Setting sail with a light north-east wind, the transports and their convoy, multiplied by popular rumour into a vast fleet of war, and really bearing nearly three thousand good troops and a quantum of field guns, made slow way out of Portsmouth harbour on Sunday, September 19th.  Next morning they were in the open sea with all sail set.  On the quarter-deck of the Constant Warwick, a fine frigate (the first launched by the new government) Lempriere and Prynne—­now completely reconciled—­paced slowly up and down, talking of the present situation and future policy.  As they did so their eyes glanced from time to time on the fair sea scape, illumined by the early autumn sunlight, and shaded by the sails of the surrounding shipping.

“’Tis a fair show, Mr. Bailiff,” said the English politician, “And one that ought to bring down our friend’s stomach.”

“Faith!  I do not know,” answered the Jerseyman.  “Sir George will fight, I doubt.  You know him as well as I.”

“Nevertheless, he cannot fight to much purpose, and I see not how there can be any great effusion of blood.  By himself he can do nothing, and who will be of his side?  It is the divine asseveration of the wisest of men, Ecclesiastes vii. 7, ‘Surely oppression maketh a wise man mad.’  And if it be so, Cartwright should have but few sane men about him.  Yet in his fall I pray he may find mercy.  And I am forced to lean upon you, Mr. Bailiff, in that behalf.”

“Non tali auxilio,” began the quotation-loving bailiff.  But Prynne gravely pursued his pleading.

“You may recollect what I said to the Commons’ House three full years ago.  Indeed it was the very night before Pride’s Purge.  If fines, I reminded them, if imprisonments, grievous mutilations, and brandings of S.L.—­which I once called ‘stigmata landis;’ but ’tis an ill subject for jesting—­could bespeak a true friend to liberty, why then sure I am one whose voice might well claim, a hearing.  Yet it hath been far otherwise with yonder masterful men of the carnal weapon, who seek their own advancement in the name of the Commonwealth.  I have never coveted the transient treasures, honours, or preferments of the world, but only to do to my God, country, aye, and king, too, the best public services I could, even though it brought upon me the loss of my liberty, the ruin of my mean estate, and the hazard of my life.  When the late king did wrong I withstood him, to the extent of my poor capacity; but I was not for seeing the crown and lords of the ancient realm of England subverted or submerged by the flood of usurpation let in by some members of the Lower House.  My speech of the 4th December, 1649——.”

“I heard it,” broke in the other, “And well do I remember the hum of assent and approbation with which it was received.”