THE morning of our departure dawned grey and misty, while a keen, damp wind stirred the tree-tops, though it was not sufficient to disperse the wreaths of vapour that obliterated every object beyond the distance of a few yards from us.
The waggon stood in the courtyard, four powerful dray horses being already harnessed to it. The silver bars were compactly stowed away in the bottom of the wain, covered by a layer of straw. On this were placed a number of articles intended for my father's and our own personal use, including an air bed, my sire having mentioned that the effects of a hard bed on the ground had begun to show in the nature of rheumatism.
This contrivance had but lately been introduced, and, in the words of the worthy Richard Royston, in his treatise on fortification, "it is blown up to bear its owner from the damp and unwholesome humidity of the earth, the which I call a 'ventilet,' signifying a bed of wind."
Above the chattels came another load of straw, hiding everything, while a tarpaulin protected the contents from the rain.
Colonel Firestone was to play the part of a country yeoman, wearing a plain buff coat over his armour, though he carried his sword and pistols openly, for it was the custom, nay, a necessity, for travellers to go armed when making far journeys.
Roger, the waggoner, had pistols close at hand in the cart, though I had my doubts, as did the colonel, whether his natural stupidity and timidity would ever be overcome should we be molested; but Walter, the pikeman, who rode within the waggon, was made of sterner stuff, and could be relied upon in a tight place.
Granville and I, together with Sergeant Lawson, all soberly clad and armed, were to ride at some distance behind the waggon, so as to present the appearance of a party of travellers having no interest in the convoy and we had agreed, when putting up for the night, to treat Colonel Firestone as a chance acquaintance, so as to disarm any suspicions which the presence of a body of armed men would give rise to.
The final farewells were said, and the gates were thrown open. Then, with a dull rumble, the waggon lumbered over the lowered drawbridge, and our journey to the King's camp at Oxford had begun.
Directly we struck the highway we took up the order agreed upon; but so slow was the pace that Granville and I exercised our steeds by galloping over the green sward which bordered the road on either side, though keeping well within sight of our precious charge.
Up the tedious ascent of Butser Hill the waggon crawled at a snail's pace. At frequent intervals parties of horsemen passed us, either bound for London, or else making towards Portsmouth, and, though most of them were undoubtedly rebels, they hindered us not, though many were the sour and distrustful glances they shot at us.
Hard by the town of Petersfield the waggon turned oft to the left, to avoid the town, which, rumour said, was full of the Parliamentary troops, and, moreover, the inhabitants of Ashley Castle were well known to the countryside.
Winchester was, we learned, in the hands of the Royalists, and thither we directed our way, intending to cross the downs to Newbury, and so on to Oxford, our only fear being that we should fall in with the Parliamentarians marching to join the Earl of Essex.
It was nearly sunset ere the waggon turned in under the archway of the King's Head, and a quarter of an hour later Granville and I galloped up, followed by Lawson.
Granville and I having arrived at the inn, I demanded in an imperious voice accommodation for the night, asking at the same time whether there were other travellers staying there?
"None save a country gentleman and a merchant from Southampton," replied the landlord. "Right worthy company you'll find them, sirs."
"I hope so, too," I replied, and, dismissing the sergeant, for whom lodging was provided above the stables, Granville and I joined the colonel, keeping up the pretence by craving the liberty of introducing ourselves to him and to the merchant of Southampton, who gave his name as Henry Cutler.
The latter was a keen-eyed, black-browed man, with pale, thin features, and lank, raven hair. His dress was rich and even gaudy, while his long, white fingers were loaded with rings.
The conversation flagged somewhat till Firestone called for a bottle of Canary, and presently the colonel and the merchant were trying to outvie each other by telling tales of their adventures both at home and in the countries of western and southern Europe.
"I do perceive that ye are Royalists and honest men," remarked the merchant, fixing his keen eyes on us each in turn. "Therefore, I'll take ye into my confidence, an ye be willing."
"I will not promise you that I'll take you into mine," replied Firestone bluntly.
"I do not ask it," continued the other carelessly. "I can read most persons' minds like an open book. For example, you, young sirs, are journeying to give your personal services to His Majesty. And you, sir, are an old soldier, who also is on the same errand?"
"How knowest thou that?" inquired the colonel, with considerable amazement.
"Never mind," replied the other, with a slight smile. "But, that being so, why should we not travel together? I am taking a present to His Majesty, which will, I trove, relieve him of all anxiety regarding money matters. To be brief, I tell you, in confidence, I possess the secret of the philosopher's stone, concerning which so many wise men have laboured in vain."
"What!" exclaimed Firestone, "canst convert base metal into gold and silver?"
"Ay, and I'll prove it forthwith," replied the merchant calmly. Producing a small glass bottle from his pocket, he held it up for our inspection.
"'Tis not a stone, but a powder that works the marvel," he continued. "The secret thereof was bestowed upon me by Master Hans Oest, the world-known alchemist of Antwerp. See, here is a piece of lead. Take and examine it carefully, lest you say it is not base metal."
The piece of lead was eagerly handed round, the colonel cutting it with a knife to make certain that there was no deception about it.
"With this powder, lead becomes silver; silver becomes gold, though its virtues cannot produce gold from lead, through the medium of silver. I see an earthenware platter yonder; wouldst mind handing it to me?"
In breathless silence we watched the merchant place the bar of lead on the platter and carefully sprinkle a small quantity of the powder upon it.
With a taper, he applied a light to the powder, and immediately there appeared a fierce blue light which dazzled our eyes, and a thick yellowish smoke that made us gasp for breath.
The light disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving us blinking in the sudden change from the brilliant glare to the semi-darkness of the room; but, when our eyes grew accustomed to the change, there, on the plate, lay a bar of pure silver!
"And now, concerning the conversion of silver into gold?" asked Colonel Firestone.
"Ah, I have excited thy curiosity, then?"
"I would see the whole business through."
"Then ye shall, though, by necessity, it takes longer than doth the production of silver. Hast any silver articles upon your person?"
"None, save a crown or two."
"Silver, if tarnished, doth not lend itself to the action of the powder," continued Master Cutler, looking at the dull coins which the colonel had produced. "I see a silver tankard yonder. I'll take liberties with it, for, without doubt, our host will not object. But one important thing must be seen to. Hast gold on thy person?"
"A small sum," replied our companion.
"And you, sir?"
"Ten broad pieces," I replied.
"And you?"
"Five," said Granville.
"Then take them away, and leave them in your sleeping places, for 'tis impossible to create gold where gold is already present."
So, acting on these instructions, we obediently placed our money, some fifty pounds in all, upon a table in one of the other rooms, and returned eagerly to see the marvellous effects of the Antwerp alchemist's powder.
"I read your thoughts, sir," remarked the merchant to Firestone on our return. "Do you not think that by craft I changed the lead bar for a like one of silver hidden in my sleeve?"
"Ay, I did," replied the colonel bluntly and truthfully. "But now I know that 'tis impossible to have a tankard of that size concealed about your person."
"I will be frank with you, and entrust some of the precious powder into your keeping, and, lest ye think that I am a common charlatan, I'll absent myself from your company for a while. But, mark well these directions. Gold, of necessity, takes longer to produce than silver; therefore, when the powder is sprinkled on yonder tankard, and fire applied, count from one up to three hundred, exercising faith and patience in the counting thereof. I'll stand just without the door, and await your summons."
Bowing gravely, Master Cutler left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
"He seems fair and above board," remarked the colonel. "Come on, let's to work."
The tankard was placed in the centre of the table, and Colonel Firestone proceeded to scatter the grains of powder on its broad rim, and on the bottom of the bowl.
"Forty good ounces of solid gold will not be amiss," he said meditatively. "By my faith, I see no reason why, considering the good cause, our waggon-load of silver should not reach His Majesty in the form of virgin gold."
I applied a light to the powder, and, as it spluttered, flared up, and smoked villainously, the colonel counted in a slow, sonorous voice.
Before he had finished fifty the room was full of dense, choking vapour, and the powder was nearly consumed, yet there were no signs of the expected change.
At a hundred the flame had died out, leaving only the candlelight shining dimly through a dense yellow fog, so that we could not see whether the silver was in a state of transition or not.
At three hundred the colonel was well-nigh stifled, an his voice reduced to a mere croak. Lifting up the tankard, he bore it close to the candelabra and examined it carefully. Then he burst into a loud, hearty laugh.
"Come in, Master Cutler; come in, and see the result of our handiwork," he shouted. "Your powder has played ye false this time!"
There was no reply. Simultaneously, our jaws dropped in amazed disappointment, whilst the colonel dashed to the door and flung it open.
Master Henry Cutler had vanished!
With vague suspicion in our minds, we rushed towards our room, but, before we had covered half the length of the darkened corridor, I tripped over a bar of wood, which had been placed there by design, and fell headlong, Granville and Colonel Firestone joining me company in a struggling heap on the floor.
Hastily regaining our feet, we burst into the bedroom.
Our worst fears were realised, for our gold had likewise vanished. "Fool! Dolt that I am," shouted the colonel furiously; "could I but lay hands on the rogue!"
Alarmed by the noise, the landlord appeared, while in the street a crowd of citizens collected, thinking, by reason of the dense cloud of smoke that poured from the house, that a fire had broken out.
By our foolish simplicity our host's silver tankard was spoiled, our money had been stolen, and the thief had got clear away in the confusion. And next morning, in order to pay for our accommodation and the damage done, we were obliged to take a bar of silver from the waggon and sell it at a third of its value to a rascally silversmith. So, lighter in pocket, yet improved in wisdom, we resumed our journey.
Over the extensive down towards Whitchurch our progress was tediously slow, so that Granville and I rode on ahead with Sergeant Lawson, keeping, as usual, to the grass by the roadside. For some distance there was not a tree to break the deadly monotony of the landscape but at length we came in sight of a small clump of firs hard by the highway.
Here we were compelled to take to the road again, and barely had our horses' hoofs struck the hard ground than there came a shout for help.
Without a moment's hesitation, Sergeant Lawson set spurs to his horse, and, dropping the reins and drawing sword and pistol, dashed towards the wood, guiding his steed solely by his knees. We followed, sword in hand, and as we gained the edge of the clump of firs we heard the sound of heavy bodies crashing through the brushwood on the farther side.
Bound to the tree trunk was a man, his head bleeding from the effects of a blow from a bludgeon, and his pockets turned inside out. At his feet lay the pieces of a broken sword, while, a short distance away, a horse was tethered to a branch.
There was a yell of terror
There was a yell of terror
[Illustration:There was a yell of terror, and the robbers made a frantic effort to rein in their steeds.]
[Illustration:There was a yell of terror, and the robbers made a frantic effort to rein in their steeds.]
With a couple of swift strokes of his sword, the sergeant severed the ropes that bound the luckless stranger; then, calling on us to follow, he urged his horse through the grove in pursuit of the man's assailants.
The latter had already gained possession of their horses, and were riding at break-neck pace across the open country. There were but two of them, well mounted and lightly clad, while we were encumbered with armour, and were riding heavy cavalry horses. Nevertheless, we held them in hot pursuit, neither gaining nor losing perceptibly.
After a while we straggled somewhat, I being well in front, Lawson a hundred yards or more behind, and Granville still farther away, while the two highwaymen kept closely together. At length I found myself gaining on them, and, in the excitement of the chase, I forgot the peril I was running, for they could well afford to turn and attack me before the sergeant came up.
At intervals I saw them turn their crape-covered faces and glance at me over their shoulders, till suddenly they both wheeled, whipped out pistols, and fired.
They missed, though I felt the bullets whizz past my head and, unable to rein in my horse, I felt myself being carried straight towards the two robbers, who, drawing hangers, waited my approach.
When within a few paces they hurled their discharged weapons full at my head, one grazing the top of my steel cap, while the other I turned aside with my sword.
Whether I liked it or not, I had to close, and, turning slightly, I avoided passing between them, as they had intended. Our blades met without effect; then, on succeeding in drawing in my horse, I found that the Villains had resumed their flight, but in a slightly different direction to their previous course, and that this incident had enabled Lawson to gain considerably.
My senses were cooled by the encounter, so, permitting the sergeant to overtake me, we rode in company, regardless of Ralph, who was still floundering along a quarter of a mile behind, our eyes fixed upon the two fugitives.
Suddenly we heard a yell of terror, and saw a frantic effort on the part of the robbers to pull in their steeds. For a brief moment it seemed as if the horses were sliding on their haunches, their riders leaning back till we could see the tips of their noses above their black masks as they tore at the animals' reins. Another instant and they had disappeared, and it was only the greater stretch of intervening ground that saved us from a similar fate.
Hastily dismounting, we cautiously approached the place where the villains had disappeared, and, to our horror, we found that they had fallen down an unfenced pit, the like of which abound in the chalk downs of the south of England, their presence being almost invisible even at a close distance, save to a trained eye.
Looking over the treacherous edge, we saw a mangled heap of motionless men and horses at the bottom of the pit.
"It has saved us a dirty business," remarked the sergeant grimly, "for, had we taken them alive, 'twould have meant a long wait at the nearest town when we had handed them over to the authorities."
"Are they killed?" I asked.
"Ay," replied he. "'Tis certain they were strangers in this part, and knew not the existence of this pitfall."
"We can do no good staying here," I observed as Granville rode up, spent and breathless with his exertion. "Let's make our way back to the road."
It was a long ride, for in the excitement of the pursuit time and distance had been ignored, but, on regaining the highway, we found that Colonel Firestone and the man we had rescued in timely fashion were engaged in wordy strife, the latter having possessed himself of his horse.
After tendering his thanks at our opportune arrival, the stranger exclaimed, "I see ye are all birds of a feather, and, in accordance with the times, we should now be flying at each other's throats. But I rejoice, in spite of party strife, that Englishmen are still willing to help one another in adversity."
"But you have not proved to me that you are in the right," said the colonel courteously.
"Neither can I convince you that you are in the wrong," replied the other. "Like the rest of the nation, you have your opinion, and I have mine, though, I trove, we need not go the length of forcing our opinions at the sword's point, especially as you are the stronger."
"Nay, I bear ye no ill-will," exclaimed Colonel Firestone, "and these gentlemen are only too pleased to render you a slight service."
"Which at some time I may be able to repay," replied the Roundhead. "My name is Dawe, captain in Waller's troop; with your permission, I'll bear you company to Whitchurch, till we are clear of this robber-infested country."
In spite of his antagonistic principles, Captain Dawe proved to be a level-headed and well-bred man, far different from most of the rebel officers whom I met in after times, though, as we rode together, he talked on military matters with little reserve, whereby our leader, with well-feigned disinterestedness, gained much information as to the disposition and strength of the rebels in the field.
However, his presence saved us from an unpleasant incident at Whitchurch, where we encountered a company of rebel foot, marching towards Andover and Salisbury, for, on declaring himself and showing his commission to the captain of the soldiers, they refrained from searching our waggon.
Here we parted, Captain Dawe setting out for the west by the same road as the rebel foot were going, while we pursued our way northward towards Newbury, where we halted for the night.
The following day we arrived at Oxford without further incident, and, duly handing over the treasure to the officer in charge of the Royal treasury, we awaited definite information of the Royal Army before setting out to join the King's forces in the field.
DURING our stay at Oxford various reports and rumours reached us concerning the position of the King's forces, and at length definite information was brought that the Royalists were marching from Shrewsbury to give battle to the Earl of Essex, who was supposed to be retiring to prevent the King's advance on the rebel City of London.
Colonel Firestone deemed it impracticable to attempt to join the Royal camp with the rebels lying betwixt it and us; so we were forced to remain in galling inactivity till the road northward should be free of the enemy.
Early one morning a spent and mud-stained horseman drew in his jaded steed at Carfax, and immediately the news spread that the King had gained Banbury, thus putting himself between the rebels and London, while a battle was imminent on the following day.
Without a moment's delay we set out for the Royal camp, our party consisting of Colonel Firestone, Granville, and myself, with Sergeant Lawson and Wat in attendance, while two spare horses carried our baggage.
Two hours' hard riding brought us in sight of the town of Banbury, outside of which were the tents of the Royalists. On reporting ourselves to Prince Rupert—for we were to be attached to his troop of horse—we were shown to a tent and told to rest, yet to hold ourselves in instant readiness for an attack on the rebel forces.
But rest for us was an impossibility. Granville wandered about the lines, to see whether any of his Cornish relatives were serving in the Prince's cavalry, while I naturally wished to see my father as soon as possible, though I was told that Sir Reginald Markham was away on special service, and would not return to the camp before nightfall.
Colonel Firestone wished to hand his precious documents personally to the King; I never saw the papers, and often wondered where he kept them; and, on being informed that His Majesty was not within the camp, and that his whereabouts were to be kept secret, the colonel's disappointment was most marked.
He was resolved, like many other officers, to fight under Rupert's standard as an ordinary gentleman, and, seeing that it was impossible to approach His Majesty, he spent the time writing, reading pocket-books on military matters, and overhauling his weapons.
Just as the sun was setting, a small band of horsemen dashed into the camp, and, dismounting, made their way to the Prince's tent, and one of the party I knew full well. It was my father.
"Wait a moment, Humphrey," exclaimed Colonel Firestone, "and I'll go with you. Your sire will not be long with the Prince, I trove."
Together we made our way through the press of roystering soldiers, till we reached the tent, where two armed troopers kept guard over Prince Rupert's person, and in less than five minutes my father reappeared.
He greeted me with great affection, commending my loyal resolution in throwing in my lot with the King's forces, assuring me that there were many youths of gentle birth who were also in the field.
"And hest not a word of welcome for an old comrade?" exclaimed my companion.
"Nay, I know you not," replied my father, looking steadfastly into the colonel's face. Then, after a pause, he exclaimed:
"Why, 'tis Nick Firestone!"
"The same," replied the colonel, wringing my father's hand. "Have I changed so much that my old companion-in-arms cannot call me to name? How is it with thee?"
"A man may change much in a score years," said my father, "but, thanks to an active life, I feel as strong and as well as in the dark days of 'twenty-seven, save that my legs are somewhat cramped with rheumatism, though my arm is as strong as of yore. Where lies your tent?" he asked.
"Next but one to your own, sir," I replied. "At least, that is what I have been told."
"'Tis well," he replied, "for twelve hours in the saddle is apt to give one a keen hunger, to say nothing of an aching frame."
"I have brought an air bed for you from home," I exclaimed.
"An air what, forsooth?" asked my father.
I hastened to explain the nature of this admirable contrivance as given by worthy Master Royston, and, on arriving at our lines, I sent Lawson to get the novel article from the baggage.
We talked till late in the evening, my parent plying me with questions concerning affairs at home, and telling us of the events of the last few weeks.
"Dost know that, according to the rebel order, Ashley Castle no longer belongs to the Markhams?" asked my father.
"Nay, sir," I replied. "What dost thou mean; is it a jest?"
"Hardly a jest, Humphrey. Only yester-night we surprised a rebel despatch-bearer on the road near Stratford, and amongst other papers was a list of manors and castles to be bestowed by the Parliament on their chief supporters, and amongst the places named was mine own castle."
"And on whom is it bestowed?"
"On one Captain Chaloner."
"Captain Chaloner!" exclaimed Firestone. "Why, 'tis the man who allowed the rebels to seize Southsea Castle, the same who was hand in glove with the turncoat, Goring."
"He's to gain possession of Ashley Castle first," rejoined my father grimly; "and 'tis certain that, so long as my wife keeps watch and ward, no doubly-dyed rebel will set foot over my threshold—but how came Portsmouth to fall, considering it was well fortified and supplied with munition of war?"
We thereupon had to tell my father the events that led to Goring's feeble and faint-hearted pretence of holding the town for the King, and, at the story of Chaloner's treacherous incapacity, my parent shook his fist in impotent rage.
At length it was time for us to retire to our own tent, and, having inflated the air-bed for my father's use by means of a pump, we bade him good night.
Late into the night sounds of revelry disturbed the camp, men gaming or singing in uproarious discord, till gradually the babel died away, and silence reigned over the sleeping town of tents, broken only by the frequent voices of the sentries on guard without the lines.
It was my first experience of camp life, and sleep seemed a stranger to me. The hard ground found out the weak places in my anatomy, till my shoulder-blades and hips were sore and aching, for as yet I knew nothing of the old campaigners' trick of hollowing out the earth to accommodate these protuberances and I lay and longed for the dawn.
Suddenly an alarm echoed through the stillness of the night, and instantly the camp was alive with men rushing hither and thither.
Our tent turned out to a man, and, putting on our steel caps, and buckling on our sword-belts as we ran, we formed up in an irregular line outside the camp, in expectation of a sudden attack, yet, though an outpost of musketeers discharged their weapons, there came no answering volley from the supposed enemy.
Nor was the alarm confined to our lines, for, on our left, the musketeers of Sir Jacob Ashley's infantry were also formed up with matches lighted, and on our right the cannoniers under Sir John Heyden were advancing their ordnance to meet the attack.
In the midst of the confusion a tall, dark figure mounted on a restive horse rode towards us, followed by a body of cavalry.
It was Prince Rupert.
"Back to your tents, gentlemen!" he shouted, and it seemed that his voice was broken with suppressed laughter. "'Tis but a false alarm!"
And ere long the whole camp knew the cause of the sudden uproar—my father's air-bed had burst, and, finding himself flung all of a heap on the ground, he had imagined, being roused from sleep, that the rebels were upon us, and had raised the shout that roused the camp!
Daylight found the camp astir, for, with the knowledge that the rebels were within ten miles of us, excitement ran high. For my part, I must confess the principal thought that ran uppermost in my mind was not that of the coming conflict, but a vague uneasiness as to what was happening at home—whether that traitorous villain, Chaloner, had actually made an attempt to secure Ashley Manor, illegally bestowed upon him by the very side he had professed to abhor.
Firestone, on his part, was in a state of feverish anxiety, for, though, like an old soldier, he was longing for the clash of arms, he was burning with impatience to deliver his despatches personally to His Majesty, this being the express injunction laid upon him ere he quitted the French court.
But again his hopes were thwarted, for the King had, we now learned, gone overnight to sleep at Nellthorpe House, and, up to the actual moment of the army taking up a battle formation, he had not put in an appearance, as a council was being held in the town of Banbury. It was considerably after midday ere we received orders to march, and, on gaining the brow of a steep hill, I saw the rebel host in close array on the plains beneath us.
Presently I heard the dull boom of a cannon away on our left, followed by a heavy fire, to which the rebels answered, though not so vigorously.
But we were not left long in that suspense which is so trying to the nerves of a soldier, for Prince Rupert, standing in his stirrups, waved his sword for our cavalry to advance.
Prince Rupert having given the signal for the cavalry to advance, I set my teeth tightly, spurred my steed, and joined in the charge, being in the second rank, with Firestone on my left and my father on my right.
Before us lay the dense serried masses of Essex's cavalry, but, to my surprise, just before the trumpets sounded the charge, a whole troop of the enemy suddenly rode towards us with signs of friendship. Wheeling by our right, they fell in with our cavalry, and at once prepared to charge their former comrades.
This troop, I afterwards learned, were Sir Faithful Fortescue's troopers, who had but recently returned from Ireland; but, being unable to make their way to the Royal camp, had feigned to throw in their lot with the rebels until a favourable opportunity occurred to declare themselves openly.
The next instant we were launched at full gallop upon the rebel cavalry, and of what happened during the next few moments I have but a dim recollection. It was cut, thrust, and parry. Men went down, still striking madly at their assailants, whilst riderless horses added to the confusion; but I knew that we had the best of the struggle, because we were ever advancing.
Suddenly Firestone's horse plunged violently and fell on its knees, while its rider, slipping from off his saddle, rolled over, vainly endeavouring to throw himself clear of his floundering steed.
At that moment one of the rebel dragoons, a veritable Anak, received a cut in the face, and, half blinded and maddened by the pain, he slashed furiously right and left.
I wheeled to escape the resistless sweep of his sword, and, to my horror, I saw the weapon bury itself in Colonel Firestone's leg, shearing through jack-boot, limb, and even the saddle.
The next instant I was urged onward by the rush of the combatants, and, much as I desired to, I was unable to help my luckless comrade. In a few minutes the rebel cavalry had broken and were in hot flight, while at their heels came our triumphant troopers, slashing and hewing at the fugitives without mercy.
In the excitement of the pursuit time and distance were forgotten, till at length, breathless and triumphant, our cavalry gave up the chase, re-formed, and prepared to return to that part of the field of battle where, by the sound of heavy firing, we knew the contest still raged furiously.
Before this was done, however, we were assailed by a body of rebel horse, which, launching itself on our rearguard, played havoc till driven off by superior numbers.
When at length we regained our former position we were confronted by a solid phalanx of pikemen and musketeers, who presented such a redoubtable appearance that Prince Rupert hesitated to order a fresh charge. So with an occasional cannonade the battle ended just as night drew in upon the scene.
"Hast seen Colonel Firestone?" asked Granville, as he wiped his dust-and blood-stained face with a handkerchief of delicate cambric.
"Down yonder, I fear," I replied sadly, indicating the darkening plain on which the indistinct forms of the fallen could still be seen. "I saw him hurled from his horse with his leg shorn off at a single blow."
"Perchance he still lives."
"But I could scarcely believe that. He is more likely to have bled to death," said I. "Be that as it may, however, we'll make an effort to find him."
And, giving our horses in charge of a camp follower, we sought out Sergeant Lawson, who willingly agreed to accompany us.
Bending as we went—for the enemy's matches still glimmered in readiness to open fire—we cautiously made our way over the ground in the direction clearly indicated by the slain who fell during our brilliant charge.
Here and there maimed horses still kicked and writhed in agony, while at intervals a man would implore our pity and help, though most of the slightly wounded had managed to regain the shelter of our lines. At length we came upon a confused jumble of men and horses, and pinned down by the weight of his dead charger lay our hapless friend.
By our combined efforts we managed to extricate his body from beneath the animal, and to our great surprise and intense delight the brave colonel opened his eyes.
A brief examination showed that his right leg had been cleanly hewn through, the upper part of his boot still remaining over his knee; but again with infinite surprise I noticed that there was no trace of blood, and the next instant the truth flashed across my mind.
Colonel Nicholas Firestone had a wooden leg!
Stooping down, Lawson grasped the colonel under his arms, while Granville lifted his remaining leg, and cautiously we began our perilous journey back to the camp; but hardly had we gone a few paces when Firestone whispered:
"Bring the pieces with you, Humphrey. My severed leg, I mean, for 'tis of much consequence that this be done."
Wondering what he meant, yet loth to thwart what I took to be the whim of a half-dazed man, I returned, picked up the severed boot with its wooden contents, and overtook my comrades, and half an hour later we were safely within the Royal lines.
Here, with considerable difficulty, we procured a rough litter, and, placing our wounded friend upon it, we bore him towards the camp, in company with a constant stream of burdens, for the most part far sadder than our own.
As we approached I noticed a group of officers standing in a respectful attitude at a short distance from a slender, heavily cloaked figure. Instinct told me it was our Sovereign, who, having by his courage inspired his troops to fight a brilliant though indecisive action, was not slow in sympathising with those who had fallen in his cause.
"'Tis the King," I whispered to our wounded companion.
"Then hand me my severed leg," he rejoined with astonishing imperativeness.
My surprise prevented me from asking the reason, and without a word I did as he requested.
As the litter approached His Majesty, I noticed Firestone feverishly employed in taking the remains of his wooden leg from the encasing leather boot, and, having done this, he began to unscrew a portion of the limb. A few turns and the leg came apart, disclosing a cavity, from which the colonel drew a lightly rolled packet of papers.
"Art badly hurt?" asked His Majesty, as the glimmer of a lantern fell upon the figure in the stretcher.
"No, sire," replied Firestone cheerfully. "'Tis not a case for the surgeon; a carpenter will suffice."
"How so, sirrah?" exclaimed the King with astonishment.
In a few words Colonel Firestone explained the circumstances, and handed the precious despatches to His Majesty.
Tearing open the covering, the King called for the lantern to be brought nearer to enable him to read the contents, and by the feeble light I saw his clear-cut features brighten as he perused the message.
"Gentlemen," he explained, addressing the officers in attendance, "we have just received an important and encouraging message from our cousin of France, but of this more anon. But why didst thou risk these papers in the battlefield instead of handing them to us?" he added, addressing Colonel Firestone.
"Acting under direct orders, sire," he replied, "that these despatches were to be given only into Your Majesty's hands."
"And yet with these in your possession you risked your life and these despatches on the battlefield?"
"My life is my own, and I chose to risk it in Your Majesty's cause," replied Firestone stoutly. "But as for the papers, I took precautions to ensure them reaching Your Majesty's hands should I have fallen."
"We'll not ask a gallant soldier to explain the matter," said the King, "for 'tis certain his arrangements were well made. The fact remains that he has performed his mission to our satisfaction, a matter which we will bear in mind."
And, motioning the stretcher-bearers to proceed, the King returned the colonel's salute and directed his attention to the next arrival of that seemingly endless procession.
Having seen our charge safely within his tent, we sent for a carpenter to replace his severed stump, a task which, though roughly performed, the colonel considered satisfactory. But the severe shaking he received by his fall prevented his taking the field again that night, and we were compelled to leave him and again take our place in the line of battle.
All that night and during the next day we lay under arms, both sides facing each other, yet refraining from exchanging shots, and as evening drew in we were greatly surprised and not a little delighted to see the rebel army withdrawing in the direction of Warwick.
The approach of winter necessitated both armies going into winter quarters, and, having obtained permission to withdraw, my father, accompanied by Colonel Firestone and myself, determined to return to Ashley, while Ralph Granville set out for his Cornish home.
He and I were sorry indeed to part company, and, sure enough, there came times, of which you are now to hear, when I could have done well with so trusty a friend at my right hand.
ASHLEY CASTLE presented its wonted appearance as my father and I approached it on our return journey.
The banner of the Markhams still proudly floated over the tower, the drawbridge was still guarded by a pikeman in the Markham livery, and the smoke still floated upwards from the kitchen chimneys in the keen autumnal air.
"Heaven be praised!" exclaimed my father, raising his plumed hat, and I knew that a great load had been lifted from his mind—a burden which I felt hardly less deeply than did he.
The warm-hearted greeting over, we eagerly asked for tidings concerning the renegade, Captain Chaloner, but on this matter we could not obtain any information, for, although it was known that the rebel captain had had the castle bestowed upon him by the Parliament, he had taken no active steps to secure possession of it.
Relying on the loyal support of his tenantry, my father knew that there was little chance of a surprise, yet he in no wise relaxed his vigilance.
Every available firearm was carefully examined, barrels of powder bought and stored in the capacious cellars, while piles of shot were placed in readiness by the side of the small pieces of ordnance on the leads of the hall. Vast quantities of imperishable provisions were collected, and an additional well was sunk within the inner courtyard, so that our water supply was assured.
Yet our preparations were seemingly in vain. Many months passed, and still no rebel Chaloner appeared to press his claim, while my father, owing to his increasing infirmities, was compelled, much against his will, to remain at home instead of giving his services to His Majesty in the field.
Colonel Firestone, however, had taken part in the affairs of Chalgrove Field and Newbury, and from time to time news came from him concerning the progress of the fearful civil war.
At length, in the month of May, 1644, the colonel himself arrived at Ashley Castle with the news that he was on his way, by Royal command, to take part in the operations in the west against the rebels under the Earl of Essex, and, at the colonel's suggestion, my father consented to let me go with him, greatly to my satisfaction.
Two years had made a great difference in my appearance. Although but very little taller, I had increased in girth, being broad-chested and full-limbed, while few would believe that I was but seventeen years of age. Thanks to clean-living and plenty of exercise in martial and open-air pursuits, I was strong, muscular, and active, yet withal (though I say it) I was of sound judgment, quick to act, and blessed with no small stock of intelligence.
It was a long journey by way of Winchester, Salisbury, and Exeter, but with little adventure we crossed the Tamar at a place called Calstock, and reached the Duchy of Cornwall.
It was nearly night when we reached this village, a collection of stone-built cottages rising in tiers from the west side of the river, which here describes a magnificent curve between lofty banks of tree-clad hills.
Our arrival caused no little stir amongst the villagers, for armed men were comparatively scarce in the neighbourhood, as the troops of either party, who were continually pouring into the Duchy, usually entered by the road betwixt Tavistock and Callington, or else between Plymouth and Saltash.
"Is there a decent and well-conducted inn hereabouts?" asked my companion, addressing a red-haired fellow in a grey smock.
"What do 'ee say?" replied the countryman, scratching his poll in obvious perplexity.
"An inn, dolt! An inn."
"There be one up yonder," said the man in a singsong voice. "'E be called the King's 'Ead, if 'ee be for the King, and the Stamford Arms, if 'ee be for the Parleymun. It be no worry to we, anyway."
"Let's try the King's Head," I remarked. "Though 'tis to be hoped that those who dub it after the Earl of Stamford may be not present."
"So be it," replied my companion, and riding up to the door of the inn, we dismounted and knocked.
From within came the sound of many voices engaged in lively conversation, and, finding that our summons was unanswered, Firestone pushed open the door and entered.
At the end of a stone passage was another door, partly opened, and to our surprise a well-known voice was heard:
"This, gentlemen, fully demonstrates the sovereign virtues possessed by my inimitable powder, of which I am agreeable to sell small portions at the price of one penny—one penny only, I say. Each portion capable of acting on four ounces of lead. 'Tis only in the goodness of my heart that I offer this priceless powder to His Majesty's subjects, and——"
"'Tis the arrogant rogue who bested us at Winchester!" I whispered.
"Ay! I knew it the moment I heard his voice. Listen."
"I ask no man to buy," continued the huckster. "'Tis to be regarded as a gift—no, sir, it must not be used under an hour, being but this evening made up—as a gift, I repeat; but to prevent an injudicious distribution, I am compelled to ask but one penny for this small quantity. I have demonstrated its powers to you, as I have done before princes of the blood, knights and gentlemen in London, York, Lincoln, Norwich, Exeter——"
"And Winchester, you rogue!" exclaimed the colonel, bursting into the room. "Where are our fifty pounds in gold?"
The self-styled merchant of Southampton was terrified at the sight of our sudden appearance. His knees smote together, his jaw dropped, and his lank, raven hair almost stood upright.
Gripping his shoulder, I forced him against the wall, and, thrusting back his sleeve, we discovered a cube of lead similar in shape to the one of silver which still lay on the table. Seeing the deception, the crowd, who had regarded us with little favour, began to cast imprecations on the impostor.
"We'll have this on account," said Colonel Firestone, pocketing the silver. "And now turn out his purse."
Eleven pounds in gold and over a pound in silver and copper were shaken out on the table, the wretched man making no resistance.
"Thirty-eight pounds to the had. What say you, sirrah?" demanded the colonel sternly. "Is it the hangman at Bodmin, where perchance thou'lt be cropped by the ears and branded on the face, and finish by dangling at the end of a stout hempen rope? What say you, I repeat?"
The wretch had sunk on his knees, mumbling incoherently. Suddenly he whipped out a long knife from the folds of his boot and lunged viciously, like a cornered rat, at the colonel. But ere the blow struck home I kicked the weapon from his grasp, sending it spinning to the low, raftered ceiling, where it stuck and vibrated with the force of its ascent.
"Wouldst add attempted murder to the list of your accomplishments?" asked Firestone contemptuously. "'Tis a pity we cannot waste time to see thee spinning round at the end of a halter, but we must needs take the law into our own hands. Canst swim?"
The man shook his head.
"Then up with him and cast him into the river," continued my companion, addressing the surrounding throng.
Eager hands seized the wretched purveyor of quack powders and bore him towards the river, Firestone and I following at the heels of the crowd.
"Shall us tie a stoane round the neck of he?" asked one of the villagers.
"Hither, my friend," replied Firestone, and as the man came nearer he continued in a low voice, inaudible to the miserable rogue: "We do not mean to kill the man, Get ready a rope to throw to him. And canst swim?"
"Ay," replied the villager. "Only the other day they gave I a jar o' small beer for swimmin' from Morwell'm——"
"Then I'll give you another if you have to go in and fetch him out; but don't go in, mind you, unless I give you word."
At the edge of the river was a small stone quay, below which the water flowed gently, only a few feet from the top of the wharf, it being nearly high tide. It was nearly dark, but the other bank was just discernible.
The men who had been cheated out of their hard-earned spending money entered into the punishment of the rascal with a will. Seized by the arms and legs by half a dozen lusty quarrymen, the terrified rogue was swung to and fro for a few seconds, his screams for mercy adding to the zest of his tormentors. Then, to the accompaniment of a loud shout, the men hurled him far into the river, where he disappeared with a heavy splash.
"He must be dead. He sank like a stone," I exclaimed, after what seemed to me a long interval.
"We've overdone it," shouted the colonel excitedly. "Quick, you; after him. Perchance he was winded by the fall," he added to the man who had boasted of his swimming prowess.
But before the man could throw off his heavy boots, the lank black hair of the Southampton merchant—as he termed himself, though falsely, as we knew too well—appeared above the surface, half-way across the stream, and with astonishing swiftness he struck out for the opposite shore.
"Why, the villain has cheated us again," I exclaimed. "See, he swims well."
"Try him with your pistols, sir," said the host of the inn.
"Nay, let him go, for he deserves it by his cunning," replied Firestone, and in silence we saw his dim outline draw itself from the water, and, rat-like, slink to cover in the shelter of the woods.
We returned to the inn, where Colonel Firestone repaid the men who had been duped by the rascal's ingenuity, out of the remaining money, retaining the leather purse as a trophy of the encounter, while our popularity was further assured by our host being ordered to broach a barrel of old ale at our expense, and till late in the night the simple countrymen sat carousing, singing quaint songs in their strange dialect, in blissful disregard of the fact that nearly the whole kingdom was torn asunder by civil war.
Next morning we were up betimes, and amid the cheers of the villagers, who had gathered to wish us good-speed, we resumed our journey westward, intending to reach Tregetty Castle, the Granvilles' home, before sunset.
Barely had we gone a couple of miles when the road, which was little better than a narrow lane, descended abruptly into a deep and dark valley, the pine trees throwing a sombre shade over our path.
Suddenly three horsemen appeared, reining in their horses to bar our path. There was no mistaking their intentions, and by their buff coats, iron caps, and clean-shaven visages we knew them to be Roundheads.
"Straight at them!" exclaimed Firestone, drawing sword and pistol, while I followed his example; but ere we could close, their numbers were increased by nearly a score.
Wheeling our horses, we essayed flight, but at the same moment a swarm of dismounted men leapt from the banks in our rear. We were hopelessly trapped.
Resistance was useless, and in a moment the troopers were upon us. We were deprived of our weapons, and rough hands seized us, binding our arms tightly behind our backs, while with many ribald jests at the hapless malignants they urged our horses in the same direction that we had been going.
But before we emerged from the valley the troopers halted, save a sergeant, who disappeared by a narrow path on the left-hand side of the lane. In a few minutes he returned, accompanied by two of the rebel officers, and with an involuntary exclamation of surprise and dismay I recognised one of them to be the traitor, Captain Chaloner.
Close behind him, his face distorted with a malevolent grin, was another acquaintance, Master Henry Cutler, the Southampton "merchant," whom, but a few hours previously, we had seen swimming across the Tamar.
"You have them securely, I hope, sergeant?" said Chaloner, rubbing his gloved hands in evident enjoyment.
"Safely bound, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"'Tis well. Now, sirrahs, what have you to say for yourselves? Malignants and robbers to boot, ye are arrested in the name of the Parliament of England and charged with robbing with violence this man, Henry Cutler. What have ye to say?"
"My purse! My purse!" exclaimed the huckster, producing his leather bag from the colonel's pocket. "See, sir, this proves my story. My papers are still in it."
"They are guilty beyond doubt," replied Chaloner, "e'en though they speak not a word. Hi! Bring hither the halters!" he shouted to a trooper.
Without delay a noose was placed round each of our necks, while another trooper climbed to the lowermost branch of a pine tree that overgrew the road.
After one or two attempts he caught the ends of the ropes, passed them over the bough, and let the free end fall to the ground. Five or six men grasped each rope and awaited the signal to haul us, kicking and struggling in our death agonies, from the backs of our horses.
In those awful moments my senses were completely numbed. I was dimly conscious only of the noise of the trickling stream and the notes of the feathered songsters overhead. Even this ignominious ending by being hanged did not seem to trouble me, for I understood in a measure the meaning of the words, "The bitterness of death is past." What I could not quite understand was the fact that our executioners delayed their work.
Then, above the babbling of the stream, I heard the sound of horses rapidly approaching, and, the mist clearing before our eyes, I saw a knot of Parliamentary officers gallop up.
"What's this? Who commands this troop?" demanded the senior officer, a tall, thin, yet not unpleasant-looking man, whose clear-cut features were partly hidden by a heavy bristling moustache and a tuft of hair on his chin.
"I, sir, Captain Chaloner," replied that worthy, saluting with his drawn sword.
"Then pray explain the circumstances of this summary act; are these prisoners of war?"
"They are malignants, murderers, and highway robbers to boot," said Chaloner.
"Nay, sir, 'tis false," interjected Colonel Firestone. "We are soldiers of His Majesty, 'tis true, but neither murderers nor highwaymen. I look to you, sir, to protect us from the indignity of being strung up without the chance of a word in our defence."
"I will go further into the matter anon," said the Roundhead officer. "Captain Chaloner, where is the rendezvous of your troop?"
"At the town of Lostwithiel, sir."
"Then take your prisoners thither. I hold you responsible for their safety and custody. Be assured," he added, addressing us, "that you will have a fair and impartial trial. If found guilty of robbery, on my solemn word I'll have you strung up as a warning to others; if not. I must needs keep you as prisoners of war."
Chaloner again saluted as his superior and his officers rode off; then, scowling blankly with ill-concealed hatred, he ordered his troop to fall in, and, with Firestone and I still bound in their midst, the Roundheads set off at a trot towards their headquarters.