The Lions Whelp 6

The Lions Whelp 6

So the anxious days went by for a week, and there was still no word.

Then Jane went over to de Wick, hoping that the Earl might have news

from his son, which would at least break the voiceless tension of their

fears. But the Earl was in the same state—restless, perplexed,

wistfully eager concerning the situation of the opposing armies. In

their mutual sorrowful conjectures they forgot their political

antipathies, and a loving apprehension drew them together; they could

not say unkind things, and Jane was even regretful for her cool attitude

towards Matilda on her last visit to Swaffham. They drew close to each

other, they talked in low voices of the absent, they clasped hands as

they walked together through the lonely park in the autumn afternoon.

They also agreed that whoever had news first should send a swift

messenger to the other, no matter what the tidings should be. When they

parted, Jane kissed her friend, a token of love she had not given her

for a long time, and Matilda was so affected by this return of sympathy

that she covered her face with her hands and wept. "Oh, Jane!" she

said, "I have been so lonely!"

 

And as Jane answered her with affectionate assurances, there came into

her heart a sudden anticipation of intelligence. Without consideration,

with no purpose of mere encouragement, she said confidently—"There is

some one on the way. I seem to hear them coming." So they parted, and

Jane brought home with her a hope which would not be put down. Her face

was so bright and her voice so confident that her mother felt the

influence of her spirit, and anon shared it. The night was too damp and

chill for their usual bedtime walk on the terrace, but they sat together

on the hearth, knitting and talking until the evening was far spent.

Then Mrs. Swaffham dropped her work upon her lap, and she and Jane began

their private evening exercise:

 

"Then said he unto me, thou art sore troubled in mind for Israel’s sake;

lovest thou that people better than He that made them?

 

"And I said, No, Lord, but of very grief have I spoken; for my reins

pain me every hour, while I labour to comprehend the way of the most

High, and to seek out part of His judgment.

 

"And he said unto me, thou canst not. And I said wherefore, Lord,

whereunto was I born then? or why was not my mother’s womb my grave,

that I might not have seen the travail of Jacob, and the wearisome toil

of the stock of Israel?

 

"And he said unto me, number me the things that are not yet come; gather

me together the drops that are scattered abroad; make me the flowers

green again that are withered.

 

"Open me the places that are closed, and bring me forth the winds that

in them are shut up; show me the image of a voice; and then I will

declare to thee the thing that thou labourest to know.

 

"And I said, O Lord that bearest rule; who may know these things, but he

that hath not his dwelling with men?

 

"As for me I am unwise; how may I speak of these things whereof thou

askest me?

 

"Then he said unto me, like as thou canst do none of these things that I

have spoken of, even so canst thou not find out my judgment; or in the

end, the love that I have promised unto my people."

 

And when the short antiphony was finished, they kissed each other a

hopeful "good-night," being made strong in this—that they had put self

out of their supplication, and been only "troubled in mind for Israel’s

sake."

 

All were in deep sleep when the blast of a trumpet and the trampling of

a heavily-shod horse on the stones of the courtyard awakened them.

Jane’s quick ear detected at once the tone of triumph in the summons.

She ran to her mother’s room, and found her at an open window. She was

calling aloud to the messenger, "Is it you, Doctor Verity?" and the

answer came swift and strong, ere the question was fairly asked—

 

"It is I, John Verity, with the blessing of God, and good tidings."

 

"Get your horse to stable, Doctor, and we will be down to welcome you."

The next moment the house was astir from one end to the other—bells were

ringing, lights moving hither and thither, men and women running

downstairs, and at the open door Mrs. Swaffham and Jane waiting for the

messenger, their eager faces and shining eyes full of hope and

expectation.

 

He kept them waiting until he had seen his weary horse attended to, then

hurrying across the courtyard he clasped the hands held out in welcome,

and with a blessing on his lips came into the lighted room. It was joy

and strength to look at him. His bulk was like that of the elder gods;

his head like an antique marble, his hazel eyes beaming, joyous, and

full of that light which comes "from within." A man of large mind as

well as of large stature, with a simple, good heart, that could never

grow old; strong and courageous, yet tender as a girl; one who in the

battle of life would always go to the front.

 

So it was good even to see him, and how much better to hear him say—

 

"Israel Swaffham is well, and God hath given us a great victory."

 

"And John?"

 

"I left him following after the enemy. We have smitten them hip and

thigh; we——"

 

"And Cymlin?"

 

"He was guarding the prisoners. We have ten thousand of them, and——"

 

"And Tonbert?"

 

"Nothing has hurt him. He was in a strait for one five minutes; but I

cried to him—’Set thy teeth, and fight for thy life, Tonbert;’ and he

came safely away with the colours in his hands, when he had slain two of

the rogues who wanted them."

 

"Now then, we shall have peace, Doctor?"

 

"No use, Martha, in crying peace! peace! when peace is wickedness. Our

Protestant liberty was won by men willing to go to the stake for it; our

civil liberty can only be won by men willing to go to the battle-field

for it. But here come the beef and bread, and I am a hungry man. Let me

eat and drink. And you women, bless the Lord and forget not all His

benefits."

 

It was not long before he took a pipe from his pocket, lit it, and drew

his chair to the hearthstone. "Now we will talk," he said. "When did

you hear of us last?"

 

"About the tenth of August. You were then in camp near Edinburgh," said

Mrs. Swaffham.

 

"To be sure—having a paper war with the Kirk and David Leslie. It was

little to Cromwell’s liking, and no more to David Leslie’s; both of them

would rather defiance of battle than Declarations from the General

Assembly. They came to nothing, and as the weather was bad and our

provisions short, and our men falling sick beyond imagination, we

retreated to Dunbar to fortify and recruit. Then the cunning Scots got

behind us and blocked up our way. We were in a bad case, Martha,

between Leslie and the black North Sea—in a trap, and no less. For the

first time our good Cromwell faced defeat, yes, annihilation. Did he

lose heart? Not a bit of it. He sent word south to get men ready to

meet Leslie, whatever became of us; and then he watched and waited and

prayed. Such prayer! Martha. I saw him lifting up his sword to

heaven—I heard him speaking to God—pressing forward and upward—bent on

prevailing—taking heaven by assault. About three o’clock on the morning

of the battle I went to him. It was yet dark, but the men were at arms,

and Cromwell was going from troop to troop encouraging them. I said to

him, ’Brother Oliver, you have got an answer?’ And he smiled joyfully

and said:

 

"’It is in my heart, John. When the devil had said all he had to say,

then God spoke. Indeed I have great consolations. I know, and am sure,

that because of our weakness, because of our strait, the Lord will

deliver us. But tell the men that whoever has a heart for prayer, must

pray now; and then quit themselves like men—there is ONE watching and

helping them.’

 

"You women would not understand the setting of the battle. It is enough

that it began at four in the morning, and that by nine o’clock there was

no longer a Scotch army—three thousand of it were slain in the battle,

many more killed in pursuit. We had all their baggage and artillery,

besides fifteen thousand stand of arms and two hundred colours to hang

up in Westminster Hall—and not twenty Englishmen killed. The Scots came

forward shouting, ’_The Covenant! The Covenant!_’ and Cromwell

thundered back, ’THE LORD OF HOSTS!’ His voice seemed to fill the

field. It was heard above the clash of the swords, and the shouting of

the captains—and it was caught by thousands of other voices—above the

bellowing of the cannon. It was an invocation, it was a shout of

triumph, and indeed THE LORD OF HOSTS was above _The Covenant_.’"

 

"Oh, if I could have seen Cromwell at that onset! just for a moment!"

exclaimed Jane.

 

"At the onset! Yes! It is something never to forget. He leaps to his

horse, rides to the head of his troop, and gallops it to the very front

of the battle. I saw him at Dunbar, his Ironsides in buff and rusty

steel shouting after him—sons of Anak most of them—God’s soldiers, not

men’s; and led by one whose swoop and stroke in battle no one ever saw

equaled. All through the fight he was a pillar of fire to us; and just

when it was hottest the sun rose upon the sea, and Cromwell took it for

a sign of present victory, and shouted to his army, ’Now let God arise,

and His enemies shall be scattered.’"

 

"I can see him! I can hear him!" cried Jane.

 

"And at that moment, the Scots broke and fled, and the field was ours.

Then he called a halt, and to steady his men and fire them afresh for

the pursuit, he sang with us the one hundred and seventeenth Psalm. And

one troop after another caught the words, and for two miles men leaning

upon their swords were singing, ’O praise the Lord all ye nations:

praise Him all ye people. For His merciful kindness is great towards

us, and the truth of the Lord endureth forever. Praise ye the Lord!’ I

tell you there was joyful clamour enough on Dunbar’s swampy field to

make the sky ring about it."

 

"And what of Israel Swaffham? He did his part? I know that," said Mrs.Swaffham.