CHAPTER I A LEADER OF MEN

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John Pym was dead.

In June John Hampden had fallen in the fight at Chalgrove field, Lord Falkland had hurled himself on death in the front of the royalist ranks at Newbury, and now Pym, the bold and able leader, the dauntless spirit, the uncorrupted heart, had resigned the weight of his troublous years and rested in peace at London, where his body lay in state for good patriots to gaze on and mourn over before it was carried to the Abbey Church which held the nation's great dead.

To no man in the three rent kingdoms did the news of John Pym's death come with such force and menace as to Oliver Cromwell, now Colonel, and Governor of Ely.

When the Parliament had taken up arms in reply to the King's challenge at Nottingham, patriotic and energetic members had been given commands in the parliamentary army. Mr. Cromwell had raised a troop of his own in Cambridgeshire, had contributed out of his private means to the public service, had seized the magazine in Cambridge Castle, and forcibly prevented the University from sending its gold and silver plate to the King, and so, by boldness and expedition in all his actions, had justified the opinion held of him by his colleagues. He had been under fire at Winceby and Edgehill and in some other of the random skirmishes which marked the beginning of the war, and he had shown himself quiet and tenacious in battle. He was now the soul of the Eastern Association, one of the foremost of the county leagues against the royal tyranny, Colonel of his own troop (now nearing close on a thousand men), and Governor of Ely, the town of his residence, where his family had remained during his service in London.

So the first turmoil and confusion of this most unhappy calling to arms had cast up Oliver Cromwell to a higher position than he could ever have thought of occupying in times of peace, and he had already had tumultuous experience of the bitternesses, difficulties, and bewilderments of one in authority during such momentous times.

To this man, in this situation, came the news of the death of John Pym, and he went privately to his chamber about the time they were lighting the candles and considered within himself.

The two leaders of the older generation, Hampden and Pym, were now gone, and who was there with sufficient courage and capacity, foresight and strength to take their place?

The moment was a critical one for the Parliament. The first rush of enthusiasm, the first outburst of fury against the King was over; a general lukewarmness overspread the adherents of the popular party, and the people, seeing that Parliament had now gotten the sword, were waiting for a speedy deliverance out of trouble and, finding themselves instead in the midst of a bloody civil war, were inclined to clamour for a peace, however hasty and patched up, especially as the tide of martial success had run in favour of the King, thanks largely to the generalship of his nephew Rupert, and many faint-hearted men were beginning to remember that they were incurring the risk of impeachment for high treason if the King should prove the final victor.

Those in the forefront of the parliamentary party were moderate men such as Essex, Warwick, Holles, Strode, Vane, and Manchester; the keen and fervent eye of Oliver Cromwell could see no successor to Hampden or Pym.

Again there came to him remembrances of the day at St. Ives when he had received together absolute assurance that he was in Grace, and that the Lord had some uses for him. Did it not seem as if the path, at first so dim and obscured, was being opened out before him with greater and increasing clearness?

He could see the dangers that threatened the liberties of England, still struggling with, and not yet released from, their bonds, and he marvelled if God had put the means of quenching these dangers into his hands: no other were there now Pym was gone, perhaps it might be that he would be called.

There was Sir Harry Vane, with his knowledge of foreign countries and tongues, his pure heart and high courage, who had much of the mystic piety which pleased Oliver Cromwell. Yet he doubted if this man had the force and boldness to accomplish what must be accomplished now in England.

He paced up and down the room a little, then went to the window and looked out on the winter afternoon; the bare trees bent and shivered beneath the steady sweeps of the wind in St. Mary's churchyard near by, and the towers of the cathedral had a bleached and bonelike look against a low, dark grey sky.

As he stood so, deep in his thoughts, he perceived, at first quite dully, but soon with interest, the solitary figure of a gentleman facing the wind in the chill street and coming towards his house.

Oliver Cromwell opened the leaded diamond pane and looked out; the pedestrian raised his hand to hold his hat against the wind, the beaver flapped back nevertheless, and the keen observer at the window recognized the Earl of Manchester, formerly that Lord Kimbolton who had been one of six members hurried from Westminster to the city, and now President of the Eastern Association and one of the most popular and influential men on the parliamentary side. Cromwell, however, had not that affection for him which he had formerly held; he suspected not my lord's loyalty, but his judgment, not his good intentions, but his strength of mind and purpose, and he saw in him a typical exponent of those evils and dangers his party had most to guard against.

With a sombre expression on his clouded features he descended the modest stairway of his simple home: the two-storied house had come to him, together with the office of tithe farmer, from his wife's uncle.

When he reached the hall he saw the slight figure of a girl lighting the lamp above the door; she turned to him with the wax taper in the silver holder still in her hand and the pure flame of it lighting a face at once resolute and gentle.

The extreme plainness of her dark gown and white collar robbed her of the usual pleasant festive carelessness of youth, but her air of dignity and health and goodness was attractive enough, and she was not without distinction and a certain handsomeness of form and feature.

At the sight of his eldest daughter Colonel Cromwell's face softened wonderfully, and when he spoke his voice had a note of great tenderness which entirely dispelled the usual harshness.

"I did perceive Lord Manchester coming, Bridget," he said. "I pray thee set the candles in the little parlour. Is thy mother out?"

"She hath taken Frances and Elisabeth for an airing, sir," answered the girl. "Mary remaineth with me. She will assay to help me with a tansy pudding."

"The odour thereof is abroad already," said Colonel Cromwell. "Have we not tansy pudding overoften, Bridget?"

A look of distress flushed the serene face of the young housekeeper.

"It is so difficult since the war began to vary the dishes," she answered. "All commodities are so high in price and so scarce."

"I spoke lightly, dear," interrupted her father hastily. "Trouble not thy mind with this matter."

A knock sounded. Bridget Cromwell opened the door and admitted Lord Manchester, curtsied with great simplicity, then turned into the parlour, bearing with her the frail light of the taper.

The two gentlemen followed her.

"You have heard that John Pym is dead?" asked my lord abruptly.

"But to-day, though it is a week ago. But the roads have been impossible."

"It is," said Lord Manchester, "very rough marching in the fen country."

"We have a great loss in Mr. Pym," remarked Colonel Cromwell.

"Sir Harry Vane will take his place."

"Umph! Sir Harry Vane!" muttered the other. "A dreaming man."

"A moderate man," amended my lord.

"I begin," cried Oliver Cromwell, "to detest that word!"

Bridget had lit four plain candles which stood in copper sticks on the mantelpiece, and, kneeling down, put her taper to the twigs under the great logs on the hearth. The small room, which contained neither picture nor ornament, but which was solidly and comfortably furnished, was now fully revealed, as was the figure of the Earl in his buff gallooned with gold, armed with sword and pistol, with his soldier's cloak falling from his shoulders and his beaver in his hand.

Bridget blew out the taper, drew the red curtains over the window, then went to a great sideboard which ran half the length of the room, and was taking out a bell-mouthed glass and a silver tray when my lord interrupted her.

"Not for me, my child," he said, with a smile. "I am lodging in Ely for the night, and am merely here to have a few words with Colonel Cromwell."

At this Bridget curtsied again and withdrew. As the door closed behind her Oliver Cromwell turned suddenly on his guest with such an expressive movement that my lord startled. But Cromwell said nothing.

"Sir," remarked my lord, "since last we met much hath changed. Things show well for the King."

Colonel Cromwell did not speak.

"And I," continued the Earl, "am now very desirous to stop the war."

The other took this statement quietly.

"You were ever for a compromise," he said. "Well, well," he smiled. "So you would stop the war? Not yet, my lord, not yet. When we lay down the sword the King must be so defeated that he is glad to take our terms, otherwise why did we ever unsheath the sword?"

"Success lies so far with His Majesty," was the reply. "Fairfax and Essex can hardly hold their own, Rupert hath proved a very genius, the Queen cometh from over seas with men and money—bethink you a little, Colonel Cromwell, if the King should defeat us? Death for us all, aye, to our poorest followers, as traitors, and his own terms imposed on a bleeding nation!"

"He must not defeat us."

"The chances are against us," said my lord uneasily.

"God," returned Colonel Cromwell, with indescribable force, reverence, and enthusiasm, "is with us. Do you think He will give the victory unto the children of Belial?"

"Even if we gain the victory," persisted the Earl, "the King is always the King."

"My lord, if that is your temper, why did you ever take up arms?"

"For that cause in which I would lay them down—the cause of liberty."

Oliver Cromwell went to the fire and stared down at the cracking logs, through which the thin flames spurted.

"These arguments whistle like the wind in an empty drum," he said. "We must not think of peace until we have gained that for which we made war. Is the moment when the King is victorious the moment to ask his terms?"

"What instrument have we to defeat the King?" demanded my lord.

"One can be forged," replied Oliver Cromwell. "I do believe, as I told that very noble person, Mr. Hampden, that the King hath so far gained the advantage because the blood and breeding is in his ranks—as I said to my cousin, decayed serving men and tapsters will not fight like gentlemen—therefore if we have not as yet gentle blood, let us get the spirit of the Lord: faith will inspire as well as birth, my lord. I have now myself a lovely troop, honest men, clean livers, eager devourers of the Word, and had I ten times as many I would put them with great confidence against Rupert's godless gentlemen."

"Your troop is mostly fanatic, Anabaptist, Independent—full of sermons and groans," said my lord. "Extreme men, by your leave, Colonel Cromwell, and full of religious disputations."

"Admit they be—they are all enthusiasts, they fight for God, not pay—as Charles' gentlemen fight for loyalty, not pay—and, sir, I prefer them who know what they fight for, and love that they know, to any lukewarm hireling who will mutiny when his pence are in arrear."

"You yourself are an Independent," remarked the Earl dryly. "I had forgot."

"Sir, I belong to no sect; within the limits of the true faith I would let each man think as he would."

"So tolerant!" cried my lord. "Then wherefore have you pulled the preacher from his pulpit in Ely Church?"

"Because the Anglican rites are a mockery of the Lord," returned Cromwell, with fire. "And I would as soon have a Papist as a Prelatist—toleration with the true faith, I said, my lord."

"Who is to define the true faith?" asked the Earl wearily. "I keep the Presbyterian doctrine which seemeth best to me, but you, methinks, would follow Roger Williams. Remember, sir, that you, as all of us," he added, with some malice, "must take this Covenant the Scots have put upon us as the price of their aid."

"That was John Pym's work," answered Colonel Cromwell, in a slightly troubled manner. "His last work—'twas a galling condition, and at the time I blamed him; but, sir, we had to have the Scottish army, and as they would not give the army without we took the Covenant—well, Mr. Pym was a wise man, and he judged it best—and we have the Scots (for what they may be worth) marching to us instead of to the King."

"When you take up your appointment as my Lieutenant-General," insisted the Earl, "you, too, must take the Covenant."

"Any man may take it now Sir Harry Vane, that lovely soul, hath added his clause—that religion be reformed in England according to the Word of God; that covereth everything, I think, sir, the Word of God, not the dictates of the Scots!"

Lord Manchester looked at him in silence for an attentive moment, then spoke briskly.

"You follow Sir Harry Vane in religion, do you follow him in politics? Are you, too, a Republican?"

Oliver Cromwell looked at him quietly and frankly.

"I think a kingly government a good one," he said, "if the king be a just, wise man. Nay, I never was a Republican."

"Remember we stand for King and Parliament," remarked the Earl. "I would not go too far—I would not overthrow the authority of His Majesty."

"What care I what man holdeth authority in England as long as he is powerless to do her wrong," replied Cromwell quietly. "Sir, all I say is that the time hath not come for peace save it be offered by His Majesty. Now is still the misty morning when all is doubtful to our eyes; but presently the sun shall rise above the vapours, and we shall behold very clearly the things we have to do. The Lord will strengthen our hands and show us the way, and His enemies shall go down like a tottering wall and a broken hedge."

The Earl moved about restlessly.

"You have great faith, Colonel Cromwell," he said, half sad, half vexed.

The fire had now sprung up strongly and threw a vivid light over the figure of the Puritan soldier standing thoughtfully on his homely hearth.

"Have I not need of faith?" he asked, in an exalted voice. "Aye, the shield of faith and the breastplate of righteousness and the sword of the spirit which is the Word of God! 'For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places!'"

The Earl made no reply; he was moved by the sincerity and force with which Colonel Cromwell spoke, but at the same time he was appalled by the prospect which a continuance of the war seemed to open up. He, like many others, was confused, bewildered, alarmed by the tremendous thing the Parliament had dared to do, and he wished to stop a crisis which was becoming immense and overwhelming; he wished to keep the King and the Church in their ancient places, and he felt more or less vaguely that men such as Oliver Cromwell were aiming at a new order of things altogether.

Colonel Cromwell, on the other hand, was not confused by the thought of any future issues; he saw one thing, and that plainly: in the present struggle between the King and the Parliament, the Parliament must be victorious; then the future government of England might be decided, not before.

He felt that there was no longer much use for men like my Lord Manchester, able and popular as he was: the stern fanatics among his own arquebusiers who spent their time in minute disputes and arguments on matters of religious discipline were more to the liking of Oliver Cromwell.

The Earl rose to take his leave.

"I am at my ancient lodging," he said. "May I expect you to-morrow morning? There are some military points I would discuss with you."

"Command me to your own convenience," replied Colonel Cromwell.

"To-morrow, then."

The two went into the hall, which was filled by the smell of the tansy pudding.

My lord asked after the eldest son of his host.

"He is very well, I thank you. He is at Newport Pagnell with my Lord St. John's troop of horse. Richard is still at Felsted, as is Henry; but I mean soon to take them from their schooling and put them in the army. Fairfax would take one in his lifeguards; Harrison, I think, another."

"So soon!" exclaimed my lord. "Their years are very tender."

Colonel Cromwell smiled.

"But the times are very rough, and we must suit ourselves to the times."

He opened the door; Ely showed bare and dreary beneath the darkening sky, from which a few flakes of snow were beginning to slowly fall. The two gentlemen touched hands and parted. As Colonel Cromwell still stood at the door of his house, gazing thoughtfully at the winter evening as if he saw there some sign or character plain for his reading, his wife descended the stairs and, seeing him there, came to his side. She had a bunch of keys in her hand, and the light from the lamp above the door gleamed on them. Her docile eyes lifted to his; her face had a look of stillness: she seemed a creature made for quietness.

"What had my lord to say?" she asked.

"Peace! peace!" muttered her husband. "He wanted peace!"

"And you?" she ventured timidly.

"I!" he answered. "I live in Meshech and Kedar. I am in blackness and in the waste places; but the Lord hath had exceeding mercy upon me—I have seen light in His Light—therefore am I confident in the hope I may serve Him. His will be done!"

Elisabeth Cromwell looked out at the dim white towers of the cathedral, where her first husband and her first-born lay buried, and she thought of that other child, Robert, who had died at school only three years before. Life seemed to her suddenly unreal. She closed the door and turned away.

Her husband followed her into the room on the right of the passage, where a fair group of children, Mary, Frances, and Elisabeth, were roasting chestnuts by the fire.

A maid was putting a white cloth on the table; the pleasant clink of glasses and china mingled with the laughter and talk of Elisabeth, a beautiful child of some thirteen years, whose grace and gaiety was a sudden brightness in the Puritan household.

At her father's entrance she came to him at once and showed him a round ball she had made of holly berries and hung by a red ribbon as an ornament to her wrist.

"Vanity!" said Colonel Cromwell; but as he kissed her his whole face was radiant with love.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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