"Yonner be the big city at last! Glad I am. Ain't you that, Jinkum?"
It was Jerky Jack who spoke, the exclamation meant for his sister, who
was with him, the interrogation addressed to the donkey.
They were not upon any of the Forest roads, but quite on the other side
of the Severn, trudging along towards Bristol, the big city whose spires
Jack had caught sight of.
One could almost fancy that the dumb brute comprehended the question
facetiously put; at the words elevating its head, giving a wallop or two
with its long ears, and mending the pace.
"It be good three mile to go yet," rejoined the woman. "Just that frae
the cross roads--a bit forrard."
"Well, Winny; us ought to get theer by seven o' the clock?"
"So us ought, if nothin' stop we," and she cast an anxious glance along
the road ahead.
"Don't think theer be much danger o' gettin' stopt now. The Governor o'
Glo'ster sayed when's we got well on maybe we'd meet some o' the Bristol
sodgers patrollin' about. Weesh we did. 'Tain't noways comfortable
travellin', all o' the time in fear o' being pulled up and knocked about
by them Cavalieres. Ha! ha! If that party we passed at Berkeley cud a'
seed through my wooden leg, 'tain't likely I'd be stumpin' along here?"
"True. But 'tain't wise to cry safe till one be sure o' it. Ye know
they told us in Glo'ster that the King's dragoneers ha' it all their own
way in the country places; him's they call Prince Roopert, goin' about
like a ragin' lion, runnin' people through, an' shootin' 'em down wi'
pistols as if they were no better than dogs. It's a big risk us be
runnin', Jack!"
"Right you bees, theer. But then--the reward, Winny! If us only get
safe inside, it ought be worth mor'n the profits on a twelvemonth o'
cadgin'. Don't ye think 'twill?"
"Coorse I do."
She spoke in all sincerity. Whatever the money reward Jerky Jack was
looking forward to, the woman had another in view, also contingent on
their safe arrival inside the city,--one she thought worth far more than
money. For there she would, or should, meet a man she had not seen for
months, though ardently longing to see him. Scarce necessary to say,
Rob Wilde was the individual, when it was known that the erst
deer-stealer of Dean Forest was now a soldier--first sergeant of a troop
forming part of the force then garrisoning Bristol.
"Yee-up, Jinkum?" cried Jack, encouraged by his sister's words, at the
same time conscious as she of the danger alluded to, and the probability
of their yet encountering obstruction. It was just after the capture of
Cirencester by Prince Rupert; a massacre, sparing neither man nor woman,
friend nor foe; they who survived it having been carried, or rather
dragged, off to Oxford in triumphal train, a feast for the eyes of the
King. To meet it, he, with his _entourage_ of courtiers and sycophants,
sallied forth from the city of colleges--but not of education or
manners--supreme capital of conceit and snobbery, almost as much then as
now. They were met miles out, coming from Witney, by hundreds of
half-naked people, shivering in the chill frost of a winter's day, weary
and footsore, covered with mud from the roads they had been driven over
as cattle to market!
An impartial historian, or certainly not one who favours the Parliament,
thus records the cruel episode:--"Tying them in pairs, they were marched
to Oxford. The King, with many nobles and commanders and people of the
city, went forth to witness their arrival. They formed a long line upon
the road, escorted by two troops of cavalry. Among them were gentlemen
and ministers, and a mixed multitude of soldiers, husbandmen, and
townsmen. The ways were foul with the trampling of horses; the captives
had gone sometimes knee deep in mire, beaten and driven along like jaded
beasts, all of them weary, and many of them wounded. In this wretched
train appeared a ghastly figure, naked, and, because he was unable to
march with the rest, mounted upon the bare back of a horse. His form
was manly and handsome; though exhausted, he sat upright with an
undaunted air, and the remarkable fairness of his bodily complexion was
heightened, where it was not concealed, by gore from many a gaping
wound. As he drew near the King, a brawling woman cried aloud to
him--`Ah, you traitorous rogue! You are well enough served.' He turned
upon her a scornful look, retorted a term of base reproach, sunk from
his seat, and expired."
Such was the spectacle to which the ruffian Rupert treated his uncle
after the taking of Cirencester at the expense of its unfortunate
citizens. And the "kind-hearted King" looked upon it without showing a
spark of pity, while his courtiers gloated over it in a very exuberance
of joy, even insulting the wretched captives by ribald speech, while
giving gleeful and fulsome congratulations to their inhuman captors.
The fall of Cirencester was the prelude to that of Tewkesbury,
Malmesbury, and Devizes, all hitherto held by Parliamentary forces;
while the strong castles of Sudley and Berkeley had also to be evacuated
by them, changing garrisons and showing new flags above their _donjons_.
So close pressed at this time were the partisans of the Parliament in
the border shires that Massey was all but cooped up in Gloucester, while
the new governor of Bristol was almost equally engaged within the
Seaport of the Severn.
Not strange, then, Jerky and his sister having fear to encounter the
"Cavalieres," as Jack called them. Though as humble cadgers, they would
not be exempt from outrage at the hands of the Royalists; one of whom,
Hastings, son of an aristocratic nobleman, had obtained such notoriety
in this line as to be called "Rob-carrier." The princely plunderer,
Rupert, had set the fashion, and wherever he and his troopers had
control, the routes were only passable for travellers at the risk of
being stripped, as by highwaymen, and butchered in cold blood on the
slightest show of resistance.
It was no market commodity, however, about which Jerky and his sister
were apprehensive, nor aught else carried in Jinkum's panniers--these
being absolutely empty. What it was could not be learnt from anything
seen upon the donkey or the persons of its owners; though Jack's
allusion to his wooden leg, with certain eventualities contingent on its
being seen through, seemed to point to some mysterious matter. Whatever
it might be, no more speech was heard concerning it then, Jerky with
another "Yee-up!" adding,--
"Three mile more, Jinkum, and ye'll be in the snug corner o' an inn
stable-yard, wi' a measure of barley or beans at your nose. Think o'
that!"
Despite the evident hurry the cadger was in, no thwack of stick
accompanied the words. Nor was any needed; the night was well-nigh on,
the air piercingly cold, the road frost-bound, with nothing on either
side that even an ass could eat, and Jinkum, hungry enough, seemed to
know something of that snug stable-yard which promised barley or beans.
So, setting ears as if determined to reach the city soon as possible, it
again briskened its pace.
The firm frozen ground favoured speed, enabling Jinkum to go gingerly
along. It was equally favourable to Jack, with his timber leg, or he
would have had ado to keep up with the donkey. As it was, no time was
left him for aught else than quick tramping, the rough and now darkened
path calling for all the attention he could bestow on it to save him
from a tumble. But he had no need to trouble himself with any look-out
ahead. That was left to the big sister, who, stepping out some paces in
advance, scanned the road at every turn and corner. She saw nothing,
however, to be apprehended. If there were any "Cavalieres" in the
neighbourhood, either the hour--between day and night--or the pinching
cold, kept them confined to their quarters. At all events, neither
Cavaliers, nor wayfarers of any other speciality, were encountered by
them, and for their last three miles of trudge towards Bristol they had
the road all to themselves.