O! holy men!
Ye are the sons of piety and peace;
Ye never felt the sharp vindictive spur
That goads the injured warrior; the hot tide
That flushes crimson on the conscious cheek
Of him who burns for glory; else indeed
Ye much would pity me.
Mason.
Eustace kept his promise, and rejoined Monthault, at the time and place
appointed, equipped for service. His friend commended his heroism. "And
did you," said he, "obtain Constantia's permission?" "No," answered
Eustace; "I felt unequal to such a trial. I only pressed her hand with
greater tenderness, and more earnestly implored Heaven to take her into
his especial care."
"You will both thank me for projecting this separation," replied the
Major. "Seeing the world with your own eyes will improve you, brush off
that home-bred air which makes you bashful, and enlarge your ideas and
powers of conversation. I promise ourselves a spirited, agreeable
campaign. Hopton's office in the council will confine him about the
person of the Prince, who must be kept at some distance from the scene
of action; and Goring is no rigid disciplinarian. The enemy is not in
force in the west; Cromwell and Fairfax are both to play at
King-hunting; so we shall have time to divert ourselves and do our duty
too."
From Bristol, Eustace wrote to his uncle and Constantia, excusing his
absence by the uncontrollable avidity he felt to engage in the cause of
his injured Prince, to whose commands he promised a strict obedience,
and vowed to be sedulously attentive to all his new duties. To
Constantia he added that he hoped to return worthier of her, and to feel
in future the glorious consciousness of having contributed to restore
his virtuous persecuted Sovereign, and give peace to his afflicted
country. There was so much loyalty, honour, love, and gratitude in these
letters, that they must have softened the Doctor's displeasure at his
elopement, had they come to hand; but they were confided to the care of
Monthault, and, either through forgetfulness or treachery, were never
forwarded. It was therefore only from the vague testimony of an
accidental passenger that the family knew Eustace had taken the road to
Bristol; and, from his being in company with Major Monthault, they
guessed his destination.
Constantia had now the twofold anguish of fearing for the safety and
apologizing for the faults of her beloved. The latter task was by far
the most painful. She could only urge that he had a bad adviser, and
that it was his first offence. Every day she flattered herself that she
should receive a letter, deprecating her father's anger, and assuaging
her own fears. The summer passed away, and they heard nothing from
Eustace. Had he forgot her, as well as the ties of duty and gratitude?
It was impossible! letters might be lost, but her plighted Eustace must
be good and faithful.
I have before remarked that Lord Hopton was the officer under whom Dr.
Beaumont would have wished his nephew to learn "the noble game of war;"
but there were circumstances in his present appointment which made it
differ widely from that of the preceding year, when, with his
compatriot, Sir Bevil Greenvil, he drew a cordon across the western
peninsula, and preserved, in that happy spot, the laws, the virtues, and
the honour of England. He was now, indeed, to be the ruling head; but
his former associates in arms lay cold in earth, and the persons to whom
the execution of his plans was to be intrusted, were the avowed votaries
of Bacchus and Comus. It was with gay voluptuaries, freethinkers, and
revellers, that Eustace must converse; at a distance from those whose
wisdom might govern his impetuosity, and whose steady principles would
correct his backslidings. Contemplating the dangerous situation of a
generous, but indiscreet stripling, Dr. Beaumont now wished him in the
army which the King was leading northward, to collect the remains of
Lord Newcastle's forces, as that route might have afforded him a chance
of joining his father in Carlisle, which held out with unexampled
firmness, enduring the most incredible privations, and repelling the
most vigorous assaults. The event of the fatal battle of Naseby, which
palsied all the King's efforts to preserve the constitution, and ended
all the hopes of his friends, would have made Dr. Beaumont rejoice that
Eustace did not swell the list of noble and illustrious persons left on
that bloody field, had not his sorrow for a "King and kingdom lost" been
too acute and overwhelming to receive any diminution from private
considerations. The infantry, cannon, ammunition, baggage, and all the
resources of the King, were there wrested from his grasp by victorious
rebels; and England virtually exchanged the government of the religious,
conscientious descendant of her ancient Princes, for that of a low-born,
cruel hypocrite, who ruled her with a rod of iron. The King indeed
escaped from the battle with a small body of horse; but it was only to
fly from place to place before his unwearied enemies, pursued into every
corner of his kingdom, without knowing where to rest his head, allowed
no pause, even to ruminate on his misfortunes, till at last, trusting
that his own countrymen would not betray the Prince who flew, like a
bird hunted by the hawk, to their bosoms, he appealed to the pretended
loyalty of the Scotch Covenanters; and they sold him to those who
thirsted for his blood.
Yet neither the desperate state of the kingdom, nor the ruin of their
own fortunes, long since embarked in the same vessel with his rights,
could compose the feuds of the western generals, or induce them to
attend to the directions of the Prince's council, or to the discipline
and behaviour of their troops. The latter, from their intolerable
insolence and rapine, became formidable only to their friends; and the
approach of Fairfax was hailed, even in the best-disposed districts, as
a signal of deliverance from the galling yoke of military extortion.
Goring, the soldier's darling, who combined all the alluring qualities
of a demi-god, was found to want the distinguishing marks of a Christian
hero. Possessed neither of self-command, obedience, nor fortitude, he
was ever ready to dash at splendid actions, but was without resources in
the day of peril. He was too vain of his wit and companionable talents
to submit to the command of others, and too supine, dissipated, and
rash, either to improve opportunities of action, or to defeat the views
of the enemy. Such was the leader under whom Eustace hoped to serve his
king, and learn the art of war. His friend, Monthault, was a transcript
of all Lord Goring's faults, to which he added the most cool and
determined treachery, under the garb of blunt simplicity and unguarded
frankness.
It had been previously settled by the two friends, that their common
wants should be supplied from the purse of Major Monthault, in case the
Royal exchequer was inadequate to the supply of the army. That purse was
either soon exhausted, or closed by the sinister designs of the owner.
"It is his own fault if a soldier wants," was his answer to the urgent
requests of Eustace for a small supply. "We are now," returned the
other, "quartered among friends, to whom we ought to be not only
punctual but liberal, lest we indispose them to the service. You see the
Royal funds are scarcely adequate to the maintenance of the Prince. You
are aware that I must depend on you, as the circumstances under which I
left Oxford prevent my asking my uncle to assist me." "Certainly you
must not," answered Monthault; "and I say again, a word will always
carve a dinner. This, I own, is called a well-affected district; but
there are many corrupted parts in it. Your host, for instance--a vile
republican, a Presbyterian round-head--I saw him pelt the bishops when
they appeared at the bar of the Lords, and join in a clamorous petition
to behead Lord Strafford. Give him a hint of this, and make him bleed.
Tell him we will inform Sir Richard Greenvil of his behaviour; and talk
of Launceston gaol."
Eustace had long thought that every man concerned in either of those
proceedings deserved the gallows, and fancied he could perform the
office of executioner. He therefore made less scruple to require a
pecuniary commutation for those offences, but thought the proceeds
should be carried to a public account. Monthault laughed at this
suggestion, said that self-preservation was the soldier's motto, and
begged he would only bring the sum total to him, and his receipt should
be a full discharge.
Eustace met Monthault next morning with a blank aspect. The accused had
not only protested his innocence, but offered to bring testimony that he
was in Devonshire at the time. Alarmed, however, at the impending
charge, and knowing that riches were in these cases construed into a
proof of guilt, he offered half the sum demanded as a present, provided
Monthault would be his friend and protect him from further contribution.
Monthault held out his hand carelessly, and only said, "Disburse."
Eustace protested that his principles would not permit him to take a
commutation for offences from a person whom he believed innocent.
Monthault flew into a rage, asked Eustace if, in a battle, or when
storming a town, he would stop to ask those he met, "Pray, Sir, are you
in heart a rebel? Good Master, were you pressed into the service?"
before he hewed them down with his broad-sword? The very proposal of a
bribe implied guilt. Eustace acknowledged there was weight in that
remark; the offered sum was taken; Eustace carried it to his superior,
and received the jackall's share.
Indignant at the wrong, the plundered Loyalist, for such indeed he was,
appealed to the Prince's courts. The Lords Hopton, Capel, and the
incorruptible Hyde, formed part of that body; and it will be
anticipated, that only a want of ability to redress the wrong, prevented
immediate reparation. The power of Lord Goring protected his favourite,
Monthault; but it was thought proper to reprove the youth, who had acted
as his agent. Eustace was summoned before the council. Shame and
self-reproach bowed his erect head, and cast a gloom over his ingenuous
features. The President explained how greatly such actions endangered
the fugitive King, whose life now depended on the fidelity of his
subjects, as he flew from post to post, seeking to hide his proscribed
head. Eustace burst into tears. "I need proceed no further," continued
Lord Hopton, "tell me what urged you to this base action."--"Necessity,"
replied Eustace, with a look of deep contrition. "That is a bad plea,"
returned the nobleman, "and urged with a bad grace, by those who refuse
to admit it as an excuse for the crimes of rebels. In this instance too,
I fear it is a false one. I know you are one of the party, who
distinguish themselves by their midnight carousals in Major Monthault's
quarters. The necessity which arises from dissipation, can never be
urged to excuse peculation."
"Place me in the forlorn hope," said Eustace, "the first time you have
any desperate service, and let me expiate my crime."
"So keen a sense of it," resumed Lord Hopton, "is its own punishment.
Your name is Eustace Evellin. I have heard of a youth so called.--At
Oxford he was said to be one of uncommon hope, the son of a noble
Loyalist, distinguished alike for honour and valour; the nephew of a
learned divine, a confessor in the cause of monarchy and episcopacy. Are
you that person?"--Eustace answered by a burst of agonized grief.--Lord
Hopton took him aside, and slided a purse into his hands; "Use this
frugally," said he; "'tis the mite of one, whom duty has stripped of
superfluities, yet apply again to the same source, rather than give your
own heart the pangs which I see it now endures."
"But I am disgraced," said Eustace, with a look which at once bespoke
intolerable anxiety and ardent gratitude. Lord Hopton answered, "I blush
while I tell you that your fault is too general, to stigmatize those who
commit it; but I mistake your character, if you find in its frequency an
apology for repeating the crime."
Eustace retired; his dejected heart was warm with approbation of his
excellent reprover; yet burning with impatience to obliterate all
remembrance of his error, by some brave action which should prove that
he was not unworthy the clemency and confidence which his appearance had
excited. He told Monthault what had passed. "The old Prig worded it
bravely," said he, "but in one respect he is better than most of your
precise moralists. Come turn out the pieces--share and share alike you
know; and just now they are quite convenient, as there is not a single
doit in my purse." Eustace hesitated, knowing that its contents had been
left at the billiard-table, but at length complied, with a secret
determination that the partnership should immediately terminate.
While his mind still ruminated on the blight which his budding laurels
had received, it occurred to him that it would be possible to surprise
an advanced post of Sir Thomas Fairfax's army, which lay at a small
distance from the town of which Monthault was intrusted with the
command. When Eustace suggested the plan to his friend, the latter
encouraged the attempt. It had many recommendations to his treacherous
heart. The design was so full of danger, that it was most likely to end
in the destruction of the whole party, and next to the disgrace, the
death of Eustace was what he secretly desired. Nor did he forget that
incursions into the energy's quarters could not be made, without
hazarding the safety of the town where he was posted, and which Lord
Goring told him was of the utmost importance to preserve the line of
defence that covered the Royal army. With the true spirit which actuated
the western commanders in this disastrous campaign, Monthault cared
little what detriment the King received, so he might ruin a rival. He
however, took care to shift the responsibility from himself. "If you ask
me whether it is feasible," said he to Eustace, "I confess, I think that
nothing but great valour, joined to great good fortune, can accomplish
the design. But if you pant for glory, you know the adage, 'success
attends the brave.' The glory shall be all your own, for as the letter
of my orders forbids all hazards, I must officially be ignorant of your
undertaking; though, as a friend, I will allow the night-guard to
consist of picked men, whom you may dispose of as you think proper."
To succeed in a desperate enterprise, required more experience and
better intelligence than Eustace possessed.--Brave in vain, he only led
his followers to death or captivity. He was rescued from sharing their
fate by a trooper, who, seeing him fainting from loss of blood, lifted
him on his own horse, and galloped with him to the head-quarters. The
post where Major Monthault was stationed, being weakened by the loss of
this detachment, fell into the enemy's hands.
Miscarriages were too frequent to excite long clamour; but the
disobedience of a positive command was, in this instance, too marked to
be passed over in silence. Monthault, on being examined, denied having
commanded the enterprize. Had he advised, or permitted it, was a
question put by one of the council; it was over-ruled as inadmissible by
Lord Goring; and Monthault made a specious appearance, by talking loudly
of the gallantry and excellent intentions of his friend. Pale, wounded,
and dejected, Eustace was unable to raise his eyes, fearing nothing so
much as the calm severity of Lord Hopton's aspect. The hopes he had
formed were blasted; his promised course of glory and success was turned
to shame and misfortune; nay, worse, he had materially injured the
Prince, whom he would have died to serve.--He stood almost senseless
while he heard himself ordered under an arrest, and to be kept from duty
for a fortnight. That time was indeed scarce sufficient to heal his
wounds; but Eustace could not separate in his mind the restrictions
imposed by kindness from the punishment of disobedience.
His extreme agitation moved the compassion of the centinel who was
placed over him, and who was indeed the same brave trooper who had saved
his life. "Courage, noble Captain," said he; "Their Honours, the Lords
of Council, only lock you up to give you time to get well. When they
asked me about the business, I told them you was as true a heart as ever
lifted broad-sword, only a little too hot--that's all; and one of them,
the old Lord, with white hair, that looked at you so, wished that true
hearts were more common. Your wounds will be well by the time you are
let out; and then we'll cut and slash the round-heads again. Shall we
not do them a good one, as we say in Lancashire?"
The name of his native county threw the thoughts of Eustace into a
train, no less painful than the wounded feelings of a soldier.--Its dear
emigrants, what would they now think of him! Even Constantia would
abjure him:--surely she would never hear of his being reproved as a
peculator, and ordered under an arrest for insubordination.
"You are too brave a gentleman to mind a few slashes and thumps,"
continued the talkative centinel; "the surgeon says they will heal up,
and you'll have a whole skin again presently; so it must be some other
sorrow which casts you down so. And nothing cuts a man up like sorrow,
as I have heard good Dr. Beaumont say."
The name roused Eustace to enquire how he knew the opinions of Dr.
Beaumont, and the eclaircissement proved the centinel to be Ralph
Jobson, the same person who refused to take the covenant at Ribblesdale
in the beginning of the civil war, and had ever since felt such a
reverence for the Doctor, as to connect with his name every sentiment to
which he affixed peculiar importance.--To have rescued his nephew from
death or captivity, was a most gratifying event to Jobson's honest
heart; and he readily offered to do Eustace any service, even so far as
to pass through the enemy's quarters, and inform the Doctor of his
misfortunes. "Not for the universe," replied Eustace, "in the present
situation of affairs."--"True," answered Jobson, "we must not rob the
King of one brave heart just now; and though I was only a poor carter,
and am now a trooper and quarter-master's man, mine is as true a heart
as that old Lord's with white hair, that I liked the look of. So by way
of passing the time, shall I tell you how I got away from the
constables, sent by Squire Morgan to take me to Hull, and went to
Nottingham and listed under the King; aye, and fought for him too, when
Lord Lindsey was killed at Edgehill; and helped to bury Lord Falkland,
and the young Earl of Sunderland at Newbury; and saw Lord Newcastle's
lambs dye their fleeces in their own blood; aye, and was taken prisoner
with the learned Mr. Chillingworth, who wrote against Popery at
Arundel-castle, and tended him when he lay sick, and was catechised by
Waller's chaplains for being a Papist. He could have talked them all
dumb, only he was speechless; and so at last they killed him with their
barbarous usage. Why, Captain, I have seen the King of England dining on
a hard crust, under a hedge, like a gipsey-stroller. How could you have
stood such sights? Why your heart would have broke, instead of being
alive and merry to drub the round-heads, as I am."
Jobson's narrative was interrupted by a visit from Lord Hopton. "Once
more, Captain Evellin," said he, "I come to reprove you. That I do so,
is a proof of your repeated errors, and of my conviction that they
proceed rather from inexperience, than a bad disposition." Eustace
expressed his sincere gratitude and deep contrition. "On the former
subject," replied His Lordship, "since it relates to myself, I may
command silence, and you must feel that your contrition cannot restore
to us the brave fellows we lost last night, or regain the post with
which Major Monthault was entrusted. But I wish to ask if you knew that
positive orders were given, to act only on the defensive?"
Eustace was silent. The manner in which Monthault spoke of his orders,
intimated that their letter and spirit were at variance, and how could
he throw the shadow of blame on one who had so eloquently defended his
behaviour before the council. "I see," resumed Lord Hopton, "there is a
mystery in this business; and as the desperate state of our affairs
leaves me no power to punish breach of orders, we must endeavour to
correct the past. Lord Goring has fled to France; despairing, I presume,
of his master's cause. We have now to try to extricate ourselves from
the difficulties into which discord and insubordination have plunged us.
The Prince has this day required me to take the entire command of the
army. 'I have not told His Highness, as hath of late been the fashion,
that my honour would not permit me to accept it; but I have said that I
knew I could not take it at this time, without resolving to lose my
honour; yet since His Highness thinks fit, I am ready to obey him.' I
can now therefore do you a real service, by taking you out of ill hands.
I will make you my military secretary, and keep you about my person. The
past is forgot. As soon as you are able, come to my quarters; but
remember, I require a positive estrangement from your past connexions."
The transport of Eustace, at such a proof of confidence, may be readily
conceived, and he now felt assured that he should expunge all the stains
on his reputation. But ill-fortune and misconduct still attended him, as
indeed they did the army to which he was attached. The bands of
discipline had been too long relaxed. The general of the infantry
refused to obey Lord Hopton, and was committed to prison, to intimidate
other mutineers; and though his rapine and extortion had excited
universal odium, so low was the general feeling of justice, that his
punishment caused yet greater discontent than his rapacity had done. The
troops were as corrupted as their leaders; only a small body of horse
and a few companies of volunteers, chiefly composed of gentlemen, could
be depended upon, in an army drawn up in the extremity of the kingdom,
to defend the last holds of Royalty, and protect the heir of the crown
from sharing the fate of his father, who was at this time a prisoner in
the Scotch army at Newcastle, and scarce treated with the decency of
external respect.
Whatever intrepidity, activity, and foresight could perform, was done by
Lord Hopton and his faithful coadjutors; but from the hour when he
undertook the charge to that of the army's dispersion, "scarce a party
of guard appeared with half their appointed numbers, or within two hours
of the time they ought." On such enemies Fairfax rushed with the
concentrated forces of triumphant rebellion; yet if treachery had not
aided his progress, the veteran's bands were again so strongly posted,
that the victors would not have reaped bloodless laurels. But Goring's
brigade (to which Monthault still belonged), being stationed to guard a
down in front of the army, drew off without staying for orders, or
intrenched Loyalists, before they had the least previous notice. Defeat
and dispersion were the consequence. All efforts to rally the flying
troops were vain, the officers cried out that their men could not be
brought to face the enemy, and Lord Hopton in vain endeavoured to avail
himself of the chances that might result from delay, by proposing to
send to the Prince for directions how he should act. "Treat, treat," was
the universal cry of the soldiers. Scorning to yield to such base
clamour, he indignantly bade them treat for themselves, and retiring
with the faithful few who adhered to his fortunes, to Pendennis Castle,
falsified his own prediction by losing every thing but his honour, and
the last ebbing sands of a long life, wasted by toils and sorrows, that
left him merely strength enough to attend the Prince, who had been
committed to his trust, to a foreign country, where, exiled from his
large possessions, the country and the friends he loved, he found a
refuge from triumphant guilt and undeserved misfortune in the grave.
To return to Eustace. The desertion of the post at Bodmin bore such
evident marks of treachery, that it could not be attributed to the
general trepidation and disorder which possessed the army, and
circumstances proved that a correspondence subsisted between Monthault
and the Parliamentary general, which the farce of taking him prisoner
and committing him to close custody, when the King's forces were
generally permitted to disband and return to their houses, strongly
confirmed. Lord Hopton recollected that his designs had been
counteracted by Fairfax, in a manner which implied previous acquaintance
with his purposes. A moment of extreme irritation and anguish, such as a
general must feel when he finds all his resources cut off, is not
favourable to candour or calm investigation. The connexion between
Eustace and Monthault was not dissolved. Notwithstanding the injunctions
of the General to hold no intercourse with his late associate, Eustace
had been seen in his company, and even detected in the act of writing
him a letter. Monthault corresponded with Fairfax; his (Lord Hopton's)
own secretary held a private correspondence with Monthault; thus the
course of treachery seemed developed. Lord Hopton felt that he had been
deceived by the ingenuous countenance of a handsome youth. He rejected
his offer of accompanying him to Pendennis, and even demanded from him
his sword. "Go," said he, "and when one is again given you, serve your
employer with fidelity."
Eustace was thunder-struck, and rushed after his commander to enquire
the cause of such severe treatment. "I forgave your extortion and
licentiousness," said the General, with a stern austere look which
pierced him to the soul; "I pardon the rashness which broke our line of
defence, and weakened us by the loss of a brave detachment. After this I
took you into a confidential situation, and you betrayed your General
and your Prince.
"Never, never," was the exclamation of the tortured Eustace. "I own my
other offences, but with my latest breath I deny being a traitor."
"Have you not held a secret and prohibited correspondence?--Guilt chains
your tongue. I hoped better things from Eustace Evellin. Farewell,
repent and reform." These words were spoken as Lord Hopton mounted his
horse. Eustace threw himself on the ground, and in a frantic moment
thought self-destruction allowable. Before principle had time to allay
this agony of acute feeling, a sob, that seemed to issue from a breaking
heart, made him raise his head to see if there were any as wretched as
himself. A pale war-worn figure stood beside him, leaning on a carbine;
his hat drawn over his eyes, and his body wrapped in a tattered
roquelaure. Eustace would have felt ashamed at yielding to such
expressions of poignant distress before any observer, had not the more
painful consideration that this person had been a witness of his
disgrace suppressed every other thought.
"Did you hear the General speak to me?" enquired Eustace in a perturbed
accent. After a long pause the stranger answered, "I did."--Those words
were uttered in a well-known voice; and at a moment of indelible shame
and public ruin, Eustace saw the long-desired features of his father:
that father, by whose side he hoped to have fought manfully, in defence
of his King and in pursuit of glorious renown, was the witness of an
accusation which even mercy could not pardon, and beheld him sinking
under the consciousness of acknowledged offences. Dignified in misery,
Colonel Evellin stood gazing at the youth on whose virtues his fondest
hopes had reposed, now sunk far below even his own desperate fortunes.
Eustace held his hands before his face, not daring even to ask a
blessing, nor presuming to enquire how they happened to meet at this
awful crisis.
Colonel Evellin first broke silence. "You are Eustace Evellin, my only
son, for whom I cherished the remnant of my unfortunate life.--Boy, I
was plundered of wealth, title, and reputation, by a perfidious friend.
I submitted to obscurity and poverty, for I was blessed with a faithful
wife in your angel-mother. Thanks be to Heaven, she lives not to see
this day!--I have fought and bled for my King. I have endured hardships
which would paralyze your pampered niceness to hear described. For
eleven months I fed on carrion, reposed on filth, deafened with the
sound of battering cannon, the shouts of besieging rebels, and the
groans of dying comrades. I have swam across rivers, warding the broken
ice from my wounded body. I have, like a hunted wolf, dressed those
wounds in mountain-fastnesses, shunning the abode of man, and eluding
pursuers whose mercy I disdained to ask. I have seen my King a prisoner,
without power to redress his wrongs; my country a prey to tyrants; all
her hallowed institutions overturned; but never till now, Eustace, was I
completely wretched; for never did anguish, in its most desperate
forebodings, whisper that I could be the parent of a traitor."
"Oh, my father!" replied Eustace; "kill me with your weapon rather than
your words. By the unimpeached honour of my blessed mother, I am no
traitor."
"Who spoke the accusation," returned the Colonel, "which I returned to
hear, and to curse the hour of thy birth?--'Twas not the light reproach
of petulant folly, anxious to shift the shame of defeat from its own
misconduct.' The speaker was the wise, magnanimous Hopton."
"But even wisdom and magnanimity may mistake."
"Was there any intercourse which he interdicted, and you clandestinely
continued?"
"There was one who wound himself round my heart by ties which I wanted
firmness to dissolve, and I greatly fear he has been a traitor to his
country and me."
"No expletives; no qualifying terms; no diminutive appellations, for
crimes that involve a kingdom's fate. Under the influence of this man,
you have been rapacious, licentious, rash, regardless of subordination."
"I have."
"And not a traitor!--Gracious Author of my existence, do I live to hear
such perversion of language from my Eustace? When all depended on the
honour and discipline of those who maintained the King's cause, my son
commits crimes which disgrace his religion, his profession, and his
principles, yet tells me he is no traitor."
"I never betrayed the confidence of Lord Hopton," said Eustace,
attempting to clasp his father's knees. "The correspondence I carried on
was to relieve the necessities of one who I thought had served me: not
to disclose the secret plans of my General."
"Off! thy touch is contamination;" said the stern soldier. Yet Eustace
perceived he melted as he spoke. "By our common wretchedness," continued
he, "permit me to follow you. Let us throw ourselves into some garrison,
where we may dearly sell our lives. I ask for nothing but to die
defending you. Let me but combat by your side, and you shall find,
though I have greatly sinned, I can also greatly repent."
"Oh, last of a noble stock!" said Evellin, while tears streamed fast
down his furrowed cheeks, "if thou dost repent, save thy life for better
times."--"Keep me but with you," returned Eustace, "and I shall become
all you wish." "I mean to make for Oxford," said the Colonel; "darest
thou go with me thither?" "No, no," replied the unhappy youth; "I dare
not see Constance till I have erased my shames."--"The soul of thy
parents spoke in that sentiment," said the Colonel, unable longer to
restrain his arms from clasping his son; but the embrace was accompanied
with that groan of woe, which spoke unsubdued repugnance and careless
anguish, yet it seemed to restore the half-expiring Eustace to life, at
the same time that it confirmed his resolution never to give occasion
for such another groan.
Filial piety, which, in despite of all his errors, was a predominant
sentiment in the mind of Eustace, soon pointed out to him, that though
the sight of his injured but beloved Constance, and her offended father,
would, in his present circumstances, be insupportable, it was highly
desirable that his father should shelter his infirm frame under the roof
of domestic friendship; and perceiving with joy that such was his
design, he forbore to persevere in his request of never more separating
from him. He knew that a few garrisons in the west still held out for
the King, and his sanguine temper taught him to hope, that some happy
occurrence might enable him to purify his blemished fame. Colonel
Evellin encouraged this hope. Dearly as he prized his son's life,
anxious as he was to preserve the true branch of the house of Neville
from extermination, a dead son, fallen in the cause of honour, was
infinitely better than a living one stamped with the stigmas of traitor
and villain.
The advancing divisions of the enemy terminated the interview. Neither
could bear to witness the King's troops laying down their arms, or the
triumphant rejoicings of the Parliamentary forces. Colonel Evellin took
the route to Oxford, which he hoped to gain by the most unfrequented
ways; and Eustace intreating his father, if possible, to conceal his
disgrace from his dear kindred, turned westward, determining to make
every effort to rejoin Lord Hopton.