Rob Ride,
Ride Rob
to Scotland.

The Intrepid
Gallop of
Sir Robert Carey.

By Ronald Fritze
Posted on December 1, 2008, from Athens, Alabama

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;
'Good speed!' cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;
'Speed!' echoed the wall to us galloping through;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Robert Browning,
“How They Brought the Good News from Aix to Ghent.”

History possesses a vast repertoire of stories about great rides and long runs by determined, often heroic individuals. Through most of human history, messages and news were delivered through direct contact between people. Even a letter had to be carried to its addressee by someone. Smoke signals, flashing mirrors, and signal fires could move messages faster than direct physical contact, but they had distinct limitations and could only convey simple messages.

We live in an age where it is possible to call long-distance and speak instantaneously to someone on the other side of the world, so it may be hard to comprehend how slow and strenuous communication could be before the telegraph came on the scene in the nineteenth century.

A Race to Validate
the Prophet's Anointing.

The Bible tells about a hard chariot ride that occurred about 854 BC. At that time Joram was the king of the northern Kingdom of Israel. He was allied with Ahaziah, the king of Judah, and they were fighting against the Syrians, who were trying to capture the city of Ramoth-Gilead on the eastern side of the Jordan River.

A son of the notorious Ahab and Jezebel, Joram was an ungodly monarch. Many in Israel were unhappy with his rule. Prominent among the disenchanted were the general Jehu, the son of Nimshi, and the prophet Elisha.

King Joram was taking a rest at the royal residence at Jezreel when Elisha sent one of his disciples to Ramoth-Gilead to anoint Jehu as the king of Israel, thus usurping the vacationing king. Immediately, Jehu and some of his men mounted chariots and raced toward Jezreel, hoping to surprise Joram before news of the anointing arrived.

The journey to Jezreel covered about 45 miles — and what a wild journey it was. As a watchman stationed on a tower at Jezreel described it, “The driving is like the driving of Jehu, the son of Nimshi; for he driveth furiously.” [2 Kings 9:20]. Both Joram and Ahaziah tried to flee in their own chariots, but Jehu pursued them, shooting them with arrows from his bow. This event is commemorated by the saying “to drive like Jehu,” meaning to drive very fast.

O, for the Glamor
of a Very Good Tale.

Another epic journey took place after the battle of Marathon in 490 BC. -- or so the legend says. History remembers the army of Athens meeting the invading Persians at Marathon and defeating them decisively. But part of the Persian force, after escaping in their ships, devised a plan to sail to a lightly defended Athens and intimidate the city into surrendering before the victorious Athenian army could get back home.

To carry the news of victory to Athens before the Persians could arrive, the messenger Pheidippides was dispatched to run the twenty-six miles from Marathon to Athens. Swift and willing, Pheidippides had recently run from Athens to Sparta, then back again, carrying missives seeking Sparta’s assistance against the Persians, a trip just short of 153 miles — one way.

According to legend, Pheidippides reached Athens on the run, exclaiming, “Rejoice, we conquer!” Other versions quote him as saying, “We have won.” Having delivered the message of victory to an anxious populous, the brave and exhausted messenger then fell down and died.

The marathon race of today also covers twenty-six miles in honor of Pheidippides’s legendary trek from the victorious battlefield of Marathon to his Athenian homeland. Alas, however, au contraire: the famous run of yesteryear may not have occurred at all. And, just in case you are wondering why the Athenians did not send a horse rider back to Athens, the answer may be embedded in the rough and rocky terrain that lay between Athens and Marathon. A horse on the gallop would be hard-pressed to make it safely home.

Besides, Pheidippides probably never made the run. Legend, playing to our innate love of a good story, has a way of glamorizing history. Pheidippides’s feat is not mentioned in Herodotus — and he was not a historian who would have taken a pass on a dramatic (but true) story if it were available to him.

Sheridan and Rienzi
Charge into the Fray.

Despite the stamina and willpower of the most athletic and determined among us — we mere humans — it’s a fact that a rider on horseback can carry a message more quickly and across greater distances, especially if the ground is right. Speed and endurance are gained in the union of man and beast of burden.

American history has some epic rides among its treasure-trove of good tales, the most famous being Paul Revere’s ride of 1775. Another gallant ride took place on 19 October 1864 when Confederate General Jubal Early attacked the Union army at Cedar Creek. When the attack began, Union commander Phil Sheridan was ten miles away at Winchester. Hearing the sound of artillery in the distance, Sheridan gathered his aides, mounted his horse Rienzi, and rode headlong toward the sound of the guns.

Arriving at Cedar Creek, General Sheridan began to rally his troops, shouting from horseback, “Boys, those of you who are not cowards follow me. For I’ll sleep in that camp tonight or I’ll sleep in Hell!” The general’s admonition brought a sudden halt to his army’s disorderly retreat. Regrouping, the Union soldiers launched a spirited counter-attack. The Confederate forces under Early were stung by unexpected defeat and didn’t recover. Sheridan had saved the day. His dash on horseback to the front lines was commemorated by Thomas Buchanan Read in the poem “Sheridan’s Ride.” The poem prompted the Union general to change his horse’s name from Rienzi to Winchester.

Sir Robert Rides His Steed
into the Realm of Courtly Power.

But we are here to study Tudor and Stuart Britain, are we not? So, from ancient Greece through the Revolutionary and Civil wars of the United States we arrive, along a convoluted but logical line of inquiry, to the ride of Sir Robert Carey.

It was 1603. The transition of dynasty from Tudor to Stuart was caught-up in its own tortuous ride into an uncertain future.

The death of a monarch always increased the level of societal tension in the tenuous political climate of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in England. But the death of Elizabeth I in 1603 raised the tension to a volatile level. At immediate issue was the necessity of informing a foreign king, James VI of Scotland, that he was now the ruler of England. Information like that needed to be controlled. But how?

There were other claimants to the English throne. What would they do with advance news of the Queen’s demise? Too, how would foreign enemies leverage news of change on the throne to further threaten England and undermine its war efforts against Spain? And what about the disgruntled minority, the Roman Catholics of England? Many in the English court feared their treasonous plots might ignite a civil war.

The first defensive measure was to close the ports. The Privy Council also ordered that no one was to enter or to leave Richmond Palace where the Queen lay dead. In spite of those orders, Harry Carey, the Lord Chamberlain, departed from the palace and also ordered that his brother Sir Robert Carey be allowed to leave, saying, “Let him out, I will answer for him.” The porters did not dare defy the will of the Lord Chamberlain.

Sir Robert Carey (c1560-1639) was 43 years old when Elizabeth I died. His father was Sir Harry Carey, Lord Hunsdon (1526-1596), son of Mary Boleyn and Sir William Carey — although some credited Henry VIII with being his real father. Elizabeth had appointed Sir Harry Carey as her chamberlain, a post that descended to his oldest son, also named Harry.

Family connections helped Sir Robert secure several positions in the English government, including Warden of the Northern Marches on the borders with Scotland. As warden, Sir Robert managed to reduce the raiding and destruction of the lawless Border Reivers. He also served as an ambassador to Scotland on several occasions and had the opportunity to meet James VI.

As the approach of Queen Elizabeth’s end became apparent to all, Robert Carey realized that his current position and personal fortunes depended on the life of the dying monarch. He knew he needed a new patron. Why not James VI, who had always been favorable to him?

Sir Robert took it upon himself to write a letter to James of Scotland, advising the future king to stay in Edinburgh. In return, Carey promised to bring news of the Queen’s death to Scotland with all due haste. James accepted Carey’s offer, giving Lady Scrope, Sir Robert’s sister and a fixture at Elizabeth’s court, a blue ring. Carey was instructed to bring the blue ring with him to authenticate the truth of his tidings.

Being the first to deliver the good news to James of Scotland — Yes, you are king! — would be a great coup for someone seeking to climb the courtly ladder. Carey’s mistake was to seek approval from the Privy Council. The double dealing council promised to make Sir Robert their ambassador, then set into motion secret plans to send their own messenger to Scotland.

Not long after Elizabeth I died in the early morning of 24 March, Carey received warning of the council’s perfidy. The council tried to take Carey into custody, but he avoided them, and by nine o’clock that morning he had leaped upon his steed and begun his epic ride to Scotland.

162 + 136 + 49 + 50 = Yes!

Sir Robert and his horse galloped one hundred sixty-two miles before stopping for the night at Doncaster. On short sleep, he set out the next day for his own house at Widdrington in Northumberland, covering one hundred thirty-six miles. The next day, a fresh steed beneath him, Sir Robert had galloped about forty-nine miles by noon when, near Norham, he was thrown to the ground by his horse. As Carey described it, “I got a great fall by the way, and my horse with one of his heels gave me a great blow on the head that made me shed much blood.”

Injured but undeterred, Carey rode at “a softer pace” for the last fifty miles, reaching the Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh late on the night of 26 March. The Scots had to wake James VI. Carey, presenting the blue ring of Lady Scrope, kneeled and saluted James as king of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland. A day later the grateful King James made Carey a gentleman of the King’s Bedchamber.

James VI, now James I of England, immediately began to prepare for his journey south to England, his new kingdom. He departed on 5 April and arrived at London on 7 May — a month of days more on the road than Sir Robert.

The new king’s favor proved to be a mixed blessing for the ambitious horseman. Other courtiers gave him bad advice. Eventually, a whispering campaign led the king to rescind the office of Gentleman of the King’s Bedchamber.

Carey would recover from his setback, becoming governor to James I’s second son, Charles, on 23 February 1605. At that time Charles was not the heir apparent to the throne. That honor belonged to his older brother Henry, who was adored by the English nobles and the common people of the kingdom. But Prince Henry died unexpectedly in 1612, transforming Charles into the heir apparent and giving Sir Robert Carey a very important conduit to power.

James I made him Baron Carey of Lepington in 1622. Carey accompanied Prince Charles and the Duke of Buckingham on their tragi-comic adventure to negotiate the marriage of Charles to a reluctant Spanish princess. Shortly after becoming king, Charles I granted Carey the title of First Earl of Monmouth in 1626, allowing Sir Robert to surpass both his father and brother in the acquisition of title and influence.

Carey in the 1630s was an old man in his seventies during the Personal Rule of Charles I. By dying on 12 April 1639, Sir Robert avoided (quite naturally) the collapse of Charles I’s government and the outbreak of the English Civil War in 1642. Besides making a dramatic ride into the annals of history, Sir Robert Carey attained personal successes through a combination of hard work, ability, and good luck that was typical of most accomplished courtiers attending the monarchs of Tudor and Stuart England.

But there is a road from Winchester town,
A good, broad highway leading down:
And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed as black as the steeds of night
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight;
As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with his utmost speed.
Hills rose and fell, but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south,
The dust like smoke from the cannon's mouth,
Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster.
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away.

“Sheridan’s Ride,” Thomas Buchanan Read

To read Dr. Fritze's previous Tudor-Stuart essay, Lost — Early Modern Style: The Roanoke Colony and Early Settlements in North America, click the reading glasses above.