Oliver Cromwell Part 7

_Cromwell:_ It was a good man's doing. Where is he?

_Ba.s.sett:_ I live under the walls here, as you might say.

_Cromwell:_ Could we see him?

_Ba.s.sett:_ Nay--it's no place to take you to. But I'll fetch him if you will. He doesn't sleep.

_Cromwell:_ Do, then.

(Ba.s.sETT goes.)

_Amos:_ It's not my Seth, is it, sir? Not his tongue--and a b.l.o.o.d.y T. They would know how he could sing, and he looked like Gabriel in the books.

_Hampden:_ Shall we go, Oliver?

_Cromwell:_ No. Let us all see it out.

_Bridget:_ Father, it's horrible. They don't do things like that, do they?

_Amos:_ Dumb--and a b.l.o.o.d.y T--and the thumbs. It's some other poor lad.

(Ba.s.sETT returns; with him a figure, the hands and ears bound up in rough thick bandages, and on his forehead a burning red T. He looks at them, with reason hardly awake.)

_Amos_ (going to him): Seth--Seth, boy.

(SETH moves his lips, but makes no sound. They look at him in horror.)

_Bridget:_ Father--father.

_Cromwell:_ There--no--no.

(To Ba.s.sETT.) Take him, good fellow. Care for him as you can. Get a surgeon for him.

Here's money. No, no, old man.

(Ba.s.sETT goes with SETH.)

_Amos:_ A b.l.o.o.d.y T. And dumb. G.o.d blast the King!

_Cromwell:_ Take him to our lodging, daughter. Go with them, Ireton. I'll follow.

(BRIDGET, AMOS, and IRETON go.)

_Cromwell:_ John, you are my best-beloved friend.

_Hampden:_ I praise myself in that more than in most.

_Cromwell:_ I call you to witness. That is a symbol. Before G.o.d, I will not rest until all that it stands for in this unhappy England is less than the dust. Amen.

_Hampden:_ Amen.

(A linkman is heard calling in the street. CROMWELL and HAMPDEN go out.)

THE SCENE CLOSES

SCENE III

_CROMWELL'S house at Ely. A year later, 1642. It is afternoon in winter.

MRS. CROMWELL is sitting by the fire, reading. She looks a little more her eighty-odd years than she did in the first scene. After a few moments BRIDGET comes in. She is opening a letter._

_Bridget:_ Father has written, grandmother. Shall I read it to you?

_Mrs. Cromwell:_ Yes, child.

_Bridget_ (sits by the fire, and reads): My dear daughter, I am lately arrived in London, from Edgehill in the county of Warwickshire, where for the first time our men met the King's army in set dispute. It was late on the Sabbath afternoon, so that, as we lay for the attack, the sound of church bells came to us from three or four places. The King had the better ground, also they exceeded us in numbers, both horse and foot, and in cannon. It is hard to say which way the battle went, the advantage at one time being here, at another there. Their hors.e.m.e.n behaved very well, being commanded by Prince Rupert, a soldier of great courage in the field. Your Cousin Hampden managed a regiment with much honour, and twice or thrice delivered our cause. We were engaged until night stayed us. Some four thousand were slain, their loss, I hear, being the greater. Of the sixty in my own troop, eighteen fell. We had commendation from the general, and indeed I think we did not fail in resolution. But this matter will not be accomplished save we build, as it were, again from the foundation. This is G.o.d's service, and all must be given. To which end I am now coming home, to call out all such men as have the love of England in their hearts, and fear G.o.d. I shall labour with them. It seems to me that I shall be called to great trust in this, and I will set such example as I can. Expect me as soon as you receive this, for indeed I leave London as soon almost as my letter. Your mother I saw here with her nephew. She loves you as I do. Henry Ireton comes with me--he served very stoutly at Edgehill, and hath a gunshot in the arm. None is like to serve these times better than he. Give my loving duty to your grandmother, which I shall at once deliver myself. G.o.d bless you.

Your affectionate Father.

_Mrs. Cromwell:_ You are born into a great story, child. I am old.

_Bridget:_ It's wonderful. To stand like that.

_Mrs. Cromwell:_ Not wonder only, girl. There are griefs.

_Bridget:_ They are wonderful, too, I think.

_Mrs. Cromwell:_ Youth, you are dear. With an old woman, it's all reckoning. One sees the follies then of this man and that.

_Bridget:_ It had to come, grandmother. The King was taking all.

_Mrs. Cromwell:_ It had to come. Men were no wiser than that. To make this of the land!

One Cain, as your father says.

_Bridget:_ It's as though life were different, suddenly. Do you feel it, grandmother?

_Mrs. Cromwell:_ I know. There are times when wrath comes, and beauty is forgotten. But it must be.

_Bridget_ (from the letter): "This is G.o.d's service, and all must be given."

_Mrs. Cromwell:_ Yes. Even that.

_Bridget:_ But you do think father is right?

_Mrs. Cromwell:_ Yes, child. He could do no other. That's his tribute to necessity. We all pay it. He will pay it greatly. We may be sure of that.

(Horses are heard outside.)