“Simply because I could not stay in England,” replied Berkenhead. “Mine has been a hard lot, Major; for I never got what I wanted in this life. If I was predestined for anything, as old Purge-the-temple used to say we all were, it seems to me it was to be always on the losing side. When I fought for freedom in England, I gained bondage in Virginia for my pains; and when I refused to seek my freedom, and betrayed my comrades in the insurrection of sixty-two, lo, and behold! I was released from bondage for my reward. What I will gain or lose by this present movement, I don't know; but I have been an unlucky adventurer thus far.”
“I have heard of your behaviour in sixty-two,” said Hansford, “but whether such conduct be laudable or censurable, depends very much upon the motive that prompted you to it. You came to this country then as an indented servant?”
“Yes, sold, your honour, for the thirty pieces of silver, like Joseph was sold into Egypt by his brethren.”
“I suspect that the resemblance between yourself and that eminent patriarch ceased with the sale.”
“It is not for me to say, your honour. But in the present unsettled state of affairs, who knows who may be made second only to Pharaoh over all Egypt? I wot well who will be our Pharaoh, if we gain our point; and I have done the state some service, and may yet do her more.”
“By treachery to your comrades, I suppose,” said Hansford, disgusted with the conceit and self-complacency of the man.
“Now, look ye here, Major, if I was disposed to be touchy, I might take exception at that remark. But I have seen too much of life to fly off at the first word. The axe that flies from the helve at the first stroke, may be sharp as a grindstone can make it, but it will never cut a tree down for all that.”
“And if you were to fly off, as you call it, at the first or the last word,” said Hansford, haughtily, “you would only get a sound beating for your pains. How dare you speak thus to your superior, you insolent knave!”
“No insolence, Major,” said Berkenhead, sulkily; “but for the matter of speaking against your honour, I have seen my betters silenced in their turn, by their superiors.”
“Silence, slave!” cried Hansford, his face flushing with indignation at this allusion to his interview with Bacon, which he had hoped, till now, had been unheard by the soldiers. “But come,” he added, reflecting on the imprudence of losing his only friend and ally in this perilous adventure, “you are a saucy knave, but I suppose I must e'en bear with you for the present. We cannot be far from Windsor Hall, I should think.”