Mitcheldean lies at the foot of the steep _facade_ already spoken of as
forming a periphery to the elevated Forest district. The slope ascends
direct from the western skirts of the little town; but outlying ridges
also inclose it on the north, east, and south, so that even the tall
spire of its church is invisible from any great distance. So situated,
railways give it a wide berth; and few places better deserve the title
"secluded." The only sort of traveller who ever thinks of paying it a
visit is the "commercial," or some pedestrian tourist, crossing the
Forest from the Severn side to view the more picturesque scenery of the
Wye, with intention to make stoppage at the ancient hostelry of the
Speech House, midway between.
In the days of the saddle and pack-horse, however, things were different
with Mitcheldean. Being on one of the direct routes of travel from the
metropolis to South Wales, and a gate of entry, as it were, to the
Forest on its eastern side, it was then a place of considerable note;
its people accustomed to all sorts of wayfarers passing daily, hourly
through it.
Since the breaking out of the Rebellion these had been mostly of the
military kind, though not confined to either party in the strife. One
would march through to-day, the other to-morrow; so that, hearing the
trample of hoofs, rarely could the townsmen tell whether Royalists or
Parliamentarians were coming among them, till they saw their standards
in the street.
They would rather have received visit from neither; but, compelled to
choose, preferred seeing the soldiers of the Parliament. So when
Walwyn's Horse came rattling along, their green coats, with the
cocks'-tail feathers in their hats, distinguishable in the clear
moonlight, the closed window shutters were flung open; and night-capped
heads--for most had been abed--appeared in them without fear exchanging
speech with the soldiers halted in the street below.
Altogether different their behaviour when, in a matter of ten minutes
after, a second party of horsemen came to a halt under their windows;
these in scarlet coats, gold laced, with white ostrich feathers in their
hats--the Prince of Wales's plume, with its appropriate motto of
servility, "_Ich dien_."
Seeing it, the townsmen drew in their heads, closed the shutters, and
were silent. Not going back to their beds, however; but to sit up in
fear and trembling, till the renewed hoof-strokes told them of the halt
over, and the red-coated Cavaliers ridden off again.
It need scarce be said that these were Rupert and his escort, _en route_
for Westbury; and had Walwyn's Horse stopped ten minutes longer in
Mitcheldean, the two bodies would have there met face to face; since
they were proceeding in opposite directions. A mere accident hindered
their encountering; the circumstance, that from the town two roads led
up to the Forest, one on each side of the Wilderness, both again uniting
in the valley of Drybrook. The northern route had been taken by the
Parliamentarian party ascending; while the Royalists descended by the
southern one, called the "Plump Hill." Just at such time as to miss one
another, though but by a few minutes. For the rearmost files of the
former had barely cleared the skirts of the town going out, when the van
of the latter entered it at a different point.
The interval, however, was long enough to prevent those who went
Forestwards from getting information of what they were leaving so close
behind. Could they have had that, quick would have been their return
down hill, and the streets of Mitcheldean the arena of a conflict to the
cry, "No Quarter!"
As it was, the hostile cohorts passed peacefully through, out, and
onwards on their respective routes; though Prince Rupert knew how near
he had been to a collision, and could still have brought it on. But
that was the last thing in his thoughts; instead, soon as learning what
had gone up to the Forest, who they were, and who their leader, his stay
in Mitcheldean was of the shortest, and his way out of it not
Forestwards but straight on for the Severn.
And in all the haste he could make, cumbered as he was with captives.
For he carried with him a captive train; a small one, consisting of but
three individuals--scarce necessary to say, Ambrose Powell and his
daughters. They were on horseback; the ladies wrapped in cloaks, and so
close hooded that their faces were invisible. Even their figures were
so draped as to be scarce distinguishable from those of men; all done
with a design, not their own; but that of those who had them in charge.
In passing through Mitcheldean precautions had been taken to hinder
their being recognised; double files of their guards riding in close
order on each side of them, so that curious eyes should not come too
near. But, when once more out on the country road, the formation "by
twos" was resumed; the trio of prisoners, each with a trooper right and
left, conducted behind the knot of officers on the Prince's personal
staff, he himself with Lunsford leading.
Soon as outside the town the two last, as usual riding together, and
some paces in the advance, entered on dialogue of a confidential
character. The Prince commenced it, saying,--
"We've had a narrow escape, Sir Thomas."
"Does your Highness refer to our having missed meeting the party of
Roundheads?"
"Of course I do--just that."
"Then, I should say, 'tis they who've had the narrow escape."
"_Nein_, Colonel! Not so certain of that, knowing who they are. These
Foresters fight like devils; and, from all I could gather, they greatly
outnumber us. I shouldn't so much mind the odds, but for how we're
hampered. To have fought them, and got the worst of it, would have been
ruinous to our reputation--as to the other thing."
"It isn't likely we'd have got the worst of it. Few get the better of
your Highness that way."
Lunsford's brave talk was not in keeping with his thoughts. Quite as
pleased was he as the Prince at their having escaped an encounter with
the party of Parliamentarians. For never man dreaded meeting man more
than he Sir Richard Walwyn. Words had of late been conveyed to him--
from camp to camp and across neutral lines--warning words, that his old
enemy was more than ever incensed against him, and in any future
conflict where the two should be engaged meant singling him out, and
seeking his life. After what he had done now, was still doing, he knew
another encounter with Walwyn would be one of life and death, and
dreaded it accordingly.
"Still, Prince," he added, "as you observe, considering our
encumbrances, perhaps it's been for the best letting them off."
"Ay, if they let us off. Which they may not yet. Suppose some of the
townsmen have followed, and told them of our passing through?"
"No fear of that, Prince. If any one did follow it's not likely they
could be overtaken. They were riding as in a race, and won't draw
bridle till they see the blaze over Hollymead. Then they'll but gallop
the faster--in the wrong direction."
"The right one for us, if they do. But even so they would reach
Hollymead in less than an hour; then turn short round to pursue, and in
another hour be upon our heels. You forget that we can't say safety,
till we're over the Severn."
"I don't forget that, Prince. But they won't turn round to pursue us."
"Why say you that, Sir Thomas? How know you they won't?"
"Because they won't suspect our having come this way; never think of it.
Before putting the torch to the old delinquent's house, I took the
precaution to have all his domestics locked up in an out-building; that
they shouldn't see which way we went off. As they and the Ruardean
people knew we came up from Monmouth, they'll naturally conclude that we
returned thither. So, your Highness, any pursuit of us will take the
direction down Cat's Hill, instead of by Drybrook and down the Plump."
"Egad! I hope so, Colonel. For, to speak truth I don't feel in the
spirit for a fight just now."
It was not often Rupert gave way to cowardice, and more seldom confessed
it; even in confidence to his familiars, of whom Lunsford was one of the
most intimate. But at that hour he felt it to very fear. Perhaps from
the wine he had drunk at Hollymead, now cold in him; and it might be his
conscience weighted with the crime he was in the act of committing.
Whatever the cause, his nervousness became heightened rather than
diminished, as they marched on; and anxiously longed he to be on the
other side of the Severn.
Not more so than his reprobate companion, whose bravado was all assumed;
his words of confidence forced from him to gloss over the mistake he had
made, in recommending the route taken. Sorry was he now, as his
superior, they had not gone by Monmouth. Within its Castle walls they
would at that moment have been safe; instead of hurrying along a road,
with the obstruction of a river in front, and the possibility of pursuit
behind. Ay, the probability of it, as Lunsford himself knew well,
feigning to ignore it.
"In any case, your Highness," he continued, in the same strain of
encouragement, "we'll be out of their way in good time. From here it's
but a step down to Westbury."
By this they had reached the head of the ravine-like valley in which
stands Flaxley Abbey, and were hastening forward fast as the
_impedimenta_ of captives would permit. The road runs down the valley,
which, after several sinuosities, debouches on the Severn's plain. But,
long before attaining this, at rounding one of the turns, their eyes
were greeted by a sight which sent tremor to their hearts.
"_Mein Gott_!" cried the Prince, suddenly reining up, and speaking in a
tone of mingled surprise and alarm, "you see, Sir Thomas?"
Sir Thomas did see--sharing the other's alarm, but without showing it--a
sheet of water that shone silvery white under the moonlight
overspreading all the plain below. The river aflood, and inundation
everywhere!
"We'll not be able to cross at all?" pursued the Prince, in desponding
interrogative. "Shall we?"
"Oh yes! your Highness, I think so," was the doubting response. "The
water can't be so high as to hinder us; at least not likely. There's a
pier-head at Westbury Passage on both sides, and the boats will be there
as ever. I don't anticipate any great difficulty in the crossing, only
we'll have to wade a bit."
"_Gott_! that will be difficulty enough--danger too."
"What danger, your Highness? Through the meadows there's a raised
causeway, and fortunately I'm familiar with every inch of it. While
with Sir John Wintour I had often occasion to travel it; more than once
under water. Even if we can't make the Westbury Passage, we can that of
Framilode, but a mile or two above. I've never heard of it being so
flooded as to prevent passing over."
"It may be as you say, Sir Thomas. But the danger I'm thinking of has
more to do with time than floods. Wading's slow work; and there's still
the possibility of Walwyn and his green-coats coming on after us.
Suppose they should, and find us floundering through the water?"
"No need supposing that, Prince. There isn't the slightest likelihood
of it. I'd stake high that at this minute they're at the bottom of
Cat's Hill, or, it may be, by Goodrich Ferry, seeking to cross over the
Wye as we the Severn. And, like as not, Lingen will give them a turn if
he gets word of their being about there. Sir Harry has now a strong
force in the castle; and owes Dick Walwyn a _revanche_--for that affair
on the Hereford Road the morning after Kyrle led them into Monmouth."
"For all, I wish we had gone Monmouth way," rejoined Rupert, as his eyes
rested doubtingly on the white sheet of water wide spread over the plain
below. "I still fear their pursuing us."
"Even if they should, your Highness, we need have no apprehension. The
pursuit can't be immediate; and, please God, in another hour or so,
we'll be over the Severn, as likely they on the other side of the Wye,
with both rivers between them and us."
"Would that I were sure of that, Colonel," returned the Prince, still
desponding, "which I'm not. However, we've no alternative now but to
cross here--if we can. You seem to have a doubt of our being able to
make the Passage of Westbury?"
"I'm only a little uncertain about it, your Highness."
"But sure about that of Framilode?"
"Quite; though the flood be of the biggest and deepest."
"_Sehr wohl_! with that assurance I'm satisfied. But we must have
things secure behind, ere we commence making our wade. And we may as
well take the step now. So, Colonel, ride back along the line, detach a
rear-guard, and place it under some officer who can be trusted. Lose
not a moment! stay at halt here, till you return to me."
The commanding officer of the escort, as much alive to the prudence of
this precaution as he who gave the orders for it, hastened to carrying
them out. Done by detailing off a few of the rearmost files, with
directions to remain as they were, while the main body moved forward.
Then instructions given to the officer who was to take charge of them;
all occupying less than ten minutes' time.
After which, Lunsford again placed himself by the side of the Prince,
and the march was immediately resumed, down the valley of Flaxley, on
for the flooded plain.