At one of these sat two persons, whose appearance was that of military men:—the younger of the two was very handsome, and of a commanding figure. No sooner did the gentleman in Cuthbert’s company approach the fire than this martial youth rose, and addressing him by the name of Fleming, shook him cordially by the hand. The ear of Cuthbert did not catch the name by which, promptly responding to the recognition, Fleming replied, nor did he learn it throughout the evening. However, another small table was immediately drawn near, and covered. Eggs, sausages, and broiled bones were served up hastily; and, after Cuthbert and his companion had satisfied the keen appetites which they had gotten by a long journey in cold rain and on miry roads, a large jug of burnt claret was placed before them; and the following conversation between the two acquaintances was listened to by Cuthbert in silent astonishment:—
“Well, Frank, you have not forgotten old times, I hope. I trust that we shall teach the volunteer gentry how to handle a sword after the fashion of the old Swedish troopers before long:—they made sorry work of it in the north last year; and for my part I was half ashamed to ride among such a rabble!”
“What made you go at all then?” said the youthful soldier.
“Why, to say truth, Frank, I found my life in the country very dull, and my old father’s hunting companions as heavy as lead; and I heartily wished myself back in Germany, where I might hear a trumpet once more:—so when I heard that the King was going against the Scots away I posted to court, and waited upon his Majesty, and got a commission.”
“I hope, Fleming, you made yourself master of the quarrel before you offered your services.”
“Look you, Frank, I remember you was always as grave as a judge about war, and examined sides, and would know the rights of all that was done. That was never my way. I left Cambridge at nineteen, and went to the camp of Gustavus, as eager and as blind as a young colt; and so again now:—wherever the King’s standard flies all must be right; besides, I hate these pricked-eared Puritans, and yon Scotch psalm singers that wo’n’t use the Prayer Book.”
“It seems, however, that they can use the broad sword, and with good effect, if accounts speak true.”
“There you have me,” rejoined the cheerful and light-hearted campaigner,—“there you have me. I never felt shame as a soldier till this Scotch campaign. Our tall fellows always turned their backs first, and retreated true runaway fashion:—you could never make them fire their pistols, and wheel off orderly; and it was well for them that they had raw Scots troopers at their tails instead of Pappenheim’s cuirassiers.”