"Would I had known it!" cried Middleton, furiously. "He should not have lived to boast of this triumph. One of his spies has served him well on this occasion. I will not rest till I have discovered the traitor."
"Lesley may help you to find him," said Legge.
"No; Lesley knew nothing of this," rejoined Middleton. "But come with me to the king, and get it over. A word will explain all. We have been betrayed."
OLD HOSTELRY OF GREY FRIARS.
OLD HOSTELRY OF GREY FRIARS.
HOW URSO GIVES WAS ARRESTED.
Aboutthe same time that the interview took place in the stable at Spetchley between Cromwell and Urso Gives, Major Careless, who had been upon the eastern walls to satisfy himself that thefires in the suburbs were completely extinguished, descended from the ramparts at Friars'-gate. This was one of the smaller gates, and derived its appellation from a convent of Franciscan friars that stood hard by—the old religious house having been subsequently converted into a prison.
On quitting the ramparts, as just stated, Careless proceeded to the old hostelry of the Grey Friars, where he knew that several officers about to take part in the camisade would be assembled. The old inn—an ancient timber-built house, with quaint gables, and a projecting upper story—is still standing in Friars'-street.
In the principal room of the old hostel he found, as he expected, a party of Cavaliers smoking, singing, and quaffing sack and claret, as if they had no serious business in hand. They were thus making merry to the last, since among them were Major Knox and some others, who, two hours later, were killed in the attack on the outpost. They were all fully armed with steel caps, gorgets, cuirasses, pauldrons, and taches, but had divested themselves of their swords and pistols. Beside each sword lay a small roll of linen. This was the shirt which its owner meant to wear over his armour, and which, in some cases, proved a winding-sheet.
All the Cavaliers rose on Careless's appearance, and gave him a hearty welcome. He could not help being struck by the enthusiasm they displayed. Not one of them but seemed proud of being included in the dangerous enterprise. Not one but was ready to lay down his life for the king. Careless never afterwards recalled that meeting without heaving a sigh for the brave men who perished in the camisade. However, at the moment, he thought little of the hazard of the attack, and would gladly have joined in it if the king would have allowed him. Sitting down, he emptied the flagon of claret filled for him by Major Knox. Shortly afterwards Colonel Legge entered the room, but left again almost immediately, saying, as he departed, to Major Knox:
"Half an hour hence you must all be at the place of rendezvous."
Shortly afterwards Careless took leave of the company, and was proceeding along Friars'-street in the direction of the Sidbury-gate, when he heard his name pronounced in a familiar voice, that instantly awakened tender recollections, and turning, he perceived that he had been followed from the hostel by a young woman whose features were muffled in a hood.
Not doubting who it was, he exclaimed:
"Ah! is it you, Mary? I never expected to see you again."
"And you would not see me now, I can assure you, if I had not something of importance to say," she rejoined, partially removing her hood.
"Whatever has procured me the happiness of beholding you once more, sweet Mary, I feel grateful for it," he rejoined.
"Speak not thus lightly," she said. "'Tis a grave matter."
"Before you mention it, then, let me ask now you came to throw yourself away upon that detestable Roundhead? You must be heartily sick of him already."
"If you persist in talking thus you will frighten me away, and I shall leave unsaid what I have to tell you—and it is very important."
"Nay, by all that is bewitching, I swear you shall not go," he cried, catching her hand.
"Be serious, if you can, for a single instant, and listen to me."
"Tell me you are resolved to abandon Urso, and I will be as serious as you please."
"You put everything out of my head by your trifling talk. How very different you are from Urso, to be sure! He is always grave."
"Yes, I warrant me you rarely catch a smile on his sour visage. But I hope there are few points of resemblance between him and me. Again I ask, how could you marry such a man?"
"'Twas all my grandam's doing," she sighed.
"And you have bitterly repented of the foolish step ever since, I'll be sworn. Confess, and I'll forgive you, though, I own, the effort will be difficult."
"Then pray don't make it. Unless you listen to my warning, you will fall into a snare that has been privily laid for you."
"Privily laid for me by Urso, eh? The Roundhead rogue had better take care of himself, or you will speedily become a widow."
"It is not of Urso I would warn you. Do not take part in the camisade to-night."
"The camisade!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "How do you know there is to be a camisade? Who has told you of it? Answer me that."
All his levity had vanished. As she did not answer, he repeated the question still more peremptorily.
"No matter who told me," she rejoined. "If you value your life you will not go. I have warned you. Do as you please. Farewell!"
"Stay! we must not part thus. You spoke of a snare being privily laid for me. What was your meaning?"
"I will tell you nothing more," she rejoined.
And breaking from him, she flew towards the inn.
Just as she reached the door the Cavaliers came forth in a body. Some of them tried to stop her, but she pushed them aside and got into the house.
Careless thought of following her and insisting on an explanation, but after a moment's reflection he concluded that, since she was lodging at the inn, she must have overheard the loud and indiscreet talk of the Cavaliers, and so have ascertained the natureof the enterprise on which they were engaged. As to the "privily-laid snare" of which he had been warned, the expression savoured strongly of Urso, and probably meant nothing in particular.
Having arrived at this conclusion he marched off, with the fixed determination of paying another visit to the old hostel on the morrow.
But before the morrow came he was undeceived, and he then bitterly regretted that he had neglected the warning given him.
So well was the secret kept, that only the troops actually engaged in the camisade were aware of its object. Many heard of the enterprise and of its failure at the same time. When the attacking party was driven back, a call to arms was instantly made by the Duke of Hamilton and all the commanders stationed on the south and south-east, lest Cromwell should follow up his success by an immediate assault on the city. But it soon became apparent that he had no such design, and though the Royalists remained on the alert, they were not disturbed during the remainder of the night.
To Charles, who had made certain of success, the failure of the enterprise was a terrible disappointment. But he bore it manfully, as he bore all his reverses. He had remained at the Commandery in order that he might receive the earliest intelligence of the victory he so confidently anticipated, and was seated in the refectory, trying to while away the time in light chat with Careless, when General Middleton, followed by Sir William Keith and Colonel Legge entered the hall. Charles read what had happened in their downcast looks, and for a moment forbore to question them.
"Fortune has played me another sorry trick, I perceive," he exclaimed, at length. "I thought the fickle goddess would this time have befriended me."
"All would have gone well, sire, if our plan had not been betrayed," replied Middleton. "The enemy was prepared. We found the whole of Colonel Lilburn's force under arms, and were surrounded, but succeeded in cutting our way through them."
"I have a further proof of treachery, sire," said Colonel Legge. "Cromwell himself, with his body-guard of Ironsides, was with the outpost when I attacked it."
Charles could not repress an exclamation of rage.
"That we have been bought and sold is certain," he exclaimed. "But who can have betrayed us?"
"I think I can give a shrewd guess as to the villain who has thus traitorously discovered the design," said Careless, "and if I am right he shall not escape chastisement."
"Whoever the traitor may be," observed the king, "he musthave obtained early information, and have acted with the greatest promptitude, or the enemy could not have been prepared at all points for the attack. Cromwell must have clever and active spies in the city."
"True, sire," replied Middleton. " And I now recollect that, during our conference in the adjoining chamber, a man in the garden approached somewhat near to the open window. At the time I did not suspect his motive, but I now believe he was a spy."
"It may be so," observed Charles.
"Whether General Middleton is right or wrong in his suspicion, I am certain I can discover the traitor, sire," said Careless. "I have a clue to his hiding-place, and before many hours I engage to produce him."
"It will be some satisfaction to hang the villain," observed Charles.
"Your majesty may rely upon having that gratification," replied Careless. "With your permission, I will set about his capture at once. Nor will I rest till I have effected it."
And bowing to the king he quitted the hall.
In the court-yard of the Commandery was the king's ordinary guard. Taking two of the men with him, Careless proceeded to the Sidbury-gate, passed through the wicket with his attendants, and in another minute was in Friars'-street.
So dark was the narrow street, owing to the projecting stories of the ancient timber houses lining it on either side, that Careless was unable to discern any object unless close at hand. A heavy, measured tread, however, informed him of the approach of the rounds, and the next moment the patrol came up.
Captain Woolfe, who was with the guard, immediately recognised his superior officer, and on learning Careless's business, proffered his aid. They proceeded together to the old inn, followed by the whole party.
It would seem that all the inmates had retired to rest, but the knocking of a halbert staff against the door soon caused it to be opened by Master Kilvert, the host, who had hastily huddled on his apparel, and in a trembling voice inquired the meaning of this nocturnal visitation.
No explanation was vouchsafed him. Ordering the guard to post themselves secretly on the other side of the street and be ready to answer any summons, Careless and Captain Woolfe entered the house, shutting the street door after them.
The terrified host conducted them to the principal room, and setting down the light with which he was provided, humbly waited their pleasure to address him.
"Answer truly the questions I shall put, and you have nought to fear," said Careless. "You have a lodger named Urso Gives?"
"Your honour has been rightly informed," replied Kilvert."Master Gives, the tailor, with his wife and his wife's grandmother, are lodging in my house. Master Gives is a worthy and God-fearing man, or I would not have him as a guest."
"Your description of him is altogether inaccurate. He is a traitor and a spy. Lead us to his chamber instantly, and call him forth," said Careless, drawing his sword.
"I will lead your honour to his chamber," replied Kilvert, now still more alarmed. "But it will be useless to call him, seeing he is not there."
"I must be assured of this," said Careless. "Lead us to the room."
"I shall not need to do so, for here comes his wife, who will confirm what I have just declared to your honour."
And as he spoke Dame Gives entered, bearing a light. It was evident from her attire that she had not been in bed. Careless sheathed his sword on her appearance.
"Why have you come here at this hour? What do you want with Urso?" she cried, rushing up to him.
Careless, however, turned away, and said, in a low voice, to Captain Woolfe:
"Explain our errand to her."
"We have come to arrest your husband," said Woolfe.
"Arrest him! What crime has he committed?"
"The highest crime a man can commit," rejoined Woolfe. "He has betrayed the king to his enemies."
"I hope he can disprove the charge—but you will not find him here," she exclaimed. "Master Kilvert will satisfy you that he is not in the house."
"I have striven to do so, but ineffectually," said the host.
"Since it appears that your husband has not returned from his secret visit to the enemy's camp, we must wait for him," said Careless. "Have him we will."
"The house must be searched. He may be concealed within it," said Captain Woolfe. "Show me to the upper rooms," he added to the host.
"Readily," replied Kilvert. "And should you discover him, I will be content to take his place, and that I would not do for a thousand pound. This way, captain! this way!"
As soon as they were gone, Dame Gives exclaimed, distractedly:
"Cruel and ungrateful man! Is this the way you reward me? In my desire to serve you, I have destroyed poor Urso."
"You ought to thank me for ridding you of such a miscreant," rejoined Careless. "You do not seem to comprehend the magnitude of his offence."
"Yes, I do comprehend it," she rejoined. "I regard the crime with horror. But I am his wife. Save him! save him!"
"Impossible!" exclaimed Careless. "I would not save him ifI could. I am sorry for you, Mary, but I cannot feel the slightest compassion for the villain you have married. It pains me that his arrest cannot be accomplished without your taking part in it."
"Oh! that I could warn him of his danger," she exclaimed. "If I could only give him a signal!"
"The signal would be useless," said Careless. "A guard is posted outside."
"But he will not enter from the street!" she cried. "The door at the back is left open. I must fasten it."
And she would have rushed forth to execute her design if Careless had not prevented her.
"I cannot allow you to stir, Mary," he said, detaining her.
She besought him to let her go, but he refused. Just then, footsteps were heard in the passage.
"Ah, he is here!" she exclaimed.
Next moment Urso Gives entered the room, and started on beholding his wife and Careless together. By an instant and rapid retreat he might, perhaps, have escaped, for the way was then clear, but yielding to a sudden impulse of jealous fury, he drew a pistol and fired.
His aim was Careless, but the shot took effect on his wife, who was slightly wounded in the arm. Uttering a scream, she would have fallen if Careless had not caught her and placed her in a chair.
The report of the pistol brought Captain Woolfe and Kilvert into the room, and in another moment the guard rushed in from the street. Urso, who attempted no resistance, was seized and secured.
"Is this the man you seek, Major Careless?" asked Captain Woolfe.
"Ay, this is the accursed traitor," was the reply. "And now he would have added murder to his other crimes."
"I should be satisfied if I had slain thee," rejoined Urso, fiercely. "I have wrongs enough to avenge."
"Search him to see that he hath no concealed weapons," said Careless. "He shall then be taken to the Commandery, in order that his majesty may interrogate him."
"I know well what my doom will be, and am prepared for it," said Urso. "Before I am taken hence let me look for the last time upon my wife."
Careless signed to the guard to bring him forward.
Poor Mary was still lying in the chair in which she had been placed, and was tended by the hostess and a female servant, who had come into the room. A handkerchief had been bound round her arm by Careless to stanch the blood.
The prisoner gazed at her for some moments with a look of unutterable affection.
"She will live," he murmured. "Heaven be thanked I have not killed her!"
"No, thou art spared that crime," said Careless. "She is not much hurt."
Bending down, Urso kissed her pallid brow. The contact of his lips caused her to open her eyes, but on beholding him she shuddered, and immediately closed them.
With a sharp pang Urso turned away.
Attended by the guard, the prisoner was taken at once to the Commandery.
Though it was now close upon daybreak, Charles had not retired to rest. He was so much disturbed by the result of the night attack that, feeling he could not sleep, he remained in converse with Middleton and the two other unsuccessful commanders.
The king and his companions were in the refectory, when Careless entered and informed his majesty that he had captured the spy.
He then explained how the arrest had been accomplished, and after giving the king all needful particulars, the prisoner was introduced.
Urso Gives did not seem at all intimidated by the presence in which he stood, but maintained a resolute demeanour. General Middleton at once recognised him as the eavesdropper he had noticed in the garden.
When interrogated by Charles, the prisoner refused to answer any questions, and though threatened by Middleton with the thumbscrew, declared, with a firmness that carried conviction with it, that no torture should force him to make a confession.
After hearing Careless's relation, confirmed as it was by various circumstances, and, above all, by the discovery on the person of the prisoner of an order in Cromwell's handwriting, Charles could entertain no doubt of Urso's guilt. He ordered him to be hanged at mid-day on the Sidbury-gate, so that the spectacle of his ignominious death might be witnessed by the rebel army.
The prisoner, who heard his sentence without betraying the slightest emotion, was then removed, and taken by the guard to Edgar's Tower, where the king had ordered him to be kept till the hour appointed for his execution.
SHOWING HOW DAME GIVES BECAME A WIDOW.
Carelessdid not lose sight of the prisoner until he had seen him safely bestowed in Edgar's Tower. With the strictest injunctions to watch carefully over him, he then committed him to the custody of Martin Vosper, who, it may be remembered, was one of the party that bivouacked on Pitchcroft on the night of the Grand Muster. Vosper had since been promoted to the rank of lieutenant. Placed in the strong room in which Dr. Crosby had been confined by Colonel James, Urso immediately threw himself upon the pallet that formed part of the scanty furniture, and, being greatly fatigued, soon fell asleep. But his slumber was disturbed by fearful dreams, and his broken exclamations seemed to have reference to some dark deed he had committed. These muttered words attracted the attention of Lieutenant Vosper, who remained with him in the chamber. From the first Vosper had been struck with the prisoner's resemblance to the spy whom he and Trubshaw—now a corporal—had pursued, and he now felt sure he was the same individual.
While the wretched sleeper was muttering some incoherent words, but amidst which the name "Wicked Will" was plainly to be distinguished, Vosper stepped up to the couch and shook him violently.
Thus roused, the guilty wretch started up, looking the picture of horror and despair. His hue was death-like, his eyes stared wildly, and cold drops gathered thickly upon his brow.
"Lighten your breast of its heavy load," said Vosper. "When you played the spy on me and my comrades at Pitchcroft, you cried out in a solemn voice that Wicked Will's death was a judgment. But you neglected to tell us who was the instrument of the judgment. Supply the information now. Who drowned him in the Severn?"
"Not I," replied Urso, shuddering. "If I have talked in my sleep, as I do sometimes, my words must not be taken against me."
"Die not with a lie on thy lips," said Vosper. "Since thou art certain to be hanged, give yourself a chance hereafter, by confession and repentance."
"I will not confess my transgressions to thee," rejoined Urso. "If I may have some godly man to pray with me, I will lay bare my breast to him. I would fain see the Reverend Laban Foxe, who hath known me long and well."
"And needs not to be told of thine iniquities, I'll be sworn,"said Vosper. "I know the Reverend Laban, and a cunning old fox he is—his name suits him perfectly."
"A sorry jest, and ill-timed," said Urso. "Shall I see him?"
"Content thee—thou shalt."
"I thank thee," replied Urso. "In return, I will tell thee how Captain Hodgkins perished. Though I hated him as a bloodthirsty and wicked malignant, I did not compass his destruction. One evening, about dusk, he was staggering along the bank of the Severn, raging and roaring from strong drink, when he fell into the river."
"Wretch! you pushed him in," said Vosper, sternly.
"No," rejoined Urso. "It happened as I have said. I was standing by, and could have saved him had I stretched out my hand. But I hated him, and let him drown. Ah! I shall never forget his agonised, imploring looks, for the cold water had sobered him. I can see him now," he added, covering his eyes, as if to exclude some terrible object.
"With such a crime on thy conscience, no wonder thou canst not sleep soundly," said Vosper, regarding him with mingled pity and abhorrence.
"Thou sayst truly," rejoined the wretched man. "Since that night I have not been able to lay me down in peace. But I shall soon sleep the quiet and unbroken sleep of death."
"Hast thou aught more to tell me?" asked Vosper, after a pause.
"Ay, I will tell thee of another matter, though I feel no remorse for it," rejoined Urso. "Not many days ago I laid an ambush for thy king on one of the Malvern Hills, which he was foolish enough to ascend in company with Major Careless, whom I bitterly hate. Had I captured Charles Stuart, as I hoped to do, I should not be a prisoner here; and, better than all, I should have been avenged of Careless."
"I heard of his majesty's providential escape," said Vosper. "But I knew not that thou wert the contriver of the ambuscade."
"I can talk no more," said Urso. "I pray thee fulfil thy promise to let me see the godly man I have named."
Lieutenant Vosper immediately opened the door, and conferred for a moment with Corporal Trubshaw, who was standing outside.
This done, he re-entered the room.
Nearly an hour, however, elapsed before the corporal appeared with the Independent minister, and during this interval Urso turned his face to the wall, and maintained a profound silence, which Vosper did not care to interrupt.
The Reverend Laban Foxe was a sour-visaged old man. He wore a tall steeple-crowned hat and a long black cloak, but his attire had nothing of the divine about it.
He seemed much moved on beholding Urso, who rose from thepallet on his entrance, and a sad greeting took place between them.
The minister prayed to be left alone with the prisoner. Vosper assented and withdrew, but after awhile, thinking time enough had been allowed, he returned, and found Urso listening to the words of consolation addressed to him.
He therefore again retired, but returning after another long interval, and finding the exhortation still going on, he deemed it necessary to interrupt it.
"Since you sincerely repent of your sins, my son, I need say no more," observed the minister. "Bear your cross with resignation. Godly sorrow, like yours, worketh repentance to salvation." After a moment's pause he added, "But have you no message for your wife?"
"May I not see her?" cried Urso, casting an imploring look at Vosper, who made no reply.
"Alas! she cannot come to you, my son, even were she permitted," interposed the minister. "Her wound is not dangerous, but she has not strength for the painful interview."
"'Tis better thus!" exclaimed Urso, in a voice that betrayed profound emotion. "The parting with her would be a greater pang than death itself. Bid her an eternal farewell from me, and say to her——"
And he stopped.
"What must I add, my son?" inquired the minister.
"Say that I have left her a good legacy," rejoined Urso.
"Know you not that any money you may have bequeathed her will be forfeited?" remarked Vosper.
"Forfeited to whom?" demanded the prisoner.
"To whom should it be forfeited except to the king?" rejoined Vosper.
"I am easy on that score," said Urso. "Charles Stuart will not keep this money from her. The provision I have made is secure. Tell her so," he added to the minister. "She may not understand my meaning now, but she will understand it hereafter."
"Your words shall be faithfully repeated," said the Reverend Laban. "Farewell, my son!"
And with an earnest look at the prisoner, he departed.
When the hour fixed for the execution approached, a strong mounted guard was drawn up in front of the beautiful old gateway. Without a moment's delay, the prisoner was brought forth by Lieutenant Vosper, Corporal Trubshaw, and a party of halberdiers, who marched on either side of him.
Urso was bareheaded, his hands tied behind him, and a rope coiled round his neck. Before him walked the hangman—a caitiff apparently chosen for the revolting office from his savage and repulsivelooks. The mounted guard, previously mentioned, rode on in front to clear the way.
As the cortége passed slowly down Edgar-street and along Sidbury-street, Urso's appearance was everywhere greeted with yells and execrations, and if the infuriated concourse could have reached him, the hangman would have been spared a labour. Ever since it had become known that the night attack had been betrayed, the greatest indignation was manifested by the citizens, who demanded that the severest punishment should be inflicted on the traitor. Mere hanging was too good for him. They would have him drawn and quartered, and his head fixed on the Sidbury-gate, that Old Noll might see it.
Though Urso had nerved himself to the utmost, he was not equal to the terrible ordeal he was exposed to, and his agony during the march to the place of execution was far greater than that which he subsequently endured.
At length the Sidbury-gate was reached, and being taken inside the structure, he was for some minutes lost to sight.
The spectators awaited his reappearance with a fierce impatience, which they did not seek to control or disguise. The large area in front of the Sidbury-gate, which has been described as surrounded by the new fortifications, was crowded with soldiers; the ramparts of Fort Royal, the walls, the towers, were likewise thronged by soldiers. But there were hundreds, nay, thousands, of distant spectators of the tragic scene.
On the top of the Sidbury-gate a gallows had been reared. So lofty was it, that it could be seen from most parts of the city, while it formed a conspicuous object to the enemy on the heights.
Towards this extraordinary gallows every eye was now directed. Deep silence pervaded the vast assemblage.
At length the hangman came forth, and, climbing the long ladder quickly, seated himself astride on the transverse bar of the gallows, and proceeded deliberately to fasten the fatal rope to it.
While he was thus occupied, the prisoner appeared, still guarded by Lieutenant Vosper, Trubshaw, and the halberdiers, and his appearance was the signal for a renewal of the terrible outcries that had before assailed him. He bore them undauntedly, continuing perfectly motionless, until the executioner called out from above that all was ready. He then sprang quickly up the ladder, as if eager to meet his doom.
In another minute all was over, and his body swinging in mid air; while a universal groan—though not a groan of pity—burst from the spectators.
Thus died the traitor Gives, whose name is still execrated in faithful Worcester.
At the moment when Urso was launched into eternity, the dischargeof a cannon from Fort Royal informed Cromwell that the spy he had employed had been punished with death.
Cromwell, who was with Lilburn and Lord Grey of Groby on Perry Wood at the time, could not control his rage.
"The man's execution is justified by the laws of war," he said; "but it shall cost the citizens of Worcester dear. The great service he rendered us last night shall be requited as he desired. His widow shall have the reward I intended for him."
"How much is it to be?" asked Lord Grey.
"Two hundred pounds, and a pension of two hundred a year," replied Cromwell.
"A good reward, in sooth," said Lord Grey. "She will be well consoled for his loss."
HOW THE EARL OF DERBY ARRIVED AT WORCESTER.
Theend of August had arrived. The anniversary of the battle of Dunbar—fought on the 3rd of September, 1650—was close at hand. Cromwell, as we have shown, had resolved to wait for this auspicious day, if he should not be forced by the king to accept a battle sooner. But Charles had been so much discouraged by the failure of the camisade that he hesitated—perhaps too long—before risking a general engagement. A few unimportant skirmishes had taken place between the outposts, sometimes with advantage to one party, sometimes to the other, but these were all.
The interval was employed by Cromwell in making strong intrenchments at Perry Wood, where he had mounted a battery with heavy guns. As this battery threatened Fort Royal and the city, Charles was eager to attack it, but was dissuaded from the hazardous attempt by his generals. The jealousies among the Royalist leaders, already alluded to, had increased in bitterness, and, in consequence of these disputes, which he found it impossible to check, he could form no plan with the certainty of carrying it out. All his designs were frustrated.
Cromwell, on the other hand, took counsel from no one. His instructions were implicitly obeyed. What his precise plans now were could only be conjectured. They were known to Lambert, Fleetwood, Ingoldsby, and the generals stationed at Upton, but to no others.
Charles had recently changed his quarters, and had removed to the ancient mansion belonging to the mayor, where he enjoyedgreater privacy than he could command at the palace. The residence he had chosen is one of the largest old houses in the city, and stands at the north end of New-street, looking into the Corn Market. Over the porch is the appropriate inscription, "Love God—Honour the King." Here he could retire when completely worn out by the ceaseless toils of the day, certain of being undisturbed.
On the evening of Monday, the 1st of September, he was seated in a large old-fashioned room on the ground floor of the ancient mansion referred to. The dark oak panels were hung with tapestry, and the cumbrous oak furniture was of Elizabeth's time. He had just dined, but had eaten little, and was in a very despondent mood. Careless, who was in attendance, filled a large silver goblet with claret, and handed it to him. The king raised the cup to his lips, but set it down untasted.
"I never saw your majesty so downcast before," remarked Careless. "A cup of wine will cheer you. The claret is good, I'll answer for it, for I have emptied a flask."
"Wine will not rouse my spirits," rejoined Charles, gloomily. "I am quite worn out. I will hold no more councils of war. They are utterly unprofitable. There is no deliberation—no unanimity of opinion—each plan, however promising, is violently opposed. What will be the end of it all?—certain defeat."
"Yes, I own your generals are difficult to manage, my liege," replied Careless. "But you humour them too much, and in consequence they presume on your good-nature, and disregard your authority. Enforce obedience to your commands. That is Old Noll's plan."
"Would you have me resemble him?" cried Charles.
"Yes, in that particular, my liege. He would not be where he now is if he were not absolute. At your next council explain your plans, but do not allow them to be discussed."
"Why summon a council at all, if those composing it are not to deliberate?"
"Merely that your generals may hear the expression of your will."
"Well, thy notion is not a bad one," replied Charles, smiling for the first time.
"Let no one speak but yourself, my liege, and there can be no wrangling, no contention."
"That is indisputable," said Charles.
At this moment a sound was heard in the passage.
"Some one is without!" exclaimed the king. "But be it whom it may, I will not be disturbed."
Thereupon Careless left the chamber, but almost immediately returned.
"I have disobeyed your majesty," he said; "but I am sure you will pardon me."
As the very distinguished-looking personage who had entered with him advanced slowly towards the king, Charles perceived who he was, and sprang forward, exclaiming:
"Welcome, my dear Lord Derby! Welcome to Worcester! Of all men living you are the one I most desired to see. Once more, welcome! You have arrived most opportunely. We are on the eve of a great battle—a battle that must decide my fate!—and I could not have fought it successfully without you."
"Thank Heaven I have arrived in time!" cried the earl. "I was aware that a battle was imminent, and almost despaired of reaching Worcester in time to take part in it; but here I am at last, ready to fight for your majesty."
"You can do more than merely fight for me, my lord," said Charles. "You can give me the benefit of your advice. I sadly want a counsellor."
"I fancied you had already too many counsellors, sire," observed the earl.
"Nay, that is true," rejoined Charles. "But I want a leader like yourself—entirely devoted to me—one who will not thwart me. Heaven has sent you to me at the right moment, and my hopes are now revived."
"If I had not been protected by Heaven, I could not have overcome the difficulties I have had to encounter in coming hither, my liege," replied the Earl of Derby.
"Have you quite recovered from the hurts you got at Wigan, my dear lord?' asked the king, anxiously.
"Not entirely, my liege," replied the earl. "Six-and-twenty wounds are not cured in a week. But I am able to sit a horse, and wield a sword. Finding myself strong enough for the journey, I left Boscobel this morn, attended by Captain Giffard of Chillington and his brother, with a dozen of their retainers. We got on without accident or interruption, till within a few miles of Worcester, and though we had quitted the high road, and taken to the fields and lanes in order to avoid the enemy, we were discovered by a party of skirmishers, and chased almost to the gates of the city. We found the Foregate walled up, and so entered by St. Martin's-gate."
"The Foregate has been walled up as a matter of precaution," said Charles. "But you look pale, my good lord. Be seated, I beg of you. A cup of wine, Careless."
The earl emptied the goblet proffered him.
"That has marvellously restored me," he said. "I did feel somewhat faint and exhausted after my long ride."
The colour was now, in some degree, restored to the earl'spallid countenance, but as Charles gazed at him with deep interest, he saw how severely he still suffered from his numerous wounds.
Never did the spirit of loyalty burn more strongly in any breast than in that of James Stanley, seventh Earl of Derby. This is sufficiently proved by the earl's haughty response to Ireton, when summoned to surrender the Isle of Man to the Parliament. "I have received your letter with indignation," he wrote, "and with scorn I return you this answer, that I cannot but wonder whence you should gather any hopes from me that I should, like you, prove traitorous to my sovereign, since you cannot be insensible of my former actings in his late majesty's service, from which principle of loyalty I am in no way departed. I scorn your proffers; I disdain your favours; I abhor your treasons; and so far from delivering this Island to your advantage, I will keep it to your destruction. Take this final answer, and forbear any further solicitations, for if you trouble me with any more messages upon this occasion I will burn the paper and hang the messenger."
To Charles II. this loyal and chivalrous peer was as devoted as he had been to that monarch's martyred sire.
Born in 1606, the Earl of Derby was still in the prime of manhood, and was endowed with a frame of extraordinary vigour. Skilled in all athletic exercises, brave to a fault, prompt, determined, undismayed by danger, he would have been a great general but for his excessive rashness. Somewhat below the ordinary height, he was powerfully built and well proportioned. His features were cast in a large and noble mould, and his dark, deep-sunk eyes had a grave and thoughtful expression, that harmonised with his sombre and melancholy aspect. Baines, the historian of Lancashire, thus describes him: "His was one of the old Stanley faces which we love to look upon as they darken in their frames, and to associate with deeds of chivalry, as enduring as the history of that country with whose annals their names are so proudly connected."
The Earl of Derby was married to Charlotte, daughter of Claude de la Tremouille, Duke of Thuars, and through this union he became allied to the royal houses of Nassau and Bourbon. The Countess of Derby was exceedingly beautiful, and her high spirit was equal to her beauty. Her heroic defence of Latham House for four months against the Parliamentarian forces is one of the most memorable incidents of the Civil Wars.
Such was the seventh Earl of Derby, not the least illustrious of a long and illustrious line. The earl's tragical end is well known, and it forms one of the darkest pages in the sanguinary annals of the period.
"I must now inquire after Roscarrock," observed the earl. "He is here, I trust. But I have heard nought of him since he left Boscobel."
"He arrived here safely nearly a week ago, and has well-nigh recovered from his wounds," replied Charles. "Go find him, and bring him here at once," he added to Careless.
"I shall only have to tell him that Lord Derby has arrived, and he will hurry hither," replied Careless, who instantly departed on his errand.
Left alone with the earl, Charles acquainted him with the present posture of affairs, and explained his difficulties to him. After listening with deep interest to all that was said by the king, the earl replied:
"I am sorry to find your majesty thus embarrassed, but I trust I shall be able to relieve you from your perplexities. I have some influence both with Hamilton and Buckingham, and I will use it to heal their differences. If they can be reconciled—and this shall be my first business—there will be little difficulty with the others, except perhaps with Lauderdale, but I will endeavour to soothe his wounded pride. This is not the moment for disputes. All quarrels must be settled after the battle."
"You give me fresh heart, my dear lord," cried Charles. "I was in despair, but you have restored my confidence. With my father's best and staunchest friend by my side, I shall yet triumph."
Just then the door opened, and Roscarrock entered, followed by Careless. Joyful exclamations were uttered as the two companions-in-arms embraced each other. There was something so touching in their meeting that both Charles and Careless were moved by it.
As soon as the excitement caused by seeing the earl was over, Roscarrock made a reverence to the king, and said, in an apologetic tone:
"I trust your majesty will pardon me. I have been carried away by my feelings."
"The warmth of your feelings does you honour, colonel," observed Charles. "I am as rejoiced as yourself at the Earl of Derby's arrival. His presence will animate my troops. He will have the command of a regiment, and you will be with him."
"I thank your majesty," replied Roscarrock, bowing. "Heaven grant we may be more fortunate than we were at Wigan!"
"That disaster will now assuredly be repaired," observed Charles; "though you will have Cromwell himself to contend with. But you said the two Giffards of Chillington accompanied you from Boscobel," he added to the earl. "Where are they?"
"They are waiting to learn your majesty's pleasure respecting them," replied Lord Derby.
"In the street?" cried Charles.
"Ay, in the street, my liege," said Roscarrock. "I spoke with them as I came in. They have not dismounted. Your majesty has not two more loyal subjects than Thomas and Charles Giffard."
"That I will answer for," added Lord Derby. "And they are brave as well as loyal."
"You praise them so highly that I must needs see them," remarked Charles, smiling. "Bring them to me, Careless. Boscobel belongs to them, you said, my lord?"
"To Tom Giffard, the elder brother, my liege. The Giffards are a very ancient Roman Catholic family, and have remained constant to the faith of their forefathers."
"I do not dislike them for adhering to the old religion," said Charles.
"Besides Chillington, they have another seat called White Ladies," pursued the earl. "Your majesty will understand what Boscobel is like when I mention that it is a secluded recusant's house, full of priests' hiding-places, so wonderfully contrived, that none concealed within them were ever discovered. I felt perfectly safe there."
"A good place of refuge, no doubt," remarked Charles. "'Tis well to know of it. But here come the Giffards."
As he spoke, the two brothers were ushered in by Careless. Both were handsome, stalwart young men, and their good looks and manly bearing very favourably impressed the king. A strong family resemblance existed between them. They were fully armed, as were all gentlemen at that distracted time. The king accorded them a most gracious reception.
"I am glad to see you, gentlemen," he said. "And since you have come to Worcester, I must, perforce, detain you till after the battle. I want recruits—above all, such recruits as you."
"We have come to offer our services to your majesty," replied Captain Giffard.
"I accept them," said Charles. "You shall serve under Lord Derby."
"Your majesty has anticipated the request we were about to prefer," observed Charles Giffard.
"My Lord of Derby," said the king to the earl, "you must take up your quarters here. For many reasons I desire to have you with me." The earl bowed, and Charles turned to the two Giffards and said: "Gentlemen, you will likewise find quarters here. The kindness and hospitality shown by you to Lord Derby demand some return. Nay, nay, good sirs, you will not incommode me. The house is large, and has plenty of rooms within it. Major Careless will see you comfortably bestowed."
It need scarcely be said that this gracious proposition was gladlyaccepted—indeed, it could not be declined. The Earl of Derby and the two Giffards were lodged that night in the old mansion in New-street with the king.
IN WHAT MANNER JANE LANE WAS CAPTURED, AND BROUGHT BEFORE CROMWELL.
Thoughoften urged to do so by the king, Jane Lane did not leave Worcester till the last moment, but when it became certain that a battle was imminent, Charles insisted upon her departure. Very early on the morning of the 2nd of September she quitted the city, accompanied by Colonel Lane and Sir Clement Fisher. By riding hard, she hoped to reach her home in Staffordshire before night. Her companions were not going with her further than Bewdley, where they hoped to procure a safe escort for her.
Having selected the road they deemed most secure, the party were galloping along a lane near Hindlip, when they heard a shout, and the next moment a party of musketeers, evidently Parliamentarians, with an officer, came upon them from a cross road. There was nothing for it but instant flight. As they turned back, the musketeers galloped after them, and fired a few shots—luckily without effect.
Thinking to escape more quickly, Jane Lane jumped a hedge on the left, and gained a broad meadow. But neither her brother nor Sir Clement followed her, while the sounds she heard convinced her they were being hotly pursued. She rode partly across the meadow, and then stopped, uncertain what to do, still hoping her companions would join her. But they came not, and fresh firing at a distance added to her fright. What was she to do? She could not proceed on her journey alone, and yet a return to the city was fraught with the utmost peril. Yet this was the course she resolved on after a few minutes' consideration, and she rode down to the bottom of the field, anxiously listening for any warning sounds. The enemy, however, was nearer at hand than she imagined, and she had no sooner got out of the field by clearing another hedge than she was made prisoner by a couple of musketeers. No rough usage was offered her, but seizing her bridle, the men took her to their leader, who was posted beneath a wide-spreading beech-tree, with a dozen troopers beside him.
"Soh! you have captured the Moabitish maiden," observed the leader.
The words and the stern tone in which they were uttered caused Jane to look at the speaker, and she then, to her astonishment, perceived she was in the presence of the Lord General himself. Instead of being alarmed by the discovery, she felt her courage return.
"Thou knowest me, damsel, I perceive," observed Cromwell, perceiving the effect he had produced upon her. "Answer truthfully the questions I shall put, and you have no cause for fear."
"I have no fear," replied Jane, stoutly.
"Who were the malignants with you? Was Charles Stuart one of them? Speak! I will have an answer."
His manner was so authoritative, that she felt almost compelled to obey. Still she remained silent.
"I ask again, was Charles Stuart one of them?" said Cromwell, still more sternly. "I have received intelligence from one not likely to deceive me, that he meditates flight from the city on this very morn. And I am here on the watch for him."
"You have received false intelligence," rejoined Jane. "The king will never leave the city."
"Ah! you have plenty of spirit, I find," cried Cromwell. "But you draw suspicion on yourself by your reluctance to answer. For the third time, who were those with you?'
"My brother, Colonel Lane, and my brother's friend, Sir Clement Fisher," she replied.
"And your own suitor, perchance," remarked Cromwell.
"You are right," rejoined Jane.
At this juncture several of the troopers returned, and Cromwell called out:
"Have you captured the men of Moab? Have you smitten them with the sword?'
"No, your excellency," replied Dighton, who commanded the party. "They have escaped into the city."
"Heaven be thanked for that!" exclaimed Jane. "Then I care not what becomes of me."
Cromwell regarded her fixedly, not without a certain admiration.
"You are a stout-hearted maiden," he said. "'Tis a pity you cannot understand the truth."
"I understand some things," replied Jane, boldly. "I understand treason and rebellion, and I will have nought to do with traitors and rebels. Your excellency is fond of texts. Forget not that it has been said, 'Rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and shall be so punished.' Remember also what Rabshakeh said to Hezekiah, 'On whom dost thou trust that thou rebellest?' Lastly, I ask with Nehemiah, 'What do ye? Will you rebel against the king?'"
"There is no king left," replied Cromwell. "The Lord hassmitten the house of Ahab, and the seed royal shall be destroyed."
"Not so, thou worse than Athaliah," said Jane. "The blood of the royal Martyr cries for vengeance upon his murderers, and it will not cry in vain. Thou mayest capture yonder city—mayest destroy its brave and devoted citizens, but the king will escape—ay, escape, I tell thee—and mount the throne when thou art dust."
"While I live he shall never mount the throne," rejoined Cromwell.
His brow had grown very dark as he listened to Jane's imprudent speech, but he repressed his wrath, and a seasonable interruption was offered by the arrival of another party of musketeers under the command of Cornet Hardiman.
With them was a young and good-looking woman on horseback, seated on a pillion behind a serving-man. She was habited in deep mourning.
"How is this?" cried Oliver, angrily. "Can ye bring me none but women as prisoners to-day?"
"May it please your excellency," replied Hardiman, "this young dame is not a prisoner. She is the widow of that Urso Gives who was hanged by Charles Stuart. Having heard that you made some promise of a reward to her late husband, she entreated me to bring her before you, and believing her story, I consented."
"Is this the Widow Gives?" demanded Cromwell, regarding her with attention.
"Ay, marry, your excellency," replied the young dame. "I am the widow of that unfortunate man, who lost his life in your service. I have been informed by the Reverend Laban Foxe—a most godly minister—that your excellency promised Urso a reward, and that if he perished I should receive it."
"It is true, and I will not fail one word of my promise," replied Cromwell. "You shall have the reward, but you must be content to wait for it till the city is in my hands."
"Then I trust she will have to wait for it long," observed Jane.
Cromwell took no notice of the remark, but said to the young widow:
"You are passing fair, and I marvel not at your husband's strong attachment to you."
"Of a truth, poor Urso was greatly attached to me," replied the young widow, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Be constant to his memory, if you can—though I fear 'twill be a hard matter with you to be so," observed Cromwell. "But I have no further time for idle discourse. Since there is no chance of capturing Charles Stuart, I shall not tarry longer here. Takecharge of this damsel," he added. "Her friends have left her. But mark me! she must not return to the city. Neither return thither thyself, if thou wouldst live to enjoy thy pension."
"Your excellency's injunctions shall be obeyed," replied Dame Gives, trembling.
"I thought I was a prisoner," remarked Jane, surprised.
"I do not make prisoners of women," replied Cromwell, coldly.
With this, he gave the word to Dighton, and immediately rode off in the direction of Perry Wood, followed by his troops.
No sooner was he gone, than Jane said to Dame Gives:
"Notwithstanding the Lord General's prohibition, I must, and will, return to Worcester. I must relieve my brother's anxiety on my account."
"Beseech you do not, dear lady," replied the young widow, earnestly. "Come with me to Droitwich, whither I am going, and I will undertake to provide you a faithful messenger, who shall convey a letter or a token from you to Colonel Lane or Sir Clement Fisher."
"You know me then!" cried Jane in astonishment.
"There are very few in Worcester who do not know Mistress Jane Lane," replied Dame Gives.
"But your sympathies are with the enemy—not with us," cried Jane.
The very significant look given her by the young widow satisfied her she was mistaken.
"Major Careless would tell you differently," whispered Dame Gives, leaning forward.
"My doubts are removed," said Jane. "I will go with you to Droitwich."
"You will not find your confidence misplaced," replied Dame Gives. "And it will delight me to be of service to you."
They then rode off at a brisk pace, and were soon on the high road to Droitwich.
WHAT CHARLES BEHELD FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE CATHEDRAL TOWER.
Brightlydawned the fatal 3rd of September, 1651, as if the day just breaking were destined to be one of peace and rejoicing rather than of strife and bloodshed. But the gladdening influence of the sunshine that gilded its towers, spires, and pinnacles could not dispel the gloom hanging over the devoted city.Men sprang from their restless couches oppressed with the sense that the dreadful contest in which they must of necessity take part was close at hand. Before night the king's fate would probably be decided. If he fell, the city dedicated to his cause would fall with him.
This conviction forced itself upon the minds of all who arose that morn in Worcester. After arming themselves, many of the soldier citizens looked round at their quiet homes as if taking leave of them for ever, or gazed with unspeakable anguish at their wives and children, well knowing the beloved ones would not be spared if the ruthless Parliamentarians should obtain the mastery. Some few were unmanned, but the majority faced the terrible situation resolutely, and conquered their emotion. Of victory they had now but little hope, yet they did not absolutely despair, since in war there is always a chance. Their word had been given to the king, and it must be kept, be the consequences what they might. If they could not secure him the throne they could die for him, and they were determined to sell their lives dearly. As to surrender, such a thought never occurred to these loyal folks, and if advantageous terms had been offered by Cromwell they would have rejected the dishonouring proposal with scorn.
Half an hour before daybreak the reveillé was beaten in the streets, the citizens who belonged to the different corps having been ordered to muster at an early hour on the College Green, at the Cross, and in other places. To these different points they were now marching, and the clank of arms resounded in all quarters.
The men of Worcester were not inexperienced in military service, most of them having been engaged in the two previous sieges of the city. A considerable number were employed on the walls and fortifications to assist the regular artillerymen, but others were formed into companies, each corps being commanded by a skilled officer. These companies were intended as a reserve force. The city being under military rule, the authority of the mayor was to a certain extent superseded, but he had quite enough to do as commander of the mounted civic guard, which being augmented by recruits brought by gentlemen of the county new formed a regiment four hundred strong.
All the gates of the city were strongly guarded, and, as already intimated, the Foregate, which formed the principal outlet on the north, had been walled up. No one, without an order, could cross the bridge; and no boats, except the large flat-bottomed ferry-boats employed for the transit of troops and horses, were allowed on the river.
Grim war had set its stamp on Worcester. Since the citizens had all become soldiers, there seemed to be soldiers everywhere—nonebut soldiers. No women were abroad; they were afraid to stir forth, and would fain have barricaded their dwellings. The clank of arms, the beating of drums, the call of the bugle, were the only sounds heard in the streets.
The churches were open, and those who chose stepped in to breathe a prayer—the last, perhaps, they might ever utter. Alas! how those sacred edifices were soon afterwards profaned! The taverns likewise were open—indeed, they had been open all night—and were full of Cavaliers fortifying themselves before assembling for duty with a morning's draught of canary. A large body of the mounted civic guard was drawn up in front of the Guildhall awaiting the mayor's appearance, while small detachments were patrolling the streets. In the Corn Market the king's body-guard was assembled, ready to escort his majesty to the cathedral.
As soon as it became light, anxious looks were directed towards the strong intrenchments thrown up by Cromwell on Perry Wood, and to the camp on Red Hill, but no movements were distinguishable at either place.
Charles was as early astir as any of the citizens. He had slept soundly on the last night he was destined to pass at Worcester, and awoke refreshed and in good spirits, fully prepared for any perils and fatigue he might encounter. Had he known all he would have to go through during the next twenty-four hours he might have felt grateful for the good night's rest he had enjoyed.
Half an hour before daybreak he was roused by Careless, and after making a hearty breakfast with Lord Derby, put on his armour and rode with the earl to the cathedral.
A council of war had been summoned to meet the king soon after daybreak on the summit of the cathedral tower, whence the whole surrounding district could be surveyed, and the movements of the enemy more easily discovered than from any other post of observation in the city, and his majesty was now proceeding to the place of rendezvous.
Alighting at the northern portal, Charles and the Earl of Derby entered the sacred edifice, and found the Duke of Hamilton, the Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Lauderdale, Lord Talbot, Lord Wilmot, Lord Rothes, and several other distinguished personages, assembled in the nave.
All being fully armed, they formed a very striking group. The anxious expression of their countenances, which none cared to conceal, showed how deeply they were impressed with the perilous position of affairs. Charles appeared far more hopeful than his generals, and returned their grave salutations with a cheerfulness that surprised some of those who expected to find him despondent.
Massey had so far recovered from his wounds that he was ableto attend the council, and Pitscottie was likewise present; but Montgomery, Keith, Drummond, Dalyell, and Sir Alexander Forbes were necessarily absent, and Lesley had sent an excuse.
Several small groups of soldiers were collected within the cathedral, and amongst them were half a dozen Highlanders, who formed Pitscottie's guard.
Inviting the members of the council to follow him, the king proceeded to the north aisle of the choir, in which was the entrance to a spiral stone staircase communicating with the tower. Two musketeers were stationed at this door. Careless mounted first; the king went next, and the others followed, as they might, in no particular order.
In the belfry, which he soon reached, Charles found Middleton and Colonel Legge, and was well pleased to see them, but being impatient, he scarcely paused a moment, and quickly ascended a second circular staircase, narrower and steeper than the first, and soon gained the summit of the tower.
A wide and beautiful prospect now lay before him, but it was not the beauty or extent of the landscape that attracted him. The lofty post he had attained enabled him to see the whole of the adjoining districts on the south and south-east of the city, Red Hill and Perry Wood, both banks of the river, the junction of the Teme and the Severn, Powick with its church crowning a woody eminence, and all the country skirting the right bank of the Severn, and lying between Powick and Upton.
But before proceeding with our description, let us say a word about the cathedral tower, on the summit of which the king stood.
Some five centuries old, being finished in 1374, this structure, one of the finest in the kingdom, and the richest in embellishment, is upwards of one hundred and sixty feet high, measured from the roof of the central transept from which it springs. Exquisite tabernacle work surrounds the upper stage, and the eastern façade is ornamented by figures, one of which represents Edward III., at the latter end of whose reign the tower was completed. Viewed from all points, owing to the position of the reverend pile it adorns, the tower appears to singular advantage.
About fifty years subsequent to the date of our history, this noble structure was repaired—judiciously repaired, we are bound to add—and the existing pinnacles and battlements were erected. In other respects it is unaltered since Charles II.'s time, except what has been done internally in the belfry and clock-chamber by the unwearied exertions of the Rev. Richard Cattley, one of the present minor canons of the cathedral.[6]As the battlements atthe time of our history were more than six feet high, a wooden platform had been constructed to enable the king and his attendants to look over them without inconvenience. Above the tower, on a tall flag-staff, floated the royal standard.
Springing up the wooden steps Charles leaned over the south parapet, and gazed eagerly at the posts of the enemy. In another minute the whole of the battlements were thronged, and a dozen field-glasses anxiously directed towards Perry Wood and Red Hill.
The main body of the Parliamentary army which now occupied the former post remained stationary, but it was evident that some movement was taking place on the western slopes of Red Hill—probably in the direction of the Severn—and thinking this might be so, Charles directed his scrutiny to the near bank of the river, but though he scanned it carefully for a couple of miles he could discern nothing to justify alarm. The river that flowed past the lofty pile on which he stood was nowhere disturbed. Next following the Teme from its point of junction with the larger river—its course being easily traced by the withies and willows fringing its banks—his eye rested on the old bridge of Powick. A desperate effort he had always felt would be made by the enemy, early in the day, to secure this pass; but he did not foresee, nor did any of his generals foresee, the skilful manœuvre by which its capture would be effected.
Charles had every reliance on General Montgomery's vigilance and bravery, supported as he was by Colonel George Keith.
Viewed from the cathedral tower on that bright morning, Powick seemed close at hand, and though the old bridge was partially veiled in a slight mist arising from the river, Montgomery's brigade could be seen drawn up on Wykefield, a large meadow, close beside it—the helmets and accoutrements of the men flashing in the sunbeams.
Satisfied that Montgomery was on the alert, and that no immediate danger threatened him, Charles continued his inspection, and, with his field-glass, swept the district lying between Powick and Upton.
Suddenly an exclamation broke from him that caused all the other glasses to be turned in the same direction as his own, and it was then perceived by all that a large body of cavalry was skirting the Old Hills.
Almost immediately afterwards another regiment of horse could be descried somewhat nearer the Severn. Both were evidently advancing upon Powick Bridge.
"That must be Fleetwood's brigade," cried Charles, still keeping his glass fixed on the troops.
"Your majesty is right," observed Massey, who was standing behind the king. "It is Fleetwood's regiment—Ingoldsby is nearer the river—and with him are Goff and Gibbons. The troops coming through Woodsfield copse, if I mistake not, are commanded by General Deane. Montgomery will have enough to do to maintain the bridge against such odds."
"He must be reinforced—and quickly," cried Charles. "No troops can be spared from the city. Dalyell must send a detachment from St. John's. Careless shall take a message to him at once."
"I will go myself, sire," said Massey, "and take command of the detachment."
"But have you strength enough for the task, general?"
"My strength will return when I meet the enemy," rejoined Massey.
Charles did not attempt to stay him, and he departed.
Again the king watched the regiments advancing from Upton. They came on slowly and cautiously, while the skirmishers scoured the fields and lanes.
"How is this?" cried Charles, angrily. "Are they to be allowed to reach Powick without hindrance?"
"Not so, my liege," replied Middleton, who had taken Massey's place behind the king. "They will meet with a warm reception anon. Look more closely, and you will perceive that the hedges are lined with soldiers. Those are your new recruits, and they are just the men for this sort of work. Ah! they are beginning in earnest now."