University of Virginia Library

4. IV.
A YOUNG GENTLEMAN WITHOUT OPINIONS OF ANY
CONSEQUENCE.

I had supposed the adieus of Jervas Ireton the
younger to have been final; but on the very next morning,
just as I was about to get into the saddle, he reappeared.

The youth was clad in a superb purple uniform, the
colors of Lord Brook, and wore on his shoulder an
orange scarf, the badge of Lord Essex, commanding
all the parliament forces. He was thus an imposing
figure, in his purple and orange adornment, with the
huge feather in his hat, and sabre at his side; but more
imposing still was his retinue, which consisted of about
twenty mounted men, marching martially two abreast.
The affair really looked like war! Here was the disconsolate
lover of Cicely coming, it would seem, to
have an official interview with Cicely's brother and
mildly dissuade him from going to join the king.

My surmise was just.

The martial youth halted his command in a voice of
thunder,—an order which they proceeded to obey by
huddling together and running against each other in
the wildest confusion,—and then, approaching me, he
said, in a mournful tone,—

“I hope Cicely's not risen, Mr. Ned; oh, I think
there she is, busy with your valise! How I wish I was
going with you!”

I could not refrain from laughter.

“Whereas it is I who am going with you,—or at least
you think so,” I said. “In other words, my good
Captain Jervas Ireton, you have brought that fine company
of serving-men and cobblers yonder, to arrest me
as an adherent of his majesty?”

The warrior hung his head.

“The old man is such a screw!—the greatest tyrant,
Mr. Ned, you ever saw! Of course he made me come.
Somebody told him you were going away to the king
this morning,—so he would not rest till he had me in
the saddle, with this tag-rag, on the way to seize you.”

I looked at the youth, measuring his stature, then at
his company. I could have broken him in two, despite
my weakness, with one arm; and the complexion of
his followers was far from martial.

“Well,” I said, bringing around my rapier and
pistol, “what do you propose to do, my good sir?”

“Oh, Mr. Ned! don't speak to me in that way!”
remonstrated the young gentleman.

“In what way?”

“So rough! Of course I am going to pretend to
arrest you—There is Cicely! Oh! the old man is
such a tyrant!”

Cicely came out and stared in amazement. Then
her face flushed hot.

“What are you and these people here for, sir?” she
exclaimed.

“Nothing—nothing—that is—hem!—it's a mere
form, Cicely.”

“Please call me Miss Cecil, sir,” said the little
maiden, turning pale, but speaking with great hauteur.

“There again!—`Sir!”' exclaimed the prostrated
youth. “Oh, dont call me `Sir,' Cicely,—that is,
Miss Cecil!”

Cicely looked from the speaker to myself in amazement.

“Our young friend is only come to bid me good-by,
little sister,” I said.

“Yes, yes,—that's it!—and to wish you a happy
journey, Mr. Ned!” was the eager response; “in fact,
my own opinion is—if I had any—but I have none of
any consequence, I do assure you—”

I burst into a laugh, in which my father—who,
coming down the steps, had heard the last words, and
understood all—nearly joined.

“Come!” I said to the young warrior, “why not
choose to have some opinions? Go and fight for his
majesty: your bold followers will join you. There's
Hob, an old friend of mine, and Tom Diggs and Gregory
from Keynton. They don't know in the least what
they are going to fight for!”

The youth hung his head, and looked truly disconsolate.

“I don't think we can, Mr. Ned,—the old man
is such a screw. I have no opinions myself—but—

confidentially—my sentiments are—`God save the
king!”'

He sank his voice as he uttered the words, and
added, in the same tone,—

“Could you make it convenient to ride out by the
back way, Mr. Ned?”

“No,” I said. “I propose riding through Keynton.”

The young man started.

“In company with Captain Ireton, at the head of his
bold troopers!”

The youth looked quite aghast; but the comedy of
the affair had taken possession of me,—I was in the gayest
spirits,—and the result was that ten minutes afterwards
I had bidden my father and Cicely farewell, and
was riding, followed by Dick Hostler, beside Captain
Ireton at the head of his company.

The spectacle must have been odd. I wore my rich
uniform of queen's guardsman, and my companion the
purple coat and orange scarf of the parliament. As
we entered Keynton, all eyes were fixed upon us; and
I gazed at it as attentively, for the village once so tranquil
was almost unrecognizable. The parliament ruled
there. The shopkeepers sat on their counters, haranguing
crowds; the blacksmith had shut up his forge, and
was laying down the law to the wheelwright, who seemed
to hold opposing views; the public room at the inn was
thronged with idlers, agog for news; and in one end
of the long porch, an emissary of the parliament, in
full regimentals, was ladling out drink and calling for
recruits.

“Oh, Mr. Ned!” exclaimed my companion, “what
are you going to do?”

“I? I am going to do nothing,” I said, laughing,
“since there's nothing to be done!”

“But they see you!—there they come!—and oh,
good heavens!—there—there—is—”

Vox faucibus hæsit! The youth, dumb with terror,
pointed to the figure of Sir Jervas Ireton, coming
rapidly out of the inn, and approaching.

“I see you have him!” exclaimed Sir Jervas; “a
pestilent enemy of the good cause! The young bantling
now,—the old cock soon to join him!”

The ruddy features of the knight shone, as he drew
near. His unfortunate son shrank from him.

“Your servant, my good Mr. Cecil,” said the
knight, scornfully; “I am very glad to see you.”

“'Tis friendly, at least; but the sight of your worship
affects me differently,” I said, continuing my way.

“Stop!—halt, I say!—seize him!”

And the knight rushed upon me, catching my rein
violently.

I did not fancy the movement, and was in a bad
humor from the scene at dinner with my father. As
Sir Jervas Ireton, therefore, seized my bridle-rein to
arrest me, I dealt him a blow with my fist on the side
of the head, which caused him to stagger. The act
was visible to all, and twenty men darted at my horse.

Had they caught the bridle, I must have been down
under their feet the next moment. I guarded against
that by striking the spur into my horse's side and
whirling my rapier in front.

“Fire! fire on him!” I heard the furious Sir Jervas
cry to his son. And the reply of that warrior came as
clearly,—

“Oh!—the pistols—they are not loaded!”

The words were followed by an explosion from the
porch of the inn; a bullet passed through my hat,
and I turned my head in that direction. Through the
smoke I caught a glimpse of the parliamentary emissary,
who wore a sergeant's badges, and in the close-cropped
hair, huge ears, and wide mouth, I recognized
my foe the man Hulet, from London.

A longer interview was impossible. I sent a bullet
from my pistol at the worthy, which did him no injury.

“Come, Dick, ride!” I then said; “the whole crew
are after us!”

And, turning in my saddle, I caught off my hat,
waved it around my head, and cried,—

“God save the king!”

That was some satisfaction, at least. Prudence counseled
speed now; and Dick and I went on rapidly
through the village, pursued by shots and the worshipful
Captain Ireton's dragoons. The shots did not strike
us, and we were better mounted than the village warriors.
A friendly wood presented itself; the shouts behind
us died gradually away; and, drawing rein, I went on
through the vale of the Red Horse, scarce glancing at
the heights of Edgehill, where I was soon to take part
in the first battle of the Great Civil War.