The incident which had occurred, and in which he had been an involuntary actor, inspired Walter Wade with some emotions that were new to him: and, as he slackened his pace, after a sharp canter, he fell into a train of reflections very different from those hitherto engaging his thoughts.
He was still too young to have entered into the politics of the time. He knew that there was trouble between the king and his people; but, breathing only the atmosphere of the “Presence,” he could have no other belief, than that the right was on the side of royalty.
He knew that the king, after an interregnum of eleven years, had summoned a Parliament, to settle the differences between himself and his subjects. He knew this, from having been officially present at its opening. He knew, moreover, that this Parliament, after sitting only a few days, had been summarily dismissed: for he had been also present at its prorogation.
What should the young courtier care for such incidents as these—however significant they might be to the patriot, or politician?
To do him justice, however, Walter Wade, young as he was, was not altogether indifferent to what was passing. The spirit of his ancestry—that love of liberty, that had displayed itself at Runnymede—was not absent from his bosom. It was there; though hitherto held in check by the circumstances surrounding him. He had witnessed the punishments of the pillory—by summary sentence of Star Chamber and High Commission Court; he had been present at fearful spectacles, of ear-croppings and other mutilations; and, although among companions, who beheld such scenes with indifference—or often regarded them as sources of amusement—more than once had he been profoundly affected by them. Stripling though he was, more than once had he reflected upon such royal wrongs. Circumstances, however, had placed him among the ranks of those, to whom the smiles of a tyrant were sweet; and he was still too young and unreflecting, to give other than a passing thought to the theme of Liberty.
That the enemies of the king suffered justly, was the belief that was breathed around him. He heard the statement on all sides, and from pretty lips—from the lips of a queen! How could he question its truth?
His encounter with the cuirassiers had produced an impression upon him, calculated to shake his political sentiments—almost to change them.
“A scandal!” muttered he to himself. “That these military bullies should be allowed to act as they please! I wonder the king permits it. Perhaps it may be true what ‘wicked Pym,’ as the queen calls him—said in the Parliament House:—that his Majesty encourages their insubordination. Ah! if I had thought so, I should have joined that brave fellow, who drank just now to the people. By-the-bye, who can he be? He’s gone up the road—as if he lived our way. A splendid rider, and a horse worthy of him. I never saw either before. If he be of Bulstrode neighbourhood, he must have come into it since my time. Perhaps a traveller only? And yet his horse looked fresh, as if he had just stepped out of the stable. He could not have ridden him farther than from Uxbridge?
“I thought those fellows were preparing to pursue him,” continued he, glancing back over his shoulder. “They must have given up the idea: else I should hear them behind me. If they come on, I shall slip aside among the trees, and let them pass. I don’t want any more converse with such companions as Captain Scarthe—that’s what his cornet called him, I think; nor yet with Master Cornet Stubbs himself. Stubbs indeed! Surely, there must be something in names?”
On finishing this series of reflections, the young courtier drew bridle, and halted for the purpose of listening.