"They were the wives of the sailor men going with our Admiral on his expedition. And they got all round me, they did indeed; and one handsome woman with a little lad in her arms—she told me to look well at him because he was called Oliver after me—took hold of my bridle, and said, ’You won’t trample me down, General, for the lad’s sake; and ’tis but natural for us to want to know where you are sending our husbands. Come, General, tell us wives and mothers where the ships are going to?’ And there was Robert Blake laughing and thinking it fine sport, but I stood up in my stirrups and called out as loud as I could, ’Women, can you be quiet for one minute?’ They said, ’Aye, to be sure we can, if you’ll speak out, General.’ Then I said to them, ’You want to know where the ships and your men are going. Listen to me! The Ambassadors of France and Spain would, each of them, give a million pounds to know that. Do you understand, women?’ And for a moment there was a dead silence, then a shout of comprehension and laughter, and the woman at my bridle lifted the boy Oliver to me, and I took him in my arms and kissed the rosy little brat, and then another shout, and the mother said, ’General, you be right welcome to my share of the secret;’ ’and mine!’ ’and mine!’ ’and mine!’ they all shouted, and the voices of those women went to my heart and brain like wine, they did that. They made me glad; I believe I shouted with them." "I haven’t a doubt of it," said Doctor Verity. "Well, Robert, did they have nothing to say to you?" he asked, turning to Admiral Blake. "They asked me to treat my men well; and I said, ’I’ll treat them like myself. I’ll give them plenty of meat and drink, and plenty of fighting and prize money;’ and so to their good will we passed all through the city, and, as I live, ’twas the pleasantest ’progress’ any mortal men could desire." Then Doctor Verity began to talk of the American Colonies, and their wonderful growth. "John Maidstone is here," he said; "and with him that godly minister, the Rev. Mr. Hooker. We have had much conversation to-day, and surely God made the New World to comfort the woes of the old one." "You have expressed exactly, sir, the prophetic lines of the pagan poet, Horace," answered Mr. Milton. And Cromwell looked at him and said, "Repeat them for us, John; I doubt not but they are worthy, if it be so that you remember them." Then Milton, in a clear and stately manner, recited the six lines from Horace’s "Patriotic Lament" to which he had referred— "’Merciful gift of a relenting God, Home of the homeless, preordained for you, Last vestige of the age of gold, Last refuge of the good and bold; From stars malign, from plague and tempests free, Far ’mid the Western waves, a secret Sanctuary.’" And as Cromwell listened his face grew luminous; he seemed to look through his eyeballs, rather than with them, and when Milton ceased there was silence until he spoke.