About an hour after the capture of Kyrle's party, a body of horse,
numbering over one hundred, might have been seen descending the Kymin
towards Monmouth. The fury of the storm had worn itself out, the
downpour of rain being succeeded by a drizzle, while the lightning only
flickered faintly, and at long intervals, the thunder muttering low and
distant. But the darkness was deep as ever, and the horsemen rode down
the steep incline at a slow, creeping pace, as if groping their way. In
silence too, neither word of command, nor note of bugle, directing their
march.
Had there been light enough to give a good view of them, it might have
been guessed that something other than the darkness and difficulty of
the path was causing them to advance in this noiseless, deliberate
manner. For at their head would have been seen Kyrle himself; no
prisoner now, on parole or otherwise, but with sword restored, and in
every way acting as their commanding officer! And by his side one who
carried a troop flag, with a crown upon its field, the same which had
been left behind by the escaped cornet. The captured troopers were
there too--as at first glance any one would suppose--forming a
half-score files in front of the marching line, with a like number in
rear. Only in seeming, however--only their uniforms and equipments--for
they themselves were at that moment shut up in a cellar of High Meadow
House, where Benedict Hall had erst incarcerated many a rebel and
recusant.
A different set of men were now wearing their doublets and carrying
their accoutrements in the descent of the Kymin Hill, and any one
familiar with the faces of Sir Richard Walwyn's Foresters would have
recognised some forty of them thus partially disguised, with nigh twice
as many more in their uniforms there, the last apparently disarmed and
conducted as prisoners, their place being central in the line!
In rear of all was the knight himself, with his new troop captain,
Harley; Sergeant Wilde and Hubert the trumpeter constituting the file
immediately in front of them--all four, as the others, seemingly without
arms.
That his oddly composed cohort had some strategic scheme in view was
evident from the cautious silence in which they advanced. And at
intervals, Kyrle, reining his horse to one side, would wait till the
rearmost file came up; then, after exchanging a word or two with Colonel
Walwyn, spur back to his place in the lead.
Thus noiselessly they descended the long, winding slope; but when near
its bottom, and within some three or four hundred yards of the bridge,
all was changed. The troopers began to talk to one another, Kyrle
himself having given them the cue. Loudly and boisterously, with a tone
of boasting, their speech interspersed with peals of light, joyous
laughter. All this meant for the ears of those on guard at the bridge
gate.
A sufficiently strong force was stationed there, and with fair vigilance
were they guarding it. For although Massey had been reported as on
hurried return to Gloucester, the fugitive cornet, having found his way
back, had brought with him a different tale. Afoot, and delayed by
losing his way, he had but just passed over the bridge and on to the
castle, after saying some words that left the guard in a state of alarm.
It was more bewilderment, as the men seemingly so merry drew near,
invisible through the pitchlike darkness. At least a hundred there must
be, as told by the pattering of their horses' hoofs on the firm
causeway. Kyrle's scouting party had gone out not half this number, yet
there was Kyrle himself, talking and laughing the loudest. Many of the
guard--officers and soldiers--knew his voice well, and could not be
mistaken about it. What then meant the sooner return of the cornet,
without his standard, and with a tale of disaster? Had he retreated
from a conflict still undecided, afterwards ending in favour of the
Royalist forces? It might be so.
By this the approaching party had got nearly up to the gate, in front of
which the causeway showed a wide gap, and through it, far below, the
flooded river surging angrily on. The officer in command of the guard
was about to call out, "Who comes?" when anticipated by a hail from the
opposite side, pronounced in tone of demand,--"Hoi over there! Let the
drawbridge down!"
"For whom?"
"Kyrle and party. We've taken prisoners threescore Roundheads, and sent
as many more to kingdom come. Be quick, and let us in. We're soaking
wet, and hungry as wolves!"
"But, Colonel Kyrle," doubtingly objected the officer, "your cornet has
just passed in, with the report that you and your party were made
prisoners! How is it--"
"Oh, he's got back, has he?" interrupted the ready Kyrle, though for an
instant non-plussed. "The coward! And double scoundrel, telling such a
tale to screen himself! Why, he dropped his standard at sight of the
enemy, and skulked off before we had come to blows! Ah! I'll make
short work of it with him."
While he was speaking there came a flash of lightning more vivid than
any that had late preceded, bright enough and sufficiently prolonged for
the soldiers on guard to see those on the other side of the chasm
throughout the whole extended line. In front some half-score files of
Kyrle's Light Horse, whose uniform was well-known, with a like number in
the rear, and between, with heads drooped, and looking dejected, the
prisoners he had spoken of.
The spectacle seemed to prove his words true. Under the circumstances
who could think them false? Who suspect him of treason?
Not the officer in command of that guard, anyhow; who, without further
hesitation or parley, gave orders for the lowering of the bridge.
Down it went, and over it rode a hundred and odd men, counting the
supposed Royalists and their unarmed prisoners. But soon as inside the
gate, all seemed to be armed, prisoners as well as escort, the former
suddenly bristling with weapons, which they had drawn from under their
doublets to the cry, "For God and Parliament!" The opposing shout, "For
God and the King?" was stifled almost soon as raised, the bridge guard
being instantly overpowered, many of them cut down, and killed outright.
Then a larger and heavier force, that had been following down the Kymin
Hill, Massey's main body, came on at full gallop, over the drawbridge
and through the gate. There, taking up the cry, "God and Parliament!"
they went rattling on through the streets of the town, clearing them of
all hostile opposition, and capturing everybody who showed a rag of
Royalist uniform.
When the morning's sun rose over Monmouth, from its castle turrets
floated a flag very different from that hitherto waving there. The
glorious standard of Liberty had displaced the soiled and blood-stained
banner of the Stuart Kings.