'Why, Sir, Oliver Cromwell was a rebel. And your Honour fought in the army of the Earl of Essex—and what was he but a rebel?'
I wondered to hear my brother speak with so much boldness, who ten years before had bowed low and pulled his hair in presence of his Honour. Yet Sir Christopher seemed to take this boldness in good part.
'Barnaby,' he said, 'thou art a stout and proper lad, and I doubt not thy courage—nay, I see it in thy face, which hath resolution in it and yet is modest; no ruffler or boaster art thou, friend Barnaby. Yet—yet—if rebellion fail—even rebellion in a just cause—then those who rise lose their lives in vain, and the cause is lost, until better times.' This he said as one who speaketh to himself. I saw him look upon his grandson. 'The King is—a Papist,' he said, 'that is most true. A Papist should not be suffered to rule this country. Yet to rise in rebellion! Have a care, lad! What if the time be not yet ripe? How know we who will join the Duke?'
'The people are flocking to his standard by thousands,' said Barnaby. 'When I rode away last night the Duke's secretaries were writing down their names as fast as they could be entered; they were landing the arms and already exercising the recruits. And such a spirit they show, Sir, it would do your heart good only once to witness!'
Now, as I looked at Barnaby, I became aware that he was not only changed in appearance, but that he was also very finely dressed—namely, in a scarlet coat and a sword with a silken sash, with laced ruffles, a gold-laced hat, a great wig, white breeches, and a flowered waistcoat. In the light of day, as I afterwards discovered, there were stains of wine visible upon the coat, and the ruffles were torn, and the waistcoat had marks upon it as of tar. One doth not, to be sure, expect in the sailing master of a frigate the same neatness as in a gallant of Saint James's. Yet, our runaway lad must have prospered.
'What doth the Duke intend?' Sir Christopher asked him.
'Indeed, Sir, I know not. 'Tis said by some that he will raise the West Country; and by some that he will march north into Cheshire, where he hath many friends; and by others that he will march upon London, and call upon all good Protestants to rise and join him. We look to have an army of twenty thousand within a week. As for the King, it is doubted whether he can raise a paltry five thousand to meet us. Courage, Dad'—he dared to call his father, the Rev. Comfort Eykin, Doctor of Divinity, 'Dad!'—and he clapped him lustily upon the shoulder; 'thou shalt mount the pulpit yet, ay, of Westminster Abbey if it so please you!'
His father paid no heed to this conversation, being wrapt in his own thoughts.
'I know not,' said Sir Christopher, 'what to think. The news is sudden. And yet—and yet'——
'We waste time,' cried my father, stamping his foot. 'Oh! we waste the time talking. What helps it to talk? Every honest man must now be up and doing. Why, it is a plain duty laid upon us. The finger of Heaven is visible, I say, in this. Out of the very sins of Charles Stuart hath the instrument for the destruction of his race been forged. A plain duty, I say. As for me, I must preach and exhort. As for my son, who was dead and yet liveth'—he laid his hand upon Barnaby's shoulder—'time was when I prayed that he might become a godly minister of God's Word. Now I perceive clearly that the Lord hath ways of His own. My son shall fight and I shall preach. Perhaps he will rise and become another Cromwell!'——Barnaby grinned.