Colonel Greatheart

by H. C. Bailey

  In their lodging, in an upper room of St. Aldate's, Colonel Royston did sword exercise by candlelight. He was stripped to his shirt and bare armed, and this way and that his heavy strength swung easily with a ripple of muscle.

  Stepping light as a child in a hurry of joy, Colonel Stow ran up and flung the door wide. "George! I am the happiest man alive!" With the draft the candles flickered and guttered and went out, and in the bewildering light from the open door Colonel Royston, who was lunging, misjudged his distance. His sword came against the stone of the chimney-piece harshly. "Is it broken?" cried Colonel Stow

  "At the point," said Royston out of the dark.

  | Contents |

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ingeminating Peace

  A DISORDERLY crowd in the meadows beyond Wadham was disturbed by Colonel Stow. He required the officers—nay, any officer—of Audley's Horse. And the troopers of Audley's Horse, lounging with dice and tankard before their slovenly tents, bade him to Beelzebub—with whom their officers ought to be—or to the Ship in the Cornmarket—where doubtless they were. Colonel Stow rode off. But he left behind him Alcibiade and Matthieu-Marc, and they were soon putting up a tent. They were approached by some slouching troopers, who, coats all undone, hose gaping at the knee, stood aloof and eyed them with distrust, muttering. Then one cried out: "Look 'e, my buck, what be doing here?"

  Alcibiade had a mallet in his mouth. Matthieu-Marc, the pessimist, made the reply. "Gentlemans," said he, "what does any one do here? Tell me, then. I do not understand her, your war. She is like a bad dream." They guffawed at him. Nothing could be more absurd than being foreign. "If you could see yourselves you would not laugh at me, coquins," said Matthieu-Marc bitterly. "But, yes! I am droll! To come to such a war, such soldiers!" He flung up his arms at them and turned to the tent again with the haste of despair.

  Alcibiade straightened himself, grinned at them, jerked his thumb knowingly at Matthieu-Marc, and grinned again. "He wants everything better than it is made, gentlemen. Even you. It is an impossible, that dear Matthieu-Marc. But tell, then"—Alcibiade, too, was interested in these unsoldierly soldiers—"at what hour is your troop drill, and your squadron drill how often?"

  They guffawed again. "You be an innocent."

  "Innocent of all but sin, gentlemen," said Alcibiade politely. "But, enfin, you have your parades, parfois?"

  "Hark 'e, innocent. We Cavaliers do need no foreigners' drillings. We be gentlemen. We do fight."

  "I felicitate the enemy," said Alcibiade. "And what do you fight for?"

  "Find your own horse and two shillings a day."

  Alcibiade waved his hand. "That is no matter for the gentleman soldado. Your cause, messieurs, your faith?"

  They nudged one another and looked at one another with stupid grins, and agreed that Alcibiade was a natural. While they were enjoying the thought of that, one changed the subject with a simple rudeness. "Who be that tent for?"

  "For your colonel, gentlemen," said Alcibiade, and saluted at the name.

  The shaggy jaws dropped. "Be your master a foreigner like to you?" says one in a surly amazement.

  "He is English altogether. It is his one fault. But he will make you a regiment such as your country has not. A sweet regiment."

  They were in no way rejoiced. "If he do try foreign tricks with us, I am sorry for he," says one.

  "Messieurs," said Alcibiade sweetly, "when I look at you I also am sorry for him. But if you do try tricks with him I am very sorry for you."

  They gaped and glowered at Alcibiade a while and then slouched off to impart the ill news. Alcibiade returned to the tent and Matthieu-Marc. Matthieu-Marc was interjectional in his own tongue. "What a nation! What animals! What a war! Tell me, Alcibiade,"—he struck an attitude of despair,—"why do we waste on these stupids our skill?"

  "We seek always honor. If we can made soldiers of these it is honor indeed," said Alcibiade; but even he was something chilled by these slovenly Cavaliers. "Myself, I would like to know why these gentlemen fight at all. Now, with Gustav one fought for the religion, and with Bernhard to make him a kingdom, and one believed in them. But these—they believe in nothing."

  "In their shilling a day," said Matthieu-Marc, and made scornful noises like a sheep.

  "The others, the enemies, I wonder if they know why they fight," said Alcibiade pensively. "It will make a difference." One may not suppose that Matthieu-Marc, or even Alcibiade, always ready to talk of what they believed, understood the profundities of the English heart. But they knew the temper of conquering armies, and even Alcibiade whistled a mournful lay as he drew the guy ropes fast.

  There were others jovial enough. The officers of Audley's Horse knew no care. Their credit was good yet from the sack of Marlborough, and the ship gave them all they needed. Being the forenoon, it was no more than a gallon of spiced wine and a bowl of ale with toasted crabs swimming in it. Cornet Sackville and Captain Sedley and Captain Godfrey, three lads of little beard but with faces stained already and voices going husky, were pleased to pipe up:

  We be soldiers three—

  Pardona moy, je vous an prie

  Lately come forth o' the low country

  With never a penny of money.

  Fa la la la lantido dilly.

  And the others broke off their game of hazard to beat time with the pewter:

  Here, good fellow, I drink to thee—

  Pardona moy, je vous an prie

  To all good fellows wherever they be,

  With never a penny of money.

  Fa la la la lantido dilly.

  To which came with an explosive entry Major Dick Stewart. He flung his hat down on the dice and himself into a chair that creaked. "Perdition, lads! Ods fire! Damnation!" and he drank off a pint of the wine.

  "Speak for yourself, Major," piped Cornet Sackville.

  "Ods blood, if I do not speak for you all, you be no men but so many sheep's kidneys. O split me that I should live to see it! A sour, stiff-backed, swell-head jack pudding from Germany to command us—us! O burn me, 'tis enough to make old Sam Audley ride back on a gridiron to card him!"

  The rest had no mind to cool his wrath. "Viejo diablo," says Captain Sedley, who had a rarefied taste in oaths, "would the King have us learn the high Dutch?'''

  "Nay; the calf is English born. A Jeremiah Stow."

  "Jeremiah Under-the-Fifth-Rib Smite-and-Spare-Not Barebones! Zounds! he should be with Mandevil and Noll Cromwell. The name is an insult to the regiment."

  "Insult, quotha!" Major Dick Stewart made away with another pint. "Ods bones, 'tis a vile outrage, and the lad that doth not resent it is a white-livered prigster. Are we rats that the Palatine should foist a broken bully from Germany on us? Was there no gentleman in the regiment good enough to be its colonel? Od rot me, lads, we'll roast this white cuckoo roundly!"

  "Hoo! Hoo!" roared Captain Godfrey in the manner of one cheering on dogs to bait a bear.

  The door was opened. Grave and entirely calm, Colonel Stow gazed upon these flushed, agitated gentlemen.

  "Who are you, milk face?" cried Major Stewart.

  "You are the gentlemen of Audley's Horse?" said Colonel Stow, and on the answering shout saluted. "I have the pleasure to be your colonel."

  Major Stewart put his elbow into the ribs of Captain Godfrey, who did the like for Cornet Sackville. The gentlemen of Audley's Horse began to laugh at Colonel Stow, and laughed in volleys.

  Colonel Stow leaned against the door-post, caressed his beard and smiled upon them kindly. "I fear," said he in the first lull, "I fear I shall want new officers in my regiment." He looked them over with plain contempt which was multiplied as his eye rested on the purple amplitude of Major Dick Stewart. "Major," says he in a calm small voice, "you have rested so long in the tavern that the regiment has forgot what you look like. Go and show them."

  Major Dick Stewart flung himself back in his chair, dashed his spurred heels into the floor and was understood to bid his colonel seek perditio
n.

  Colonel Stow laughed. "If I do not obey you I am a Christian," said he. "But," and the tone hardened, "if you do not obey me you are broke. Get to your duty." The major glared and his neck swelled. He seemed to desire to swear. Colonel Stow continued to regard him with a perfect calm. He heaved himself out of his chair and stood over Colonel Stow. "Make me a return of the damaged pistol locks by sundown," said Colonel Stow and turned from him with contempt. Major Stewart plunged out.

  The rest of them were whispering together. Colonel Stow, preserving always the extreme of quiet in his manner, walked to the table, picked a pipe with care, filled it from his own silver box, and lit it and composed himself comfortably in Major Stewart's chair. Then the little Cornet Sackville did the like himself, with a comical affectation of Colonel Stow's manner, and concluded by arranging himself in a chair precisely opposite Colonel Stow, whom he ogled. The rest ranged themselves in a half circle and stared at the colonel as if he were a show.

  "Têtedieu," says Captain Sedley, "the colonel has very large feet."

  "But how sweet a nose," said Cornet Sackville affectionately.

  "And what long ears," cried Captain Godfrey.

  Colonel Stow smoked on, silent and calm.

  "Madonna," quoth Captain Sedley, "he is quite tame, our colonel."

  "Blessed are the meek," said Cornet Sackville with unction.

  "Had they no use for cowards in Germany, Colonel?" inquired Captain Godfrey.

  Colonel Stow continued to smoke. He dropped his words lazily between puffs. "It is very natural you should all desire the honor of crossing swords with me. But I have no reason to think you deserve it. I shall concede you a chance. Which gentleman bears himself most soldierly in the next fight I shall permit to try my sword play. You, sirrah,"—he singled out Captain Godfrey,—"go make my compliments to Prince Rupert and assure him in my name I'll have the regiment in hand by tomorrow." Captain Godfrey gaped at him, turned for inspiration to his comrades, who had none, and shambled out.

  The others, on whom gloom was plainly descending, muttered together again. "Sir," says Captain Sedley, with an aggrieved air, "sir, we would have you know we are gentlemen and will be treated for such."

  "You shall be till you make it impossible," said Colonel Stow and finished his pipe . . . Then he rose. "Well, gentlemen, you will understand me in time. I understand you now, which is the chief matter. The regiment parades at five."

  Then he went back to his regiment and mingled with the troopers, who found him a new kind of officer. He treated them as men. He was concerned for their fortunes. He desired to listen to their grumbles of rations and pay and was not fool enough to believe all they said. Such a colonel was vastly impressive to the soldiers of the army of the King.

  They turned out on parade with a smartness that disgusted their officers. Then Colonel Stow made an oration. "You know nothing of me, gentlemen. I have fought fourteen campaigns and borne my own regiment through six. It is my habit to see that my regiment fares as well as the best and deserves it." Whereafter, till sundown, he put them through a drill the like of which they had never known. It was the opinion of the troopers, when, sweating and stiff, they came back to water their horses, that their colonel was a tough fellow. But their colonel thought less of them.

  In days that followed Colonel Stow taught them tribulation. They were schooled as never soldiers of the King had been schooled before, and they did not affect to enjoy it. But to their surprise it bred in them a queer surly affection for him. Indeed, if he harried them it was plainly for their good, and for their good he harried others, too. My Lord Percy, who was master of the victualling as well as the ordnance, did not hide his disgust with a colonel who expected something of him and got it. Before a week was out, Sir James Griffin, the paymaster, found himself recalling the parable of the importunate widow. And Sir James was a man of religion.

  The officers of Colonel Stow approved these proceedings in no particular. They condemned him for an ungentlemanly frowardness. A fellow thus troubled by the base concerns of common troopers was plainly of low blood. But they found it extraordinarily difficult to convince Colonel Stow of his inferiority. Attempts to make him ridiculous recoiled like an ill-backed petard with general disaster. The fascinating dream of common mutiny was shattered for ever by Prince Rupert's jovial confidence to Captain Godfrey that the man who made trouble for Colonel Stow could count on an enemy. The courtiers might mock at the Palatine, but no man in the army invited his anger till there were twenty leagues between them. Brave souls like my Lord Goring might dare it then. So Colonel Stow's officers were sulkily submissive—an air which became them mighty ill. Such of them as were sportsmen, and had some feeling for their trade, saw the regiment quicken under his hand and were aggrieved with themselves for being pleased.

  What Colonel Stow thought of his regiment and his army he kept to himself. For it was as strange an army as king ever used to vindicate his majesty. There were indeed those in it who believed in him passionately as in their God: there were those less devout who yet counted all well lost for him: there were more who felt their own lordship over the common herd linked indissolubly with his kingship and who fought for him keenly as for themselves. But these all told made but few and the mass of that army cared no more for King than for Puritan and knew less of war than the morris dance. They were soldiers neither from a fierce zeal nor by trade. They were the loungers at bull baitings, the idlers and broken men of village and town, who ran to war as they would have run to a street brawl. Never an army knew less of its business, and its general, the Palatine, was not the man to make good soldiers out of sots and fools. Nor had he the chance. He must needs fret the best of his strength away in fighting the good gentlemen of the council who conceived themselves statesmen and generals by divine inspiration, and, having but little matter of state left them to occupy with, took hold of strategy and the government of war. Not first of generals nor last, Rupert found his most troublesome foes of his own party, and he had not the temper to wear them out.

  If Rupert had a plan of campaign, my Lord Digby was instant to the King with another. The King spoke both fairly and thwarted both. That was the royal conception of majesty—to trust no man and to hold himself secret from every man. He moved in a mysterious way, because it was his divine right, and certainly he performed wonders. Inasmuch as he was a monarch and God's proxy, he could not commit his sacred designs to men nor tell them the truth. Double-faced through good and ill, he lamented continually the harshness of his friends and solemnly likened his foes to them that slew the Christ.

  With such a bloody method and behavior

  Their ancestors did crucify our Saviour!

  So he wrote in a poem that would be blasphemous if it were not too stupid. It was ill fighting for a King who could not conceive that any man had the right to require honesty of him.

  "By God, sir," cried Rupert once in a blaze of passion, "the chief traitor to King Charles is King Charles himself." Outwardly that was forgiven, but the King did not suffer himself to forget. Never afterward could he believe Rupert loyal. He solemnly added another to the list of woes which he kept with zealous precision: played the kindly uncle to Rupert and believed no word he said. It may not have been the wise way for a king to deal with his general, but King Charles was above human wisdom.

  This quarrel came when the King, swayed by the sapience of my Lord Digby, was pleased to consider he had army enough. Rupert desired to enroll new regiments of foot. My Lord Digby, who grudged everything that gave the Palatine power, persuaded the King that if the army could not sweep the Puritans away it was the fault of its general and that the money for the new regiments were better spent on diplomacy; in fact, that it was a derogation from the divine majesty to believe a larger army needed. The King saw in this queer notion a subtlety and it captivated him as usual.

  So you find Colonel Royston with a commission to form a regiment, instructed that no regiment was to be formed. In a cold rage he went off to R
upert. He would have forced a quarrel, he says, if he could, but with the first sneer Rupert himself broke out: "Thunder of God, man, swear at me and have done! I swear at myself that I am fool enough to stay here. If you have any honor, lose it; if you have any loyalty break it, and by hell, you shall live the happier." He drank heavily from the flagon at his elbow. When the King played him false he was apt to fly to wine. He pushed a bottle across the table to Royston, and the two of them in the worst temper with all the world got vastly drunk together.

  You conceive Royston in a sorry state the next day. The gloom of things he beheld in aching discomfort twice as black. It was obvious in his aspect. He was not inclined to take meekly Colonel Stow's shake of the head and small reproving smile. A fine lusty fool you have made of me, Jerry," he growled and called defiantly for a tankard of dog's nose.

  Colonel Stow shrugged. "Wine is a mocker," he remarked.

  "And what a murrain have I to do but drink?" cried Royston.

  Colonel Stow opened his eyes and said something about a regiment.

  Royston swore profusely at the world. "Regiment! I have no regiment and shall have none. By Heaven, I was a fool to follow you. I might have known you would feather your nest and I should go howling. What else have I ever had by you?"

  Colonel Stow was grave. "It may be so, George," he said at last with something like a sigh. "I did not think to have heard you say it."

  Royston gave an ugly laugh and drank again. Then he put down the tankard with a bang. "Bah, I am a churl, Jerry. And the Palatine has a better head for liquor than I. But my temper is broke, I think. Faith, there is some reason for a man that has been diddled like me." And he told how the King had forbidden the raising of one regiment more.