Cromwell was dead, and his son Richard had succeeded him without any excitement or resistance. To the joy which had seized the Royalists at the news of the decease of the Protector, to the transports which had caused cries to be heard in Amsterdam of "The Devil is dead," had succeeded an exaggerated dejection. "We have not yet found that advantage by Cromwell's death that we reasonably hoped," wrote Hyde to Howard, one of the most faithful servants of the king in England; "nay rather, we are in the worse situation for it, people imagining by the great calm that has followed that the nation is united, and that the king has very few friends. ... I hope, however, that this young man will not inherit the good fortune of his father, and that there will happen some confusion which will open a door for us." Confusion had already set in, latent and silent as yet, but the most zealous partisans of Cromwell and of his sons were even then under no delusion. Amidst the general adhesion which had fallen to the lot of the new Protector at his accession, they were filled with anxiety and convinced that their success was superficial and their peril imminent. The body of Cromwell was still lying upon its bed of state, and already the impression which his death had caused and the unanimous assent which it had brought to his successor were but a vain appearance. [Image] Richard Cromwell. {283} The strong hand which had raised and supported the power was scarcely cold in death when from all quarters the pretensions sprang up which he had reduced to silence. The first blow was not long delayed. For several days the Republican leaders of the army assembled at the house of Desborough. On the 14th of October, two or three hundred officers, conducted by Fleetwood, or rather conducting at their head General Fleetwood, presented to Richard a petition demanding that the army should henceforth have an appointed leader empowered to nominate to all the vacant posts. It was taking away the army from the Protector and placing the Protector at the mercy of the army. Richard preserved a good countenance; Thurloe had prepared his answer. He intrenched himself behind the "Petition and advice," the fundamental act of the Protectorate, which was opposed to the request of the officers. He spoke of the arrears due to the troops, of his wish to pay them. The officers did not persist: it was enough to have made known their demand; they promised themselves to return to the attack. Richard and his friends did not deceive themselves as to these pretensions. "In the present state of affairs," wrote Henry Cromwell to his brother, "the waves, I am afraid, are too rough for you to be able to cast your anchor anywhere; you must content yourself with drifting and waiting for the turn of tide. ... I sometimes think of a Parliament, but I doubt whether wise men would be willing to embark in such ventures in the midst of so troubled a State; should they be willing, could the army be