Charles Stuart, Prince of Wales

By Cryssa Bazos

When people think of Charles II of England, they usually think of Charles the Merry Monarch. Yet there was more to this intelligent man than the number of mistresses (and illegitimate children) he had. His life was defined by war, loss, and exile, and in the end, restoration. He fought to reclaim his father’s throne during one of the most tumultuous and complex times in English history. To understand who he was before becoming the Merry Monarch, allow me to introduce his early years when he was still the Prince of Wales.

Charles Stuart by Philippe de Champaigne

Charles was the eldest son and heir of King Charles I of England and Queen Henrietta Maria (sister to Louis XIII of France). His grandfather, King James I of England (James VI of Scotland) united the crowns of Scotland and England upon the death of Queen Elizabeth I. Charles was born on May 29, 1630 in St. James’s Palace in London, and as the story goes, a bright star shone in the afternoon sky to mark his birth. Ironically, this star was Venus.

Charles took after his mother’s French heritage, with his dark looks. Henrietta Maria called him her ‘black boy', though not with affectionate fondness. Whereas most mothers are often blind to their children’s ‘imperfections’, Henrietta Maria was hypersensitive. Shortly after Charles’s birth, Henrietta wrote about her son to a former nanny, “he is so fat and so tall…I will send you his portrait as soon as he is a little fairer, for at present he is so dark I am ashamed of him.” Charles never became fair, but at 6’2” he fulfilled the promise of exceptional height.

The Children of Charles I

Over the next several years, Charles was joined by a clutch of brothers and sisters in order of birth: Mary (later Princess of Orange), James (King James II & VII), Anne, Elizabeth, Henry (Duke of Gloucester), and Henrietta (Duchess of Orleans, but known affectionately as Minette). He was particularly close to his brother James, who ultimately ascended the throne after him. The two had experienced the upheaval of the civil war together, and even when James later converted to Catholicism, Charles supported his decision even though it was politically inconvenient. Some have attributed Charles’s deathbed conversion to Catholicism as having signalled his support for his brother on the eve of James’s ascension to the throne.

When Charles was eight, he was given over to the care and education of William Cavendish, then Marquess of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Cavendish was a notable horseman and the father of dressage. A long-time political player from a wealthy family, he instilled in Charles the gift to see men for what they were and the ability to work with them according to their talents. He also fostered in Charles a love of horsemanship.

Charles’s keen wit came through even at this young age. Having a strong aversion to taking physic, he wrote a clever note to Cavendish, which also demonstrated his affection for his guardian:

“My Lord, I would not have you take too much physic, for it doth always make me worse, and I think it will do the like with you. I ride every day, and am ready to follow any other directions from you. Make haste to return to him that loves you. Charles, P.”

Charles had a very different personality than his stubborn father. Had he been king during this time, war may very well have been avoided, and with it, years of bloodshed.

But civil war did break out, and Charles’s idyllic childhood came to an abrupt end in 1642 when Parliament raised an army against his father. Charles was given a titular captaincy and a troop of horse named after him, the Prince of Wales Regiment. At this time, his dashing cousin, Prince Rupert of the Rhine, came to lead his Majesty’s horse, and the young Charles looked up to his cousin as any impressionable twelve-year old would.

During the first major battle of the war (Edgehill), Charles should never have been anywhere near the fighting, and yet typically, he was and had a close shave with the enemy. His safety, and that of his brother James, was entrusted to the famous physician, Dr. William Harvey. In later years, the doctor became celebrated for documenting the circulation of blood, but at this moment, with two armies clashing on a field, the good doctor withdrew with his charges to the shelter of a hedgerow and the comforts of an absorbing book. The fighting heated and now being too close for comfort, Charles and his brother fled across a field to reach the safety of a barn. An enemy troop of horse saw the pair running, and without realizing who they were, gave chase. Fortunately, another Royalist troop headed off the enemy cavalry before they could capture the King’s sons, thereby avoiding a checkmate.

A History of England

In March 1645, Charles had been named Captain-General of his father’s forces in the west and was stationed in Bristol, relying on Edward Hyde as one of his chief advisors. Charles has always proved loyal to those who had shown him loyalty; years later when he won back his throne, he elevated Hyde to Chancellor and bestowed upon him an earldom.

By June 1645, the war had turned against the King. Following their defeat at Naseby, the Royalist army was in shambles. It soon became necessary to send Charles to the west where he would be safer from the threat of Parliament. As well, plague was becoming a threat in Bristol. Charles and his retinue left Bristol and travelled west to Barnstaple, and in September, continued to Cornwall. But by the spring of 1646, the mainland was not safe for the King’s heir, and he was forced to sail for the Isles of Scilly and then to Jersey.

iStock Photos

Sailing across the Channel to Jersey flared Charles’s sense of adventure. While on board the privateer, the Proud Black Eagle, he took the helm for a time. His ship was forced to flee from a fleet of Parliamentary ships, but they managed to safely sail into Jersey harbour.

Clearly this made an impression on him, for when he needed to come to his father’s aid, he chose to do it on the water. In 1648, one of the king’s supporters in Scotland, the Duke of Hamilton, raised an army for the King who was a prisoner of Parliament by this time. Wanting to be in readiness to join in the fray, Charles left France for Holland with a small fleet under his command. With some degree of schadenfreude, he happened to chance upon a naval mutiny in the Parliamentary fleet. Ten ships put aside their officers and placed themselves under Charles’s command. From there, Charles and his expanded fleet sailed for the Downs.

In the Channel, while waiting for favourable news on land, he played the privateer (or pirate, depending on your perspective). Things did not always go well for the Pirate Prince. His fleet suffered from internal divisions and a betrayal from some of the Prince’s supporters (though it was thwarted). Even the weather conspired against him. Just as his ships were geared to engage against the Parliamentary fleet, a fierce storm drove them apart. Unfortunately, rescuing the King was not in the cards, and Cromwell defeated Hamilton’s army.

One thing bore fruit from Charles’s Channel runs, an act of respect that paid dividends three years later. One of the prizes he seized was a ship captained by Nicholas Tattersell. Charles readily released the ship, which was no small relief to Tattersell. Years later, when Charles was a desperate fugitive with a reward of a thousand pounds offered for his capture, his last hope for finding passage on a ship ended up with Tattersell. Though Charles dressed and acted like a commoner, Tattersell had not forgotten the man who had captured his ship—nor did he forget that the Prince had promptly released it to him. Tattersell agreed to help Charles and spirited Charles safely to France.

And finally, one of my favourite stories of Charles involves the carte blanche. Before his father’s execution on January 29, 1649, after Parliament had tried and found the King guilty, the story goes that Charles sent a carte blanche (a blank piece of paper with his signature) to Parliament so that they could fill in their own terms for sparing his father’s life. If true, the ramifications to Charles were enormous.

Did it actually happen or is it a 19th century fabrication or error? I like to believe in its veracity, not only because it is his signature that appears on the bottom of this blank document, but also is entirely in keeping with the nature and character of Charles Stuart, Prince of Wales.

References:

Memoirs of the Court of Charles the Second, Anthony Hamilton

Memoirs of Lady Fanshawe: Excerpt From: Lady Anne Harrison Fanshawe.

Reprobates: The Cavaliers of the English Civil War, by John Stubbs

Carte Blanche, by T. C. Skeat 

BCW Project


Media attributions:

Charles Stuart: By Philippe de Champaigne - Europicture.de, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

The Children of Charles I of England, by Sir Anthony van Dyck in 1637, Wikimedia Commons

A history of England from the landing of Julius Caesar to the present day (1913): Internet Archive Book Images via Visual hunt / No known copyright restrictions

Charles II signature: By Connormah, Charles II [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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Cryssa Bazos is a historical fiction writer and 17th Century enthusiast with a particular interest in the English Civil War (ECW). For more stories about the English Civil War and the 17th Century, visit her blog.

The Death of a Hero - The Story Behind a Painting

by Mark Patton.

Victor Hugo once described the British Channel Islands of Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, Sark and Herm as "little pieces of France, dropped in the sea and picked up by England." They are certainly closer to France than they are to England, although today they are mainly English-speaking. The coast of Normandy is clearly visible from the north and east coasts of Jersey, and from the eastern coast of Alderney.

In fact, the islands were not dropped by France, but retained by England when, in 1204, King John lost his other possessions in Normandy to the French King Philippe-Auguste. Ever since, the islanders have found themselves on the front line whenever England (or, later, Britain) was at war with France.

In a current exhibition on British history-painting at Tate Britain in London, the centre-piece is a painting by the American artist, John Singleton Copley, of "The Death of Major Peirson." The painting is owned by the Tate, but is, ordinarily, on display in Jersey as part of a loan agreement. From 9th June to 13th September, however, those of us who live in, or have the opportunity to visit, London have the opportunity of viewing it.

"The Death of Major Peirson," 

by John Singleton Copley. Image: Tate Britain

The events depicted took place in January 1781. On the night of 6th January, a French force led by a mercenary adventurer who styled himself "Baron de Rullecourt" (his name was Philippe Macquart, and his noble title self-adopted) landed on the south-east coast of Jersey, under cover of darkness. He had with him around two thousand troops, but his choice of landing ground was disastrous, and he had lost almost half his force by the time he came ashore.

The coast of La Rocque, Jersey, where De Rullecourt landed his force.
A labyrinth of jagged rocks is to be found beneath the shallow waters,
making it the graveyard of many ships.
Photo: Man Vyi (image is in the Public Domain).

Philippe Macquart, "Baron de Rullecourt"

He had luck on his side, however (or perhaps this really was military judgement), in that the night in question was Twelfth Night, the last evening of the Christmas festivities, and most of the British garrison were celebrating, presumably consuming large quantities of the cider for which the island was then renowned. With his remaining troops, he reached the town of Saint Helier and surprised the island's Lieutenant-Governor, Moses Corbet, in bed, placing him under arrest and forcing the "surrender" of the garrison.

Knowing that Corbet's "surrender" had been made at the point of a gun, neither the British garrison, dispersed between several barracks around the island, nor the local Militia, had any inclination to comply with it. Command was assumed by the senior officer of the regular garrison, 24 year old Major Francis Peirson. He mustered his force on a hill overlooking Saint Helier (he had available around 6000 regular troops and 3000 militia, but it is not known how many of these were actually deployed) and advanced into the town.

Major Francis Peirson
thought to be by Jean Sullivan

The actual fighting lasted for less than fifteen minutes, the French force being decisively outnumbered, but both Peirson and De Rullecourt were killed in action. Copley's painting, commissioned by a London Alderman, John Boydell, shows Peirson falling at the centre of the market-place (now the Royal Square), but it is not thought that he ever reached this position: he was taken out by a sniper in the opening moments of the battle.

The painting also shows a black man (supposedly Peirson's servant, Pompey, although it is unclear that any such man existed) taking aim at the sniper. The uniform worn by this man appears to be that of Lord Dunmore's Ethiopian Regiment (which had nothing to do with Ethiopia, but rather was raised from escaped slaves in the American Colonies): soldiers of this regiment never served outside the American colonies.

Detail of Copley's painting,
showing "Pompey" taking aim

Peirson was buried in the crypt of the Town Church nearby, and De Rullecourt in the adjacent church-yard. The context for the invasion, backed by the French King, Louis XVI, was a desire to end the activities of Channel Island privateers, which were harrying French and American shipping on both sides of the Atlantic. With its defeat, these activities were free to continue.

It is unclear whether Copley, who lived and worked in London at the time, actually visited the island, or worked from commercially available prints, but most of the topographical and architectural details are correct, even if aspects of the battle are not.

Saint Helier's Royal Square in the early 19th Century
Visible are the statue of George II and the court-house
behind it, both of which can be seen on
Copley's painting, as well as the church where
Peirson and De Rullecourt lie buried.

Copley's painting went on public display in London in 1784, with an admission charge of one shilling, and attracted lengthy queues. For a brief season, the name of Peirson was celebrated as that of Nelson would later be (it still is on the island, where Copley's painting has featured on bank-notes and stamps).

Poster advertising the public exhibition
of Copley's painting in London.
Photo: Man Vyi (Public Domain).

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Mark Patton blogs regularly on aspects of history and historical fiction at http://mark-patton.blogspot.co.uk. His novels, Undreamed Shores, An Accidental King and Omphalos, are published by Crooked Cat Publications, and can be purchased from Amazon.