surplices and chasubles and written prayers and such things."
"My dear mother!"
"Oh, my dear Jane, it is so; and I was astonished when I was a girl and
saw my father go to poverty and prison for such trifles. Yes, I say
trifles--and I am a Puritan minister's child, and not ashamed of it--and
my husband and sons have been taken from me, and my household left for
the battle-field, and I know not what sorrows and trials----"
"Come, come, Martha, you are tired and fretted. If we believe in a
great and terrible God, _how_ we are most acceptably to worship Him is
not a trifling thing; far from it! I tell you both, the form of worship
we have in England measures our civil liberty. If we submit to
spiritual slavery, any king or queen or successful soldier may make us
civil slaves. Now let the subject drop; the war is over, we will think
of peace."
"Peace comes too late for many a family. There are the de Wicks."
"I am sorry for them, and I could be sorrier if they had suffered for
the right instead of the wrong. What will the young Lady Matilda do
after her father's death?"
"I know not what, with any surety."
"Her aunt, Lady Jevery, has been written for, more than a week ago. She
may be at de Wick even now. I think Matilda will make her home with the
Jeverys."
"Then she goes to London. I know their great house near Drury Lane. It
has very fine gardens indeed. I believe the Jeverys are under
suspicion, Martha, as very hot malignants. And now, Jane, dear little
Jane, listen to me. You are going to the great city, to Whitehall
Palace, to Hampton Court, to the splendour and state of a great nation.
You will be surrounded by military pomp and civil glory and social pride
and vanity. Dear little girl, keep yourself unspotted from the world!"
"May God help me, sir."
"And let not the tale of love beguile you. Young Harry Cromwell,
gallant and good, will be there; and Lord Neville, with his long
pedigree and beautiful face; and officers in scarlet and gold, and
godly, eloquent preachers in black and white, and foreign nobles, and
men of all kinds and degrees. And 'tis more than likely many will tell
you that Jane Swaffham is fair beyond all other women, and vow their
hearts and lives to your keeping. _Then_, Jane, in such hours of
temptation, be low and humble towards God. Go often to the assembling
of the saints and catch the morning dew and celestial rain of their
prayers and praise. Then, Jane, cry all the more earnestly--'Tell me,
oh Thou whom my soul loveth'--_my soul_, Jane--'where Thou feedest,
where Thou makest Thy flocks to rest at noon.' And no doubt you will
add to this inquiry its sweet closing--'He brought me to the
banqueting-house, and His banner over me was love.'"
And Jane smiled gratefully, and her eyes were dim with tears as she laid
her hands in Doctor Verity's to clasp her promise. Yet when she reached
her room and sat quiet in its solitude, no one will blame her because
many thoughts of love and hope blended themselves with the piteous ones
she sent to de Wick, and to the two weary fugitives under Swaffham roof.
She was pleased at the thought of Harry Cromwell, but oh! what a serious
happiness, what a flush of maiden joy transfigured her face when she
thought of her lover, forecasting rose-winged hours for him to glorify.
And in her soul's pure sanctuary she whispered his name while her eyes
dreamed against the goal of their expected meeting. For Love gives Hope
to the true and tender, but counts a cold heart a castaway.
_*BOOK II*_
_The Tools To Those Who Can Handle Them!_
*CHAPTER VI*
*ON THE TIDE TOP*
"Cromwell! Why that's the name of Victory."
"The shouting cries
Of the pleased people, rend the vaulted skies."
"Let there be music. Let the Master touch
The solemn organ, and soft breathing flute."
"Rupert! Oh there's music in the name,
Repeated as a charm to ease my grief.
I, that loved name did as some god invoke;
And printed kisses on it as I spoke."
The great day of triumph was over. Cromwell had entered London at the
head of his victorious army, and the city was safe and jubilant.
Standing at her mother's side, Jane had witnessed from a window in the
crowded Strand the glorious pageant of Liberty, the martial vision of
warriors whose faces had been bathed in that rain that falls on
battle-fields, red as the rains of hell; she had seen again the simple,
kindly man who had been her childhood's friend, and who was now
England's chief of men, being to England both father and son, both sword
and shield. She had heard his name carried on rolling tides of human
shouts and huzzas, chording with the firing of cannon, the beating of
drums, the tread of thousands, the chiming of bells, and all the
multitudinous and chaotic clamour which constitutes the excitement of a
great crowd, and always brings with it the sense of bounding life and
brotherhood.
And in the midst of this joyful turbulence she had caught sight of her
father and brothers and lover; her father's face sternly glad, like the
face of a man who had fought a good fight to assured victory; his sons
imitating his bearing, as well as youth could copy age; and the young
lord not far from them, proud and radiant and carrying aloft the colours
of the Commonwealth. Somewhere in that crowd of spectators he thought
Jane must be present, and he bore himself as if he were constantly in
her sight.
As yet they had not met, nor had Cluny any certain knowledge of the
Swaffham's location. There had been some supposition that they would
lodge in Leadenhall Street, at the home of Mistress Adair, the widow of
an Independent minister who had preached often in the little chapel
attached to Oliver Cromwell's house in Huntingdon; but of this he had no
positive information, and he certainly expected that Mrs. Swaffham would
advise him of their arrival in London.
Mrs. Swaffham had, however, learned that Cluny Neville was personally
objectionable to her husband and sons, and, as she could not see clearly
what road to take, she very wisely stood still, waiting for some light
and guidance. And it seemed unnecessary to trouble Jane's heart until
there was a positive reason for doing so; yet her depression and evident
disappointment fretted her mother.
"What is the matter with you, Jane?" she asked irritably one morning;
"you look as if you had lost everything in the world instead of being,
as your father thinks, right on the road to many a good day. I wouldn't
throw such a damp over things if I were you."
"You seem to have forgotten Cluny, mother."
"He seems to have forgotten us; he might have called, I think."
"Does he know where we are?"
"He could have found out. He sees Cymlin often enough."
"I think Cymlin dislikes him. I asked him yesterday if he knew Lord
Neville and he answered me rudely."
"He is your brother."
"Just for that reason he ought to have spoken civilly to me."
"He is your brother, and you must hear and heed what he says. And I
must tell you, Jane, that it is not maidenly to take any young man so
seriously as you take Lord Neville until your father and brothers are
satisfied. It is a matter of importance to them what men are brought
into the Swaffham family. There is plenty to make you happy without
Lord Neville. Your own people are safe and sound, the Cause we love is
secure, and you may now dwell your life out in England; but if we had
not conquered, it would have been over the seas and into the wilderness
for us, and strangers forever in old Swaffham. I shouldn't think you
were done thanking God for these mercies yet; and if not, then where do
you find heart-room for such melancholy and moping as I see in you?"
"But, mother, when I look back to last August----"
"If you want to look happily forward never look backward."
"To be sure; but though I know Cluny loves me, doubts and fears will
come, and I cannot always fight them or reason with them."
"Don't try either fighting or reasoning. There is a broad enough way
between them."
Jane smiled and lifted her tambour work, and her mother nodded
cheerfully as she continued, "Enjoy the hour as it comes to you. I have
always found that one good hour brings on another." And Jane took the
counsel into her heart and anon began to sing--
"It was alone Thy Providence,
That made us Masters of the field,"
and when she had got thus far, a loud, joyful voice joined her in the
next two lines, and its owner came into the room singing them--
"Thou art our Castle of defense,
Our Fort, our Bulwark and our Shield."
"Oh, Doctor Verity!" Jane cried, "how glad I am to see you."
"I had been here an hour ago, but I had to wait on the Lady Mary
Cromwell. They who serve women must learn to wait. She has sent you a
letter, and a coach is at your order, and you are bid to Whitehall. And
you will be very welcome there."
"I know not any ceremonies, Doctor."
"You do not need to know them. It is Mary Cromwell, yet; though if the
women of Cromwell's house assume greatness, he has won it for them. Why
should they not wear the honours their father gives them?"
Then Jane ran to her mother, and her box of fineries was quickly packed,
and the girl came down for her visit glowing with hope and happiness.
All the shadows were gone; she sat a little proudly in the fine coach by
the side of Doctor Verity, and was alert and watchful, for it did not
seem an improbable thing that she might have a passing sight of her
lover. The city had by this time recovered its every-day temper, and
she could not help contrasting the plodding, busy serenity of its
present mood with its frenzy of triumphant joy on the entry of Cromwell.
Doctor Verity insisted that the two conditions were alike natural. "No
one can play the fool like a wise man," he said; "and the greater and
the richer the city the more extravagantly and unreasonably and
vauntingly it will express its victory and salvation. London had so
much to lose," he continued, "that it would better have lain in ashes
than lain at the feet of any Stuart."
As they drew near to Whitehall, Jane's spirits fell a little. She had
not caught a glimpse of her lover, and she felt a sudden anxiety about
her position. Sometimes prosperity is as fatal to friendship as
adversity, and the girl tried in silence to prepare herself for any
change in affection that change of fortune might have caused. But her
fears were very transient; Mary and Frances Cromwell met her with
effusive attentions; they called her affectionately by her name, and
quickly took her to the general sitting-room of the family. Madame
Cromwell was there, as kind and motherly as of old; and Mistress Ireton,
silently reading a sermon of Doctor Owen's; and Mrs. Claypole selecting
some damask for a new gown; and Mary and Frances, full of the joy and
pride of their great position, soon carried Jane all through their
splendid apartments, and afterwards sat down together in Mary's room to
talk over old times and the friends and occupations that had made them
happy and memorable. Their first inquiry was for Lady Matilda de Wick,
and when Jane answered, "Her father is dead, and I know not exactly what
has befallen her since his death," the girls were all silent a few
minutes. After the pause, Mary Cromwell said--
"I remember her so well on her fine Barbary mare. How handsome she was!
How proud! If the Earl spoke to my father then she would deign to ask
after my lessons, or my dog, or how the skating was on the Broad. But
she was older than I, and it seems so long ago--lately she has been
deaf, dumb and blind to the Cromwells--they do not mind that much now.
I wonder where she is."
"It was said she would live with her aunt, Lady Jevery; if so, she must
be in London."
"And you know it not? And you have not seen her? That is a marvel. It
was thought impossible for Matilda de Wick and Jane Swaffham to live
long apart."
"There have been great changes," sighed Jane. "People that were once
friends know each other no more. It is hoped now that there will be
many reconciliations."
"We have seen Lady Heneage often," said Mary Cromwell, "and 'tis said
there is a purpose of marriage between Alice Heneage and a favourite of
my father's--Lord Cluny Neville."
"I have seen Lord Neville," said Jane. "He brought me your letters and
the blue and gold ribbon you sent me. His visits were flying ones; he
came and he went."
"Like the knight in the story--he loved and he rode away. But we are
all mightily taken with his fine manner and his beauty, and the Lord
General, my father, thinks him to have great sincerity and discretion."
"A very perfect youth," answered Jane with a smile.
"Indeed, we think so; if you are of a different opinion you will change
it on a better knowledge of the young man. He is coming here this
afternoon, is he not, Frank?"
"He said so. He was to make some copies of the hymn he wrote, for Mr.
Milton has set it to music, and we are to practice the singing together.
Father thinks very highly of the words."
"Dear me!" ejaculated Jane, "is he also a poet? I thought he wrote only
with his sword. I fear that he has too many perfections. Has he not
one fault to balance them?"
"Yes," answered Mary, "he has one great fault, he is a Presbyterian, and
a Scotch Presbyterian. In all other things he holds with the Lord
General, but he sticks to his Scotch idols--John Knox and the Covenant."
"I think no worse of him for that," said Jane. "If he knew what an
Independent was, he would likely be an Independent."
"It is not believable," retorted Mary. "He is a Scotchman, or next door
to one. And if a man is a Samaritan, what can he know of Jerusalem?"
"I care not what he is," said Frances. "He has handsome eyes, and he
writes poetry, and he tells such stories as make your blood run
cold--and sometimes love-stories, and then his voice is like music; and
if it was not sinful to dance----"
"But it is sinful," said Jane warmly, "and if I saw Lord Neville or any
other man making mincing steps to a viol I would never wish to speak to
him again. Would you, Mary?"
"Of course not, but Frank is only talking. We have masters now in music
and singing and geography, and I am learning _Morley's Airs_[1] straight
through, besides roundelays and madrigals. And we have a new
harpsichord, though the Lord General, my father, likes best the organ or
the lute."
[1] Popular and patriotic songs having the same vogue then as _Moore's
Melodies_ in our era.
"And besides all this," continued Frances, "we are studying the French
tongue, and history, and the use of the globes; and Mrs. Katon comes
twice every week to teach us how to make wax flowers and fruit and take
the new stitches in tatting and embroidery. And, Jane, I have got a
glass bowl full of goldfish. They came from China, and there are no
more of them, I think, in England. Come with me, and you shall see
them."
"Never mind the fish now, Frank," said Mary; "there is the bell for
dinner, and we must answer it at once or we shall grieve mother."
They rose at these words and went quickly to the dining-room. Mrs.
Cromwell, leaning upon the arm of her daughter, Mrs. Ireton, was just
entering it, and Jane wondered silently at the state these simple
country gentry had so easily assumed. Officers of the household, in
rich uniforms, waited on all their movements and served them with
obsequious respect; and they bore their new honours as if they had been
born to the purple. Mrs. Cromwell's simplicity stood her in the place
of dignity, and the piety and stern republicanism of Mrs. Ireton gave to
her bearing that indifference to outward pomp which passed readily for
inherited nobility, while the beauty of Mrs. Claypole and her love of
splendour fitted her surroundings with more than accidental propriety.
All the women of this famous household were keenly alive to the glory of
those achievements which had placed them in a palace, and all of them
rendered to its great head every title of honour his mighty deeds
claimed as their right.
"The General dines with the Speaker," said Mrs. Cromwell; and she was
herself about to say grace when Doctor Verity entered. He was greeted
with a chorus of welcomes, and readily took his seat at the foot of the
table and spoke the few words of grateful prayer which sweetened and
blessed every Puritan meal. Then in answer to some remark about
Cromwell's absence he said,
"The Lord General is much troubled about the Worcester prisoners. There
has just been a pitiful kind of triumph made out of their miseries. I
don't approve of it, not I, God forbid! They have been made a spectacle
for men and angels, marched from Hampstead Heath, through Aldgate,
Cheapside, and the Strand, to Westminster--hungry, beggarly creatures,
many of them wounded, and nearly naked."
"Poor fellows," said Mrs. Cromwell.
"Sturdy, surly fellows, madame. I don't envy the men who will have to
manage them as slaves."
"They go to the Barbadoes, I hear?"
"Yes,--it is Scotland no more for them."
"Is that right, Doctor?"
"Indeed, madame, I am not clear in my conscience concerning the matter.
It is the liberty of war. The Lord General has given two or three
prisoners to each of his friends and entertainers between here and
Worcester. However, the miserable fellows brought some comfort out of
their evil plight, for the citizens along all the route forgot they were
enemies, and the women fed them with the best of victuals, and the men
stepped from their shop doors and put money in their hands. I'll be
bound the rogues got more money and good white bread this morning than
they have seen in all their lives before. Besides which, there is, in
the Exchange and in the ale-houses, a box for the poor prisoners, and
whenever men make a bargain they drop a God's-penny into it for them.
That's Englishmen all over; they fight to the death in fair battle, but
when their foe is at their feet they lift him up and help him and forget
that he was ever their enemy. And may God keep Englishmen ever in such
mind!"
"Indeed," said Mary Cromwell, "these Scots have given us trouble and
sorrow enough. They ought to be sent out of the country, or out of the
world, and that at once!"
"That is my opinion," said Mrs. Ireton. "Our brave men are being slain,
and the country is torn asunder for their malignancy."
"There have been as brave spirits as the world ever saw in both Puritan
and Royalist armies, madame," answered the Doctor. "I, for one, am glad
that both parties have fought their quarrel to the end. I rejoice
because our hard-smiting Puritan hosts would not let the Stuarts come
back and trample them, with all law and liberty, under their feet. But
I would have been deadly sorry if the Cavaliers of England had wanted
the temper to fight for their King and their church. Right or wrong, we
must honour men who have convictions and are willing to die for them."
"Monarchy and Prelacy go together," said Mrs. Ireton; "and England has
had more than enough of both."
"We are of one mind on that point, madame," said Doctor Verity. "In
this respect, the man George Fox and his followers have some true light,
and they are scattering the truth, as they see it, broadcast. I have
taken occasion, and sought occasion, and gone out of my way to find
occasion, to meet George Fox, but have not yet done so. I was told that
he once listened to my preaching at St. Paul's Cross, and that he said I
was not far from the Kingdom. I liked that in George; I hope I may say
the same for him. Our Lord General thinks him to be a man after God's
own heart."
"My father sees the best in every one," said Mrs. Claypole.
"Why do you not speak to the Lord General about these poor prisoners?"
Mrs. Cromwell said. "He gave very kind orders about the Dunbar
prisoners, and if they were not carried out it was not his fault."
"I neglect no opportunities, madame. And Cromwell needs not that any
one soften his heart. The sight of these fallen heroes made him
weep--but there are considerations--and every triumph implies some one
crushed at the chariot wheels."
"But, Doctor Verity," said Jane, "if we may lawfully fight and kill for
the sake of our rights and our convictions, may we not also lawfully
punish those who made us put our lives in such jeopardy?"
"Jane, I am sure that we have the right of self-defense; the awful
attributes of vengeance and retribution are different things. Will
mortal hands be innocent that take the sword of vengeance from God's
armoury? I fear not. I had a long talk with Sir Richard Musgrave this
morning on this very subject. I found Lord Cluny Neville with him; it
seems they are related."
"Why did you not bring Lord Neville with you?" asked Frank.
"Lord Neville looks after his own affairs, Lady Frances--I do likewise."
"Then, Doctor," said Mrs. Cromwell, "look better after your dinner.
That buttered salmon has gone cold while you talked. There is a jar of
olives near you,--and pray what will you have? a dish of steaks? or
marrow bones? or ribs of roast beef? or some larded veal? or broiled
larks?"
"Roast beef for John Verity, madame, and a couple of broiled birds and a
dish of prawns and cheese. I enjoy my meat, and am not more ashamed of
it than the flowers are of drinking the morning dew."
"You are always happy, Doctor," said Jane.
"I think it is the best part of duty to be happy, and to make others
happy. No one will merit heaven by making a hell of earth. As I came
through Jermyn Street I saw Lady Matilda de Wick. She looked daggers
and pistols at me. God knows, I pity her. She was shrouded in black."
"Has anything been heard of Stephen de Wick?" asked Jane.
"It is thought he reached The Hague in safety. His companion, Sir Hugh
Belvard, joined Prince Rupert's pirate fleet there."
Then Mrs. Ireton, as if desirous of changing the subject, spoke of
Doctor John Owen, and of his treatise on "_The Pattern-Man_," and Doctor
Verity said he was "a Master in Israel." Talking of one book led to
conversations on several others, until finally the little volume by
Cromwell's brother-in-law, Doctor Wilkins, was mentioned. It was a
dissertation on the moon and its inhabitants, and the possibility of a
passage thither. Mrs. Ireton disapproved the book altogether, and Mrs.
Cromwell was quite scornful concerning her brother Wilkins, and thought
"the passage to the heavenly land of much greater importance."
But it was easy to turn from Doctor Wilkins to the great University in
which he was a professor, and Mrs. Claypole reminded her mother of their
visit to Oxford after its occupation by Cavalier and Puritan soldiers.
"I remember," she answered. "It was a sin and a shame to see! The
stained windows were broken, and the shrines of Bernard and Frideswide
open to the storm; the marble heads of the Apostles were mixed up with
cannon balls and rubbish of all kinds. Straw heaps were on the
pavements and staples in the walls, for dragoons had been quartered in
All Souls, and their beasts had crunched their oats under the tower of
St. Mary Magdalene. I could not help feeling the pity of it, and when I
told the General he was troubled. He said 'the ignorant have clumsy
ways of showing their hatred of wrong; but being ignorant, we must bear
with them.'"
"All these barbarisms have been put out of sight," said Dr. Verity, "and
thanks to Doctor Pocock, Oxford is itself again."
"Doctor Pocock!" ejaculated Mrs. Cromwell. "He was here a few days ago
to consult with the General. He had on a square cap, and large ruff
surmounting his doctor's gown; his hair was powdered and his boots had
lawn tops trimmed with ribbons. He looked very little like a
Commonwealth Divine and Professor."
"My dear madame, Doctor Pocock is both a Royalist and a Prelatist."
"Then he ought not to be in Oxford," said Mary Cromwell hotly. "What is
he doing there?"
"He is doing good work there, Lady Mary, for he is the most famous
Oriental and Hebrew scholar in England. No Latiner, but great in Syriac
and Arabic; and no bigot, for he is the close friend of Doctor Wallis
and of your uncle, Doctor Wilkins, though he does not go with them to
the Wadham conventicle. The Parliamentary triers declared him
incompetent but Edward Pocock had powerful friends who knew his worth,
and perhaps if you ask your honoured father, he can tell you better than
I why Dr. Pocock is in Oxford, and what he is doing there."