gallery of the lobby, where they saw the duke lying in his gore. He was only in his six-and-thirtieth year.
The first suspicion fell upon the French, and they were in great danger from the duke's people; but when a number of officers came rushing in, crying out, "Where is the villain? Where is the butcher?" a man stepped calmly forward, saying, "I am the man—here I am!" He had quietly withdrawn into the kitchen as soon as he had done the deed, and might have escaped had he so willed. On hearing him avow the murder the officers drew their swords, and would have despatched him, but were prevented by the secretary Carleton Sir Thomas Morton, and others, who stood guard over him till a detachment of soldiers arrived and conveyed him to the governor's house.
The assassin turned out to be John Felton, a gentleman by birth and education, who had been a lieutenant in the army during the expedition to the isle of Rhé. He had thrown up his commission because he could not obtain the arrears of his pay, and had seen another at the same time promoted over his head. He had, therefore, most likely, a personal grudge against the duke, but had also been led on by religious fanaticism. He was a stout, dark, military-looking man, from Suffolk; but according to his own account, was first excited to the deed by reading the remonstrance of the parliament against the duke, when it seemed to him that that remonstrance was a sufficient warrant for the act, and that by ridding the country of him he should render a real service to it. He described himself as walking in London on Tower Hill, when he saw a broad hunting-knife on a cutler's stall, and that it was suggested to him instantly to buy it for this purpose.
At Portsmouth one of the royal chaplains was sent to him in his dungeon, where he lay heavily ironed; but Felton, supposing the chaplain sent to draw something from him rather than for his consolation, said, "Sir, I shall be brief with you; I killed him for the cause of God and my country!" The chaplain, to mislead him, told him what was not true, that the surgeons gave hopes of his life; but Felton promptly replied, "That is impossible! I had the power of forty men, assisted by Him who guided my hand." On being removed to London, the people crowded to see him, showering blessings on him as the deliverer of his country, and one old woman at Kingston said, "Now, God bless thee, little David!" meaning that he had killed Goliath.
The king was at church when the news reached the court, and Sir John Hippsley went up to him and informed him of what had taken place. Charles had sufficient power over himself to remain outwardly unmoved during the service; but as soon as it was over, he hastened to his own apartment, threw himself on the bed, and gave way to a passion of tears, lamenting the loss of so valuable a servant, and the dreadful nature of his end; and he continued in a depressed and sorrowful mood for some days. Yet outwardly he assumed so much equanimity, that it was thought by the public, and by many about him, that he was secretly glad to be rid of a man who had helped to render him so unpopular. They were greatly mistaken. Charles had a firm attachment to this profligate and mischievous man, and noted carefully the expressions which now escaped those who thought they might speak what they really thought of him, and remembered them to their prejudice. He further demonstrated his regard for his fallen favourite, by paying his debts and taking his widow and children under his especial protection. He termed the duke his martyr, and had him buried in Westminster Abbey, though he took the precaution to bury the corpse privately, and have an empty coffin carried on men's shoulders, and attended by about a hundred mourners by night, and the way guarded by soldiers, lest the populace might attempt to seize and insult the body.
Felton was lodged in the Tower, and threatened with the rack to make him confess his accomplices, but he steadfastly replied that he had no accomplices or abettors but the remonstrance of the commons. The earl of Dorset went to see him, accompanied, as reported, by Laud, and menaced him with the rack if he would not reveal his colleagues. Felton replied, "I am ready, but I must tell you that I will then accuse you my lord of Dorset, and no one but you." Charles urged his being racked, but the judges, who saw better than he did the spirit that was abroad, refused to sanction it, declaring that torture, however used, had always been contrary to the law of England. Felton gloried in his deed, but at length, through the exertions of the clergy, came to confess that he had been misled by a bad spirit; yet it has been doubted whether he ever really abandoned inwardly the persuasion of having done a great and patriotic deed. When the attorney-general on the trial lauded the virtues, the abilities, wisdom, and public services of Buckingham to the skies, Felton, on being asked what he had to say, why judgment should not be passed on him, replied that if he had deprived his majesty of so faithful a servant as Mr. Attorney-general described, he was sorry, and extending his arm, exclaimed, "This is the instrument that did the deed, let it be cut off for it!" He was hanged at Tyburn, and then gibbeted at Portsmouth, the scene of his crime; a crime, we may add, perfectly superfluous, for Felton's knife only forestalled the axe of the executioner. The commons had already taken up the offensive against Buckingham: he was condemned both in its and in public opinion, as an evil counsellor of the king, and an arch-traitor to the country, and the power of Charles could no more have protected him from the fiat of parliament, than it did Strafford afterwards.
In place of the duke, the earl of Lindsay was ordered to take command of the expedition for the relief of Rochelle, and he was accompanied by Walter Montague, the second son of the earl of Manchester, who was to open a negotiation with Richeleu. Montague was already a catholic at heart, and afterwards became so avowedly, and was made commendatory abbot of Pontoise, and a member of the council of Anne of Austria. No doubt it was from this known tendency that he had been chosen for this mission. For five days the fleet manœuvred before Rochelle, and after two ineffectual, and probably rather pretended than actual, endeavours to force an entrance, returned to Spithead. Montague, meantime, had been introduced to Louis, had hurried back to London, and was on the point of returning, when the news came of the surrender of Rochelle. This event put an end to the dreams of a protestant state in France, and greatly consolidated the power of that country.
