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John Enderby
by
“An outlaw no longer,” answered the old man, “for the Protector has granted me again the home of which I was cruelly dispossessed.”
“The Protector is a rebel!” returned the young man, and his knuckles rapped petulantly upon the table. “I stand for the King–for King Charles the Second. When you were dispossessed, his late martyred Majesty made me master of this estate and a knight also.”
The old man’s hands clinched, in the effort to rule himself to quietness.
“You are welcome to the knighthood which I have never accepted,” said he; “but for these estates–” All at once a fierce anger possessed him, and the great shoulders heaved up and down with emotion–“but for these estates, sir, no law nor king can take them from me. I am John Enderby, the first son of a first son, the owner of these lands since the time my mother gave me birth. You, sir, are the first of our name that ever was a traitor to his house.”
So intent were the two that they did not see or hear three men who drew aside the curtains at the end of the room and stood spying upon them–three of Cromwell’s men. Young Enderby laughed sneeringly and answered:
“It was a King of England that gave Enderby Manor to the Enderbys. The King is the source of all estate and honour, and I am loyal to the King. He is a traitor who spurns the King’s honour and defies it. He is a traitor who links his fortunes with that vile, murderous upstart, that blethering hypocrite, Oliver Cromwell. I go to Scotland to join King Charles, and before three months are over his Majesty will have come into his own again and I also into my own here at Enderby.”
The old man trembled with the fierceness of his emotions.
“I only am master here,” he said, “and I should have died upon this threshold ere my Lord Rippingdale and the King’s men had ever crossed it, but for you, an Enderby, who deserted me in the conflict–a coward who went over to the enemies of our house.”
The young man’s face twitched with a malignant anger. He suddenly started forward, and with a sidelong blow struck his father with the flat of his sword. A red ridge of bruised flesh instantly rose upon the old man’s cheek and ear. He caught the arm of the chair by which he stood, staggering back as though he had received a mortal wound.
“No, no, no!” he said, his voice gulping with misery and horror.–“No, no! Kill me, if you will–I but cannot fight you. Oh, my God, my God!” he gasped scarcely above a whisper. “Unnatural-unnatural!” He said no more, for, upon the instant, four men entered the room. They were of Cromwell’s Ironsides. Young Enderby looked round swiftly, ready to fight, but he saw at once that he was trapped. The old man also laid his hand upon his sword, but he saw that the case was hopeless. He dropped into his chair and leaned his head upon his hands.
………………….
Two months went by. The battle of Dunbar was fought, and Charles had lost it. Among the prisoners was Garrett Enderby, who had escaped from his captors on the way from Enderby House to London, and had joined the Scottish army. He was now upon trial for his life. Cromwell’s anger against him was violent. The other prisoners of war were treated as such, and were merely confined to prison, but young Enderby was charged with blasphemy and sedition, and with assaulting one of Cromwell’s officers–for on the very day that young Enderby made the assault, Cromwell’s foreign commission for John Enderby was on its way to Lincolnshire.
Of the four men who had captured Garrett Enderby at Enderby House, three had been killed in battle, and the other had deserted. The father was thus the chief witness against his son. He was recalled from Portugal where he had been engaged upon Cromwell’s business.