he was kept close prisoner, and had no air allowed him, but a pair of leads over his chamber, which were so high and cold he had no benefit by them; and every night he had three doors shut upon him, and a sentinel at the outmost. His chamber was a room where it is said the two young princes, King Edward the Fifth and his brother, were murthered in former days, and the room that led to it was a dark great room, that had no window in it, where the portcullis to one of the inward Tower gates was drawn up and let down, under which there sat every night a court of guard. There is a tradition, that in this room the Duke of Clarence was drowned in a butt of malmsey; from which murther this room, and that joining it, where Mr. Hutchinson lay, was called the Bloody Tower. Between Mr. Hutchinson’s chamber and the dark room there was a door, which Mr. Hutchinson desired the lieutenant might be left open in the night, because it left a little necessary house open to the chamber, which he and his man had occasion of in the night, having gotten fluxes with their bad accommodations and diet: but the lieutenant would not allow it him, although, when that was open, there were two doors more shut upon him, and he could not have any way attempted any escape, but he must, if it had been possible to work through the walls, have fallen upon a court of guard.

Notwithstanding all this strictness, which was also exercised on most of the other prisoners, yet their own sentinels hated the lieutenant, and his Cerberus, Cresset, because they cheated them, and had nothing of generosity or bounty to engage the hearts of their soldiers, who, seeing so much of their wickedness, abhorred them, and pitied the poor gentlemen that were so barbarously used by them; and whether out of humanity, or necessity, or villainy, I know not, but they would offer the prisoners many courtesies, and convey letters between them. Mr. Hutchinson was never so imprudent to trust any of them with his, having within an hour of his imprisonment been instructed by another prisoner a safer and more convenient way; yet was it their interest to use courteously all those that offered themselves to do them service. Among the rest, as he was one day sitting by the fire, the sentinel at the door peeped in his head and called to him: ‘Sir’, said he, ‘God bless you! I have sometimes guarded you in another manner at the parliament house, and am grieved to see the change of your condition, and only take this employment now, to be more able to serve you, still hoping to see you restored to what I have seen you’. The colonel, not turning his head, told the man that language suited not the coat he wore, bade him mind his present duty, and told him he had no employment of his service. ‘Well’, said the soldier, ‘I perceive, sir, you dare not trust me, but my Lady Vane and my Lady Lambert know me, and if you have any service to command me to them, I will bring you a testimony from them’. The colonel took no more notice of him, but the fellow, officious, or hoping to get money, went to my Lady Lambert’s house, and told her that he had formerly been her husband’s soldier, and that he wished his restitution, and that he used sometimes to guard the prisoners, and would carry her letters to any of them, and that he had been sentinel lately at Colonel Hutchinson’s chamber, and would carry anything she would send to him. She only bade him remember her service to him, and tell him she wished him liberty; and the fellow flattering her with professing his love to her lord, she expressed some pleasure with his speeches, and gave him some money; which her daughter considering, as soon as he was gone out told her that she had done unwarily to open herself so much to one of the soldiers in present employment, whom she did not know but he might be set on purpose to trepan her. My lady, to prevent any inconvenience of her error, thought it the best way to go immediately and complain that one of the soldiers had come to trepan her, under colour of a message from Colonel Hutchinson, which she had not entertained; and desired they might not be allowed in any such thing, protesting her own loyalty and readiness to discover any that were false to them. This was extremely well represented of her at the court, and as ill of Colonel Hutchinson, that he had not done the like; and Colonel Legge, whose company it was that then had the guard of the Tower, was commanded to find out and punish this soldier, who, it proved after, was a good honest fellow, and was the only protestant in that company, the rest being most of them Irish and papists, and some rebels. This poor fellow, having been a parliament soldier, listed among them to get a living, but was very tender-hearted to the prisoners, and had a desire to do them kindness. Hereupon he came to the colonel’s man, and desired his master would not own him, and that he would send to my Lady Lambert to do the same, which the colonel did; but when she was sent to by him, she sent a maid to see all the soldiers, who owned the man, and he was put in prison, and cashiered and undone, for nothing but offering his service to have done the prisoners slight services. And Colonel Hutchinson was ill thought of at the court, because when Colonel Legge brought his men under the window of his prison, and came up to Mr. Hutchinson and desired him to view them all, he would not accuse any of them; which if he had, he would not only have cut off his own, but all the other prisoners’ ways of sending to their friends abroad; yet he never made use of this fellow, nor any of them, in any business of trust, although he thought it not good to discourage any that appeared to wish them well, among so many bloody murtherers as they were given up to.