meet Monk, who, on his part, like a prudent navigator
sailing amidst rocks, advanced by very short marches,
listening to the reports and scenting the air which came
from London.
The two armies came in sight of each other near Newcastle,
Lambert, arriving first, encamped in the city itself. Monk,
always circumspect, stopped where he was, and placed his
general quarters at Coldstream, on the Tweed. The sight of
Lambert spread joy through Monk’s army, whilst, on the
contrary, the sight of Monk threw disorder into Lambert’s
army. It might have been thought that these intrepid
warriors, who had made such a noise in the streets of
London, had set out with the hopes of meeting no one, and
that now seeing that they had met an army, and that that
army hoisted before them not only a standard, but still
further, a cause and a principle, — it might have been
believed, we say, that these intrepid warriors had begun to
reflect, that they were less good republicans than the
soldiers of Monk, since the latter supported the parliament;
whilst Lambert supported nothing, not even himself.
As to Monk, if he had had to reflect, or if he did reflect,
it must have been after a sad fashion, for history relates
— and that modest dame, it is well known, never lies —
history relates, that the day of his arrival at Coldstream
search was made in vain throughout the place for a single
sheep.
If Monk had commanded an English army, that was enough to
have brought about a general desertion. But it is not with
the Scotch as it is with the English, to whom that fluid
flesh which is called blood is a paramount necessity; the
Scotch, a poor and sober race, live upon a little barley
crushed between two stones, diluted with the water of the
fountain, and cooked upon another stone, heated.
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The Scotch, their distribution of barley being made, cared
very little whether there was or was not any meat in
Coldstream. Monk, little accustomed to barley-cakes, was
hungry, and his staff, at least as hungry as himself, looked
with anxiety right and left, to know what was being prepared
for supper.
Monk ordered search to be made; his scouts had on arriving
in the place found it deserted and the cupboards empty; upon
butchers and bakers it was of no use depending in
Coldstream. The smallest morsel of bread, then, could not be
found for the general’s table.
As accounts succeeded each other, all equally
unsatisfactory, Monk, seeing terror and discouragement upon
every face, declared that he was not hungry; besides they
should eat on the morrow, since Lambert was there probably
with the intention of giving battle, and consequently would
give up his provisions, if he were forced from Newcastle, or
forever to relieve Monk’s soldiers from hunger if he
conquered.
This consolation was only efficacious upon a very small
number; but of what importance was it to Monk? for Monk was
very absolute, under the appearance of the most perfect
mildness. Every one, therefore, was obliged to be satisfied,
or at least to appear so. Monk quite as hungry as his
people, but affecting perfect indifference for the absent
mutton, cut a fragment of tobacco, half an inch long, from
the carotte of a sergeant who formed part of his suite, and
began to masticate the said fragment, assuring his
lieutenants that hunger was a chimera, and that, besides,
people were never hungry when they had anything to chew.
This joke satisfied some of those who had resisted Monk’s
first deduction drawn from the neighborhood of Lambert’s
army; the number of the dissentients diminished greatly; the
guard took their posts, the patrols began, and the general
continued his frugal repast beneath his open tent.
Between his camp and that of the enemy stood an old abbey,
of which, at the present day, there only remain some ruins,
but which then was in existence, and was called Newcastle
Abbey. It was built upon a vast site, independent at once of
the plain and of the river, because it was almost a marsh
fed by springs and kept up by rains. Nevertheless, in the