XXVII + 

Of My Meeting with General Cromwell + 

The troopers into whose hands I had fallen were some twelve or fourteen in number, all of them sturdy fellows of the same type that I had seen so much of on the previous day. They were well mounted on strong serviceable horses, and had evidently been into the outlying villages in pursuit of fodder, for each man had a bundle of hay hanging from his saddle, while behind them came a peasant leading a load of straw, which was guarded on either side by more troopers. “ ’Tis rather hard treatment, masters,” I said when they told me that I must go with them as a prisoner, “that you should thus arrest me who am going home to my farm twenty miles away with no other thought than of getting my harvest. Surely you do not war with peaceable folk.” + 

“No, marry,” said one who rode by my side, “you are right there, and it would best please us not to war with anyone. But if I mistake not, friend, you yourself were fighting yesterday at Marston field. A man of your inches is not easily lost sight of nor forgotten.” + 

“Yes,” chimed in another, “ ’twas you, master, that slew Job Trotter. A great blow, that clove him through chin and chine.” + 

“If I had not slain him he would have slain me,” I answered. + 

“True, true,” said an old, grayheaded trooper. “We say naught, friend, against you on that score. God knows ’tis much pity that Englishmen should be killing Englishmen at this time. However, so it is, and prisoners we must make of our enemies whenever we can, for our own sake and defence.” + 

“Why, sir,” I said, “I am no man’s enemy, I hope, save where there is need that I should be, and I am quite sure that if I cut one of you in two presently I should be ready to shake his hand afterward. ’Tis true I was fighting yesterday, but what then? I am loyal to the King, having never been taught any different. I hope I am not to be blamed for doing my duty.” + 

“Nay,” he answered, “I blame no man for doing his duty, for what is to blame in a man is not doing it.” + 

Conversing in this manner, we drew near to the Parliamentarian camp on the southwest side of York, which city they were still besieging, and did continue to besiege for fourteen days more. I was somewhat concerned about being captured in this manner, for I did not know how long I might be kept prisoner, and was already anxious about my affairs at home. I quieted myself, however, by reflecting that harvest could not possibly begin for another three weeks, by which time all manner of things might happen. I was very certain of one thing, namely, that if the Roundheads meant to keep me prisoner they would have to watch me as closely as a cat watches a mouse. I was not used to having my liberty curtailed, and it galled me sorely to think that I was not able to turn my horse’s head in which direction I pleased. + 

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. + 

I had 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.” + 

“A yeoman, 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 have been best for you to stay at home, and meddle not in these matters. And as to fighting for the King, why, man, you are fighting against your own liberties. Man, man, do you know what this England of ours will be when this is past? A fair land flowing with the milk and honey of peace, wherein every man shall have right and justice, and the poor shall no more be oppressed. And yet ye will set your faces against all that.” + 

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 in sealing a packet, and did not look up as I entered. + 

“Master farmer,” said Cromwell, “you would like to get back to that hayrick you spoke of. Will you take a letter to Sir Richard Lowther at Pontefract Castle, and so get your liberty, and go home?” + 

“If it be not against the King, sir,” I answered. + 

“I dare say the King is not mentioned in it,” said he. “ ’Tis a private letter from Sir Thomas here.” + 

“Will you deliver it faithfully, friend?” asked the other officer, glancing hard at me. “You look trusty, I think.” + 

“I will ride straight to the Castle with it, sir, if you will give me my own horse again,” I said, and held out my hand for the packet. + 

“Give him his horse,” said Cromwell, “and see him out of the camp.” + 

He followed me to the curtain of the tent. “Go home, lad,” said he; “go home, and do not come a-fighting again. The only son of thy mother, and she a widow! Go home, go home; there are enow of us that have lost children already.” + 

He pushed me out into the darkness, and, dropping the curtain, went inside the tent again, and left me wondering. + 