“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.”