We passed through the camp to a sort of fort from which the Parliamentarians were discharging some of their ordnance against the city walls. Here I was ordered to dismount, and Captain was taken away from me, at which sight I was exceeding sorrowful and vexed, because he was something more than a good horse, and I had given a good round sum rather than lose him. There was no help for it, however, for I had chosen to go a-fighting and must now abide by the fortunes of war; nevertheless I begged them to treat my beast with respect, because he had done no wrong, whatever his master had been unfortunate enough to do. I sat down sadly enough when they had led him away, and for a while did naught but stare at the ground under my nose, wishing that I was back at Dale’s Field. There were other prisoners near me, captured, I suppose, on the previous evening, and we were all under guard, but I spoke to none of them, not feeling at that time much disposed for conversation.
Ihad sat for some time in this way, thinking about Dale’s Field and wondering if Timothy Grass had gotten the haystacks properly thatched, and whether the sheep had been turned into the twelve-acre as I had given orders they should be, when the shadow of a man fell right before me and rested there. I looked up and saw standing before me a tall, stout-built man in a somewhat faded doublet, who stood with hands behind him staring at me. He was naught particular to look upon, for his face was coarse and red, and his nose somewhat bottle-shaped, and upon his forehead there was a wart which gave him a strange appearance. Moreover, there were blotches and pimples all over his cheeks, and the hair of his beard and face grew in patches and tufts more than in regular fashion, so that he had naught of personal beauty to recommend him. But there was that about him which made me return his staring looks with interest, for he was surely the most remarkable man that I had ever set eyes on. Whether it was his entire bearing, or the set of his square mouth and chin, or the keen glance of his eye that made me wonder, I cannot tell, being no scholar in these matters; but this I do know: he was a man whom no one could have looked at without wonder and admiration, for he was like what one fancies a king to be, namely, a master and leader of his people.
“Well, friend,” said he, “what do you think of?”
His voice was somewhat harsh and rough, but not unkindly. I looked again at him and saw that he was measuring my height and breadth, which, indeed, were matters that all strangers were astonished at.
“Sir,” I answered, “I was at that moment wondering if the folks at home have finished thatching our haystack, and if they have turned the sheep into a certain field.”
“Peaceable thoughts,” said he, and looked away across the camp towards Marston. “Yea, peaceable thoughts. Then you are a farmer?”
“A yeoman, sir.”
“Ayeoman, and a follower of the King? You were fighting in Rupert’s army yesterday.”
“Why, sir,” I said, “surely I have as much right to fight for the King as you have to fight against him. I never knew otherwise than that men were to obey the King, as indeed it saith in Holy Scripture.”
“Yea, yea,” he answered, still staring at me. “I doubt not he hath followers of your sort. ’Tis your misfortune, master farmer, that you know no better.”
“I have heard men say,” I answered, “that liberty was impossible to Englishmen while the King reigned, but I never could believe that, because I have always had my own until now, and once when Nicholas Pratt wrongly imprisoned me in his cellar. Besides, what is a king for, if we are not to obey him?”
“The King, friend, should be the high minister of the people—not a tyrant nor an abuser of the nation’s laws. If you are a true Englishman you should know that.”
“I am a true Englishman enough, sir,” I answered. “Otherwise I should not be here.”
“How came you here, then?”
Now, I knew by that time who the man was, for I recognised him as the great leader I had seen yesterday—Oliver Cromwell himself. And knowing this, I did not like to tell him how it was that I had come to York on the previous day, fearing that if I did so I should reveal some State secret or other and injure the King.
“Why, sir,” I said, “I was brought in by the soldiers, a prisoner.”
“Yea, because you are an enemy, and therefore to be taken care of. But how came you here, and fighting against us yesterday, if you are so anxious about those hayricks at home?”
“Sir,” I said, “I am a plain man and know naught of politics, only what I am told by my betters. I was fighting here yesterday because I chanced to be yonder in York and was pressed into service, whereby I got this cut on my left arm and lost some blood.”
“And slew certain of my troopers. Well, farmer, it would
