The Broken Font: A Story of the Civil War, Vol. 1 (of 2)Sherer, Moyle
History
The Broken Font: A Story of the Civil War, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Sherer, Moyle
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
Having thus, by forcibly wresting a quotation from Scripture, served
his immediate purpose, and given freedom and tranquillity to his
spirit, he suffered his imagination to dress out the duties of
military life in all their most sacred glory. The language of the Old
Testament, and that of the profane authors with which he was familiar,
were called up in a strange confusion to gild the prospect before
him,--and now a song of triumph from his Bible, now a quotation from
Homer, was sounding on his lips, and ere he was aware was kindling a
vain and unholy ambition:--a secret and impious persuasion of the
favour and approval of Heaven filled him with a swelling anticipation
of coming victories and high rewards. He resolved that the virtues of
the Spartan or the Roman soldier should in his person be combined with
the ardour and the holiness of the most chosen warriors of Israel.
He saw not the lean and sorry nag beneath him; he thought not of those
weary marches which he should have to make afoot, when the miserable
jade on which he was now sitting astride his saddle bags should be
stumbling along stony or miry ways in a train of baggage horses; but
he pictured out a future in which he should ride among the princes of
the people, and in marches of triumph.
From this dream of his fancy he was suddenly and very effectually
awakened by feeling the animal, which he was riding, sink under him
with an uneasy motion; and, before he could possibly prevent it, he
found the water of a considerable stream, which he was then fording,
above his knees, and his saddle bags thoroughly soaked through. The
beast had his own notions of enjoyment as well as his dreamy rider;
and, as the day was hot, the road was dusty, and his burden
sufficiently oppressive, had taken this very seasonable refreshment.
Nature suddenly asserted her power over the precise young Puritan;
and, to the scandal of all his late professions, he gave vent to his
wrath in certain violent and unseemly phrases which would not have
disgraced the most accomplished swearer among the wild Cavaliers of
that time. These oaths were but the accompaniments of sundry hard
blows with a cudgel, kickings with the heel, and jerks of the rein, by
dint of which the nag, unable to rebuke him for his injustice, was
compelled to rise and go forward. The accident was in itself
sufficiently provoking; and the irritation of Cuthbert was increased
by encountering on the bank an old beggar with a wooden leg, who,
tossing his staff pike fashion, loudly asked his alms for an old
crippled soldier done up in the wars; and, thrusting his tongue in
his cheek, eyed his foolish plight with a merry satisfaction, which he
could not conceal.
“Out upon thee!” said Cuthbert, “for an old drunken impostor:--such
fellows as you tippling bawlers of ballads are the curse of the
land;--go scrape your cracked fiddle for sots on the ale bench, and
don’t trouble honest men on their road.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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