go also. Mother, I think she has yet a tender fancy for Harry
Cromwell--it might be." But Mrs. Swaffham shook her head, and Jane
remembered the miniature, and all day long at intervals wondered whose
the pictured face was. And the snow fell faster and thicker for many
days, and all the narrow ways and lanes were strangled with it. Mrs.
Swaffham constantly spoke of Neville, and wondered if it were possible
for him to make his way north, until one night, more than a week after
his visit, she suddenly said,
"Jane, I have a strong belief that Lord Neville has reached Edinburgh;"
and Jane smiled brightly back as she answered, "I have the same
assurance, mother." And this pulse of prescience, this flash and flow
of thought and feeling was no marvel at all to their faithful souls.
"I did not fear for him, he is not a man to miss his mark," said Mrs.
Swaffham.
"And we must remember this, also, mother, that God takes hands with good
men."
"To be sure, Jane, it is all right; and now I must look after the house
a little." So saying she went away softly repeating a verse from her
favourite Psalm, thus suffusing with serene and sacred glow the plainest
duties of her daily life.
After this visit, it was cold winter weather, and Cluny Neville came no
more until the pale windy spring was over the land. And this visit was
so short that Mrs. Swaffham, who had gone to Ely, did not see him at
all. For he merely rested while a fresh horse was prepared for him,
eating a little bread and meat almost from Jane's hand as he waited.
Yet in that half-hour's stress and hurry, Love overleaped a space that
had not been taken without it; for as he stood with one hand on his
saddle, ready to leap into it, Jane trembling and pale at his side, he
saw unshed tears in her eyes and felt the unspoken love on her lips, and
as he clasped her hand his heart sprang to his tongue, and he said with
a passionate tenderness,
"Farewell, Jane! Darling Jane!"--then, afraid of his own temerity, he
was away ere he could see the wonder and joy called into her face by the
sweet familiar words.
[Illustration: "When he came again it was harvest time."]
When he came again, it was harvest time; the reapers were in the
wheat-fields, and as he neared Swaffham he saw Jane standing among the
bound sheaves, serving the men and women with meat and drink. For
though the day was nearly over, the full moon had risen, and the
labourers were going to finish their work by its light. He tied his
horse at the gate and went to her side, and oh, how fair and sweet he
found her! Never had she looked, never had any woman looked in his
eyes, so enthralling. In her simple dress with its snow-white lawn
bodice and apron, surrounded by the reapers whom she was serving, she
looked like some rural goddess, though Neville thought rather of some
Judean damsel in the fields of Bethlehem. Her little white hood had
fallen backwards, and the twilight and the moonlight upon her gathered
tresses made of them a kind of glory. The charm of the quiet moon was
over all; there was no noise, indeed rather a pastoral melancholy with a
gentle ripple of talk threading it about ploughing and sowing and rural
affairs.
In a short time the men and women scattered to their work, and Cluny,
turning his bright face to Jane's, took both her hands in his and said
with eager delight,
"Dear Jane! Darling Jane! Oh, how I love you!"
The words came without intent. He caught his breath with fear when he
realised his presumption, for Jane stood silent and trembling, and he
did not at first understand that it was for joy which she hardly
comprehended and did not at once know how to express. But the heart is
a ready scholar when love teaches, and as they slowly passed through the
fields of yellow fulness, finding their happy way among the standing
sheaves, Jane heard and understood that heavenly tale which Cluny knew
so well how to tell her. The moon's face, warm and passionate, shed her
tender influence over them, and their hearts grew great and loving in
it. For this one hour the bewitching moonlight of _The Midsummer
Night's Dream_ was theirs, and they did well to linger in it, and to
fill their souls with its wondrous radiance. None just as heavenly
would ever shine for them again; never again, oh, surely never again,
would they thread the warm, sweet harvest fields, and feel so little
below the angels!
Not until they reached Swaffham did they remember that they two were not
the whole round world. But words of care and wonder and eager inquiry
about war, and rumour of war, soon broke the heavenly trance of feeling
in which they had found an hour of Paradise. Mrs. Swaffham was
exceedingly anxious. The country was full of frightsome expectations.
Reports of Charles Stuart's invasion of England were hourly growing more
positive. Armed men were constantly passing northward, and no one could
accurately tell what forces they would have to meet. It was said that
Charles had not only the Highland Clans, but also Irish, French and
Italian mercenaries; and that foreign troops had received commissions to
sack English towns and villages, in order to place a popish king upon
the throne. For there were not any doubts as to Charles Stuart's
religious predilections. His taking of the Covenant was known to be a
farce, at which he privately laughed, and the most lenient judged him a
Protestant, lined through and through with Popery.
So the blissful truce was over, and Jane and Cluny were part of the
weary, warring, working world again. Cluny knew nothing which could
allay fear. He had just come from London, and he said--"The city is
almost in panic; many are even suspecting the fidelity of Cromwell, and
asking why he has permitted Charles Stuart to escape his army. And yet
Cromwell sent by me a letter urging Parliament to get such forces as
they had in readiness to give the enemy some check until he should be
able to reach up to him. And still he added, as the last words, that
trust in the Lord which is his constant battle-cry. How can England
fear with such a General to lead her army?"
"And what of the General's family?" asked Mrs. Swaffham, "are they not
afraid?"
"They are concerned and anxious, but not fearful. Indeed, the old Lady
Cromwell astonished me beyond words. She smiled at the panic in the
city, and said 'It is the beginning of triumph.' And when madame, the
General's wife, spoke sharply, being in a heart-pain of loving care, she
answered her daughter-in-law with sweet forbearance in words I cannot
forget: 'Elizabeth, I know from a sure word the ground of my confidence.
I have seen, I have heard. Rest on my assurance, and until triumph
comes, retire to Him who is a sure hiding-place.' And the light on her
aged face was wonderful; she was like one waiting for a great joy,
restless at times, and going to the windows of her room as if impatient
for its arrival. I count it a mercy and a privilege to have seen her
faith in God, and in her great son. It is the substance of the thing we
hope for, the evidence of what we shall all yet see," he cried in a tone
of exaltation. "And now give me a strong, fresh horse; I will ride all
night! Oh, that I were at great Cromwell's side! Charles Stuart has
entered England, but Cromwell's dash and sweep after him will be
something for men and angels to see! Not for my life would I miss it."
"Where do you expect to find Cromwell?"
"I left him at Queensferry in Fife, cutting off the enemy's victual.
This would force the Stuart either to fight or go southward, for he has
completely exhausted the North, and it seems he has taken the south
road. But it is incredible that this move is either unexpected or
unwelcome to our General. Once before, he put himself between England
and the Scots, and 'how God succoured,' that is not well to be
forgotten. Those were his words, and you will notice, that it is 'how
God succoured,' not how Cromwell succeeded. With him it is always, The
Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle;" and Cluny's voice
rose and his words rang out sharply to the clatter of the horse's hoofs
on the stone pavement.
Then he turned to Jane. "Darling Jane! My Jane!" and kissing her, he
said boldly to Mrs. Swaffham, "I ask your favour, madame. Jane has this
hour promised to be my wife."
"Jane has then been very forward," answered Mrs. Swaffham with
annoyance, "and both of you very selfish and thoughtless. While your
mother England's heart is at her lips, in this dread extremity, you two
must needs talk of love and marrying. I am grieved. And Jane's father
has not been spoken to, and he is first of all. I can say neither yea
nor nay in the matter."
"But you will surely speak for us. Give me a kind word, madame, ere I
go." And she could not resist the youth's beauty and sweet nature, nor
yet the thought in her heart that it might perhaps be his last request.
If he should be slain in battle, and she had refused the kind word, what
excuse would quiet her self-reproach? Then she looked kindly at him,
and the thought of the young prince David going out to meet the
uncircumcised Philistine who had defied the armies of the living God,
came into her heart; and she drew down his face to hers and kissed and
blessed him, saying, as Saul said to David, "Go, and the Lord be with
thee."
Then he leaped into the saddle, and the horse caught his impatience and
shared his martial passion, and with a loud neigh went flying over the
land. Silently the two women watched the dark figure grow more and more
indistinct in the soft, mysterious moonshine, until at length it was a
mere shadow that blended with the indistinctness of the horizon.
"Thank you, dear mother," said Jane softly, and the mother answered, "In
these times who dare say good-bye in anger? But let me tell you, Jane,
you cannot now think of yourself first. England is at the sword's
point; your father and brothers are living on a battle-field; your lover
is only one of thousands fighting for the truth and the right, and his
life is England's before it is yours. God and country must be served
first, eh, my dear?"
"Yes, mother. First and best of all."
"When Neville has done his duty, he will come for you. He can no more
bear to live without you than without his eyes. I see that."
Before Jane could reply, they heard the men and women coming from the
harvesting. They were singing as they trailed homeward, their harsh,
drawling voices in the night's silence sounding tired and pathetic and
bare of melody. Jane slipped away to the music in her own heart, closing
within herself that Love whose growth had been sweet and silent as the
birth of roses.
*CHAPTER V*
*SHEATHED SWORDS*
"The peaceful cities
Lulled in their ease and undisturbed before are all on fire.
The thick battalions move in dreadful form
As lowering clouds advance before a storm;
Thick smoke obscures the field, and scarce are seen,
The neighing coursers and the shouting men;
In distance of their darts they stop their course,
Then man to man they rush, and horse to horse.
The face of heaven their flying javelins hide
And deaths unseen are dealt on every side.
. . . . . . . . . the fields are strewed
With fallen bodies, and are drunk with blood."
It will be well now to recall the positions which Charles Stuart and
Cromwell, with their armies, occupied. The royalist defeat at Dunbar
occurred on September the third, A.D. 1650, and Charles, after it,
sought shelter in the fortress of Stirling Castle, where he remained
until he went to Perth. Here, on January the first, 1651, he was
crowned King of Scotland, and then he assumed the command of
Captain-General of the Scotch forces, having under him the Duke of
Hamilton and David Leslie. At this time the Scotch army had become
purely royal and malignant, the Kirk having done its part had retired,
leaving the King to manage his own affairs. During the winter, which
was long and severe, Charles and his army could do nothing; but when
fine weather came and they understood that Cromwell would march to
Perth, the Scotch army went southward, fortifying itself on the famous
Torwood Hill, between Stirling and Falkirk.
This long winter had been one of great suffering to General Cromwell.
After making himself master of the whole country south of Forth and
Clyde, he had a severe illness, and lay often at the point of death. In
the month of May two physicians were sent by Parliament from London to
Edinburgh to attend him, but ere they arrived, the Lord Himself had been
his physician and said unto him, Live! He took the field in June,
throwing the main part of his army into Fife, in order to cut off the
enemy's victual. This move forced the hand of Charles Stuart. His army
was in mutiny for want of provisions, the North country was already
drained, he durst not risk a battle--but the road into England was
clear.
Cromwell himself had gone northward to Perth, and on the second of
August he took possession of that city; but while entering it was told
that Charles Stuart, with fourteen thousand men, had suddenly left
Stirling and was marching towards England. Cromwell was neither
surprised nor alarmed; perhaps, indeed, he had deliberately opened the
way for this move by going northward to Perth, and leaving the road to
England open. At any rate, when Charles reached the border he found
Harrison with a strong body of horse waiting for him, while Fleetwood
with his Yorkshiremen lay heavy on his left flank, and Lambert with all
the English cavalry was jogging on, pressing close the rear of his army.
For in Lambert's ears was ringing night and day Cromwell's charge to
him,--
"Use utmost diligence! With the rest of the horse and men I am
hastening up, and by the Lord's help, I shall be in good time."
Charles had taken the western road by Carlisle, and it was thought he
would make for London. He went at a flying speed past York, Nottingham,
Coventry, until he reached the borders of Shropshire, summoning every
town he passed, but hardly waiting for the thundering negatives that
answered his challenge; for the swift, steady tramp of Cromwell's
pursuit was daily drawing nearer and nearer. Reaching Shrewsbury, he
found the gates shut against him, and his men were so disheartened that
the King with cap in hand entreated them "yet a little longer to stick
to him." For all his hopes and promises had failed, there had been no
rising in his favour, no surrender of walled towns, and the roads
between Shrewsbury and London were bristling with gathering militia. So
Charles turned westward to Worcester, a city reported to be loyal, where
he was received with every show of honour and affection. Here he set up
his standard on the ill-omened twenty-second of August, the very day
nine years previous, on which his father had planted his unfortunate
standard at Nottingham.
Meanwhile Cromwell was following Charles with a steady swiftness that
had something fateful in it. He had taken Perth on the second of
August; he left it with ten thousand men on the third; he was on the
border by the eighth; he was at Warwick on the twenty-fourth, where he
was immediately joined by Harrison, Fleetwood and Lambert. Such
swiftness and precision must have been prearranged, either by Cromwell
or by Destiny. It was to be the last battle of the Civil War, and
Cromwell knew it, for he had beyond the lot of mortals that wondrous
insight, that prescience, which, like the scabbard of the sword
Excalibur, was more than the blade itself--the hilt armed with eyes.
There was in his soul, even at Perth, the assurance of Victory, and as
he passed through the towns and villages of England, men would not be
restrained. They threw down the sickle and the spade in the field, the
hammer in the forge, the plane at the bench, and catching hold of the
stirrups of the riders, ran with them to the halting-place. Cromwell had
no need to beg Englishmen yet a little longer to stick to him. His form
of rugged grandeur, the majesty and fierceness of his face, and his air
of invincible strength and purpose, said to all, _This is the Pathfinder
of your English Freedom! Follow Him!_ The man was a magnet, and drew
men to him; he looked at them, and they fell into his ranks; he rode
singing of Victory at their head, and women knelt on the streets and by
the roadside to pray for the success of those going up "_For the help of
the Lord, and for England._" This battle call, ringing from men at full
spur, was taken up even by the old crones and little children, and their
shrill trebles were added to the mighty shouting of strong men, whose
heroic hands were already tightly closed upon their sword-hilts. So,
with his ten thousand troops augmented to thirty thousand, he reached
Warwick, and making his headquarters at the pretty village of Keynton
near by, he gave his men time to draw breath, and called a council of
war.
Cromwell was now on the very ground where the first battle of the Civil
War had been fought. Nine years previous the Puritan camp had lain at
Keynton with the banner of Charles the First waving in their sight from
the top of Edgehill. Outside the village there was a large farmhouse,
its red tiled roof showing through the laden orchard trees; and the
woman dwelling there gladly welcomed Cromwell to rest and comfort.
"All my sons are with General Harrison," she said; "and I have not seen
their faces for two years."
"Nevertheless, mistress," said Cromwell, "they shall keep Harvest Home
with you, and go out to fight no more, for the end of the war is near at
hand." He spoke with the fervour of a prophet, but she had not faith to
believe, and she answered--
"My Lord Cromwell, our Sword and our Saviour, their names are Thanet,
James, and John, and Dickson, and Will. Surely you have heard of them,
dead or alive?"
His keen eyes lost their fire and were instantly full of sadness as he
answered, "Oh, woman, why did you doubt? If they have fallen in battle,
truly they are well. Judge not otherwise. Your blood and your sons'
blood has not run to waste."
Two hours after this conversation, Cluny Neville lifted the latch of the
farm gate. He had heard reliably of Cromwell's pursuit of Charles at
Newcastle, and turning back southward, had followed him as closely as
the difficulty of getting horses in the wake of the army permitted. He
was weary and hungry, but he was at last near the chief he adored. He
gave himself a moment of anticipation at the door of the room, and then
he opened it. Cromwell was sitting at the upper end of a long table. A
rough map of the country around Worcester lay before him, and Harrison,
Lambert, Israel Swaffham, and Lord Evesham were his companions. There
were two tallow candles on the table, and their light shone on the face
of Cromwell. At that moment it was full of melancholy. He seemed to be
listening to the noble fanaticism of Harrison, who was talking fervidly
of the coming of the Kingdom of Christ and the reign of the saints on
earth; but he saw in an instant the entrance of Neville, and with an
almost imperceptible movement commanded his approach.
Neville laid the letters of which he was the bearer before Cromwell, and
his large hand immediately covered them. "Is all well?" he asked--and
reading the answer in the youth's face, added, "I thank God! What then
of the city?"
"Its panic is beyond describing," answered Neville. "Parliament is
beside itself; even Bradshaw is in great fear; there are surmises as to
your good faith, my lord, and the rumours and counter-rumours are past
all believing. London is manifestly with the Commonwealth, and every man
in it is looking to you and to the army for protection. Some, indeed, I
met who had lost heart, and who thought it better that Charles Stuart
should come back than that England should become a graveyard fighting
him."
"Such men are suckled slaves," said Lambert. "I would hang them without
word or warrant for it."
"Yea," said Cromwell; "for Freedom is dead in them. That's their fault,
it will not reach us. Thousands of Englishmen have died to crown our
England with Freedom; for Freedom is not Freedom unless England be
free." Here he rose to his feet, and the last rays of the setting sun
fell across the rapture and stern seriousness of his face across his
shining mail and his majestic soldierly figure. His eyes blazed with
spiritual exaltation, and flamed with human anger, as in a voice, sharp
and untunable, but ringing with passionate fervour, he cried--
"I say to you, and truly I mean it, if England's Red Cross fly not above
free men, let it fall! Let it fall o'er land and sea forever! The
natural milk of Freedom, the wine and honey of Freedom, which John Eliot
and John Pym and John Hampden gave us to eat and to drink, broke our
shackles and made us strong to rise in the face of forsworn kings and
red-shod priests, devising our slavery. It did indeed! And I tell you,
for I know it, that with this milk of Freedom England will yet feed all
the nations of the world. She will! Only be faithful, and here and
now, God shall so witness for us that all men must acknowledge it. For
I do know that Charles Stuart, and the men with him, shall be before us
like dust on a turning wheel. We shall have a victory like that of Saul
over Nahash, and I know not of any victory like to it, since the world
began--_Two of them--not left together_. Amen! But give me leave to
say this: In the hour of victory it were well for us to remember the
mercy that was in Saul's heart, 'because that day, the Lord had wrought
salvation in Israel.' From here there are two courses open to us, a
right one, and a wrong one. What say you, Lambert?"
"London is the heart of the nation, and just now it is a faint heart. I
say it were well to turn our noses to London, and to let the rogues know
we are coming."
"What is your thought, Harrison?"
"Worcester is well defended," he answered musingly. "It has Wales behind
it. We cannot fight Charles Stuart till we compass the city, and to do
that, we must be on both sides of the river. Then Charles could choose
on which side he would fight, and we could not come suddenly to help
each other."
"What way look you, Israel?"
"The way of the enemy. I see that he is here. What hinders that we
fight him?"
"Fight him," said lord Evesham, "better now, than later."
"Fight him! That, I tell you, is my mind also," said Cromwell striking
the table with his clinched hand. "Some may judge otherwise, but I
think while we hold Charles Stuart safe, London is safe also."
"Surely," said Lambert, "it may be more expedient to secure Charles
Stuart, but----"
"Expedient, expedient!" interrupted Cromwell. "Who can make a
conscience out of expediency? Expediency says, _it may be_; Conscience
says, _it is_. If Worcester were ten times as strong, I would not
hesitate. God has chosen this battle-field for us, as He chose Dunbar;
and because the place is strong, and because it is on both sides the
river, we will draw closer and closer our crescent of steel round it.
We will fight against it on both sides of the river, and we will expect
that miracle of deliverance which will surely come, for we never yet
found God failing, when we trusted in Him. In these parts we struck our
first blows for Freedom, and here, at point and edge, we will strike our
last, and then sheathe our swords. I give my word to you for this, and
I will fully answer it. But there must be no slackness. The work is to
be thorough, and not to do over again. The nation wishes it so, I know
it. The plain truth is--we will march straight on Worcester; we will
cut off Charles Stuart from all hope of London; we will fight him from
both sides of the river, and bring this matter of the Stuarts to an end;
for they are the great troublers of Israel."
The man and the time and the place had met, and there was no doubting
it. His words burned this assurance into the hearts of all who heard
him, and when he struck his sword-hilt to emphasise them, they answered
with the same movement, unconscious and simultaneous.