O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Shakspeare.
We left Eustace wakening the echoes with his songs, which, while they
expressed the exultation of his heart at emerging from confinement and
obscurity, and launching into a busy scene of action, were also intended
to divert the alarm of his fair companions. Williams recommended caution
and silence to no purpose; Eustace was sure they were going on safe.
They were still at a great distance from the Parliament's garrison at
Halifax, when they were joined by a person in the dress of a countryman,
but in reality a scout belonging to the army of Fairfax. He drew the
incautious Eustace into conversation, and soon perceived that the
affected vulgarity of his language ill accorded with the polished
accents he had overheard. Guessing from this circumstance that they
belonged to the family of some Loyalist, and were attempting to escape
to their friends, he, under pretence of shewing them a nearer way,
delivered them into the custody of a foraging party belonging to the
garrison.
Eustace discovered that they were betrayed at the moment when retreat
was impossible, and resistance of no avail. He now lamented that he had
despised the cautions of Williams; and, as he was furnished with arms,
determined to sell his life as dear as possible. The shrieks of the
ladies in a moment arrested his arm, and also drew the attention of the
cornet who commanded the party which had surprised them. He ordered his
troop to retire a few paces, and, riding up to Eustace, exclaimed,
"Madman, whose life are you going to sacrifice?" Eustace turning, beheld
Constantia fainting; and, throwing away his pistols, answered, "One
dearer than my own. If republicans can shew mercy, spare her."
"You shall find," returned the officer, "that they have mercy and honour
too. Let me conjure the ladies to moderate their terrors. They are
indeed my prisoners; but they shall be treated with all the respect
which their sex, and, if I guess aright, their quality, deserve."
Isabel, who supported her lifeless cousin, raised her eyes to bless the
benevolence which dictated such consolatory expressions, and saw they
were uttered by a graceful youth, a little older than her brother, in
whose countenance animation was blended with benignity and compassion.
"For Heaven's sake," said she, "if you pity us, let the troopers sheath
their broad swords; we will make no resistance; alas! the alarm has
killed dear Constantia."
The cornet leaped from his horse, and assisted to raise her. "Her pulses
beat," said he, "and she recovers fast. But why, Madam, are you not
equally alarmed?"
"I have been used to sorrows and difficulties from my infancy," returned
Isabel; "but Constantia has never known any thing but care and
tenderness."
"Are you her sister?"
"No; I have only that brother. He is rash, but brave and good. Do not
hurt him, for his death would kill my father."
"It shall be in his own power," returned the officer, "to fashion his
fortunes. I wish, Sir, not to be thought your enemy otherwise than as my
duty enjoins. You see I am in the service of the Parliament. Tell me,
frankly, who you are. It is possible I may befriend you; at least I know
I can the ladies who are under your care."
Eustace, whose attention was now relieved by seeing Constantia recover,
could not resist an invitation to frankness. "I am not," said he, "what
my dress imports, but the son of a cavalier and a gentleman; we were
going to put ourselves under his protection. Allow us to proceed to
Colonel Evellin's quarters, and I will ever esteem you as my friend,
even if we should meet on opposite parts, in some bloody conflict."
"I will befriend you," answered the cornet; "but the success of my
efforts must depend on their being conducted with secrecy. Colonel
Evellin is not now in the north. He was attached to the escort who
conducted the Queen to Oxford. Is it your wish to follow him?"
They answered in the affirmative. "I must hold no further intercourse
with you," continued he; "be of good courage;" then kissing his hand,
with a smile to Isabel, he ordered Williams to follow with them, and
rejoined his troopers.
"Surely," observed Isabel, "he cannot be a round-head. I thought they
were all like old Morgan; and this is a true gentleman." Constantia
acquiesced in this opinion, and supposed he might be a loyalist, taken
prisoner, and compelled to join the rebel army. Eustace, in an equal
degree unwilling to allow any good qualities to a person who was in arms
against the King, declared that he suspected the apparent urbanity of
the stranger to be only a prelude to some base design. He resolved, that
while they continued prisoners, nothing should separate him from his
fair charge; and Williams and he agreed that they would sit up
alternately every night, in order to be ready at the first alarm.
"Surely," said Isabel, "you forget my uncle's precept, 'Be moderate.'
Just now you were all confidence that the false guide would shew us a
road to avoid Halifax; and now you are, without cause, suspecting that
this gentleman will use us cruelly."
"Are they not both rebels and republicans?" rejoined Eustace. "The only
difference is, that one was an ugly vulgar knave, and this a handsome
courtly one." Isabel blushed and gave up the argument, thinking it
useless to contend with one who was never subdued by opposition.
On their arrival at Halifax, they were provided with comfortable
apartments. A guard was placed at the door; but they were informed that
every indulgence should be allowed them, except that of being at
liberty. Williams was ordered to attend the council of officers, to be
examined as to their name and designs; and the captives waited his
return with the impatience natural to those whose fate is about to be
decided.
The account which he gave of his examination seemed to confirm the
suspicions entertained by Eustace of the sinister designs of the cornet,
who had anticipated the deposition of Williams, by describing the party
as the children and niece of a cavalier, now an active officer in the
popish army, advising that they should be sent, with some other
prisoners, to London, there to be kept in safe durance till they could
be exchanged for some other party who had fallen into the hands of the
Royalists. Williams was not suffered to speak. The proposal was adopted;
and orders were given that the escort should set off next morning.
The indignant ravings of Eustace, and the mortification of poor Isabel,
who had seen, in the "melting eye of her supposed protector, a soft
heart and too brave a soul to offer injuries, and too much a Christian
not to pardon them in others," in fine, a generous, open, honourable
character, very like her dear father, called forth the mediation of
Constance, who, recollecting her own father's precepts, recommended
candour and patience. "At least," said she, "whatever befals us, let us
not lose the consolation of fellowship in affliction. We have yet the
comfort of being together; and perhaps we may not find captivity so
dreadful, nor our enemies so merciless as we expect. If they do not take
you from us, dearest Eustace, we cannot be quite miserable."
They were now joined by an elderly man in the dress of a clergyman, who,
though somewhat precise in his habit, and quaint in his address, was
venerable and benevolent in his aspect and expressions. "Fair maidens,"
said he, "I come to inquire if you are content with your present
accommodations, and willing to begin your journey towards London
to-morrow morning. The governor of this garrison has joined me to your
escort; and it will be a duty I shall gladly undertake, to render your
travel lightsome, and your perils trivial."
"May we," answered Isabel, "request to know to whom we shall be so
obliged?"
"You may call me Mr. Barton," replied he, "a minister of the church by
the laying on the hands of the presbytery. My immediate call among these
men in arms, arises from my being tutor to the young officer, to whom
you are surrendered prisoners."
"And did you," said the indignant Eustace, among other things, "teach
him craft and falsehood."
"I have still to learn those Satanical arts," returned Barton, "and
therefore could not teach them."
"Were they then," resumed Eustace, "innate properties in his mind?
Though little more than my own age, he is a master in the science of
dissimulation. He practised upon my fears; I mean, my fears for these
dear girls, and wormed from my confiding folly a disclosure of my
parentage, and my wishes. He promised to serve us. I trusted to his
word; and he performs it by rivetting our chains beyond hope of
liberation."
"While life endures," returned Barton, "hope and fear successively
eclipse each other. Yet a wise man should remember both are casualties,
which may give colour to his future fortunes. We must allow the enraged
lion to chafe, but lest his roarings should terrify these tender lambs,
and drive them out among beasts of prey, an old watch-dog will crouch
beside them, and assuage their alarms. I fancy, pretty maids, you never
were in company with a real round-head before; come, tell me truly, is
he as terrible a creature as your fears pictured."
"I am half inclined to think you do not mean to injure us," said Isabel.
"Beware," cried Eustace, lifting up his finger; "remember your past
confidence."
"But this is an old gentleman," resumed Isabel, and pressed Barton's
offered hand between both hers; "perhaps he is a father, and feels for
two terrified girls, who never were among strangers before. Or,
perhaps," returning the benevolent smile of Barton with one of playful
archness, "he may find us such a troublesome charge, that he will be
glad to get rid of us before we reach London."
"My pretty Eve," returned Barton; "I am proof to temptation. What I have
undertaken to do I will perform."
"Yet possibly," said she, "you would just allow me to speak once more to
that officer, your pupil. I only wish to remind him of his past
promises."
"Rather," replied Barton, "to move him to make more, or perchance make
him your prisoner. No, fair lady, I see too much of your puissance, to
trust my noble pupil in your presence. Yet I would have you think as
well of him as the cloudy aspect of present appearances will admit, for
man oweth man candour; it is the current coin of social life, and they
who do not traffic with it, must not expect a supply for their own
wants."
Eustace fretted at this _badinage_, and thought Barton a miserable
jester. He caught at the epithet "Noble," and asked if any one, lawfully
entitled to it, would be so degenerate as to rebel against his King.
"I am one of those stern teachers," said Barton, "who see nobility only
in virtuous actions and high attainments, but even in your sense of the
word, my pupil has a right to the name, being lineally descended from
those mighty Barons, who in early times enforced Kings to yield, and
gave us the right we now enjoy of sitting under our own vine and eating
the fruit of our own fig-tree. And remember, young cavalier, that all
men's minds are not shaped in one mould, nor have corresponding habits
cherished in them the same associations. We have all two characters; our
friends look at the white side, and see our virtues; our foes at the
black, and discern nothing but our faults. The same action of the King's
may be so coloured by report, as to justify my pupil's enmity and your
passionate loyalty. You have been trained to deem passive obedience a
duty, while he has learned to think that an English nobleman ought to
resist arbitrary power. We thought many of the King's proceedings were
contrary to the laws of the realm; and, therefore, joined those who
sought to abridge his prerogative. And now that we have buckled on
armour, retreat is difficult; it is dangerous too; party is a
high-mettled steed, when we are mounted we must hold out the whole race
it pleases to run. But before we part for the night, I will propose one
toast; it is your brave and virtuous Lord Falkland's, and in fact the
prayer of every honest man among us--Peace, peace on any terms, rather
than see England blushing with blood and with crimes!"
Isabel received a very favourable impression of the integrity and
benevolence of Barton from this conversation, and formed a sort of
undefined hope, respecting the result of their captivity, which induced
her strenuously to reject all the plans which Eustace repeatedly formed
for their emancipation. The most disheartening circumstance was, that
they saw no more of Williams. They sometimes flattered themselves that
he had regained his liberty, and would carry an account of their
situation to Colonel Evellin. They observed, that Barton took no notice
of his absence, and hoping that in the confusion which commonly occurs
in conveying a multitude of prisoners he had been overlooked, they
forbore to make any inquiries that might endanger his safety.
The country through which they passed in their journey toward London,
afforded them a full view of the miseries and crimes incident to civil
war. The fields, in many places, were without any trace of culture; in
others, the harvest had been prematurely seized or purposely wasted, to
cut off the enemy's resources. They saw beautiful woods wantonly felled;
towns and villages partially burnt; the youthful part of the population
either enrolled in one or other of the hostile armies, or secreting
themselves to avoid being pressed into military service. The few
labourers to be seen in the fields consisted of the aged, the sick, or
those who were disabled; and these no longer exhibited the cheerful
aspect of happy industry, but shewed sorrow in their faces, and
wretchedness in their garb. In towns, the more respectable inhabitants
were dressed in mourning, thus announcing, that the death of some
relation gave them a deep private interest in the public sorrow. The
unemployed manufacturers crowded the streets, eagerly perusing libellous
pamphlets, or diurnal chronicles, disputing furiously on points which
none could clearly explain or indeed comprehend, asking for news as if
it were bread, and shewing by the lean ferocity of their faces, and the
squalid negligence of their attire, that from unpitied poverty sprung
all the virulent passions of rage, envy, revenge, and disobedience. By
such as these, the detachment that escorted the prisoners were received
with transport as friends and deliverers, who, when their glorious toils
were completed, would transform the present season of woe into a golden
age of luxurious enjoyment and unvaried ease; and as the rebel troops
were well furnished with money, and supplied with every necessary out of
the royal magazines, which were seized in the beginning of the contest,
they were enabled to pay for all the articles of subsistence, and thus
acquired a popularity which the strict discipline preserved by their
officers tended to increase. Hence at every town they passed through,
they were not only hailed with acclamations, but received an
augmentation of force by the recruits who joined them, under a certainty
of receiving pay and cloathing.
Beside the mortification of thus viewing the strength of a party whom
they hoped to find weak, disjointed, and inefficient, our young captives
had the misery of hearing the royal cause every where vilified, and the
Sovereign's personal character traduced. Among the King's misfortunes
his inability to pay his army, or to supply it with necessaries, was
most injurious to his success. His forces were chiefly raised and kept
together by the private fortunes and influence of loyal noblemen and
gentry, many of whom, even members of the house of Peers, served as
privates, receiving neither honour nor reward, except the generous
satisfaction of conscious duty. The situation of those who ranged
themselves on this side without funds for their own support, was most
precarious, the King being compelled to tax the few places which
preserved their allegiance with their entire maintenance. The weekly
assessment laid upon the nation by the house of Commons being granted by
the constitutional purse-bearer, took the name of a lawful impost; but
every demand of His Majesty might be construed into an exaction. Fearful
to indispose the minds of subjects, pecuniary levies were cautiously
resorted to; hence the officers were compelled to connive at plunder,
and the destitute soldier often had no other means to supply his
imperious wants. For the same reasons discipline was relaxed; every man
who had largely contributed to the King's cause felt himself independent
of his authority. Obliged beyond all probable power of remuneration, the
Prince saw himself surrounded by men who had forfeited their estates,
renounced their comforts, and risked their lives to support a tottering
throne. Yet still they were subject to human passions, and liable to
have those passions heightened by the free manners of camps, while the
unhappy circumstances of the cause for which they fought exonerated them
from those strict restraints that are so peculiarly necessary in an
army, where right must always be less respected than power, and where
severe privations, and the frail tenure by which life is held, are ever
urged as motives to a licentious enjoyment of the present hour. While
from these causes such relaxed discipline prevailed in a royal garrison,
as generally to indispose the neighbourhood to its politics, the
parliamentary officers felt bound to each other by the common fears of
guilt, knowing that success alone could preserve them from the penalties
of treason. Their soldiers being well supplied with every thing, had no
excuse for plundering; and all acts of violence were punished with
severity by those who, though of small consideration in their original
situations compared with the King's officers, yet still held a natural
command over the lowest vulgar, of whom the parliamentary rank and file
were composed.
To return to the woes which our young captives witnessed in their
melancholy tour through the seat of civil war.--The houses of the
nobility and gentry were either abandoned or converted into places of
strength, fortified for the defence of the inhabitants. Occasionally
they passed over what had recently been a field of battle. The
newly-formed hillocks pointed out the number of the slain; broken
weapons and torn habiliments still more indubitably identified the
mournful history; or flocks of ravens and other carrion birds hovering
over the slightly-covered relics of a noble war-horse, which had been
unearthed by foxes, presented a more savage picture of carnage.
Sometimes a pale wounded soldier, whose inability to serve prevented his
being secured as a prisoner, or removed by his friends, was seen
lingering upon the spot that had proved fatal to his hopes of glory,
sustained by the compassion of the neighbourhood or asking alms of the
traveller with whom he crept over the graves of his comrades, shewing
where the charge was first made, pointing to the spot where the leader
fell, and telling what decided the fortune of the day.
Scenes very different, yet equally revolting to the feelings of Eustace
and his companions, were frequently exhibited by the fury of fanatic
mobs, employed in what they called reforming the churches and cleansing
them from idolatry. The exquisite remains of antient art, the paintings,
carvings, and other splendid decorations with which our ancestors
adorned the structures consecrated to the worship of God, were broken
and torn away with such unrelenting fury and blind rage of destruction,
as in many instances to threaten the safety of the edifice they
beautified. The Satanical spirit of fanaticism rioted uncontrolled; and
to use the words of a venerable Bishop[1], who saw his own cathedral
defaced, "it is no other than tragical to relate the carriage of that
furious sacrilege, whereof our eyes and ears were the sad witnesses,
under the authority and presence of the sheriff. Lord! what work was
here--what clattering of glasses--what beating down of walls--what
tearing up of monuments--what pulling up of seats--what wresting out of
iron and brass from the windows and graves--what defacing of arms--what
demolishing of curious stone-work, that had not any representation in
the world but only of the cast of the founder, and the skill of the
mason--what tooting and piping upon the destroyed organ-pipes, and what
a hideous triumph on the market-day before all the country, when, in a
kind of sacrilegious and profane procession, all the organ-pipes,
vestments, copes and surplices, together with the leaden cross which had
been newly sawn down from over the green-yard pulpit, and the
service-books and singing-books that could be had, were carried to the
fire in the public marketplace; a lewd wretch walking along in the train
in his cope, trailing in the dirt, with his service-book in his hand,
imitating in impious scorn the time, and usurping the words of the
Litany used formerly in the church. Near the public cross all these
monuments of idolatry must be sacrificed to the fire, not without much
ostentation of a zealous joy in discharging ordnance, to the cost of
some who professed how much they longed to see that day. Neither was it
any news upon this guild-day to have the cathedral, now open on all
sides, to be filled with musketeers, waiting for the mayor's return,
drinking and tobaccoing as freely as if it had turned ale-house."
At these sad spectacles (of which almost every ornamented church they
passed supplied an instance), Isabel contemplated with pleasure the
character of Barton[2], who displayed that moderation and liberality
which justified her predilection for him, and her hopes for themselves.
He reproved the conduct of the mob with severity, and even hazarded his
own safety by opposing their outrages. He exhorted the police to prevent
what he termed an Anti-christian triumph over good taste, good manners,
and good sense. He represented how grossly indecent it was that
magistrates should seem, by their presence, to sanction the violation of
authority, and the reverence due to antiquity, and he sometimes
prevailed upon them to order the rabble to disperse, whom they had
previously invited to the task of spoliation. He spoke to the
better-informed, of the degradation which England would suffer in the
eyes of surrounding nations, by thus wantonly "sweeping the land with
the besom of destruction," and annihilating all those records of her own
pre-eminence, which other countries, had they possessed them, would have
been so solicitous to preserve. He distinguished between excitements to
devotion and objects of worship, and he read from his little
pocket-bible a description of the decorations bestowed on the first and
second temples, and remarked, that when the Saviour of the world
predicted the ruin of the latter, he threw no censure on the munificence
of those who had adorned it. He shewed, that the plainness and poverty
which of necessity attached to an afflicted church in its infancy,
destined to make its way, not by the usual assistances of worldly
wisdom, but in opposition to principalities and powers, were no rule for
her government in future ages, when she was to be brought to her
heavenly spouse "in glorious attire, with joy and gladness," and instead
of wandering among caves and deserts, was to "enter into Kings'
palaces." "If," said he, "you maintain that the overthrow of episcopacy
is to involve the ruin of every thing rich, venerable, and beautiful,
you furnish its defenders with the best of arguments. How are curious
craftsmen to flourish, if there are no purchasers of their handy-works;
and if we admit these into our houses, why not into the places where we
hold our religious assemblies? Are paintings and carvings less likely to
carnalize our hearts in our halls and banqueting-rooms than in our
chapels? Is a golden cup on the Lord's table the accursed spoil of
Achan; and doth it become purified by being removed to the buttery and
used in a private carousal?"
On one occasion, by an ingenious device, Barton preserved a splendid
representation of the twelve apostles in a chancel window. He arrived
just at the moment that a drunken glazier had convinced the mob that
they were made saints by the Babylonish harlot, and that therefore their
similitudes, as popish rags, ought to be destroyed. After in vain
endeavouring to persuade the populace that the Pope had no hand in their
canonization, he at length prevailed upon them to have only the heads
taken off, remarking that since the decapitated bodies could not provoke
the gazer to commit the idolatry forbidden in the second commandment,
they might remain without wounding tender consciences. The proposal was
executed under his own superintendance; and at a period of less
irritation, Mr. Barton, having preserved the heads, had the pleasure of
restoring the mutilated figures to their original perfection.
But Barton shewed his conciliatory character in many ways besides
protecting the inanimate appendages of the persecuted church. The
journey afforded him frequent opportunities of assisting its living
members, either by rescuing them from the requisitions of the troopers
who escorted the prisoners, or by shielding them from the virulence of
their infuriated neighbours. Often in the towns they passed through, was
a degraded pastor dragged from the lowly cottage in which he sought to
shelter his misfortunes, and compelled (with barbarous exaltation) to
behold the rebel colours flying over his captive friends. Wherever this
happened, Barton uniformly pressed forward, assured the dejected
confessor that every possible attention was paid to the comfort of the
prisoners; inquired into his own situation, not with impertinent
curiosity but with kindness, and promised his assistance to procure him
a regular payment of the pittance which Parliament allowed to ejected
incumbents out of their sequestered rents, if (as it too frequently
happened) he found it had been embezzled by the commissioners employed
in the work of re-modelling the ecclesiastical system.
They had proceeded very far in their journey, when one evening Barton
rejoined his charge with much apparent agitation in his manner. "We are
forbidden," said he, "to let our left hand know the good deeds our right
doth, yet cannot I refrain from telling you, young maidens, that I am
this day satisfied with my labours. Among other providences, I have been
able to render brotherly kindness to an episcopal minister whom I found
in a lamentable state, for he had fallen among thieves, who robbed him
of his property and tore his pass for safe conduct. Our van-guard found
him by the way-side, and judging by his venerable aspect, and some
superfluous decorations in his attire, that he was a deposed bishop
flying to the King, they seized him without paying attention to his
narrative. When I heard that a person in distress was taken prisoner, I
spurred on my horse to see if I could be of use. The placid benignity of
the sufferer's aspect moved my commiseration; he stood calm and
collected among the musketeers, supporting a woman about his own age,
who I trow was his wife. To do her justice she shewed no signs of
terror, though she rolled her eyes on those around her with a look of
disdain, less suited, methought, to her situation than the dignified
patience of her companion. I asked him if he had been a bishop, and he
answered, No; but was still a minister of the Christian church. 'Then,'
said I, 'perhaps in your affliction you will not refuse the service, or
reject the hand of one who calls himself by the same title.' 'Sir,' said
he, 'this is no time to dispute the validity of your ordination; let
your actions shew that it has had a due efficacy on your heart. As men,
if not as clergymen, we are brothers by our common faith and nature. I
beg you to listen to the statement of facts, which I have vainly
endeavoured to persuade your soldiers to attend to.' He then told me he
was travelling from a living in Lancashire, from whence he had been
expelled, to Oxford, where he possessed some collegiate endowments; that
he had been assaulted by a band of depredators, beat, bound, and
plundered."
Constantia here eagerly interupted Barton; "His name!" exclaimed
she;--"O, for mercy tell me, could it be my father, Eusebius Beaumont?"
"The same," returned Barton, melting with pity at her filial anguish.
"Set thy kind heart at rest; he was not materially hurt; his property
has been restored. He is now at liberty, pursuing his journey, and the
robbers are secured. But why, dear maid, didst thou conceal thy name?
Had I known thou wast his daughter, thou shouldst even now have been in
his arms."
"O better, far not; for then he would have been a prisoner. But his
companion, my excellent aunt?"
"At liberty too; I handed her into their own calash, and saw them drive
off with a pass of safe conduct. But, pretty trembler, if she is so
excellent, I will make you her proxy, to give me the reward she refused
to my services. I did but ask for the kiss of peace at our parting, when
she drew back her head as if she were an empress, and stiffly answered,
'Sir, I am a Loyalist.'"
This faithful description of aunt Mellicent's unswerving decorum
diverted the young Evellins, and helped to dissipate Constantia's
terrors. Her rapturous acknowledgements of the humane Barton largely
repaid him for his services to her father. She listened to a
circumstantial detail of the difficulties with which he had contended
against the obstinacy and prejudices of the magistrates, to whom he had
applied for a fresh passport; of the fortunate combination of
circumstances which, had led to the pursuit and detection of the
thieves, with the original instrument in their possession, and of their
confession, commitment, and discovery of the place where they had
deposited their booty. "I parted from your father," continued he, "with
many affecting testimonies of mutual good-will, and I think aunt
Mellicent, as you call her, would almost have smiled upon me, had not my
vain heart indulged in too much joyous self-gratulation at the success
of my endeavours, and thus brought on that just rebuke of my
presumption. I did not ask your father to shew like mercy, whenever he
should find one of us in like affliction, for his eyes told me that his
conscience would be a better remembrancer than my tongue. I said,
however, that I trusted we should meet in a world, where slight
discrepancies of opinion would be no preventatives of friendship, though
in this life they kindled the animosities which it was our misfortune to
witness and deplore." "Sir," said he, pressing my hand, "let our contest
be, who shall most truly serve God and our fellow-creatures, and then we
may hope for that pardon, which ensures endless blessedness. On mercy
the best of us must depend, though we too often withhold it from our
fellow-sinners, by whose side we must one day kneel, and like them place
all our confidence in boundless compassion."
"O!" said Constantia, "had not my fears anticipated the fact, those
sentiments would have convinced me you had met my father."
"And when you next meet him," said Barton, "tell him that while there is
a Carolus in my purse, he never shall feel penury."
"Say," returned she; "shall I ever see him again?"--Barton checked a
reply, which a momentary reflection whispered was too prompt, and
answered, "I am not a wizard, or diviner of things to come; wait, and
see what the morrow will bring forth."
"'Tis impossible," replied Isabel, "to reach London to-morrow; but we
might get to Oxford."
"True," said Barton, with a grave air, "but since we now draw near the
King's quarters, I must redouble my precautions, and I now recollect
'tis my duty to attend the council of officers."
"At Banbury," continued she, attempting to detain him, "there is a royal
garrison."
"To which you would escape," resumed Barton.--"Have I not told you I am
proof to temptation, and will faithfully discharge the trust reposed in
me by my employer."
The next day seemed to give the death-blow to Isabel's hopes. They now
turned out of the direct road, in order that they might avoid the King's
quarters, and directed their course, so that they might proceed through
the associated counties to London.--With her usual alacrity of
accommodation, Isabel endeavoured to reconcile her mind to the
privations of captivity. "I know," said she, "I can not only earn my own
living, but work also for Constantia. They will soon relax in the care
of us girls, and it will be very easy for us to walk from London to
Oxford. But, dear Eustace, I do indeed regret that I hindered you from
attempting to escape. It was so selfish in me to keep you with us, as I
fear they will require you to enlist in their army."
"I will be hewn into a thousand pieces first," returned he. "Have we not
seen enough of those vile republicans, to determine an honest man never
to purchase his life, by wearing the colours of traitors?"
"Yet, remember Barton's goodness to my father," said Constantia; "and
forgive his severity to us."
"I honour Barton," replied Eustace; "I honour him even for that
severity. His word has been plighted to his employers, and he must
deliver us up prisoners. But what think you of Isabel's gallant officer,
that resemblance of the noble, ingenuous Evellin. I will never study
physiognomy under you, sister."
Isabel was more pained at this reproach than usual. Eustace perceived
her droop. "Come, dear girl," said he, "we will talk of him no more. You
shall never want a faithful protector while I live, and ardently as I
pant to break these bonds and to be in action, I will make no attempt at
freedom, unless I can also liberate you."
They stopped that night at Northampton. Barton was reserved and silent,
and at length remarked, that in two days their party would reach
London.--"I have never seen London," said Isabel. "Come, describe it to
us, and say where shall we be confined. I suppose we shall meet with
only warm, steady, common-wealth's men."
"It is the seat of discord," answered Barton; "there are as many
factions as there are orators, all striving for mastery; yet all united
against the King, by a persuasion of his insincerity, and by
apprehensions that he would sacrifice them to his vengeance, in case he
were reconciled to the Parliament."
"Can it be supposed," said Eustace, "that after the wrongs and
iniquities he has endured, he ever can forgive! Where is the oblivious
draught that can drown the recollection of a nation rising in arms
against its Sovereign?"
Baron answered--"The nation and the King must both forgive, or war must
be eternal. You have seen its aspect; what think you? Is this great
quarrel like the mere abstract question which is cooly discussed in the
cabinet of Princes, when they talk of risking ten thousand lives for a
victory, and laying waste a province to cut off the resources of the
enemy? Let us not balance misery against forgiveness. It is childish
reasoning to keep ourselves in torment, because we will not forget the
injuries we have suffered. Peace only can heal our putrifying wounds,
and peace can never be bought too dear, unless the price is conscience
or safety."
They now separated for the evening; anxious thoughts kept the captives
awake. But after all was silent in the inn, Isabel heard a gentle tap at
the chamber-door. In a state of agitation, every sound is alarming. She
listened, and heard Barton whisper, "Arise." Before she could open the
door, the watchful Eustace had flown to their protection. Barton was
closely muffled in his cloak, and inquired if they dared to trust
themselves with him. Constantia drew back, and looked alarmed, while
Isabel accepted his offered arm. "The night is dark," said Eustace, "and
would conceal evil designs."--"Peradventure," replied Barton, "it will
also prosper good ones; I speak but three words--speed, silence,
liberty."
Encouraged by these animating sounds, Eustace cheered the trembling
Constance, and following their guide, they hurried along by the street
which led to the castle. As the avenues to the King's quarters were more
vigilantly watched, their danger was here most imminent; but Barton had
secured a friend, who suffered them to pass through his garden, and by
close unfrequented passages they gained the fields. The rising moon now
discovered some indefinite objects, concealed among brush-wood. Barton
whistled, and the countersign, "Banbury," was returned in a voice which
they knew to be that of Williams. He ran for their horses, which were
fastened at a little distance, while Barton alternately embraced his
young friends, and affectionately bade them God-speed.--"Excellent man,"
said the ardent Eustace, whose over-flowing gratitude now seemed to
exceed his former suspicions, "why did you not tell us your design?"
"Because," replied he, "I saw not in you that property of discretion,
which would allow me to trust you with your own safety."
"Yet," resumed Eustace, "if I am rash, I am not base, nor will I accept
freedom if it endangers your safety or wounds your conscience."
"I trust," replied Barton, "I shall be back to my quarters before I am
missed, and as to my conscience, that sleeps on a soft pillow. I have
discharged the trust reposed in me."
"The Cornet then," said Isabel, "is not a villain."
Barton smiled, and replied, "Artless maiden, think not too much of the
agent whom Providence employed to send you safely through a tract of
country you could not otherwise have passed."
"O, tell me his name," said Eustace, "that I may join it to yours, when
I pray for my benefactors."
"I must not compromise his safety," answered Barton; "his generosity, if
known, would endanger his life."
"But how shall I know him, as to repay his kindness."
"Think you see him in every unarmed enemy you meet, and deal by them as
he has dealt by you."
"But if we should meet him in battle?"
"Even in battle," answered Barton, "if there is time for reflection,
remember thy enemy is a man, and thy brother." With these words they
parted. Barton regained his quarters undiscovered, and the young people,
blessing his goodness, performed the rest of their journey in safety.
[1] Bishop Hall, who cannot be objected to as a favourer of Popery
or Arminianism. The inconsistency of the Fanatics was exemplified
by their destroying, as a popish relic, Paul's Cross, so celebrated
for sounding forth the doctrines of the Reformation.
[2] This portrait of Barton is justified by the conduct of many
truly respectable men, whose principles led them, for a time, to
countenance the impracticable theories of republicanism. I could
name Dr. Owen, General Fairfax, Lord Manchester and others.