He was walking up and down before me as he spoke, his face twitching as if under some strong emotion, and his hands restlessly clasping and unclasping themselves behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the ground, but there was such a faraway look in them that I do not think he saw the daisies at his feet.
“Yes,” he went on, “but there will be much tribulation first. Englishmen slaying Englishmen when they should have smitten hands in friendship. How long, how long? And even for us that were ordained to this mission there is bitter grief and travail. Mine own lad, and now my brother’s son; why then, and not only ours, but many another man’s children. Naught but blood, blood, wherever one turns!”
He was now standing still, with his face turned towards the city and his back to me, and I felt quite sure that he had entirely forgotten my presence, and was communing with himself. Presently, however, he turned on me again, and spoke once more.
“You have been in York this morning, friend. How fare they there? I hear that Newcastle hath ridden away and left them, and that Rupert is on his way northward again. So do the rats leave the sinking ship.”
“Sir,” I said, “I do not know how they fare in York, and if I did I should not tell you. You would think poorly of me if I were to betray my own friends. Whether my side be wrong or right, I must cleave to it now.”
He looked at me for a moment, and then walked away, his head bending forward over his breast, as if he were debating some great matter within himself, and so passed out of sight amongst the tents. A young gentleman who had lingered near now approached me, and entered into conversation. He was attired in the uniform of a King’s officer, and seemed highly disconsolate at finding himself a prisoner in the Parliamentary camp.
“You have been talking to Cromwell,” said he. “ ’Tis a strange man, and one that I cannot understand. Do you think, friend, that he hath his senses in full possession? Have not these troubles somewhat turned his brain?”
“Why, sir,” I answered, “so far as I can judge of him his brain must be a deal sounder than most men’s are. I did not see him lose his head in the fight yesterday, and he talks sensibly enough, to my mind.”
“ ’Tis a great and wonderful man,” said the young gentleman. “A man I begin to think, such as England hath not seen this long time. But see now, only last night, as I lay trying to sleep near yonder baggage-wagon, I saw him walking up and down, for his tent was near me, and he muttered and talked to himself like one possessed. Yea, and once I did hear him sigh sadly, like one in great sorrow, whereas he ought to have rejoiced over his victory. But what think you of these Roundheads?”
“They have only just laid hands upon me, sir,” I said, “and I therefore cannot say. They seem decent men, grave and sober, and rare soldiers.”
“I tell thee what it is, friend,” said the young officer, “these men will never be beaten. There is no rioting and drinking in the camp after a victory, as there would have been in ours. Indeed, they think of naught else but pursuit of arms and sober talk about drill and tactics and suchlike. Yea, and you could see how they fought yesterday. Specially raised and trained and drilled they all are, and General Cromwell moves them all like one piece. The King hath no such soldiers as these. Is it true, friend, that Prince Rupert has gone northwards?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered; “he marched away before noon, and Lord Newcastle hath gone to Scarborough with his friends, where he will take ship for the Continent.”
“Alas!” said he. “If only Rupert had taken Newcastle’s advice yesterday! The Prince is brave as a lion, but he hath no judgment. They say he received a despatch from the King early yesterday morning, bidding him engage the enemy, but he showed it to none of the commanders. I wonder what these Roundheads will do with us now. ’Tis poor work being taken prisoner. I had as lief be killed and done with.”
That, however, was not quite to my own liking, because a prisoner always has some chance of escape. As the night drew near I began to cast about me for some means of regaining my liberty, but saw none, for we were closely surrounded by guards, and I perceived no way of getting at my horse, Captain, without whom I was not minded to stir a foot. So, as it grew to dusk, I made myself comfortable against a truss of hay, and fell asleep, my rest not even being disturbed by the noise of an occasional discharge of the ordnance, which now and then fired a shot into the city. I know not how long I had slumbered in this manner, when one of the troopers who had brought me in awoke me by shaking my arm, and bade me follow him. I went after him towards a tent, from the door of which a light shone, given out by a lamp placed on a table, at which sat General Cromwell and another officer, whom I did not know then, but afterwards came to know well enough as Sir Thomas Fairfax. The latter was engaged
