II.
Still in a sore discontent with myself and my recent doings, I jogged forward through Hickleton and Sprotborough to Warmsworth, and coming to the trysting-place about four o’clock of the afternoon, sat me down by the roadside and waited until such time as my friend Matthew Richardson should make his appearance. As for my horse, I tied him up to the mile post and bade him crop the grass within reach to his heart’s content “Yes,” says I, “eat while thou canst, poor beast—God only knows what cheer we shall have in the days that are coming!” By which you may perceive that I had no great joy at the prospect before me. Now this may seem strange, and yet ’twas not strange, for, as I have told you before, I had never much inclination for such an active life as a soldier must needs live, and still less for the privations that fighting men are necessarily put to. But having put my hand to the plough—by which I mean, having sworn to embrace, and if need be, to fight for the popular cause—I was bound in honour not to look back. And surely my sympathies were all in favour of the cause I had espoused—it was but a natural sluggishness that made me hanker after peaceful pursuits at a time when most men were furbishing up their old weapons with uncommon zeal.
About five o’clock came Matthew Richardson, mounted on a good horse, and full of enthusiasm and fervour. He greeted me with warmth, but was somewhat taken aback on perceiving that I was not armed.
“Why, what?” says he, staring at me. “Is it thus you ride to war, friend Richard? Where be thy accoutrements, thy armour, thy greaves, thy sword and spear——”
“You forget,” says I, “that I am escaped from a house where every weapon is sacred to the cause of the King’s Majesty. ’Tis a marvel that I have come hither at all.”
“Ah!” says he, “I forgot, ’tis true, that your uncle is a staunch Royalist. Well, but we must arm thee, Richard, at the first opportunity. I have friends in Derbyshire,” he says, musingly, “that will fit thee out, I think. So now to horse and let us onward.”
“Whither away first?” says I.
“To Northampton, lad. ’Tis there that Essex is gathering the army in which lies all the hope of England. A brave array it is,” he says, “judging by all that I hear.”
“I have heard naught of it,” says I, as we jogged along. “Until last night I did not even know that war had broken out.”
“You are welcome to such news as I have,” says he, and for the next hour he entertained me with information about the doings of the Parliamentarians. The Earl of Essex, it seemed, had been named general-in-chief and had appointed various officers to serve under him, amongst whom were Kimbolton, Stamford, Holles, Hampden, Cholmley, and Wharton. Lord Bedford was general of the cavalry, and had under his command some five thousand men, captained by lords and commoners, of whom Cromwell was one and Ireton another. “Three and twenty thousand men, horse and foot, there are,” says Matthew. “Truly, the oppressor hath need to quail and quake before them!”
“’Tis certainly a goodly array to hear of,” says I.
“Yes,” says he, with enthusiasm, “and ’tis representative of the will of the people, Dick. Shouldst hear all that I have heard of the sacrifices that have been made! High and low, rich and poor—faith, lad! I had not thought that the popular cause had so many friends. But yesterday comes Geoffery Scales—thou knowest Geoff?—he will meet us at Mansfield on our way—and tells me that when he was in London t’other week, there was the wildest enthusiasm for the Parliament. Why, there has been plate of gold and silver sent in for melting, and women of fashion have given their gew-gaws, and the poorer sort their rings and little ornaments—praise be to God!” he says, with a sudden fervour. “It rejoiceth my soul exceedingly to perceive so vigorous a feeling in favour of liberty.”
“Why,” says I, “but is there not an equal feeling on t’other side, Matthew? It seems to me,” says I, “that for every ounce of enthusiasm on our side the Royalists can show another, and maybe more, on theirs.”
“Thou art come out of a Royalist hot-bed,” he says, not over well pleased. “I trust they have not shaken thy faith at all, Richard?”
“Marry, no,” I says. “I daresay ’tis strong as thine, lad, though I do not show it in just thy fashion. Thou art a dreamer, a visionary, a man of fine and airy spirit, friend Matthew, and thou dost see far into the future, whereas I am slow as an ox at thought, and mighty sluggish into the bargain. Howbeit, I will strike as many blows as you like for the good cause.”
“Yes,” says he, his eyes kindling, “and what a cause it is! Thou callest me a visionary, Dick—why man, ’tis true I have seen the rarest things in my dreams of what this nation may be, once freed from the ancient oppression.”
“Aye, and what shall she be, Matthew?” says I. “That is, if our side wins?”
“If our side wins?” he says angrily, turning hastily upon me. “If our side wins! Why, man, we are bound to win—wherever yet in the world’s history was there a popular cause that was not successful in the end? But to thy question—why, Dick, we shall set aside the tyrant and all his unholy crew, and after that we shall govern the nation in justice and righteousness and there will be abiding peace in the land.”
“The Lord grant it!” says I, with a sigh. “Faith!—’tis precisely what I desire. Let us press on, Matthew, and hasten its coming.”
So we went forward, joined by one or other of our fellows at various places along the road. Some of them were enthusiasts like Matthew Richardson, who believed that they had a heaven-sent mission to bring about the millennium by resort to arms, others were like myself, in full sympathy with the wrongs of the nation, who had come to the sorrowful conclusion that naught but war would settle matters, and had therefore resolved to join the Parliamentary forces. Five-and-twenty of us there were altogether, all students of the ancient University of Oxford, who rode into Northampton under Matthew Richardson’s command to take service under Essex, every man bringing his own horse and his own gear, and each resolved to do his best for the cause.
Now if this were a chronicle of my doings with the Parliamentarian army I could here set down the history of many things which happened to me during my service under its flag, for in good sooth those were stirring times and I saw much of what went on. But this is a plain account of the most notable passage in my own life and in that of Alison French, my cousin, and all that I have so far writ is as it were a prolegomena to the important business of my story. But since you may know where I was, and what I was occupied with during the period which elapsed ’twixt my leaving the Manor House in 1642 and returning to it in 1644, let me tell you that I was engaged in fighting the battles of the people in no paltry fashion. Faith! when any man talks to me of the glories of war I laugh in my sleeve at him for a fool that knows naught of his subject. I was in Ireton’s troop during those two years, and know as much of bloody heads, empty bellies, and sleeping out o’ doors, as the best of them. The marvel is, looking back upon it from the standpoint of a greybeard, that I endured so much privation and discomfort, who had all my life been accustomed to gentle living and soft quarters. But we were young, and young folks, especially if they have any enthusiasm for a cause, or dogged belief in its righteousness, will endure a deal. Now I had little enthusiasm, but much dogged belief, and when I had finally assumed the steel helmet and mastered the long sword of a trooper, there was in me a grim determination to fight for the true cause that made me regardless of either a raw wound or a couch of damp straw.