"Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls!And if thou do'st not hide thee from the bearNow when the angry trumpet sounds alarmAnd dead men's cries do fill the empty air,Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me!Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms."
"Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls!And if thou do'st not hide thee from the bearNow when the angry trumpet sounds alarmAnd dead men's cries do fill the empty air,Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me!Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms."
York, however, interposes, and claims the right of fighting with him.
"Clifford.—What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?York.—With thy brave bearing I should be in love,But that thou art so fast mine enemy.Clifford.—Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.York.—So let it help me now against thy sword,As I in justice and true right express it!Clifford.—My soul and body on the action both!York.—A dreadful lay!—address thee instantly.(They fight, and Clifford falls.)Clifford.—La fin couronne les œuvres. (Dies.)York.—Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.Peace with his soul, Heaven, if it be Thy will."
"Clifford.—What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?
York.—With thy brave bearing I should be in love,But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
Clifford.—Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.
York.—So let it help me now against thy sword,As I in justice and true right express it!
Clifford.—My soul and body on the action both!
York.—A dreadful lay!—address thee instantly.
(They fight, and Clifford falls.)
Clifford.—La fin couronne les œuvres. (Dies.)
York.—Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.Peace with his soul, Heaven, if it be Thy will."
The slaughter of Lord Clifford at the hands of the Duke of York is the keynote to young Clifford's subsequent ruthless hatred of the House of York. Coming up to the body of his father, Shakspeare puts these words into his mouth—
"Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieveThe silvery livery of advised age,And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days thusTo die in ruffian battle? Even at this sightMy heart is turn'd to stone; and while 'tis mineIt shall be stony. York not our old men spares:No more will I their babes; tears virginalShall be to me even as the dew to fire;And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,Shall, to my flaming wrath, be oil and flax.Henceforth I will not have to do with pityMeet I an infant of the house of York,Into as many gobbets will I cut itAs wild Medea young Absyrtus did.In cruelty will I seek out my fame.Come thou new ruin of old Clifford's house.(Taking up the body.)As old Æneas did Anchises bear,So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders.But then Æneas bore a living load,Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine."
"Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieveThe silvery livery of advised age,And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days thusTo die in ruffian battle? Even at this sightMy heart is turn'd to stone; and while 'tis mineIt shall be stony. York not our old men spares:No more will I their babes; tears virginalShall be to me even as the dew to fire;And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,Shall, to my flaming wrath, be oil and flax.Henceforth I will not have to do with pityMeet I an infant of the house of York,Into as many gobbets will I cut itAs wild Medea young Absyrtus did.In cruelty will I seek out my fame.Come thou new ruin of old Clifford's house.(Taking up the body.)As old Æneas did Anchises bear,So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders.But then Æneas bore a living load,Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine."
Although the Lancastrians fought bravely, nothing could withstand the superior number of the Yorkists, combined, as it was, with the military skill and impetuous valour of the Earl of Warwick, and in a short space of time there lay dead the Duke of Somerset and the Earls of Northumberland and Stafford; and the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormond grievously wounded. Thus deprived of their chief leaders, the King being a mere cipher,the Lancastrians threw down their weapons and fled, Wentworth flinging down the Royal standard and spurring his horse in the direction of Suffolk. The poor King was captured; but York treated him with great courtesy and kindness, conducted him to St. Alban's Abbey, where they prayed together at the shrine of the martyr, and then went together, victor and vanquished, to London.
The Yorkists were now in the ascendant, but acted with great moderation. There were no executions and no attainders; so Clifford succeeded to the title and kept the estates. The King was again attacked by his old malady, and again was Richard of York appointed Protector; but Queen Margaret now began to exhibit her qualities, and to intrigue in politics. She was truly an able and brave woman, but vindictive and rash. She succeeded in ousting York from the Protectorship, and took measures for crushing him effectually; and again the flames of war broke out.
Lord Clifford did not, under these circumstances, sit at home brooding over his misfortunes and the bitterness of his hatred to the house of York. He was always on the alert, at London or elsewhere, attending on Councils of State or engaged in the field. He fought at Bloreheath,in 1459, and at Northampton, in 1460, on both of which occasions his party suffered a defeat; but Margaret, nothing daunted, raised an army of 18,000 men, and proceeded at their head into Yorkshire, in face of the frosts and snows of the December of 1460. The Duke of York, with a small army of 5,000 men, went from London and threw himself into Sandal Castle, by Wakefield, there to await the arrival of his son Edward, Earl of March, who was mustering forces in the Welsh Marches. The Queen came with her army upon Wakefield Green, with the Duke of Somerset, son of the slain Duke, in chief command, and Clifford and Wiltshire, son of the Earl who fell at St. Alban's, in command of ambuscades, one on each side. Then, aware of her numerical superiority, she appeared before Sandal, and summoned the Duke to come forth and fight her. "What, are you afraid of encountering an army led by a woman? Cowardly poltroon! can you be fit to wear the crown of England, who shut yourself up in a castle against a woman?" York called a council of war, and was earnestly dissuaded against running the hazard of a battle before the arrival of his son; but, taunted by the jeers of the Queen, he felt that his honour was concerned in fightingat once, despite the numerical odds, and forth he went with his small army, not one-third that of the Queen.
The Duke sallied forth and met Somerset, with a comparatively small force, on Wakefield Green, whom he attacked with great vigour, anticipating, with his better-disciplined men, an easy victory; but the ambuscades under Clifford and Wiltshire came out upon his flanks, whilst a contingent of Northern Borderers attacked his rear, and thus, completely surrounded, his small force succumbed, the White Rose drooped, and the Red, for the first time, was triumphant. This battle brought to an end the ambitious aspirations of Richard of York. He was one of the first to fall, and with him Sir Thomas Neville, Lord Salisbury's son, and Lord Harrington, the husband of Katherine Neville, his daughter. Lord Salisbury himself was wounded, but not sufficiently to prevent his galloping off from the scene. Clifford however, followed in hot pursuit, captured, and sent him to Pontefract Castle, where he was at once beheaded.
Previously, however, to his pursuit of the father, Clifford was guilty of that dastardly act upon his son, the Earl of Rutland, which hasstamped his name with infamy, and has given significance to his sobriquet of "Black-faced Clifford." The Duke of York had with him, in Sandal Castle, his family, including the youthful Earl of Rutland. Boy-like, he must needs go and see the battle, and nothing could dissuade him. "I will go," said he, "and see my father kill the cruel Queen; and when I am a man I will go and fight, and kill his enemies too." "A battle is not a place, Lord Edmund," replied his tutor and chaplain, Sir Robert Aspall, "for boys. A stray arrow might kill you." "Think not, sir priest," replied the brave boy, "that a son of Richard of York is afraid of an arrow! Stay under shelter of these walls, like craven priest, if you will; I shall go and see the deeds of men who are men!" Seeing that nothing could turn the boy from his purpose, his tutor resolved to go with him to keep him out of harm's way, nothing loth himself to witness the conflict of arms. When the battle was over, and the vanquished flying, Sir Robert led his charge, away towards Sandal. They had not proceeded far, when they encountered a steel-clad warrior on horseback, with blood dropping from his sword. Perceiving from his apparel that he wasa youth of distinction, the warrior dismounted, and, holding his horse by the reins, inquired who he was. "Then," as Hall says, "the young gentleman, dismayed, had not a word to speak, but kneeled on his knees, imploring mercy and desiring grace, both with holding up his hands and making dolorous countenance, for his speech was gone for fear. 'Save him,' said his chaplain, 'for he is a Prince's son, and peradventure may do you good hereafter.' With that word Lord Clifford marked him, and said, 'By God's blood! thy father slew mine, and so will I do to thee and all thy kin,' and with that word, struck the Earl to the heart with his dagger, and bade the chaplain bear the Earl's mother and brother word what he had done, and said, adding, 'By this act, Lord Clifford was accompted a tyrant and no gentleman.'"
Not satisfied with this cowardly act of vindictiveness, Lord Clifford resolved to carry his vengeful hatred on, by insulting the dead. He returned to the field, now strewn with corpses, sought for, and found that of the Duke of York, and cutting off his head, stuck it upon a lance and carried it, as the most acceptable trophy, to the tent of the Queen, who received it withill-timed merriment and jest. She made a paper crown and placed it on the head, with an inscription—"This is he who would have been King of England," and gave directions for it to be conveyed, along with that of Salisbury, to York, and placed over one of the gates, adding, "Leave room for the head of my Lord of Warwick, for it shall soon bear them company!"
Queen Margaret, flushed with her victory, marched towards London, but met with the Earl of Warwick, in February, 1461, at St. Alban's, and there defeated him, after which the poor captive King was released and brought to his Queen in Lord Clifford's tent. But Edward, the quondam Earl of March, now Duke of York, had come up and joined Warwick, who, together, entered London and were welcomed by the citizens, who favoured the house of York. Margaret, fearing to meet their united forces, returned northward, her strongholds and most devoted friends being in the northern counties, especially on the Scottish borders, whither she was followed by Duke Edward. She had come to York, and lay there with 60,000 men, when she heard that York and Warwick had reached Pontefract with anarmy of 40,000 men. Anxious to prevent the passage of the Aire by the enemy, she moved to Towton, some eight miles off York, and there was fought the memorable and decisive battle which placed the crown on the head of Edward IV. The Lancastrians had seized Ferrybridge under Lord Fitzwalter, and Clifford, as courageous as he was cruel, undertook to dislodge him, which he accomplished. But Lord Falconbridge crossed the Aire three miles higher, at Castleford, and attacked Clifford in the flank with a superior force. Clifford fled towards the Queen's camp, and when he arrived at Dittingdale, two miles off Towton, feeling thirsty after his exertions, he removed his gorget and stooped to drink at a streamlet, when an arrow struck him in the throat, and the murderer of Rutland and insulter of the dead Richard of York fell to rise no more.
FORever memorable in the annals of England will be Palm Sunday in the year 1461, and equally so the little hamlet of Towton, by Tadcaster. There and then was fought, in a blinding snowstorm, what Camden calls "the English Pharsalia," the greatest battle hitherto fought on English soil, where Englishman met Englishman, and kinsman kinsman, in deadly conflict, and in which quarter was neither asked nor given. The conflict lasted ten hours, and the pursuit of the fugitives was continued until the middle of Monday. 60,000 Lancastrians were met by 40,000 Yorkists, and 36,000 corpses and dying men lay that Sunday night on the snow of the fields, roads, and hillsides, whilst the river and streamlets ran with torrents of blood, and the snow became encrimsoned as it fell. The fight inclined in favour of the Red Rose, under the command of the Duke of Somerset, although York andWarwick performed prodigies of valour with their smaller forces, and the day must have gone against the White Rose, when, towards evening, the banner of the Mowbrays was seen approaching, and the Duke of Norfolk came up with a body of fresh troops, who made a vigorous attack on the Lancastrians, which at once turned the scale, and changed what seemed to be a defeat into a decisive victory, which was virtually the deposition of Henry VI., and the elevation of Edward IV. to the throne—a transference of the crown from the House of Lancaster to that of York.
The shades of evening were falling over the forest lands around Skipton, some week or ten days after the battle. The surrounding hills were covered with snow, and a fierce wind raged round the towers of the castle, whilst the boughs of the trees crashed against each other, and ever and anon a huge branch, reft from the parent stem, was flung with fury to the earth.
Within the castle, in a room overlooking the courtyard, sat the Lady Clifford, with her young children, two or three female attendants, and the chaplain of the household. It was very unlike amodern drawing-room, and, in these Sybarite days, would be looked upon as a very comfortless apartment; yet was it a fair specimen of the drawing-room of the period. Instead of Axminster or Aubusson carpets, the floors were strewn with rushes; instead of oil paintings from the hands of eminent masters, the walls were hung with tapestries of Arras, more to cover the rough nakedness of the stonework and exclude draughts than for æsthetic purposes; the furniture of the room consisted of a table, two or three chairs, and a few stools of rough carpentry, not in mahogany or rosewood, but of the native oak, hewn out of the woodlands of the demesne. On the hearthstone blazed a fire of wood, sputtering as the sleet fell into it down the wide open chimney. There was no grate, fender, or fire-irons, but beside the hearth lay a heap of fresh wood, to be thrown on the fire as required; and when the embers required stirring, a stick from the heap was used for that purpose.
Lady Clifford sat in silence, brooding in thought over her absent husband, with an occasional heavy-drawn sigh; the children were gambolling about the room in innocent unconsciousnessof the perils to which their father was exposed; the chaplain joined in their romps, and amused them by telling them tales of Fairyland and the good deeds of holy saints; and the handmaidens were sitting apart, plying their distaffs and spinning-wheels, and indulging in the usual gossip of an isolated castle and the surrounding village, but maintained it in an undertone, so as not to disturb the meditations of their lady.
"What a fearful night it is," said Lady Clifford, as a terrific gust of wind came roaring round the towers of the castle, seeming almost to shake them to their foundations, stoutly as they were built. "It is terrible even here, sitting as we are under the protection of these strong walls; what must it be to those who are exposed to its fury, camped, perchance, on some wild moor, and surrounded by enemies?"
At this moment a trumpet summons for admittance to the castle was heard; and presently the seneschal entered the room, stating that a knight was without the gate with tidings of great importance.
"Who is he?" asked Lady Clifford. "Do you know him?"
"Yes, my lady, he is Sir John de Barnoldswick, who accompanied my lord, and I fear me he brings intelligence of evil import."
"Admit him instantly, and bring him hither."
The rattling of the chains of the drawbridge was heard, and the sound of opening the ponderous castle gates, followed by the tramping of a horse in the courtyard, and the heavy footsteps of a steel-clad warrior on the stone stairs, and a tall, martial-looking figure, but with melancholy gait and drooping head, entered the room and made a profound obeisance to the lady of the castle, but without speaking a word of salutation.
"Whence comest thou, Sir Knight, and what are thy tidings?" inquired Lady Clifford, in tremulous accents.
"I come from the field of battle, lady, and my tidings are evil."
"Let us hear them; I am a soldier's wife, and ought not to shrink from calamitous intelligence," she replied, although her nervous trembling belied her utterance.
"Know, then, lady, that a great and disastrous battle has been fought near Tadcaster, and theLancastrian cause lost. I fought till the last under the Clifford banner; saw many a brave fellow of the Vale of Craven fall around me, and barely escaped to bring the news hither."
"And what of the King and the brave Queen Margaret?"
"Alas! I know not; they and the Prince of Wales were in York when the battle was fought. All I know is that Somerset and the King's troops were utterly defeated, and fled northward, with Warwick and the Duke of York in hot pursuit."
"And what of my lord? Fled he too? He would never turn his back to the foes of his King."
"He did not, lady; had he been present, the result might have been different. He was not in the engagement."
"What mean you by 'not in the engagement'? Surely he, of all men, would not stand aloof on such an occasion?"
"Alas! lady, I fear to tell you why."
"Speak, man! is he dead? or why was he absent?"
"It is too true, lady, that he can no longer fight in defence of his King."
"Then he is dead!" cried Lady Clifford, in an agony of despair.
"He fell, my lady, on the eve of the battle, after a glorious act of valour, by a random shot. Heaven rest his soul!"
"Heaven help my poor children!" cried Lady Clifford, and fell to the floor in a swoon, the mother's instinctive love for her offspring prevailing over her grief for her own loss. And truly, she had reason to fear for them. Her husband, "Black-faced Clifford," as he was called, had an inveterate hatred for the House of York; he had murdered, in cold blood, the young Duke of Rutland, brother of Edward of York; had cut off the head of Richard, Duke of York; and had caused the Earl of Salisbury, father of Warwick, to be executed at Pontefract; and it was tolerably certain that York, the future King, and Warwick, his General, would seek to take vengeance on the children of him who had committed those atrocities.
The Dukes of York and Warwick marched triumphantly to York, and were submissively received by the authorities, and there they celebrated the festival of Easter with great splendour. Hastings, Stafford, and others hadbeen made Knights-Bannerets on the field; Devon and Wilts were decapitated by martial law, and their heads placed on the bar gate of York, whence those of Richard of York and the Earl of Salisbury, the fathers of York and Warwick, had been removed; and, after settling affairs in the north, the victors marched to London, and were welcomed by the citizens with loud demonstrations of joy, the Londoners being staunch Yorkists.
Lady Clifford prepared to meet her untoward fate, and took measures for the safety of her children. Her old friend, the venerable Prior of Bolton, who had made himself acquainted with all that had taken place since the battle of Towton, so far as could be learnt in that remote spot, mounted his mule and rode over to the Castle. He was received courteously and with dutiful reverence by Lady Clifford, and, moreover, with joy, as she wished to consult him, above all others, as to her future line of conduct.
"I am at a loss, holy father, to think what I can do. I suppose there is no hope of retrieval on the part of Queen Margaret?"
"I am afraid not. The Queen is endeavouringto raise another army in the north, but I fear with little chance of success."
"What, then, will be the effect upon the adherents of the House of Lancaster? I suppose executions, attainders, and confiscations?"
"Precisely so; and Lord Clifford, one of the most bitter foes of the House of York, will certainly be included in the first list, his title extinguished, and his estates confiscated."
"And my poor children will thus lose all their inheritance; but it is not that I dread this so much as the vengeance of the Duke—King now, I presume—and of the Earl of Warwick. I fear me that even if their lives are not sacrificed, they will be cast into dungeons, to languish out their lives."
"Your apprehensions, my daughter, are, unfortunately, but too well-founded, and we must consult on some measures for their safety. You need not fear molestation until Edward has seated himself securely on the throne, and will be safer within the walls of this castle than elsewhere. But it will be wise to make provision for removal to some secure retreat as soon as the Acts of Attainder have passed, and theKing begins to take vengeance on his foes, for then Skipton will pass into other hands."
"I bethink me of such a place," said Lady Clifford. "Your council is wise. I can go to the mansion of my father, Lord Vesci, on his Londesborough estates, near Market Weighton, where it will be possible to reside as far removed from the world as if out of the world. There I could bring up my children, without notice, until the cloud had passed over, or until a change in the wheel of fortune shall restore the House of Lancaster to the throne."
After some further discussion, the Prior saw that this was the best plan that could be adopted; and it was arranged that measures should be taken for departure at any moment, when there should be indications of the towers of Skipton becoming untenable, and, after a parting benediction, the reverend Prior mounted his mule, and returned home.
King Edward lost no time in taking steps to paralyse effectually any further efforts on the part of the adherents of the rival House. He called together a Parliament, and one of the first measures laid before it was an Act of Attainder against all the nobles and men of rank who hadappeared in arms against his legitimate claim to the crown, which, now that he had been successful, was deemed treason. The demesnes of John, Lord Clifford, extended for seventy miles, with an interval of ten, from Skipton into the heart of Westmoreland, with four castles—those of Brougham, Appleby, Brough, and Pendragon, besides that of Skipton. The Westmoreland estates, with the tenure Baronies of Vipont and Westmoreland, had been inherited by Robert de Clifford, third baron, from his great-aunt, Isabella, daughter and co-heiress of the last male heir of the family of De Vipont. By the Act of Attainder all these fair lands and castles were reft away from the family, the Barony of de Clifford was declared to be extinct for ever, and all the estates, forests, moors, castles, tenements, mills, and goods escheated to the Crown. In the fourth of the reign, the castle, manor, and lordship of Skipton, and the manor of Morton were granted in tail male to Sir Edward Stanley, but in the fifteenth year were transferred to the King's brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, to hold till death.
It is proverbial that bad news flies rapidly, and it was not long ere news arrived at Skipton andBolton of the Act of Attainder. The Prior had come over to the castle to advise with Lady Clifford. "You must take your departure at once," said he. "The agents of the usurper will be here anon and take possession in the name of the King, and it is not at all improbable that they will have instructions to remove your children from your care, and immure them in some place of captivity, if nothing worse befalls them, as the offspring of one of the most determined enemies of the House of York."
"I have sent a confidential servant," she replied, "to Lord Vesci, my father, who sends word back that preparation shall be made for my reception at Londesborough."
"Nothing remains, then," said the Prior, "but to secure your jewels and other portable articles of value, with such of the family papers as you may deem it wise to preserve, and to set off on your journey, with an escort sufficient for your protection, but not so large as to attract undue notice."
Lady Clifford had left the castle in charge of the seneschal, to deliver it into the King's hands, and rode forth on a palfrey, disguised as a farmer's wife. She was accompanied by three orfour horsemen in similar disguise, with whom the children rode, and was followed at some distance by some half-dozen servitors clad as peasants, but bearing concealed weapons for the purpose of defence, if needful, as it was probable that they might meet with disbanded soldiers, who might not be over scrupulous in waylaying and robbing chance travellers. The party, as far as possible, went along by-ways, so as to escape observation, but these were sometimes so rough as to compel them to take the more beaten high roads, and, passing by Otley, Tadcaster, and York, arrived at Londesborough without any mishap or adventure of consequence.
Londesborough is supposed to have been the Delgovitia of the Romans, and was seated at the foot of the road from Eboracum, one branch going to the ferry over the Humber at Brough, and the other across Holderness to the seaport at Ravenspurn. It is presumed, also, that the Saxon king, Eadwine, had a palace here, and that within its walls he held his conference with Paulinus, which resulted in the demolition of the temple of Woden at Goodmandingham, two miles distant. The De Vescis had built a mansion here, and laid out a park with a nobleavenue of trees, a mile in length, in which Lady Clifford had played when a child, Londesborough having been her birthplace. The estates passed at the death of Henry de Bromflete, in 1466, to his daughter, Margaret, and through her to the De Cliffords, in whose possession they remained until the death, without issue male, of Henry V., and last Earl of Cumberland, when they passed, by the marriage of his daughter and heiress, to the Earl of Burlington, of the Boyle family. The old mansion was taken down in 1819, and the park divided into farms.
It was with a feeling of melancholy satisfaction that Lady Clifford found herself in a species of security in her ancestral home, and she longed to ramble at will about the park and village, as she had been wont to do in bygone days, but it was not prudent to indulge in such pleasures, her position necessitating the utmost seclusion of herself and children from the outer world. About a month afterwards she sent a messenger secretly to Skipton, to ascertain what had occurred there since she left, and on his return learnt that the King's Commissioners had visited the Castle and taken possession of it and the estates in the name of the Crown; moreover,that they had made particular inquiries after Lady Clifford and "the brats of the Butcher of Wakefield," but were put off by being told by the domestics in charge that they had left Skipton a month ago, and gone they knew not where, but believed to some country across the sea. The Yorkists, however, seem to have suspected that this was not the truth, and shortly afterwards strangers of sinister aspect were observed to be lurking about Londesborough. This excited great terror in the breast of Lady Clifford, who saw clearly that her children were in great danger, and she took prompt measures for their safety. She had three children—Henry, the eldest, about seven years of age; Richard, the younger son; and a daughter—Elizabeth, affianced to one of the Plumptons of Plumpton. She soon decided on her plans. The maid who had nursed her when a child, had married a shepherd on the estate, and Henry was placed under her charge, to be brought up as her child, to live as his foster-parents lived, and follow the occupation of tending sheep on the hillsides, in which measure, he, being an intelligent child, cheerfully acquiesced, assumed the shepherd's garb, and attended to the duties of his newstation without the slightest murmur, his sole regret being the enforced absence from his mother. Richard was sent in charge of a careful servant to Ravenspurn, and thence carried across the sea to Flanders, whilst Elizabeth, who, it was supposed, would not be molested, remained as the sole comfort and solace of her mother. These measures were not taken a moment too soon, for "a little after they were thus disposed of, the adverse party examined their mother about them, who told them that she had ordered them to be carried beyond sea to be bred up there; but whether they were alive or not she could not tell, which answer satisfied them for the present," and, after making strict search without effect, they departed.
In 1466, Lord de Vesci died, and Lady Clifford, as his heiress, succeeded to his estates, when a rumour reached Londesborough from the Court that the King suspected that the children were in concealment there, upon which Lady Clifford sent the shepherd, with his wife and young Henry, to a farm in a remote and wild part of Cumberland, where there were few inhabitants, and no roads upon which passengers would travel, excepting from one sheep track toanother. In this lonely solitude, tending his sheep on the bleak hills, Henry grew up from boyhood to youth, and from youth to manhood—a mere shepherd and little more. His fare was that of an ordinary peasant—oaten or rye bread, occasionally swine flesh, and water from the running brook. His bed consisted of sheepskins on a heap of straw, and his shelter from the inclemency of the weather a straw-thatched cottage. He associated with the few scattered people of the district as one of themselves, and joined the young men in the rude sports of the period. He grew up without any education whatever, and knew neither how to read nor write; yet he had a soul attuned to higher things, and when abroad at night with his sheep would observe the constellations in the heavens, and weave theories in his own mind relative to the origin, motions, and uses of the glittering specks which studded the firmament over his head, a study which he afterwards pursued with more intelligence, in company with the Canons of Bolton at Barden Tower. Thus he lived until his thirty-second year, thinking only to live and die a Cumberland shepherd, and possibly to marry, and be the progenitor of a race ofpeasants, who should have no reminiscences of the glories of Skipton, or the martial deeds of their illustrious ancestors.
The political world of England, however, had not stood still in the interval, mighty events had been taking place. Edward, the King, had been gathered to his fathers, after the judicial murder of his brother, the Duke of Clarence. His sons, Edward V. and the Duke of York, were murdered by their uncle, Richard of Gloucester, who usurped the throne. Henry, Earl of Richmond, with Lancastrian blood in his veins, invaded England, and the battle of Bosworth was fought in the year 1485, when the usurper Richard was slain, and Richmond ascended the throne as King Henry VII.
The Yorkist dynasty having now come to an end, there remained no more fear for the Cliffords. The shepherd was brought from the fells of Cumberland to Londesborough. Soon after the Attainder was reversed, the confiscated estates restored, and the Clifford banner again floated in the breeze from the towers of Skipton. But the Shepherd Lord felt not at home amid the splendours of his castle, and he fitted up one of the keeper's lodges in Barden Forest forhis residence, where he lived in great simplicity, spending his days in hunting and his nights in watching the stars, and studying astronomy with the Canons of Bolton, with such rude instruments as were then to be procured.
In 1513, when about sixty years of age, he received a summons to attend the expedition into Scotland, with a contingent of men-at-arms, and held a command at the battle of Flodden, where he displayed the hereditary military skill and valour of the Cliffords.
"From Penigent to Pendle Hill,From Linton to Long Addingham,And all that Craven coasts did till,They with the lusty Clifford came.All Staincliffe Hundred went with him,With striplings strong from Wharfedale,And all that Hauton Hills did climb,With Longstroth eke and Litton dale,Whose milk-fed fellows, fleshly bred,Well brown'd, with sounding bows upbend,All such as Horton fells had fed,On Clifford's banners did attend."—Ballad of Flodden Field.
"From Penigent to Pendle Hill,From Linton to Long Addingham,And all that Craven coasts did till,They with the lusty Clifford came.All Staincliffe Hundred went with him,With striplings strong from Wharfedale,And all that Hauton Hills did climb,With Longstroth eke and Litton dale,Whose milk-fed fellows, fleshly bred,Well brown'd, with sounding bows upbend,All such as Horton fells had fed,On Clifford's banners did attend."—Ballad of Flodden Field.
He survived the battle ten years, died in 1523, at about the seventieth year of his age, and was buried with his ancestors in the church of Bolton.
Margaret, Lady Clifford, married for her second husband, Launcelot Threlkeld, and bore him three daughters. She survived her first husband thirty years, and the restitution seven years, dying in 1491, at Londesborough. She was buried in the church there, near the altar, under a slab, with an inlaid brass plate bearing the following inscription:—"Orate pro anima Margarete, D'ne Clifford et Vescy, olim spouse nobilissimi viri joh'is D'm Clifford et Westmoreland, filie et hereditis Henrici Bromflet, quondam D'ni Vescy, etc. ... Matris Henrici Domini Clifford, Westmoreland et Vescy, quae obiit 15 die mens Aprilis, Anno Domini 1491, cujus corpus sub hoc marmore est humatum."
THEtown of Ilkley, on the Wharfe, now so well known to tourists for the beauty of its situation and the grandeur of the natural scenery surrounding it, and to invalids for the invigorating and restorative qualities of its waters, is a place of very ancient date. It was built and fortified by the proprætor, Virius Lupus, in the time of the Emperor Severus, the fortress being situated on a precipitous bank of the Wharfe, and a cohort stationed there. Remains of the intrenchments are still to be seen, and altars, sepulchral stones, and other memorials of the Roman Olicaria have frequently been disinterred. Under the Saxons, too, it was a place of some importance, with a church and priest. In the churchyard there are some remarkable relics of this age, consisting of three stone crosses, with curiously convoluted knots and scroll work. Afterwards it sank into a mere village, but with agrammar school, founded in 1601 by the parishioners, and so remained until recent times, when the fame of its salubrious springs went forth over the land and attracted crowds of fashionable invalids and hypochondriacs.
It was in the latter half of the seventeenth century, when the reign of the Puritans had come to an end, and the "Merry Monarch" had been restored to the throne of the Stuarts, bringing with him the profligate, licentious, and profane manners of the Court of Versailles, that one fine summer's afternoon a party of roysterers, who had been at a cock-fight, burst into the kitchen of the mud-built and thatched alehouse of Ilkley, calling upon Mistress Laycock, the alewife, for sundry flagons of ale wherewith to moisten their throats, parched and dry with halloaing and shouting out bets at the cocking match. The twenty years' rule of the Puritans, with the suppression of sports, theatres, and other amusements, and the substitution of long sermons and long prayers, had produced the natural reaction, and now the people of Ilkley, as in other places, returned with renewed zest to their bull-baiting, dog fights, cudgel matches, and their more innocent amusements of dancinground the maypole, holding yule-feasts and village fairs, and mumming in grotesque masquerade on Plough Monday.
The roysterers who thus boisterously invaded Dame Laycock's kitchen were Tom Heber, a young scapegrace, son of Reginald Heber, a barrister-at-law of the Middle Temple, and an offshoot of the ancient family of Heebeare, who had been settled in Craven for some centuries. He had been brought up in the old gabled and cross-timbered house of his father in Ilkley, had been well educated, and was a clever and accomplished young fellow; moreover, his father had taken him once or twice to London, and he had been a witness of the revels and immoralities of Whitehall, which struck his fancy as being the perfection of human bliss. His companions this afternoon were Will Hudson, the village cobbler, who infinitely preferred swaggering at a bull-baiting to hammering at the lapstone; Walter Pollard, a shoeing smith, whose feats at tossing off the contents of a blackjack were the admiration of his comrades; Jack Smithers, a journeyman flesher, whose dog was the pride of the village for his pluck in tackling any animal of his size or more than hissize; and two or three other rapscallions of the village, who were ever foremost in a brawl, and more frequently seen in the purlieus of the alehouse than in pursuit of their proper vocations.
These worthies had now seated themselves on the long-settle which faced a fire of wood on the hearth-stone, over which swung a large cauldron, and called out vociferously for the ale. "Now then, Mother Laycock," shouted Heber, "when is this ale coming?" "The old score's not paid yet, Master Thomas," replied she, from another room, "and I told you that I would not draw another pint until that was paid." "Oh! you won't, won't you; then your crockery shall suffer for your obstinacy; so here goes," and down he dashed an earthenware jug on the floor, upon which she rushed in, and opening a cupboard door, showed a long score chalked against him. "Oh! hang the score," said he, "you know I shall pay you some day; my father cannot be so hard as to keep me entirely without money." "But, Master Thomas, I cannot afford to give such long trust." "Now, Mistress Laycock, you know I am a good customer, and always pay in the long run; is this ale forthcoming?" and down he threwanother piece of crockery, adding, "It shall all go if you do not bring the ale." The old dame, terrified at the breakage of her pots, then gave in and produced the ale, adding it to the score on the cupboard door.
The ale jug passed merrily round, and the conversation turned first upon the points of the cock-fight they had been witnessing, and then upon the merits of the competitors in a wrestling match which was coming off the following Sunday. They then began to complain of their scant fortunes, not attributing it at all to their lack of industry in business. "I'll tell you what it is," said Heber, "it's a parlous shame that my father keeps me so short of money." "It is! it is!" echoed his companions. "He has brought me up as a gentleman, and given me a good education, but does not allow me the means to support that position, and I say again that it is cursed shame; but never mind, boys, the time is coming when I shall have plenty of gold to scatter about amongst you, my jolly companions." "Brayvo! brayvo! three cheers for Squire Heber." "Meanwhile," continued he, "it is the best philosophy to make the best of what we have, to enjoy life as much as we can, to dance, and drink, and sing,and fling dull care to the winds. So drink, boys! drink! and I will sing you one of Cowley's new songs which I picked up in London." And he trolled forth—
"Fill the bowl with rosy wine;Around our temples roses twine;And let us cheerfully awhile,Like the vine and roses smile,Crown'd with roses we contemnGyges' wealthy diadem.To-day is ours; what do we fear?To-day is ours; we have it here.Let's treat it kindly, that it mayWish, at least, with us to stay.Let's banish business; banish sorrow;To the gods belongs to morrow."
"Fill the bowl with rosy wine;Around our temples roses twine;And let us cheerfully awhile,Like the vine and roses smile,Crown'd with roses we contemnGyges' wealthy diadem.
To-day is ours; what do we fear?To-day is ours; we have it here.Let's treat it kindly, that it mayWish, at least, with us to stay.Let's banish business; banish sorrow;To the gods belongs to morrow."
Of course, the song was rapturously applauded by the listeners, who caught the general sentiment, but were unable to understand the allusions or appreciate the refinement of the language. Suddenly Heber exclaimed—"Lads! a bright thought has flashed across my mind. We want money, and money we must have. Old Alic Squire is well to do, and always has a considerable sum of money by him, and it would be a charity to relieve him of the care and anxiety of keeping it in that lonely house of his. The thing could be easily done. We have but to disguiseourselves, break into his house, take what we require, and leave him to attribute the appropriation, I won't call it theft, to professional burglars." The confederates highly approved of the scheme, and gave a ready assent, after which they arranged a plan of operation, and agreed to carry it into execution three nights hence.
On the appointed evening they assembled at the house of Will, the cobbler, where they donned sundry disguises, armed themselves with cudgels, an axe, a crowbar, and a wooden wedge, and sallied forth into the moonlight. Squire's farmhouse lay at a little distance from the village, shrouded in trees. It was occupied by himself, a widower, and his married daughter, Elizabeth Beecroft; whilst in the barn, on that night, slept one Jane Beanland. The moon was nearly at full, but masses of clouds drifted across its face, obscuring its beams, so that it only shone out at intervals. As they approached the house at midnight a profound silence prevailed; not a dog barked, and it was only broken occasionally by the distant hooting of an owl. A minute or two were only required to force open the door by the application of the wedge and three or four blows of the axe, and Heber, Hudson, and Pollardentered the house, the others remaining outside. The old man had been awakened by the noise of forcing the door open, and he came from his bedroom half-dressed, demanding what they wanted by thus breaking into his house. "Money," was the reply, "and if you do not give it up we shall take it." "I have got no money for you," he answered, and, seizing upon a poker, he stood upon his defence, but was overpowered by a blow on the head, and the robbers then prized open his desk, but found in it not more than fifty shillings, and broke open a cupboard, taking from it a piece of beef, after which they went away, much disappointed at the smallness of their booty. Notwithstanding their disguise, they had been identified, Squire, in his deposition, stating that he recognised Tom Heber by his stature and the softness of his hand, which he felt when struggling with him; Elizabeth, his daughter, whose room they had entered and "nearly smothered her in the bed clothes," also recognised "Mr. Thos. Heber," as one of the party; and Jane Beanland deposed that, as she lay in the barn, she heard the voices of Mr. Thos. Heber, of Holling, and William Hudson, of Ilkley, when they were breaking open the door. Moreover,Elizabeth Longfellow gave evidence that going into the alehouse of Josias Laycock, where Walter Pollard was drinking, she overheard him say, "I am now making Bess Squire's half-crowns fly." They had left behind them also an iron gavelock, a staff, and a wedge, which were identified as having been in their possession a day or two before the crime was committed.
These facts having come to light, warrants were issued for the apprehension of the offenders, and they were brought before Walter Hawkesworth, of Hawkesworth, the nearest magistrate. This gentlemen was a friend of Serjeant Heber, and, knowing Tom well, he expressed his regret at seeing him placed in that situation, who, however, laughingly replied that it was only done for a lark, but the magistrate, after hearing the depositions, with a grave countenance, said "It might be a lark, but at the same time it was a felony, and a serious outrage of the law, and he had no alternative but to commit them to York for trial at the assizes."
They were consequently arraigned at the assizes on a charge of burglary, but escaped the usual severe punishment, partly on the ground that the crime was committed as a frolic, which wasthe line of defence, partly through family influence, and partly through the powerful agency of money.
It is a remarkable fact that there were then resident in Ilkley two families—the Hebers, of whom was the criminal, and the Longfellows, a member of whom was a witness on the trial against him, and that from them are descended two of the most charming poets of modern times—Reginald Heber, Bishop of Calcutta, author of "Palestine," and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, whose writings are as much admired in England as in his native America.
THEcrest of the Ingilbys of Ripley is "A boar's head couped and erect arg., tusked or," which was obtained by an early knight of the family, in a romantic fashion, and as the reward for a valiant achievement.
In the reign of Edward the Confessor the manor of Ripley was held by Merlesweyn, a powerful Danish lord, and owner of many another manor and estate in the same district. He joined in the Gospatric insurrection against William the Conqueror, in favour of Edgar the Atheling, for which rebellion his lands were confiscated, and granted to Ralph de Paganel, a Norman noble who had fought at Hastings, and who besides became Lord of Leeds, Headingley, and extensive estates on the Ouse, the Aire, and the Nidd; holding the Merlesweyn estatesin capitefrom the King; Leeds, etc., by the service of a knight's fee and a half, under theLacies of Pontefract; whilst lands at Adel, Arthington, etc., devolved on him in right of his wife, Matilda, daughter of Richard de Surdeval. He was the founder of the Priory of the Holy Trinity, York, upon which, in 1080, he bestowed the churches of Leeds and Adel.
From the Paganels, Ripley passed to the Trusbut family, how does not appear, and from them, by the marriage of the heiress, to the family of de Ros of Ingmanthorpe, a branch of the de Ros's of Hamlake and Holderness, who became the superior lords, under whom the manor was held for half a knight's fee, early in the twelfth century, by a family whose previous name is not recorded, but who adopted that of de Ripley from their possessions. From this family descended the famous Canon of Bridlington, Sir George de Ripley, in the fifteenth century, the alchymist and "discoverer" of the philosopher's stone, as he professed, in 1470, and who contributed annually vast sums of money to the Knights of Rhodes for maintaining their warfare against the Mussulmans.
The Ingilbys are of Scandinavian origin, seated for a long period at Engelby, in Lincolnshire, whence they derived their surname, who, at thetime of Domesday Book held three manors in Lincolnshire, two in the North Riding of Yorkshire, under the Bishop of Durham and William of Poictou, and one in Derbyshire. In 1350, or thereabouts, Sir Thomas de Ingilby, Justice of the Common Pleas, married Catherine of Luerne, daughter and heiress of Bernard (?) de Ripley, and came into possession of the Ripley estates, where he settled, and, seven years afterwards, obtained a charter for an annual fair and weekly market at Ripley.
The Ingilbys, still extant, have held a distinguished place among the families of Yorkshire, and many members of the family have been entrusted with high offices in Church and State, and become eminent in the field.
John Ingilby (temp.Richard II.), was the second founder of and benefactor to the Carthusian Monastery of Mount Grace, in Cleveland. John, born at Ripley in 1434, "did wondrously flourish in the reign of Henry VI." Sir William, his son, was knighted by "Lord Gloucester on Milton Field, in Holland, in 1482," for valour. A John de Ingilby was Prior of Sheen and Bishop of Llandaff, 1496-1500. Sir William, born 1515, was High Sheriff of Yorkshire andTreasurer of Berwick,temp.Elizabeth. David, his second son, married Anne Nevile, daughter of Charles, sixth Earl of Westmoreland, by which marriage his representatives, with those of Nicholas Pudsey, are co-heirs of the abeyant Barony of Nevile of Raby. Francis, third son of Sir William, was a Roman Catholic priest, and was executed at York, in 1586, for performing the functions of his office in the realm. John, fifth son of Sir William, was presented in the list of recusants in 1604. William, eldest son of Sampson of Spofforth, fourth son of Sir William, was created baronet in 1642, and fought on the King's side at Marston Moor. His castle at Ripley was garrisoned for the King, and Cromwell, after the battle of Marston Moor, passing through Ripley, demanded lodgings for the night, which was at first refused by Lady Ingilby, but he was, after a parley, admitted, on the promise that his followers should not be guilty of any impropriety. She received him with a couple of pistols stuck in her apron string, and on leaving in the morning, he inquired the meaning of the two weapons. "I'll tell you," she replied, "why I had two; it was that the second might be ready in case the first missed fire, for if you had behavedotherwise than peaceably I should have pistolled you without the least remorse." Sir William rebuilt Ripley Castle. In one of the towers is the following inscription:—"In the yiere of owre Ld. M.D.L.V. was this towre buyldyd by Sir Willyam Ingilby, Knight; Philip and Mary reigning that time." In the great staircase window is a series of escutcheons on stained glass, containing the arms of Ingilby and of the families with whom they had inter-married. Sir William, the second baronet, purchased the manor of Armley from the Mauliverers. Sir John, the fourth baronet died 1772, when the baronetcy expired. The baronetcy was revived in 1781, in the person of John Ingilby, an illegitimate son of the fourth baronet of the previous creation. Sir William Amcotts, his fourth son, succeeded to the baronetcy of his maternal grandfather, Sir Wharton Amcotts, by special remainder, and to that of his father in 1815, but dieds.p., in 1854, when the baronetcy expired.
In 1866 the baronetcy was again restored, in the person of the Rev. Henry John, nephew of the above Sir John, in his succession by will to the Ripley estates, whose son, Sir Henry Day is the present holder, with (according to the newDomesday Book, of 1876) an acreage in the West Riding of 10,000, producing a rental of £11,149 per annum.
In Ripley Castle there is, or was, a full-length portrait of a knight of the Ingilby family, attired in the hunting costume of the Plantagenet times, with the head of a wild boar at his feet. This is the presentment of Sir William Ingilby, a doughty warrior and a hunter of renown, who lived in the troublous reign of Edward II. Although the representative of the family still lived in Lincolnshire, not having yet acquired the Ripley estates, this Sir William resided on one of the Yorkshire estates not far distant from Ripley, and would be on terms of intimacy with the family of de Ripley, whose heiress was won by Sir Thomas Ingilby, the Justice of the Common Pleas, and who possibly might have been the son of Sir William. Sir William had gained some renown in the Scottish wars of King Edward I. against William Wallace, and had been an ardent and loyal supporter of the weak and unfortunate second Edward on his accession to the throne, from the fact of his being the son of the great and glorious King, the first of that name.
He remained loyal until the King gave himself up into the hands of his favourite, Piers Gaveston, who humoured his naturally depraved inclinations, and led him into acts of malgovernment, which estranged the hearts of the people. He loaded him with benefits, bestowing on him great estates and much treasure. Amongst other grants he gave him the Lordship of Knaresborough Castle and forest, with divers liberties, franchises, and privileges, which led him to assume a high and dictatorial tone to the nobles of the realm, who expostulated with the King, and compelled him to banish the insolent foreigner. But the King, not able to learn wisdom in the school of experience, recalled him and bestowed fresh benefits upon him, which so exasperated the Barons that they rose in arms, with Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, at their head, captured the favourite in Scarborough Castle, and beheaded him. The King then took the Spensers into his favour, who became more intolerably oppressive than their predecessor, upon which the Barons again rose in arms, but were defeated in a battle at Boroughbridge, and nearly a hundred barons, knights, and other prisoners put to death, the Earl of Lancaster being beheadedat Pontefract. In the sequel, however, the Spensers met the same fate as Gaveston, the elder being executed at Bristol, and the younger at Hereford.
Notwithstanding his personal loyalty, Sir William became so disgusted at the imbecile conduct of the King, and the arrogance of his favourites, that he took up arms with the Barons for the purpose of removing them from the Royal councils. A bloody revenge was taken by the King on the leaders and more prominent members of the conspiracy, but those of lesser degree were permitted to escape capital punishment, being punished by fines, confiscations, etc., and lay under a cloud of disgrace until the barbarous murder of the King in Berkley Castle, and the accession of Edward III., removed the stigma.
In this latter category was included Sir William Ingilby, who would most probably have remained alienated from the good graces of the King had not a fortunate circumstance occurred, which restored him to favour, and which had an influence in enhancing the dignity of the family.
Sir William's residence was in the valley of the Nidd, "one of the most romantic, picturesque,and wealthy vales in England." Spreading around for a distance of several miles lay the magnificent Forest of Knaresborough, the home of wild cattle, wolves, wild boars, the roebuck, and other ferocious animals of the chase. To the east stood, on its craggy and almost inaccessible rock, overhanging the Nidd and the then small village of Knaresborough, the formidable fortress of Serlo de Burgh, whilst on the verge of the forest stood the splendid monastic establishments of Fountains, Bolton, Ripon, and other lesser houses. The forest has the reputation of having been one of the haunts of Robin Hood, one portion bearing traditionally the name of "Robin Hood's Park," whence he issued to pay his visits to the Abbey of Fountains, as recorded in ballad lore. In the western portion of the forest lay the Royal chase of Haverah Park (Hey-wra, the park of the wra or roe), consisting of 2,000 acres, densely wooded, and inhabited by beasts of chase, which were kept together and preserved by an oak paling, which encircled the park. The road thither from Knaresborough ran through the forest south of the Nidd, and across an upland, since famous for its chalybeate springs, and where there were then a few scatteredcottages, forming a small hamlet, which came to be designated Heynragate—the road to Heynra Park—which has since been corrupted into Harrogate, and has become one of the most fashionable inland watering places in the kingdom.
The Castle and forest of Knaresborough were granted to Serlo de Burgh, who built the castle, after whom they were alternately in the hands of the Crown, or of some Royal favourite on whom they had been bestowed. Edward II. made a grant of them to Piers Gaveston, on whose death they reverted to the Crown. It was during this period that the King came to Knaresborough Castle to relax himself from the cares and anxieties of Royalty, by three or four days' hunting in Haverah Park. He was not attended by a large retinue, being only accompanied by three or four friends, and a few body servants; huntsmen, beaters, and other attendants of the chase being permanently retained there, as well as hounds and all the requisite hunting gear and weapons; this was because of his unpopularity with the people, on account of his governing the realm upon the advice of unworthy favourites. Hence he camedown with some degree of secrecy, in a species of incognito, and it was not known generally to the residents of the valley who the hunter was, the supposition being that he was some friend of the King's, who had been given permission to hunt in Haverah chase.
The day following his arrival at Knaresborough, the King rode through the forest to Haverah, accompanied by his friends, and a following of attendants bearing bows and arrows, boar spears, beating staves, and other implements of hunting, who were on foot. On entering the enclosures the attendants sent their dogs amongst the underwood and commenced beating the bushes, with loud cries to start the game. As these were very plentiful, a number of small animals, badgers, foxes, polecats, etc., were roused from their lairs in quick succession, and afforded considerable sport. Two or three stags were also started, one of which was killed by the King, by an arrow shot; and a wolf made his appearance, who displayed great pugnacity, and caused great excitement amongst the hunters. Towards noon the King and his friends sat down to a refection under the shadow of a patriarchal oak, which, from its size and evident age, rendered it possiblethat it might have witnessed the Druidical mysteries of the Brigantes. Again the beaters and dogs commenced their operations, and were rewarded by the appearance of a huge wild boar, armed with a formidable pair of tusks, who rushed into the glade where the hunters were assembled. The dogs rushed upon him, barking with eagerness, and the King and his friends, taking boar spears from the attendants, rode at a gallop towards the animal, who gazed upon them for a few moments, as if to measure the strength of his opponents, and then turned and dashed amongst the underwood, followed by the hounds and the hunters.
Two or three of the dogs, venturing too near the boar, were instantly ripped up, and the hunters followed as best they might through the tangled brushwood. The King, who was better mounted than his friends, soon left them behind, and, brandishing his spear, followed in the track made by the boar, not without sundry scratches from the projecting branches of the forest trees; but the boar still kept ahead, occasionally turning to look at the hounds who were yelping at his heels, and then dashing onward again; whilst the King, mounted on a powerful and fleet horse,gradually gained on the beast, despite the obstacles that beset his path.
Although the forest of Knaresborough was a Royal appanage, the foresters, as the inhabitants of the district were called, possessed certain privileges of hunting therein, with certain limits; from Haverah Park alone were they excluded, that domain being reserved exclusively for the King and those to whom he gave permission to hunt in the enclosure. Sir William Ingleby being a "forester," therefore had the right of following game in the forest outside the palings of Haverah. On the same day that the King went to hunt in Haverah Park, Sir William went out, boar spear in hand, in search of sport. He was not accompanied by either attendant or dog, trusting alone to his own natural prowess, in case he should meet with game. In his wanderings he had come near the palings of the park, and sat down to partake of a luncheon he had brought with him in his pocket. He was just finishing his meal when he heard the cry of hunting dogs, and immediately afterwards a crashing sound. Looking up he saw the palings give way, and a huge boar rushing through the gap, followed by half a dozen dogs and a man onhorseback. He had just time to observe that the hunter was clad in a buff jerkin, with high-reaching boots, and was brandishing a boar spear and encouraging the hounds, when the boar, finding himself so hotly pursued, turned at bay, drove his tusks into a couple of the dogs, and then sprang upon the hunter, overturning the horse, and laying the hunter prostrate on the sward. He was just on the point of dashing his tusks into the body of the fallen enemy, when Sir William rushed up, and with well directed aim struck his spear into the heart of the boar, which fell lifeless at his feet, and then, taking his knife from his girdle, with a huntsman's skill severed the head from the body, the whole occupying but a few minutes.
"And who are you, my brave fellow?" inquired the fallen hunter, whom Sir William had assisted in rising and disentangling from his horse.
"I am a denizen of the forest," replied Sir William. "As to my name, it matters not; but right glad am I to have been the means of rescuing you from the fangs of that monster."
"You have saved me from death, whoever you may be," said the hunter, "and your guerdonshall be equivalent to the service you have rendered me."
"May I be allowed to ask who you may be," continued Sir William, "who are hunting in the King's chase?"
"I am connected with the court of the King, who has come hither for the divertisement of hunting."
"The King, whom Heaven preserve, then is present in the chase?" inquired Sir William.
"He is," replied the hunter, "the remainder of the party will be here anon."
"How shall I know the King, for I shall wish to pay due respect to him?"
"Oh, he may be easily recognised, for he will remain covered, while all the rest momentarily remove their hats."
At this moment the rest of the hunting group came up, all of whom uncovered their heads.
"Now, do you recognise the king?" inquired the hunter.
"I do," he replied, dropping on his knee, "and crave pardon for the boldness of my language."
The King, for he it was, then told his followers how Sir William had saved his life, and thatalthough he had declined giving his name, he would find that out, and would reward him suitably for so important a service.
"Please your Majesty," said one of the beaters, "I know who the gentleman is; he is Sir William Ingleby of Nidderdale."
"Sir William Ingleby?" said the King. "If I remember aright, you were one of those who, along with our kinsman, Lancaster, appeared in arms against our Royal authority."
"Not my Liege," replied Ingleby, "against your Royal authority, but against your evil advisers."
"Well," continued the King, with a slight scowl, "let bygones be bygones; you have done me a service which obliterates all that. You are from this moment restored to favour; in memory of what you have done this day, I decree that, for the future and all time, you and your family shall bear, as the crest of your arms, a boar's head. Let me see you shortly at my Court, and then I will see what further I can do out of gratitude for the service you have rendered me."
Sir William made a profound obeisance to the King, and from that time the fortunes ofthe Inglebys, from that circumstance, coupled with the fortunate marriage with the heiress of Ripley, continued to rise.
The Rev. Thomas Parkinson, in his "Lays and Leaves of the Forest" (1882), writes—"It is impossible to fix any date at which the various wild animals ceased to inhabit the forest. The wild cattle are not mentioned after the thirteenth century. Wolves were probably extinct in the fourteenth; indeed there are traditions of their existence three centuries later. Deer there were in 1654a.d., for William Fleetwood, Sergeant of the Duchy of Lancaster, was plaintiff in a suit against Ellis Markham for destruction of some deer, game, and trees in Haverah or Heywra Park, at that date. The last wild boar is said to have been slain in the Boar-hole in Haverah Park, in the reign of Charles II. By the middle of the reign of Elizabeth, however, say 1580a.d., probably all, except very rare specimens indeed, the larger wild animals were gone.... Nominally, the district remained a Royal forest up to the time of its enclosure, under Act of Parliament, in 1771a.d., but long before that date it had practically ceased to be a refuge for wild beasts, or to be used for the chase. As wehave seen, its larger animals were extinct, and, besides losing its chief fauna, it has been denuded, in a great measure, of its green woods and forest monarchs. This is said to have been brought about chiefly by the existence of smelting furnaces for lead and iron in the neighbourhood."