“Say, rather,” chimes in Sir Nicholas, “’twixt loyal and disloyal, faithful and unfaithful. A plague on all rebels, say I!”
“I have been telling thy good uncle, Dick,” says Sir Jarvis, pressing fresh tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, “of what there is afoot in these parts amongst those of us that are true to the King’s Majesty. Now that his Highness hath necessities we must needs help him with ourselves and our substance. There’s been a meeting in York, Dick, amongst certain of us—but for his plaguey gout your good uncle had been there—and we came to a decision—no hangers back, Sir Nicholas—to do what we could, and that’s our best. Some have given a hundred pound, some three hundred, some five—’od’s body! why trouble about the amounts?—each gentleman has done what he could—it mounts up in some cases to as much as ten thousand pound. Then men are being enlisted, and are to be maintained at our charges—a costly business, Sir Nicholas, but one that must be endured. And now that His Majesty’s flag is raised in defiance of these traitors, we are forming a garrison for Pomfret Castle, and it shall go hard with us, but we’ll hold it against every rebel of them.”
“Tell the lad what names you have amongst you, Sir Jarvis,” says my uncle. “’Tis a fine list of worthy and gallant gentlemen, and any man should be proud to join their company.”
“Why, first,” says Sir Jarvis, “there’s Colonel Lowther, that will govern and command us, and with him Colonel Wheatley and Colonel Middleton. As for the gentlemen Volunteers, we have formed them into four divisions. Colonel Grey will lead the first, Sir Richard Hutton the second, Sir John Ramsden the third, and Sir George Wentworth the fourth. I myself am second in command to Sir John, and I warrant thee, Master Dick, we have some pretty fellows with us, as have all the other captains. Some hundred and thirty gallant gentlemen we are in all; but we can find room for more, and as thy worthy uncle is beyond fighting at this moment, why, we will make a place for thee, his representative.”
“Sir,” says I, “you’re very kind; but I have no mind for wars and battles. My occupations are of a peaceful nature; if I fight it must be with pens and parchment for weapons rather than pikes and swords.”
“’Slife, Dick!” exclaims my uncle, peevishly. “This is no time for peaceful acts, man.”
“’Twas but this morning you counselled me not to be led astray from my profession that is to be, sir,” says I; “and I’ve thought things over, and decided to follow your wise advice. If I am to be Lord Chancellor, ’tis time I gave more heed to my books.”
“Tut, tut!” says he, still more peevish, for his toe began to tweak him again. “Since morning, lad, a good many things have happened. We must needs deny ourselves for the king’s sake, and ’tis my wish that you should assist our neighbours in keeping Pomfret Castle for His Majesty. Say no more on’t: Sir Jarvis, fill your glass.”
“I doubt the prospect of war has little charm for thee, Master Dick,” says Sir Jarvis, eying me in a fashion I had no liking for.
“I am not a soldier,” says I, putting as much ill-humour into my voice as I could, for I was playing a part, and wished to do it well. “And I am not minded to engage in brawls——”