THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD HEATH.
Night came, and found us but midway between Temple and Launceston: for
tho’ my comrade stepp’d briskly beside me, ’twas useless to put Molly
beyond a walk; and besides, the mare was new from her day’s journey.
This troubled me the less by reason of the moon (now almost at the
full), and the extreme whiteness of the road underfoot, so that there
was no fear of going astray. And Billy engaged that by sunrise we should
be in sight of the King’s troops.
“Nay, Jack,” he said, when by signs I offered him to ride and tie:
“never rode o’ horseback but once, and then ’pon Parson Spinks his red
mare at Bideford. Parson i’ those days was courtin’ the Widow Hambly,
over to Torrington: an’ I, that wanted to fare to Barnstaple, spent that
mornin’ an’ better part o’ th’ afternoon, clawin’ off Torrington. And
th’ end was the larboard halyards broke, an’ the mare gybed, an’ to
Torrington I went before the wind, wi’ an unseemly bloody nose. ‘Lud!’
cries the widow, ‘’tis the wrong man ’pon the right horse!’ ‘Pardon,
mistress,’ says I, ‘the man is well enow, but ’pon the wrong horse, for
sure.’”
Now and then, as we went, I would dismount and lead Molly by the bridle
for a mile or so: and all the way to Launceston Billy was recounting his
adventures since our parting. It appeared that, after leaving me, they
had come to Plymouth with a fair passage: but before they could unlade,
had advertisement of the Governor’s design to seize all vessels then
riding in the Sound, for purposes of war; and so made a quick escape by
night into Looe Haven, where they had the fortune to part with the best
part of their cargo at a high profit. ’Twas while unlading here that
Billy had a mind to pay a debt he ow’d to a cousin of his at Altarnun,
and, leaving Matt Soames in charge, had tramped northward through
Liskeard to Launceston, where he found the Cornish forces, and was met
by the news of the Earl of Stamford’s advance in the northeast. Further
meeting, in Sir Bevill’s troop, with some north coast men of his
acquaintance, he fell to talking, and so learn’d about me and my ride
toward Braddock, which (it seem’d) was now become common knowledge. This
led him to seek Sir Bevill, with the result that you know: “for,” as he
wound up, “’tis a desirable an’ rare delight to pay a debt an’ see some
fun, together.”
We had some trouble at Launceston gate, where were a few burghers posted
for sentries, and, as I could see, ready to take fright at their own
shadows. But Billy gave the watchword (“One and All”), and presently
they let us through. As we pass’d along the street we marked a light
in every window almost, tho’ ’twas near midnight; and the people moving
about behind their curtains. There were groups too in the dark doorways,
gather’d there discussing, that eyed us as we went by, and answered
Billy’s _Good-night, honest men!_ very hoarse and doubtfully.
But when we were beyond the town, and between hedges again, I think I
must have dozed off in my saddle. For, though this was a road full of
sharp memories, being the last I had traveled with Delia, I have no
remembrance to have felt them; or, indeed, of noting aught but the fresh
night air, and the constellation of the Bear blazing ahead, and Billy’s
voice resonant beside me.
And after this I can recall passing the tower of Marham Church, with the
paling sky behind it, and some birds chattering in the carved courses:
and soon (it seem’d) felt Billy’s grip on my knee, and open’d my eyes to
see his finger pointing.
We stood on a ridge above a hollow vale into which the sun, though now
bright, did not yet pierce, but passing over to a high, conical hill
beyond, smote level on line after line of white tents—the prettiest
sight! ’Twas the enemy there encamped on the top and some way down the
sides, the smoke of their trampled watch fires still curling among the
gorsebushes. I heard their trumpets calling and drums beating to arms;
for though, glancing back at the sun, I judged it to be hardly past four
in the morning, yet already the slopes were moving like an ant-hill—the
regiments gathering, arms flashing, horsemen galloping to and fro, and
the captains shouting their commands. In the distance this had a sweet
and cheerful sound, no more disquieting than a ploughboy calling to his
team.
Looking down into the valley at our feet, at first I saw no sign of our
own troops—only the roofs of a little town, with overmuch smoke spread
above it, like a morning mist. But here also I heard the church bells
clashing and a drum beating, and presently spied a gleam of arms down
among the trees, and then a regiment of foot moving westward along the
base of the hill. ’Twas evident the battle was at hand, and we quicken’d
our pace down into the street.
It lay on the slope, and midway down we pass’d some watch fires burn’d
out; and then a soldier or two running and fastening their straps; and
last a little child, that seem’d wild with the joy of living amid great
events, but led us pretty straight to the sign of “The Tree,” which
indeed was the only tavern.
It stood some way back from the street, with a great elm before the
porch: where by a table sat two men, with tankards beside them, and a
small company of grooms and soldiers standing round. Both men were more
than ordinary tall and soldier like: only the bigger wore a scarlet
cloak very richly lac’d, and was shouting orders to his men; while
the other, dress’d in plain buff suit and jack boots, had a map spread
before him, which he studied very attentively, writing therein with a
quill pen.
“What a plague have we here?” cries the big man, as we drew up.
“Recruits if it please you, sir,” said I, dismounting and pulling off my
hat, tho’ his insolent tone offended me.
“S’lid! The boy speaks as if he were a regiment,” growls he, half aloud:
“Can’st fight?”
“That, with your leave, sir, is what I am come to try.”
“And this rascal?” He turned on Billy.
Billy heard not a word, of course, yet answered readily—
“Why, since your honor is so pleasantly minded—let it be cider.”
Now the first effect of this, deliver’d with all force of lung, was
to make the big man sit bolt upright and staring: recovering speech,
however, he broke into a volley of blasphemous curses.
All this while the man in buff had scarce lifted his eyes off the map.
But now he looks up—and I saw at the first glance that the two men
hated each other.
“I think,” said he quietly, “my Lord Mohun has forgot to ask the
_gentleman’s_ name.”
“My name is Marvel, sir—John Marvel.” I answer’d him with a bow.
“Hey!”—and dropping his pen he starts up and grasps my hand—“Then ’tis
you I have never thanked for His Gracious Majesty’s letter.”
“The General Hopton?” cried I.
“Even so, sir. My lord,” he went on, still holding my hand and turning
to his companion, “let me present to you the gentleman that in
January sav’d your house of Bocconnoc from burning at the hands of the
rebels—whom God confound this day!” He lifted his hat.
“Amen,” said I, as his lordship bowed, exceedingly sulky. But I did
not value his rage, being hot with joy to be so beprais’d by the first
captain (as I yet hold) on the royal side. Who now, not without a sly
triumph, flung the price of Billy’s cider on the table and, folding up
his map, address’d me again—
“Master Marvel, the fight to-day will lie but little with the horse—or
so I hope. You will do well, if your wish be to serve us best, to leave
your mare behind. The troop which my Lord Mohun and I command together
is below. But Sir Bevill Grenville, who has seen and is interested in
you, has the first claim: and I would not deny you the delight to fight
your first battle under so good a master. His men are, with Sir John
Berkeley’s troop, a little to the westward: and if you are ready I will
go some distance with you, and put you in the way to find him. My lord,
may we look for you presently?”
The Lord Mohun nodded, surly enough: so, Billy’s cider being now drunk
and Molly given over to an ostler, we set out down the hill together,
Billy shouldering a pipe and walking after with the groom that led Sir
Ralph’s horse. Be sure the General’s courtly manner of speech set my
blood tingling. I seem’d to grow a full two inches taller; and when, in
the vale, we parted, he directing me to the left, where through a gap
I could see Sir Bevill’s troop forming at some five hundred paces’
distance, I felt a very desperate warrior indeed; and set off at a run,
with Billy behind me.
’Twas an open space we had to cross, dotted with gorsebushes; and the
enemy’s regiments, plain to see, drawn up in battalia on the slope
above, which here was gentler than to the south and west. But hardly had
we gone ten yards than I saw a puff of white smoke above, then another,
and then the summit ring’d with flame; and heard the noise of it roaring
in the hills around. At the first sound I pull’d up, and then began
running again at full speed: for I saw our division already in motion,
and advancing up the hill at a quick pace.
The curve of the slope hid all but the nearest: but above them I saw
a steep earthwork, and thereon three or four brass pieces of ordnance
glittering whenever the smoke lifted. For here the artillery was plying
the briskest, pouring down volley on volley; and four regiments at least
stood mass’d behind, ready to fall on the Cornish-men; who, answering
with a small discharge of musketry, now ran forward more nimbly.
To catch up with them, I must now turn my course obliquely up the hill,
where running was pretty toilsome. We were panting along when suddenly a
shower of sand and earth was dash’d in my face, spattering me all over.
Half-blinded, I look’d and saw a great round shot had ploughed a trench
in the ground at my feet, and lay there buried.
At the same moment, Billy, who was running at my shoulder, plumps down
on his knees and begins to whine and moan most pitiably.
“Art hurt, dear fellow?” asked I, turning.
“Oh, Jack, Jack—I have no stomach for this! A cool, wet death at sea
I do not fear; only to have the great hot shot burning in a man’s
belly—’tis terrifying. I _hate_ a swift death! Jack, I be a sinner—I
will confess: I lied to thee yesterday—never kiss’d the three maids
I spoke of—never kiss’d but one i’ my life, an’ her a tap-wench,
that slapp’d my face for ’t, an’ so don’t properly count. I be a very
boastful man!”
Now I myself had felt somewhat cold inside when the guns began roaring:
but this set me right in a trice. I whipp’d a pistol out of my sash and
put the cold ring to his ear: and he scrambled up; and was a very lion
all the rest of the day.
But now we had again to change our course, for to my dismay I saw a
line of sharpshooters moving down among the gorsebushes, to take the
Cornishmen in flank. And ’twas lucky we had but a little way further
to go; for these skirmishers, thinking perhaps from my dress and our
running thus that we bore some message open’d fire on us: and tho’ they
were bad marksmen, ’twas ugly to see their bullets pattering into the
turf, to right and left.
We caught up the very last line of the ascending troop—lean, hungry
looking men, with wan faces, but shouting lustily. I think they were
about three hundred in all. “Come on, lad,” called out a bearded fellow
with a bandage over one eye, making room for me at his side; “there’s
work for plenty more!”—and a minute after, a shot took him in the ribs,
and he scream’d out “Oh, my God!” and flinging up his arms, leap’d a
foot in air and fell on his face.
Pressing up, I noted that the first line was now at the foot of the
earthwork; and, in a minute, saw their steel caps and crimson sashes
swarming up the face of it, and their pikes shining. But now came a
shock, and the fellow in front was thrust back into my arms. I reeled
down a pace or two and then, finding foothold, stood pushing. And next,
the whole body came tumbling back on me, and down the hill we went
flying, with oaths and cries. Three of the rebel regiments had been
flung on us and by sheer weight bore us before them. At the same time
the sharpshooters pour’d in a volley: and I began to see how a man may
go through a battle, and be beat, without striking a blow.
But in the midst of this scurry I heard the sound of cheering. ’Twas Sir
John Berkeley’s troop (till now posted under cover of the hedges below)
that had come to our support; and the rebels, fearing to advance too
far, must have withdrawn again behind their earthwork, for after a while
the pressure eas’d a bit, and, to my amaze, the troop which but a minute
since was a mere huddled crowd, formed in some order afresh, and once
more began to climb. This time, I had a thick-set pikeman in front of
me, with a big wen at the back of his neck that seem’d to fix all my
attention. And up we went, I counting the beat of my heart that was
already going hard and short with the work; and then, amid the rattle
and thunder of their guns, we stopp’d again.
I had taken no notice of it, but in the confusion of the first repulse
the greater part of our men had been thrust past me, so that now I found
myself no further back than the fourth rank, and at the very foot of the
earthwork, up the which our leaders were flung like a wave; and soon I
was scrambling after them, ankle deep in the sandy earth, the man with
the wen just ahead, grinding my instep with his heel and poking his pike
staff between my knees as he slipp’d.
And just at the moment when the top of our wave was cleaving a small
breach above us, he fell on the flat of his pike, with his nose buried
in the gravel and his hands clutching. Looking up I saw a tall rebel
straddling above him with musket clubb’d to beat his brains out: whom
with an effort I caught by the boot; and, the bank slipping at that
instant, down we all slid in a heap, a jumble of arms and legs, to the
very bottom.
Before I had the sand well out of my eyes, my comrade was up and had his
pike loose; and in a twinkling, the rebel was spitted through the middle
and writhing. ’Twas sickening: but before I could pull out my pistol
and end his pain (as I was minded), back came our front rank a-top of
us again, and down they were driven like sheep, my companion catching up
the dead man’s musket and ammunition bag, and I followed down the slope
with three stout rebels at my heels. “What will be the end of _this?_”
thought I.
The end was, that after forty yards or so, finding the foremost close
upon me, I turn’d about and let fly with my pistol at him. He spun round
twice and dropp’d: which I was wondering at (the pistol being but a poor
weapon for aim) when I was caught by the arm and pull’d behind a clump
of bushes handy by. ’Twas the man with the wen, and by his smoking
musket I knew that ’twas he had fired the shot that killed my pursuer.
“Good turn for good turn,” says he: “quick with thy other pistol!”
The other two had stopped doubtfully, but at the next discharge of my
pistol they turn’d tail and went up the hill again, and we were left
alone. And suddenly I grew aware that my head was aching fit to split,
and lay down on the turf, very sick and ill.
My comrade took no notice of this, but, going for the dead man’s musket,
kept loading and firing, pausing now and then for his artillery to cool,
and whistling a tune that runs in my head to this day. And all the time
I heard shouts and cries and the noise of musketry all around, which
made me judge that the attack was going on in many places at once.
When I came to myself ’twas to hear a bugle below calling again to the
charge, and once more came the two troops ascending. At their head was a
slight built man, bare-headed, with the sun (that was by this, high
over the hill) smiting on his brown curls, and the wind blowing them.
He carried a naked sword in his hand, and waved his men forward as
cheerfully as though ’twere a dance and he leading out his partner.
“Who is that yonder?” asked I, sitting up and pointing.
“Bless thy innocent heart!” said my comrade, “dostn’t thee know? Tis Sir
Bevill.”
* * * * *
’Twould be tedious to tell the whole of this long fight, which,
beginning soon after sunrise, ended not till four in the afternoon, or
thereabouts: and indeed of the whole my recollection is but of continual
advance and repulse on that same slope. And herein may be seen the
wisdom of our generals, in attacking while the main body of the enemy’s
horse was away: for had the Earl of Stamford possessed a sufficient
force of dragoons to let slip on us at the first discomfiture, there is
little doubt he might have ended the battle there and then. As it was,
the horse stood out of the fray, theirs upon the summit of the hill,
ours (under Col. John Digby) on the other slope, to protect the town and
act as reserve.
The foot, in four parties, was disposed about the hill on all sides; to
the west—as we know—under Sir John Berkeley and Sir Bevill Grenville;
to the south under General Hopton and Lord Mohun; to the east under the
Colonels Tom Basset and William Godolphin; while the steep side to the
north was stormed by Sir Nicholas Slanning and Colonel Godolphin, with
their companies. And as we had but eight small pieces of cannon and were
in numbers less than one to two, all we had to do was to march up the
hill in face of their fire, catch a knock on the head, may be, grin, and
come on again.
But at three o’clock, we, having been for the sixth time beaten back,
were panting under cover of a hedge, and Sir John Berkeley, near by, was
writing on a drumhead some message to the camp, when there comes a young
man on horseback, his face smear’d with dirt and dust, and rides up to
him and Sir Bevill. ’Twas (I have since learn’d) to say that the powder
was all spent but a barrel or two: but this only the captains knew at
the time.
“Very well, then,” cries Sir Bevill, leaping up gaily. “Come along,
boys—we must do it this time.” And, the troop forming, once more the
trumpets sounded the charge, and up we went. Away along the slope we
heard the other trumpeters sounding in answer, and I believe ’twas a
_sursum corda!_ to all of us.
Billy Pottery was ranged on my right, in the first rank, and next to me,
on the other side, a giant, near seven foot high, who said his name was
Anthony Payne and his business to act as body-servant to Sir Bevill. And
he it was that struck up a mighty curious song in the Cornish tongue,
which the rest took up with a will. Twas incredible how it put fire into
them all: and Sir Bevill toss’d his hat into the air, and after him like
schoolboys we pelted, straight for the masses ahead.
For now over the rampart came a company of red musketeers, and two of
russet-clad pikemen, charging down on us. A moment, and we were crushed
back: another, and the chant rose again. We were grappling, hand to
hand, in the midst of their files.
But, good lack! What use is swordsmanship in a charge like this? The
first red coat that encounter’d me I had spitted through the lung,
and, carried on by the rush, he twirled me round like a windmill. In an
instant I was pass’d; the giant stepping before me and clearing a space
about him, using his pike as if ’twere a flail. With a wrench I tugg’d
my sword out and followed. I saw Sir Bevill, a little to the left,
beaten to his knee, and carried toward me. Stretching out a hand I
pull’d him on his feet again, catching, as I did so, a crack on the
skull that would have ended me, had not Billy Pottery put up his pike
and broke the force of it. Next, I remember gripping another red coat
by the beard and thrusting at him with shortened blade. Then the giant
ahead lifted his pike high, and we fought to rally round it; and with
that I seem’d caught off my feet and swept forward:—and we were on the
crest.
Taking breath, I saw the enemy melting off the summit like a man’s
breath off a pane. And Sir Bevill caught my hand and pointed across
to where, on the north side, a white standard embroider’d with gold
griffins was mounting.
“’Tis dear Nick Slanning!” he cried; “God be prais’d—the day is ours
for certain!”