THE troopers kept up their rapid pace, as if anxious to reach the shelter afforded by Lostwithiel without delay, and as we proceeded the nature of their anxiety became apparent.
A burly dragoon rode between us, sternly checking any attempt at conversation, while the sergeant, who had possessed himself of my sword—the gift of the armourer at Newport—placed a couple of men, armed with petronels, immediately behind us, giving them orders to shoot us through the head at the first sign of an attempt to escape.
This order was, I felt certain, given to the sergeant by Chaloner, who would have been only too glad to get us out of the way, knowing that we were acquainted with his past treachery, and also because he was aware of the fact that I was the son of Sir Reginald Markham, who still held Ashley, in spite of the Parliamentarian mandate bestowing it upon the renegade.
Long before midday we had passed through Liskeard, where the inhabitants were manifestly in sympathy with us, though overawed by the menaces of Chaloner's troopers.
About four miles beyond the town we came to the fork roads, where one road leads to Bodmin and the other to Lostwithiel, and hardly had we proceeded a hundred yards along the latter when two dragoons, who had been riding some distance ahead, came back at a gallop with the intelligence that a troop of malignant cavalry were drawn up beyond the brow of the hill.
My spirits rose at the thought of a rescue, though, at the same time, it occurred to me that, should an affray take place, Chaloner would have no scruples in shooting us, and putting the blame on the bullets of our friends.
The Roundheads lost no time in preparing to receive the threatened attack. The dragoons dismounted, one man in every three being told off to hold the reins of their comrades' horses. We were sent to the rear under guard, while the soldiers vigorously plied their swords, cutting down brushwood and small branches of trees which they placed across the road to render more difficult the charge of their opponents.
In a few moments we saw the cavalry appear, and, drawing up against the sky-line, they halted, while their leaders trotted slowly forward, as if to reconnoitre the Roundheads' position.
Apparently, however, the Cornish Royal troops thought the numbers of their enemies too great to attempt an onslaught, for, greatly to my disappointment, the horsemen wheeled and retired, amidst the ironical laughter and gibes of our captors.
But the Roundheads had reckoned too lightly with their enemies, for shortly afterwards the Royalists appeared in our rear, opening a steady fire at long range.
Chaloner was manifestly ill at ease, and, as usual, his craven spirit showed itself in its true colours. With the opening of the rearguard action he took his place at the head of the troop, exhorting them to increase their pace till their progress was little better than a flight.
On our part, Colonel Firestone and I were subjected to the awkward predicament of being under the fire of our own party, the bullets whistling unpleasantly above our heads. Although several of the dragoons essayed to make a stand, their pursuers drove them back with the loss of three killed and five wounded, till at length the chase ended at Lostwithiel Bridge, by the timely arrival of a strong body of musketeers from the Roundhead stronghold.
Here Chaloner handed us over to a captain of pikemen, who conducted us to the church, where, still bound, we were placed in a corner of the sacred edifice under a strong guard.
The floor of the nave was strewn with straw, some twenty or more horses being stabled here, while gathered in small groups were the rough soldiery, polishing their arms.[1]
Presently there entered an officer, whom I recognised in a moment. It was Captain Dawe, the man we had befriended when attacked by robbers near Whitchurch, and the recognition was mutual, though the Roundhead captain placed his finger meaningly on his mouth.
"Why are these men trussed up in this fashion?" he demanded.
"By Captain Chaloner's orders, sir," replied one of the men who mounted guard over us.
"'Tis unduly harsh. Cast off those ropes. Have they been questioned?"
"I know not, sir."
"Then stand aside while I obtain information of the malignant forces."
Our bonds were unfastened, and we stood upright, glad to stretch our cramped limbs.
"More I dare not do," said Captain Dawe in a low tone. "But seize the first chance of escape, for 'tis certain this Captain Chaloner is intent on your deaths. Your outposts are in possession of Restormel Castle. Dost know where it lieth?"
"No," I replied.
"But a mile and a half from the north gate. Gain it, and all will be well, for I foresee that we are sore beset by your troops. To-night, perchance, I'll try to make your way still easier, but till then—farewell."
Our benefactor went out, while our guards resumed their places, one having brought us some food, which we ate with avidity, having been without refreshment since early morning. Then, making ourselves as comfortable as the hard oak pews would permit, we feigned sleep.
Immediately after Captain Dawe's departure a scene of rioting began, ending in an uproar that filled me with disgust.
"Can we sit here idle, and gaze upon this vile work?" I whispered fiercely to my companion, for I was beside myself with fury.
"Not I," replied Firestone.
"Then let's fall upon them," I exclaimed in a low voice.
The next instant I had pushed aside our guards and sprung on the pew, the colonel following almost as quickly, in spite of his wooden leg.
Before the noisy fellows could grasp the meaning of our sudden onslaught, I had seized the leading spirit by the throat. With an almost superhuman effort, I dashed his head against the font, the stonework stopping his blasphemy for the time being.
Firestone served another in a similar manner, and, as if by mutual agreement, we dashed towards the doorway leading to the tower. Up the spiral staircase we flew, and, before the first of the astonished rebels had grasped the situation, we had gained the wooden ladder leading to the belfry.
In another moment we had drawn the wooden ladder up after us, and lay breathless and panting, yet safe for the present, upon the floor of the steeple.
Anon we heard growls of the soldiers, who, having reached the top of the stone staircase, had found the ladder removed.
"On your head be the blame, Hosea Standfast," exclaimed one of the troopers.
"Nay, why on mine?" replied another. "You were told off to keep watch and ward as well as I."
"A truce to your bickering," interrupted a third, "and help to get your men down. Send a messenger to Captain Chaloner, and inform him of the circumstances."
"Cannot we secure them without the captain knowing aught of the matter?" asked the first speaker. "Try, but I'll warrant the rogues will sit tight," replied the third man, evidently a corporal of horse.
Threats, persuasions, and entreaties met with no results, for, intoxicated with the success of our attempt, we laughed at the discomfited soldiers, till at last one of them reluctantly departed, to inform the renegade, Captain Chaloner, of our escapade, and in a very short time that infuriated officer made his appearance, accompanied by a file of musketeers.
"I'll fetch you down," he exclaimed, and immediately ordered the musketeers to make ready their pieces.
Peering cautiously over the edge of the trap-door, I could see the men lighting their matches, and casting about to load. Observing these preparations, I assisted Colonel Firestone to clamber astride the top of a large bell, while I followed his example, for, though the stout oak planking of the belfry floor might not be proof against the bullets, it was certain that the huge metal cylinders would form ample protection.
We had not long to wait before a musket was fired, the report making a prodigious noise, while the bullet struck the floor with a dull, heavy thud.
The next shot passed between a crevice in the rough timbers, and hit the lip of the bell, which gave forth a resonant ring.
The intermittent fusillade continued for about ten minutes, and, although the bells were struck at least a dozen times, we came off unscathed, keeping up a running fire of derisive remarks at the enraged captain and his impotent musketeers.
"I'll have you yet," shouted the renegade, beside himself with fury, and, ordering his men to follow, he led the way down the spiral staircase.
"I wonder what he intends to do next?" I remarked to my companion, as we stepped from our unsteady perches and gained the floor.
"He'll stop at nothing," replied the colonel. "But we'll know soon enough. In the meantime haul up those ropes, for methinks we'll have need of them ere long."
We pulled up the bell-ropes as far as the knots for the ringers' hands would allow, then set laboriously to work to chafe through the stout hempen cords by the edge of one of the bells. We had barely sawn through three ropes, and detached their other ends from the massive wheels, when we heard the noise of scuffling feet hastily making the way up the worn steps of the spiral staircase, accompanied by the unmistakable rustle of straw.
The terrified rogue
The terrified rogue
[Illustration:Seized by the arms and legs, the terrified rogue was hurled into the river.]
[Illustration:Seized by the arms and legs, the terrified rogue was hurled into the river.]
"They are going to burn us out," I exclaimed.
"Trying to, you should say," replied Firestone. "Unless they actually set fire to the steeple, which Heaven forfend, we can laugh at them."
Piling a heap of straw and hay on the stone floor of the tower immediately below the trap-door of the belfry, the rebels called on us once more to come down.
The only reply was a piece of wood, small 'tis true, but thrown with unerring aim. It caught one of the soldiers fairly on the top of his bare head, for he had removed his steel cap, and, with a yell of pain, he dashed for the doorway of the spiral staircase, not knowing in his fright whether he had been shot at or not.
Coming into violent contact with another man who was bringing up some more straw, the twain fell in a confused heap, and we could hear them bumping and jolting down the narrow steps.
"Capitally done, Humphrey!" exclaimed the colonel. "Had we but a goodly store of missiles, we could hold them at bay."
"Which we have not, unfortunately," I rejoined.
Experience had taught the rebels a lesson, for, having donned the steel cap, another soldier set match to the heap of straw, and the next instant a pillar of flame shot upwards, the fiery tongues actually licking the sides of the trap-door, by which we were lying.
But to destroy us by fire was not their object, for one of the men soused the fiercely-burning mass with water. The clear flame gave place to a dense column of blinding smoke, and in a few seconds we were choking and coughing furiously. Firestone gripped me by the shoulder, and, forcing our way through the smoke, we reached a little doorway in one of the hexagonal sides of the steeple, which gave access to a narrow platform surrounded by a parapet.
Here we stood, once more in God's good sunshine, half blinded and suffocated. Drawing in the pure air to our smoke-laden lungs, we had no thoughts for anything but the delights of the life-restoring atmosphere, till the thud of a bullet on the stonework close to our heads warned us that our enemies had expected our appearance, and were firing at us from the street.
Instinctively we dropped behind the parapet, lying in the lead gutters, still taking in copious draughts of air, while from the doorway through which we had emerged came thick columns of smoke.
Bullets still pattered thickly against the stonework of the steeple, while, in addition to the reports of the muskets, the hoarse shouts of the baulked rebels added to the din.
After a while we plucked up courage, and, raising ourselves cautiously, we looked over the edge of the parapet.
In spite of our danger, we could not help admiring the prospect. Bathed in the slanting rays of the setting sun, the town of Lostwithiel and the surrounding country made a delightful picture, that, were it not for the presence of the rebels, would have been typical of an English countryside.
On the east beyond the red-tiled roofs of the timbered houses we could see the road by which we had come, looking like a white thread amidst the dense masses of dark green foliage and the lighter tints of the well-laden fields. Across the silver thread that showed the course of the Foy stream was the old stone bridge, its townward end closed by a rough barricade, through the gaps of which were four pieces of ordnance trained to command the road.
Here were strong parties of pikemen and musketeers supporting the gunners, while, on the north side of the town, the rebels were actively engaged in throwing up earthworks. Further up the valley, on the low hills to the left, we could discern a small castle, on which a flag hung motionless in the still air.
"Canst make out yonder standard?" asked Firestone, indicating the flag.
"Nay, 'tis o'er far," I replied.
"It must be the castle of Restormel, of which Captain Dawe spoke. That being so, 'tis the standard of the Hoptons that flies over it."
"The rebels are in a great state of activity," he continued, "and, judging by their defence works, I trove that they expect an attack. But we must keep an eye on the trap-door, lest the rogues make an attack under cover of the smoke."
By this time the fire had died out, and, though the atmosphere within the belfry was charged with choking fumes, we could breathe with but little difficulty. Looking down, we saw the lower room was deserted, and the ominous silence filled us with misgivings.
The sun had set, and twilight was drawing in apace. Thirst and hunger began to make their presence felt, and in desperation I suggested to Firestone that, when it grew dark, we should descend by means of the bell-ropes knotted together, and take the risk of capture rather than starve where we were.
"Yes," he replied shortly. "We can but try."
We immediately set about unfastening the remaining ropes, out of which we made one stout rope of double thickness, sufficiently long to reach the ground.
The oppressive silence still continued, although from the church itself came the discordant sounds of the lawless soldiery.
"Hist! Someone comes!" I whispered, as the now familiar noise of footsteps stumbling up the spiral staircase became audible.
"For the last time, dogs!" came Chaloner's voice—"will you give yourselves up?"
"This is not Southsea Castle," I replied sneeringly. "We do not give up without sufficient cause."
"Then take the consequences," replied the renegade. "For a barrel of powder is even now placed underneath the tower, and in five minutes you will be blown skywards. Fare ye well, and a pleasant journey!"
And, with a mocking laugh, he disappeared.
The horror of the situation held us spell-bound.
Here we were eighty feet above the ground, with a barrel of powder ready to burst asunder the very foundations of the tower, while above us was a mass of stone another seventy feet in height, or thereabouts, which, at the moment of the explosion, would crumble, collapse, and bury us beneath its stupendous weight.
Nor was escape possible, for the churchyard was filled with rebels, and we knew full well that to accept Chaloner's offer of surrender was to deliberately throw away our lives, seeing that the man would have had us shot in cold blood under the plea of armed resistance. Colonel Firestone was the first to recover his composure.
"Perchance, 'tis but an idle threat," he exclaimed. "Yet, even if they fire the powder, its effects may not be so disastrous as they think. I call to mind the springing of a mine at the causeway of Rhé, when those nearest escaped nearly scot-free, and the greatest damage was done by the falling stones on the Frenchmen, who caused the explosion. Nevertheless, if we are to die, let's get to the open air once more."
Taking the ropes with us, we made our way out on to the parapet.
It was now dark. But few lights twinkled in the houses of the town, though the watch-fires of the troops surrounded Lostwithiel like a circle of glimmering points of light. Looking straight down, we could distinguish the heads and shoulders of the troops in and around the churchyard.
"Why not lower ourselves on to the roof of the nave?" I exclaimed.
"The idea seems good," replied Firestone, and we immediately ran round the leads to the opposite side of the tower. Twenty feet below was the ridge of the tiled roof that sloped down on either side to a parapeted gutterway.
"Fools we were not to have thought of this before," exclaimed the colonel. "Quick! Make fast the rope round this piece of stonework. Once we gain the roof, we are safe."
The rope was secured but, just as I was about to clamber over the edge, there was a glimmer of a match on the farthest end of the roof, then a flash, and a loud report, and a bullet whizzed past our heads.
"The rogues have done us!" muttered the colonel. "They have placed musketeers on the roof to shoot us down."
Hastily crouching behind the sheltering stonework, we drew up the rope and waited, in dead silence, for the threatened catastrophe.
In obedience to an order, there was a hasty stampede on the part of the rebels from the church, and, in our anxiety, we imagined we could hear the spluttering of the slow-match.
Regardless of the possibility of being shot at, Colonel Firestone stood erect and defiant, his figure showing clearly against the starlit sky.
"God save the King, and confusion to all his enemies!" he shouted, receiving in reply a chorus of ribald jests and laughter.
"Stand firm, Humphrey," he exclaimed, gripping my hand. "'Tis soon over, if 'tis to be."
Silence had now fallen upon the crowd of rebels and townsfolk, the former eager to see the result of their vile work, the latter, doubtless filled with grief at the wanton destruction of their venerable edifice, which for nearly four hundred years had been the pride of this Cornish borough.
Suddenly the massive tower shook like a leaf. There was a blinding flash, a deafening roar, a cloud of sulphurous smoke, followed by the rattle of hundreds of pieces of stonework. Gasping and nearly blinded and deafened by the explosion, I could not for a minute grasp the fact that I was still alive. Gradually it dawned upon me that I was not injured, and that, moreover, I was still on the tower. Then I stretched out my hand, and, to my delight, I gripped that of Colonel Firestone.
"Art hurt, Humphrey?"
"Nay, I think not—only shaken. And how is it with you?"
"Little the worse. We must brace ourselves together, for now is our time. Canst slide down the rope?"
"I hope so."
"Then explore the roof of the nave, for 'tis certain the men have taken themselves away ere the explosion. I must needs stay here to cover your retreat if needful, and also to guard against an attempt by the trap-door. We need not fear for lack of missiles, I take it." In truth the parapet was littered with broken tiles, each of which would make an effective impression if hurled at a man's head.
I swung myself over the ledge and descended the rope. At length one foot touched the roof, and instinctively I put out my other to gain a footing, but, to my surprise, there was a gaping hole. I had lighted upon one of the massive oaken rafters of the nave, for the explosion had stripped the whole of the tiles off the roof close to its junction with the tower.
Even as I looked down the evil-smelling smoke was still filtering through the ragged gaps between the beams. Men with torches and lanterns were already pouring into the building.
Fortunately for us, the effects of the explosion had followed the line of least resistance. The massive outer walls of the tower had withstood the shock, but a thin wall separating it from the nave had been blown into the church, and, as I said before, the roof had borne the brunt of the catastrophe.
Steadying myself by the rope I walked cautiously down the beam, till I gained the lead-lined parapet. Here I made fast the rope, and proceeded on my tour of inspection, keeping a careful watch lest any of the rebels should have remained on guard on the leads.
At length I neared the part above the east window, when suddenly I stumbled over the body of a man. It was one of the rebels who had fired at us on our previous attempt to descend. He still lived, having been only stunned by a fragment of flying masonry that had caught him on the right temple.
Just then I heard men's voices. A detachment of rebels was coming up to the roof by means of a ladder. Retracing my footsteps, I paused but for a moment to relieve the senseless soldier of his musket and bandolier; then, seizing the rope, I swung myself back to where my comrade was anxiously awaiting me.
"Is it safe to make the attempt?" he asked.
"Nay, the rebels are even now on the roofs. Listen!"
I showed him the musket I had gained possession of, whereat he expressed great approval.
"We must needs wait till the small hours of the morning," he continued. "And the best way to forget one's hunger is to gain sleep. I'll take the first watch, so the sooner you fall asleep the quicker you'll forget your troubles."
So saying, he took the musket, loaded and primed it, and sat down at the edge of the trap-door. For my part I lay down on the dust-covered floor of the belfry, and, worn out by hunger, fatigue, and excitement, I fell into a dreamless slumber.
I was awakened by Firestone shaking me by the shoulder.
"Time to be up and doing," he exclaimed.
It was broad daylight, and the sun's rays played strongly upon the blackened stonework of the tower, and across the gaping rafters of the roof of the nave.
"Why did you not waken me before?" I asked reproachfully, for the colonel presented a sorry appearance; his gaunt features were drawn with hunger, his face blackened with smoke and dirt, and his, clothes smothered with dust and particles of charcoal.
"You wanted rest more than I," he replied, with a grim smile. "A few hours' vigil makes but little difference to a war-worn veteran. But see!" he added, holding up an arrow for my inspection.
At first I thought the rebels had resorted to this bygone instrument of offence in the hope that its noiseless flight might have taken us unawares. Its point was blunted, but whether by design or by reason of its striking the stonework I knew not.
"'Twas shot by a friendly hand," continued Colonel Firestone. "Here is a paper that was folded round the shaft."
Taking the scrap of paper, I saw written in a scrawling hand: "Be o goode cheere, for the rebells are leaving Listithiel this day."
"I would be fuller of good cheer had I a square meal!" replied I, dolefully, as a savoury smell was wafted to our nostrils.
We looked cautiously over the parapet. Through the shattered roof we could see the floor of the church, where several of the rebels were engaged in cooking their food in large iron cauldrons suspended from rough tripods, the fires being fed with pieces of oak, which the troopers had relentlessly hacked from the pews. The soldier whom I had found insensible in the gutterway had been removed, but the fork of his musket still remained. Soldiers were busily engaged in clearing away the mass of rubble that blocked the entrance to the spiral staircase leading to the tower, so it was evident that they had not despaired of taking us—a further proof of the vindictiveness of the renegade Chaloner.
Could I gain possession of the musketeer's rest before the passage was cleared, a means would be at our disposal whereby we could obtain much-needed food; so, descending by the rope, I reached the shelter of the parapet of the nave, and immediately secured the instrument left behind by the wounded sentinel.
It was about five feet in length, made of wrought iron, and terminated in a double prong.
Requesting the colonel to throw me a length of rope, of which, fortunately, we had plenty, I bent the rest into the form of a large hook. To this I secured one end of the rope, then, leaning cautiously along one of the beams, I slowly lowered my improvised fishing tackle down into the interior of the church.
To my delight, none of the soldiers noticed the descent of the hook, owing possibly to the smoke, and by dint of careful manoeuvring I succeeded in hooking a large iron pot that, full of savoury stew, was boiling over a brisk fire.
The next instant, amid the shouts of the astonished and enraged rebels, pot and tripod were being rapidly drawn upwards; but ere I could secure my prize, a musket-shot pierced the bottom of the vessel, tearing a ragged hole. By the time I had unhooked the pot nearly the whole of the precious contents had escaped, but Colonel Firestone and I had the great satisfaction of breaking our fast by making a sorry meal from the sticky mixture that still adhered to the sides of the utensil.
Later on, though still in the early morning, we could discern large bodies of troops pouring into the town from the direction of Liskeard, and 'twas evident that the rebels had met with a reverse.
But we had no time to observe what was going on outside the town, for our own lives were in jeopardy.
Having cleared away the rubbish that obstructed the staircase, the musketeers, with fierce shouts, began the ascent.
"Stand to it," exclaimed Firestone, encouragingly, as a bullet whizzed close to my head. "Can we but hold our own for another five minutes, all will be well!"
"Shall we open fire on them?" I asked, making ready with the musket I had taken from the insensible man on the roof.
"Nay," replied the colonel. "Keep them in ignorance of the fact that we possess a weapon. Then, if the rebel Chaloner appears, I'll put a bullet through his traitorous head."
But the musketeers contented themselves by firing several volleys up through the floor of the belfry, which, however, as we took the same precaution as heretofore, did us no harm. After a while they went down again, leaving a soldier on guard.
We kept perfectly quiet, so that, evidently thinking we were without the steeple, the man relaxed his vigilance, and, seating himself in a low wooden chair, he drew a portion of a loaf and some cheese from his pocket.
Following this he produced a pipe and a metal box of tobacco, and, after looking from the food to the tobacco with evident indecision, he leant back in the chair, stretched his limbs, and gave a terrific yawn.
I could see Firestone's eyes fixed longingly on the tobacco, while I looked with equal avidity upon the bread and cheese. In a moment my mind was made up. Holding up the end of the rope to my companion, who nodded knowingly, I gathered myself up at the edge of the trap-door and made ready to spring.
I alighted fairly and squarely on the shoulders of the unsuspecting rebel. He fell backwards in one direction, I in another; but I was instantly on my feet, and, seizing the man's musket, prepared to stun him should he offer resistance. But he lay motionless whether the fall had killed him or merely deprived him of his senses, I knew not.
Gathering up the food, tobacco, and pipe, and hitching the end of the rope round the man's musket, I swarmed up to our place of refuge, and drew up the weapon.
Hardly had I done so when the rest of the party, alarmed by the noise, rushed up the stairs, only to find to their mystification the senseless body of their comrade.
The sight of the muzzles of the two muskets caused them to beat a hasty retreat, although we suffered them to remove the body of their luckless fellow-soldier.
Assured of no further molestation in this direction, we went out on to the leads, and found that at that very moment an attack was being made upon the rebel position, both sides keeping up a continuous artillery fire, though the defence was conducted in a spiritless manner that promised a speedy release from our captivity.
We shared the captured food, and the colonel filled the pipe, which fortunately had been unused, lighting it with a portion of the slow-match obtained with the bandolier we had previously taken.
Suddenly my companion pointed to a company of men forming up in the churchyard.
"There he is—there's that villain Chaloner," he exclaimed, and, starting to his feet, he seized and levelled his musket. But as he applied a match I struck up the piece, and the bullet went singing over the house-tops.
The colonel turned on me, livid with anger.
"Why this foolishness?" he demanded.
"We are not assassins," I replied.
"That man with his treachery has placed himself without the pale," he retorted. "Therefore I am justified in shooting him like a dog. Mark my words, Humphrey, you'll rue the day you made me miss my aim."
"Nevertheless, 'tis a craven act to shoot a man unawares. I, too, have an account to settle with Chaloner, and with more cause than you have, I trove; but Heaven forfend that I strike him after the manner of a hired assassin."
Happily, Firestone soon regained his accustomed composure, and, after reloading his piece, we watched the progress of the assault.
A ring of smoke encircled the town, for the cavaliers had drawn a cordon round it, and already their advanced works were within musket-shot of the bridge, whence the cannon behind the bridge kept up a steady fire on the attackers.
It was low tide, and the river ran but an insignificant stream, barely two feet in depth beneath the arches. Even as we looked we heard a flourish of trumpets, and with a wild, irresistible rush a squadron of Royalist cavalry, with loose rein and flowing mane, charged headlong for the bridge as only our horsemen can charge.
Saddles were emptied, but, regardless of the losses, the attackers deployed right and left, plunged into the river, and the next instant the barricade was charged in the rear, and the gunners cut down or made prisoners.
The horsemen were ably seconded by a strong body of Cornish pikemen and musketeers, and, the guns being turned to command the principal approach to the bridge, the town was at the mercy of the Royal troops.
There was a roll of drums, and, bearing a white flag, a rebel officer rode from the headquarters of the Parliamentarian army towards the Royal lines.
"They are treating for terms," exclaimed the colonel. "While the armistice lasts, there's no reason why we should not try to take advantage of it."
And without let or hindrance we did indeed descend the tower, pass through the now deserted church, and gain the street. Soon we were safely within the outposts of the Royal army.
We were immediately taken to a tent, where the Royalist officers were engaged in drafting out the terms of capitulation, and, thinking we might be of service to them, they asked us for an account of our adventure.
"Chaloner, say you? Chaloner, the renegade?"
"The same, sir," replied Firestone.
"Mark him down. Mark him down, scrivener," exclaimed one of the officers, addressing a scribe who was laboriously writing out the terms of surrender at a roughly constructed table.
"Him we must have at any price. Let me think. His name will be third. There's the rebel Colonel Hobbs, formerly a waggoner, who ruthlessly burned Pentillie; the ex-miller, Captain Gale, who unlawfully strung up five of our men at Looe; and the traitor Chaloner. The other officers we will suffer to depart on parole."
While the clerk's quill pen was scratching and spluttering over the parchment, the officer turned to us once more.
"You were on the way to join the Cornish army. What regiment did you intend serving in?"
"In Sir Bevil Granville's."
"In Sir Bevil Granville's? But I grieve to say Sir Bevil is dead, and the regiment well-nigh cut to pieces at Cropredy Bridge."
"And his son——"
"Sir Ralph Granville, as he must now be styled, has joined his sorry remnant to the command of Sir Ralph Hopton."
"Then under Sir Ralph Hopton will suit us."
"'Tis well. Malpas!" he shouted to a sergeant who was on guard without the tent. "Conduct these gentlemen to the camp of Sir Ralph Hopton, for, methinks, rest and refreshment will not come amiss. Fare ye well."
With a salute we left the staff-officer's tent, and, under the guidance of the sergeant, we were taken to a spot where a triple Line of weather-worn tents and rough huts of boughs and bushes marked the temporary camp of the redoubtable Royalist.
Here we were hospitably received, for, though in common with most of the cavaliers, there was scarcely a gold piece to be found amongst a score of them, such was their devotion to His Majesty, both in personal service and gifts of money, they gave us plenty to eat and insisted on our going to sleep.
When I woke up I found, to my joy, Ralph Granville sitting at my side. A complete change of apparel and a serviceable equipment of armour and weapons were placed at our disposal, which, I afterwards learnt, were contributed from the joint store of this particular company.
"How goes it with you, Ralph?" I exclaimed, wringing my friend's hand.
"Passably," he replied, "though 'tis but the fortune of war."
"I heard of your father's gallant end."
"Ay. My father and twenty-two of our tenantry fell before Waller's pikes, and now I have just heard that our house at Tregetty has been burnt to the ground, so nothing remains but my sword."
I hardly knew what to reply. For all I knew I might even now be in a similar position. Ashley Castle might be razed to the ground, and my parents dead beneath its ruins. It was, as Ralph had observed, the fortune of war, and we had but to look around and see the devastating effects of this struggle, in which Englishmen were flying at each other's throats.
Further conversation was interrupted by the trumpets sounding the assembly, and, mounting our chargers—two passable horses which had belonged to two cavaliers who had fallen in the charge on Lostwithiel Bridge—Firestone and I took our places in the ranks of our new comrades, Granville being my left-hand man.
Everyone was in high spirits, for the articles of capitulation had been accepted by the rebels, and we were even now on our way to witness the surrender of the Parliamentary army of the west.
Other regiments had preceded us, and by the time we crossed the old bridge once more, this time in the midst of a troop of horse with standards flying, and not as prisoners in the centre of a body of sour-faced Roundheads, the greater part of the King's army was drawn up in a long double line.
Our troop formed up facing the church, and as I looked up at the smoke-blackened tower and shattered roof I could not help wondering how near we had been to death, and how Providence had safely guided us through perils innumerable.
My reveries were cut short by a roll of drums, followed by a hoarse order, which was taken up all along the double line by the company commanders. Instantly the swords of the cavalry flew from their scabbards, while the pikemen stood to their pikes and musketeers shouldered their pieces.
The march of the surrendered army was about to begin.
[1] It must be borne in mind that Humphrey Markham's narrative deals with the Civil War from the standpoint of an ardent young Royalist. Both sides were doubtless guilty of many excesses.
The horse shot into space
The horse shot into space
[Illustration:With undiminished speed the horse shot into space.]
[Illustration:With undiminished speed the horse shot into space.]
FOR over an hour a continuous stream of men in soiled buff coats passed in more or less military precision. Their arms, save those of the officers, had been piled or stacked, their colours handed over, and their cannons, most of which they themselves had spiked, were already parked and placed under a strong guard.
In many instances the men were still suffering from wounds, bandaged heads and limbs in slings being numerous.
The completeness of the surrender was, however, marred by the fact that on the previous night the rebel Earl of Essex had escaped from the town and taken boat to Fowey, whence, we afterwards learnt, a brig had conveyed him to Plymouth.
Nor was the renegade Chaloner to be found amongst the prisoners, much to the Royal commander's disappointment; whether he were dead or alive no one knew. The other two rebel officers, Hobbs and Gale, against whom serious counts were proved, had already been strung up in front of the Shire Hall.
Sixty of the common rank and file alone were retained, and under a strong guard these were compelled to cleanse out the dishallowed church and to restore it, as far as possible, to its former condition.
Directly the surrender was completed, the troops were dismissed, precautions being taken against a surprise, though 'twas evident that the rebellion in this part of Cornwall had been stamped out.
As soon as we were at liberty Colonel Firestone and I turned our horses over to the care of a camp follower, and made our way to the place where the rebels' arms had been given up, for I was anxious to regain my sword, while my companion was equally solicitous on behalf of his own weapons.
As we passed by the Shire Hall, before which the bodies of the two rebel officers still swung to the gaze of a curious throng of soldiers and townsfolk, we saw the crowd being parted by a body of armed men, who had great difficulty in preventing the infuriated townspeople from tearing a prisoner from their midst, while shouts and threats filled the air.
Planting ourselves firmly in the midst of the crowd, so that the armed guard would pass within a few feet of us, we jostled with the surging mass, till at length we could see the features of the prisoner.
Instinctively an exclamation of surprise burst from my lips. Stripped of coat and doublet, his face cut and bruised and stained with dried blood and dirt, was—not Chaloner, but the so-called Southampton "merchant," the charlatan Cutler!
Half dead with fear, his legs hardly able to support his trembling body, the wretched man was urged onwards by his guards, as, with his hands pressed to his ears as if to shut out the threats and execrations of the crowd, he was marched towards the provost's quarters.
"What has he done?" I asked, laying a detaining hand on the shoulder of a dragoon who, carrying the trickster's torn coat, was following the guards.
"Done?" he replied. "Dost know the villain?"
"I know that he has done us more than once," I replied grimly.
"I trove he'll do you no more, for he'll dance at the end of a rope within the hour," said the soldier, preparing to move on. "For he has been caught in the act of robbing the dead."
"Then we've seen the last of Master Cutler," remarked my companion as we resumed our way. "At least, unless we see his body gracing a gallows."
Upon arriving at the ground where the arms of the surrendered army had been deposited, we were somewhat dismayed at the magnitude of our task; but upon our applying to the camp marshal for permission to try and recover our weapons, that officer was able to inform us of the probable place where Chaloner's dragoons had stacked their arms.
Muskets had been piled in a military manner, but stands of pikes, swords, pistols, breastplates, morions, Swedish feathers, and other arms of offence and defence lay heaped in indescribable disorder.
For over an hour we searched without success, till I suggested that we might question some of the prisoners who had been retained to clean out the church, and, my comrade falling in with the idea, we returned to the scene of our recent adventures.
After a short conversation with the captain of the guard, an officer of Hopton's troop, with whom Firestone was acquainted, we entered the building.
"There's our man," exclaimed the colonel, pointing to the sergeant of dragoons who had so brutally used us on the day of our capture by Chaloner.
"Come hither, sirrah," said Firestone, and the man, now thoroughly frightened, obeyed.
"What did you do with our arms when your men mishandled us?"
"I know not," stammered the man.
"Think again," continued my companion, "or we must needs refresh your failing memory."
"I know not," repeated the sergeant.
"Two rebels even now dance at the end of a rope outside the Shire Hall," remarked Firestone in a dry, casual sort of voice. "They murdered their prisoners and burnt the houses of loyal Cornishmen; methinks I know of a third who ill-treated men having the misfortune to fall into his hands."
"I did but carry out mine orders," replied the dragoon.
"Brutality is not necessary to the obedience of orders," snapped Firestone. "Come, now, say where our arms were placed, or the provost will have speech with you, with the great possibility of the gallows to finish up with. Now, sirrah, what say you?"
"They were sold at Liskeard."
"To whom?"
"To the host of the 'Stag.'"
"For how much?"
"A barrel of cider."
"You rascal!" shouted Firestone, shaking his fist in the man's face. "You rascal! To sell the arms of two loyal gentlemen for a barrel of cider. Get back to your work, you prick-eared rebel, lest I forget myself."
And, wild with rage, my comrade stalked out of the building.
For my part my indignation was almost as great, and I resolved at the earliest opportunity to regain possession of my sword, the gift of the armourer of Newport. However, as the countryside was overrun with the remnants of the surrendered army, it was deemed wise to defer the journey for a few days at least.
One morning, however, I was seized with a sudden impulse to ride alone over to Liskeard, a distance of twelve miles, and to offer a reasonable sum to the innkeeper for the weapons, or, failing to obtain them in this manner, to threaten him with a visit from our men for illegal trafficking with rebels; and, having executed my mission, the result would be a pleasant surprise to Nick Firestone.
It was after midday ere I obtained the necessary permission from the provost to leave the camp, and, having made an excuse to my comrade, I saddled my horse and rode off.
This animal was not the one I had ridden from home, neither was it the passable nag that I had had given me on joining Hopton's camp, but a powerful black charger which I bought immediately after the surrender of the rebel army, and was, in consequence, ignorant of its temper.
In under two hours I arrived at Liskeard, where I found the host of the "Stag" most amenable to my request, and, protesting that he had been compelled to take my sword and a brace of pistols belonging to Firestone in payment for the cider, he handed them over in consideration of the sum of a crown—a far less amount than I had expected to have had to pay.
Delighted with the success of my mission, I had refreshment, and afterwards set out on my journey back to the camp. But I had barely covered half the distance when my horse began to show symptoms of restlessness, and before I was fully aware of the fact, it suddenly plunged, bounded forward, and, regardless of my effort to retain it, tore headlong over the dusty road.
Thinking it would soon tire itself out, and consoling myself that I was still going in the direction of the camp, I let the creature have a loose rein, till at length it suddenly turned, cleared a low stone wall with a bound, and headed across a field.
Now I sought to rein in the frantic animal, but in vain. Across country it tore, till it reached a wild tract of open country two miles from the highway, and, sinking to its knees in a marsh, I was able to leap from the saddle.
Tugging at the exhausted creature's reins, I succeeded in extricating it from the bog-land; then, loth to take further risk, I walked it in the direction from which I had come.
At length I espied a stone hut, or hovel, from which a thin column of smoke was rising. In the excitement of my wild ride I had failed to notice it before. As I drew nearer I saw that at one time it must have been an ancient British cromlech, a massive slab of granite resting upon two uprights. A rough wall of stone had converted the cromlech into a rude dwelling, and here apparently human beings existed. Door there was none, a gap in the wall serving that purpose.
The soft, springy turf deadened the sound of my approach, and, gaining the entrance, I stooped down and peered within, having tied up my horse to a thorn bush, and taken the precaution of holding one of my pistols in my hand.
In front of the fire a hare was roasting on a rough spit, while the smoke and the sudden change from the glare of the sunlight made it impossible to distinguish things clearly. Lying on the ground was a man. He was fast asleep, and even my voice failed to rouse him. The floor of this singular dwelling had been excavated to a depth of about two feet below the surface of the ground outside, so that there was a height of nearly seven feet between the floor and the roof of solid rock.
I stepped within and stirred the sleeper with my foot.
With a sudden start he awoke and jumped to his feet. It was Captain Chaloner!
It was Captain Chaloner, in spite of his scared face, unkempt hair and beard, his torn and travel-stained clothes. Doubtless he thought that a troop of horse stood without.
"Yield yourself, Captain Chaloner," I exclaimed, holding up my cocked pistol.
"I yield," he replied, without hesitation, somewhat to my discomfiture, for I knew not where I was, neither did he know that I was alone, so what was I to do with my prisoner?
"Make ready to go," I continued, "for we must needs journey to Lostwithiel."
"Promise me that your men will not harm me," he said imploringly, whereat I unthinkingly informed him that there was no one without.
"Then on what authority do you arrest me?" he exclaimed, with a sudden change of tone.
"The authority of right and might," I replied, showing him the pistol once more. "You must needs walk five paces ahead of me, and at the first sign of escape I shoot you down."
"What must needs be," he rejoined. "But, Master Markham, consider a moment. I am of opinion that the matter of Ashley Castle being bestowed upon me is the cause of your hatred towards me, though I swear it was not through my asking."
"You are right, though I'll not believe you did not ask it to be conferred upon you."
"Then why seek my life?"
"I do not seek your life, although by doing my duty I have little doubt but that you'll be hanged for your treachery. Had I not struck up the barrel of a musket, you would certainly have been shot down from the tower of Lostwithiel Church when you tried your utmost to burn or blow us up."
"Good lad! Good lad!" sneered Chaloner. "I thank you for the service."
"And now make ready," I continued, ignoring his insolent manner. "For 'tis late in the afternoon, and we must needs be in camp ere sunset."
"Since you are alone, Master Markham, can you not forego the honour of taking me into the Royalist camp? Consider, sixteen good miles of rough road, darkness long before we arrive there, and the chance of meeting some of my men. For, look you, I am not alone. Furthermore, if you let me go free, I'll promise, on my word of honour——"
"Your word of honour!" I repeated scornfully.
"Ay, I'll swear it, if you will, that I'll hand over the deed of settlement of Ashley Castle, and take ship overseas till the war be at an end. I mean what I say," he continued as I shook my head at his base proposal. "See, I have the document here."
Stooping down, he lifted up a pile of clothing that lay on the floor.
There was a sudden flash, a loud report, and I reeled backwards with a sharp pain like a hot iron searing through my shoulder.
I had a dim recollection of firing my pistol straight at him as he still remained huddled on the floor, and seeing him half spring to his feet, only to fall forward with convulsive struggles. Then, with a red mist swimming before my eyes, I staggered to where my horse was tethered, clambered into the saddle, and gave spur.
After a while my senses became clearer. My left arm was paining me, while a dark stain flooded the shoulder and front of my doublet. My horse had settled down to a trot, though whither 'twas bearing me I knew not nor Hardly cared. I had some consolation in the thought that I was being borne somewhere, and, providing I could keep my saddle, all would be well at the next village or homestead I came to.
The sun was close on the time of setting, and by the fact that its ruddy glare came from the direction slightly behind my right shoulder, I knew we were heading southwards.
As my senses returned the pain of my wound increased, the incessant jolting causing the blood to flow freely. I could not help wondering what might have been my fate had I fallen from the saddle during the period of unconsciousness, for my feet were firmly wedged in the stirrups, and, if unable to disengage them, I would have been a shapeless mass of shattered pulp. I had seen a similar thing at Edgehill, and knew full well what it meant.
At length the horse gained the summit of a lofty hill, and before me stretched the seemingly boundless expanse of the English Channel, a gentle declivity of about half a mile separating me from the water, though on either hand a spur of the hill in what must be a pair of rugged headlands.
Suddenly the horse was seized with the same unseen terror that had caused it to bolt on the highway. It reared almost on its haunches, and only by keeping a tight grip on its mane with my sound arm was I able to retain my seat. Then, with its freshly-found wind, the startled animal bounded forward.
"'Tis time to cry halt," I exclaimed to myself, and, putting all the strength of my unwounded limb into the pull, I strove to rein in the animal, as I saw that what I took to be a gentle slope actually terminated in a cliff, though considerably lower than the adjacent portions of the coast.
My efforts, as before, were useless, and only tended to increase the horse's pace and fury. Several times I tried to turn its head, but in spite of this the animal kept straight for the sea.
Not a moment was to be lost. I determined to shoot the brute and risk a headlong fall on the soft turf. Forgetting my wound for the moment, I took the reins in my left hand. Then, drawing my remaining pistol from its holster, I snapped it at the horse's forehead but, to my dismay, there was no report.
The weapon had missed fire.
At that moment I realised that there were persons riding to my aid. At least a score of horsemen were galloping furiously down the spur on my right, with the evident intention of intercepting my runaway steed and diverting its flight. Some of them had carbines, and made ready to fire, though I had misgivings as to their marksmanship. But the efforts of the horsemen were in vain; my horse thundered past the leader at more than twenty paces, and, defying pursuit, continued its mad flight.
Throwing away the useless pistol, I drew my sword, determined to slay the animal before it carried me to destruction; but before I could shorten the blade for a stroke we had gained the edge of the cliff.
The horse gave a neigh, whether of triumph or of terror I knew not, and with undiminished speed shot into space. In a few brief seconds I must have turned completely round; I saw the red sheer face of the cliff appear to shoot upwards, the air whistled past my head, and with a heavy splash my horse and I struck the surface of the water simultaneously.
Then everything became a blank.