University of Virginia Library

5. V.
I AM CONDUCTED BEFORE PRINCE RUPERT.

The Almighty, who is also the All-merciful and Inscrutable,
sends tears, agony, and utter wretchedness
to private individuals; on nations he inflicts at stated
periods his great curse of civil war. The human being
visited by his displeasure is easily known by the pallor,
woe-begone look, and dejected 'havior of the visage;
the nation cursed by civil war is marked as clearly by
the hand of the Almighty.

In that summer of 1642, England was scarce recognizable.
The tranquil and smiling land of the past
was dead and gone. You seemed to move on the crust
of a volcano, and men's minds had caught the fierce
heat and were burnt up by fever. As I rode towards
Nottingham, I saw on all sides the traces of the evil
spirit of civil contention. In many a field the ripe
grain had fallen uncut and neglected. Over others
prowled tramps and beggars, firing on the game. The
highways were wellnigh deserted; and when you met a
chance wayfarer he eyed you sidewise with suspicious
glances, and the hand under the cloak, you felt, grasped
a concealed weapon. All the face of the land was torn
down. The fences were gone in many places, for the
war of cavalry-parties had already begun, and the cattle
wandered uncared for, trampling down the corn and

meadow-lands. The villages were either deserted, or
hot-beds of agitation and gossip. In some, the shutters
were closed, and women glanced through the cracks
fearfully. In others, sullen glances or ardent questions
greeted you, as you adhered to one or the other
party.

England was thus transformed, in a day, as 'twere,
into a war-worn realm. Her people seemed to look
forward fearfully to some coming fate. Discussions in
parliament had ended; the sword had replaced debate;
the harsh thunder of cannon was about to drown the
roar of hostile multitudes.

The war, as I have said, had already begun. At
Northampton, Lord Essex, general of the parliament
forces, lay, I heard, with an army of about six thousand
men. And his horse were already scouring the
country between that place and Nottingham, where the
king had assembled a force scarce half as numerous as
his opponent's. Thus the petite guerre of cavalry had
begun, preluding the greater conflict of foot, and twice
I was chased by the enemy's foraging-parties, who very
nearly made me a prisoner. I succeeded in evading
them, nevertheless, and at near sunset reached the
pickets of the royal cavalry towards Nottingham.

My Guardsman's uniform would, I supposed, be
sufficient voucher for my loyalty, but the officer of the
picket regretted his inability to pass me within the
royal lines. He was ordered, he said, to arrest all
persons coming northward, and send them to headquarters.
This was reasonable, if not agreeable, and I
went on with the escort of two men, to whom I was
intrusted. We rode half a league, passed a large camp

of dragoons on the edge of a forest, in which fires had
been kindled; then a tent on a grassy hill came in
view, and before this tent we halted.

Out of the tent, on the summit of which floated the
colors of the king, came a huge personage with a corporal's
badges on his arms, a long black beard, and an
air of authority.

“Your pisness?” said the new-comer, with a strong
German accent.

The guard informed him that I and my servant had
been arrested at the outer picket.

“Vait!”

And the giant retired into the tent, from which he
soon reappeared, with the guttural announcement,—

“Gome in!”

I entered, and found myself in presence of a young
man in a general's uniform, who was lying on a scarlet
cloak spread on the grass, and playing with a white
spaniel. The appearance of this officer was martial.
His boots were covered with dust, his face ruddy from
exposure, his eye keen and piercing, his bearing direct,
almost abrupt: from head to foot, in every trait of his
person, he was a soldier. On a camp couch in one
corner of the tent lay a rich belt, containing a fine
rapier, and from the holsters of a superb saddle near,
protruded the handles of two highly-decorated pistols.
The officer was plainly either of high rank, or with a
marked fondness for bright colors, or both. I have
found eminent soldiers careless of dress often, and
prone, indeed, to despise decoration as puerile. The
young general before me seemed to delight in such
things; to enjoy the bright colors, the pomp and

splendor of war. You could see that he was all impulse,
promptness, and impetuosity. His glance was
that of the eagle, and the eyes seemed ready to flame.
It was plain that the first blast of the bugle would pour
fire into this man,—that the hand would dart to the
rapier, the spur clash on the stirrup, the simple soldier
would replace the general, and he would lead the
charge, sword in hand.

All this was plain at a glance. The young officer
responded with a look which took in every trait of my
person.

“Well,” he said, with a slight foreign accent, “who
are these?”

“Brisoners, your highness,” returned the heavily-bearded
giant.

“I am not highness; I am general,” said the officer,
briefly.

“Yes, sheneral.”

“Prisoners! This gentleman, from his uniform, is
one of the queen's guards.”

“Yes, highness,—dat is, sheneral.”

The officer had risen abruptly, repulsing his playful
white spaniel, who continued to fawn on him.

“You were arrested at my outer picket, sir?” he
said, looking straight at me.

“Yes, general. May I ask to whom I have the
honor to speak?”

“To General Rupert, commanding the horse of the
king's army.”

I bowed low to his royal highness Prince Rupert,
nephew of his majesty.

“Your arrest, sir,” said the prince, “was in obedience

to my general order. Your name, if it please
you, and whence come you?”

“Edmund Cecil; and I am from near Keynton,
where I have lain ill recently, highness.”

“Say sheneral!” here came from behind the hand
of the huge corporal, who had edged towards me, and
gave me this intimation in tones of subdued thunder.

“Spare your counsel, Hans,” said the prince, briefly,
“and go find what horsemen are approaching.”

The giant disappeared, and the prince turned again
to me.

“What intelligence, Mr. Cecil? You have no
doubt looked and listened.”

“To little purpose, I fear, your highness. My lord
of Essex is at Northampton, with six thousand men,
'tis said.”

“Near seven thousand. But the state of the country,
sir?”

“'Tis in a fever,—the parliament recruiting everywhere.”

“And plundering.”

“'Tis so said, my lord.”

“I will essay to stop that.”

As he spoke, the sound of horses' feet was heard in
front of the tent, and an instant afterwards the gigantic
corporal ushered in a dignified young gentleman, thin
of figure, clad in civil dress, and with something sweet
and melancholy in his face.

“My lord Falkland! You are very welcome, my
lord,” said the prince, cordially pressing his hand.
Lord Falkland bowed, and said,—

“A message from his majesty, your highness.”

They went to the opposite side of the tent, and
conversed for a few moments. The prince nodded.

“Say to his majesty that his order will be promptly
obeyed, my lord.”

The prince had scarce uttered these words, when a
prolonged bellowing was heard without, and this discordant
sound was followed by the neigh of horses.
The prince glanced at the huge corporal, made a gesture,
and the worthy went out. A few moments afterwards
he returned.

“Gaptured gattle and horses, highness,—dat is, sheneral!”

“Oh, highness!” said Lord Falkland, in a low, sad
voice, “this is very painful!”

Before the prince could reply, a young officer entered
the tent, saluted, and said,—

“Your orders have been obeyed, general.”

“The house is fired?”

“Yes, general; and you may see it burning.”

The prince went to the front of the tent: I followed.
A ruddy glare above the southern woods indicated a
conflagration.

“It is well,” said Rupert: “that will teach them a
lesson.”

A deep sigh came like an echo to the words. It had
issued from Lord Falkland, who was standing behind
the prince.

“Terrible! terrible!” murmured Falkland.

Prince Rupert wheeled round, with an angry flush
upon his brow.

“I make war!” he said, abruptly; “and war is not
rose-water!”

“Pardon me,” was Falkland's low, sad response. “I
meant not to offend your highness.”

“And I am a hot-headed fool,” exclaimed Rupert,
grasping his visitor's hand; “else I had never taken
umbrage at words from the soul of honor—Falkland!”

He paused, and looked towards the conflagration.

“This seems harsh to you, my lord,” he said. “Well,
'tis just. The man whose house I have burned over his
head has been merciless to the families of my soldiers,
pointing them out to the vengeance of the parliamentary
troops. That was proved to me. Well, I
have punished him, have driven off his cattle and
burned his house. History will hate and curse me for
these things, if 'tis written by friends of the parliament.
So be it; but let me repeat, my lord,—war is
not rose-water.”

With these words, Prince Rupert re-entered the tent.

An hour afterwards I was in Nottingham, talking of
home and home-folks with my dear Harry. When we
fell asleep, side by side, we were still murmuring our
boyish talk, and Harry's sweet smile went with me
like sunshine into the dim and pleasant realm of dreams.