OUR ADVENTURE IN LOSTWITHIEL CHURCH
THE troopers kept up their rapid pace, as if anxious to reach the
shelter afforded by Lostwithiel without delay, and as we proceeded
the nature of their anxiety became apparent.
A burly dragoon rode between us, sternly checking any attempt at
conversation, while the sergeant, who had possessed himself of my
sword--the gift of the armourer at Newport--placed a couple of men,
armed with petronels, immediately behind us, giving them orders to
shoot us through the head at the first sign of an attempt to escape.
This order was, I felt certain, given to the sergeant by Chaloner,
who would have been only too glad to get us out of the way, knowing
that we were acquainted with his past treachery, and also because he
was aware of the fact that I was the son of Sir Reginald Markham, who
still held Ashley, in spite of the Parliamentarian mandate bestowing
it upon the renegade.
Long before midday we had passed through Liskeard, where the
inhabitants were manifestly in sympathy with us, though overawed by
the menaces of Chaloner's troopers.
About four miles beyond the town we came to the fork roads, where one
road leads to Bodmin and the other to Lostwithiel, and hardly had we
proceeded a hundred yards along the latter when two dragoons, who had
been riding some distance ahead, came back at a gallop with the
intelligence that a troop of malignant cavalry were drawn up beyond
the brow of the hill.
My spirits rose at the thought of a rescue, though, at the same time,
it occurred to me that, should an affray take place, Chaloner would
have no scruples in shooting us, and putting the blame on the bullets
of our friends.
The Roundheads lost no time in preparing to receive the threatened
attack. The dragoons dismounted, one man in every three being told
off to hold the reins of their comrades' horses. We were sent to the
rear under guard, while the soldiers vigorously plied their swords,
cutting down brushwood and small branches of trees which they placed
across the road to render more difficult the charge of their
opponents.
In a few moments we saw the cavalry appear, and, drawing up against
the sky-line, they halted, while their leaders trotted slowly
forward, as if to reconnoitre the Roundheads' position.
Apparently, however, the Cornish Royal troops thought the numbers of
their enemies too great to attempt an onslaught, for, greatly to my
disappointment, the horsemen wheeled and retired, amidst the ironical
laughter and gibes of our captors.
But the Roundheads had reckoned too lightly with their enemies, for
shortly afterwards the Royalists appeared in our rear, opening a
steady fire at long range.
Chaloner was manifestly ill at ease, and, as usual, his craven spirit
showed itself in its true colours. With the opening of the rearguard
action he took his place at the head of the troop, exhorting them to
increase their pace till their progress was little better than a
flight.
On our part, Colonel Firestone and I were subjected to the awkward
predicament of being under the fire of our own party, the bullets
whistling unpleasantly above our heads. Although several of the
dragoons essayed to make a stand, their pursuers drove them back with
the loss of three killed and five wounded, till at length the chase
ended at Lostwithiel Bridge, by the timely arrival of a strong body
of musketeers from the Roundhead stronghold.
Here Chaloner handed us over to a captain of pikemen, who conducted
us to the church, where, still bound, we were placed in a corner of
the sacred edifice under a strong guard.
The floor of the nave was strewn with straw, some twenty or more
horses being stabled here, while gathered in small groups were the
rough soldiery, polishing their arms.[1]
Presently there entered an officer, whom I recognised in a moment. It
was Captain Dawe, the man we had befriended when attacked by robbers
near Whitchurch, and the recognition was mutual, though the Roundhead
captain placed his finger meaningly on his mouth.
"Why are these men trussed up in this fashion?" he demanded.
"By Captain Chaloner's orders, sir," replied one of the men who
mounted guard over us.
"'Tis unduly harsh. Cast off those ropes. Have they been questioned?"
"I know not, sir."
"Then stand aside while I obtain information of the malignant
forces."
Our bonds were unfastened, and we stood upright, glad to stretch our
cramped limbs.
"More I dare not do," said Captain Dawe in a low tone. "But seize the
first chance of escape, for 'tis certain this Captain Chaloner is
intent on your deaths. Your outposts are in possession of Restormel
Castle. Dost know where it lieth?"
"No," I replied.
"But a mile and a half from the north gate. Gain it, and all will be
well, for I foresee that we are sore beset by your troops. To-night,
perchance, I'll try to make your way still easier, but till
then--farewell."
Our benefactor went out, while our guards resumed their places, one
having brought us some food, which we ate with avidity, having been
without refreshment since early morning. Then, making ourselves as
comfortable as the hard oak pews would permit, we feigned sleep.
Immediately after Captain Dawe's departure a scene of rioting began,
ending in an uproar that filled me with disgust.
"Can we sit here idle, and gaze upon this vile work?" I whispered
fiercely to my companion, for I was beside myself with fury.
"Not I," replied Firestone.
"Then let's fall upon them," I exclaimed in a low voice.
The next instant I had pushed aside our guards and sprung on the pew,
the colonel following almost as quickly, in spite of his wooden leg.
Before the noisy fellows could grasp the meaning of our sudden
onslaught, I had seized the leading spirit by the throat. With an
almost superhuman effort, I dashed his head against the font, the
stonework stopping his blasphemy for the time being.
Firestone served another in a similar manner, and, as if by mutual
agreement, we dashed towards the doorway leading to the tower. Up the
spiral staircase we flew, and, before the first of the astonished
rebels had grasped the situation, we had gained the wooden ladder
leading to the belfry.
In another moment we had drawn the wooden ladder up after us, and lay
breathless and panting, yet safe for the present, upon the floor of
the steeple.
Anon we heard growls of the soldiers, who, having reached the top of
the stone staircase, had found the ladder removed.
"On your head be the blame, Hosea Standfast," exclaimed one of the
troopers.
"Nay, why on mine?" replied another. "You were told off to keep watch
and ward as well as I."
"A truce to your bickering," interrupted a third, "and help to get
your men down. Send a messenger to Captain Chaloner, and inform him
of the circumstances."
"Cannot we secure them without the captain knowing aught of the
matter?" asked the first speaker. "Try, but I'll warrant the rogues
will sit tight," replied the third man, evidently a corporal of
horse.
Threats, persuasions, and entreaties met with no results, for,
intoxicated with the success of our attempt, we laughed at the
discomfited soldiers, till at last one of them reluctantly departed,
to inform the renegade, Captain Chaloner, of our escapade, and in a
very short time that infuriated officer made his appearance,
accompanied by a file of musketeers.
"I'll fetch you down," he exclaimed, and immediately ordered the
musketeers to make ready their pieces.
Peering cautiously over the edge of the trap-door, I could see the
men lighting their matches, and casting about to load. Observing
these preparations, I assisted Colonel Firestone to clamber astride
the top of a large bell, while I followed his example, for, though
the stout oak planking of the belfry floor might not be proof against
the bullets, it was certain that the huge metal cylinders would form
ample protection.
We had not long to wait before a musket was fired, the report making
a prodigious noise, while the bullet struck the floor with a dull,
heavy thud.
The next shot passed between a crevice in the rough timbers, and hit
the lip of the bell, which gave forth a resonant ring.
The intermittent fusillade continued for about ten minutes, and,
although the bells were struck at least a dozen times, we came off
unscathed, keeping up a running fire of derisive remarks at the
enraged captain and his impotent musketeers.
"I'll have you yet," shouted the renegade, beside himself with fury,
and, ordering his men to follow, he led the way down the spiral
staircase.
"I wonder what he intends to do next?" I remarked to my companion, as
we stepped from our unsteady perches and gained the floor.
"He'll stop at nothing," replied the colonel. "But we'll know soon
enough. In the meantime haul up those ropes, for methinks we'll have
need of them ere long."
We pulled up the bell-ropes as far as the knots for the ringers'
hands would allow, then set laboriously to work to chafe through the
stout hempen cords by the edge of one of the bells. We had barely
sawn through three ropes, and detached their other ends from the
massive wheels, when we heard the noise of scuffling feet hastily
making the way up the worn steps of the spiral staircase, accompanied
by the unmistakable rustle of straw.
[Illustration: _Seized by the arms and legs, the terrified rogue was
hurled into the river._]
"They are going to burn us out," I exclaimed.
"Trying to, you should say," replied Firestone. "Unless they actually
set fire to the steeple, which Heaven forfend, we can laugh at them."
Piling a heap of straw and hay on the stone floor of the tower
immediately below the trap-door of the belfry, the rebels called on
us once more to come down.
The only reply was a piece of wood, small 'tis true, but thrown with
unerring aim. It caught one of the soldiers fairly on the top of his
bare head, for he had removed his steel cap, and, with a yell of
pain, he dashed for the doorway of the spiral staircase, not knowing
in his fright whether he had been shot at or not.
Coming into violent contact with another man who was bringing up some
more straw, the twain fell in a confused heap, and we could hear them
bumping and jolting down the narrow steps.
"Capitally done, Humphrey!" exclaimed the colonel. "Had we but a
goodly store of missiles, we could hold them at bay."
"Which we have not, unfortunately," I rejoined.
Experience had taught the rebels a lesson, for, having donned the
steel cap, another soldier set match to the heap of straw, and the
next instant a pillar of flame shot upwards, the fiery tongues
actually licking the sides of the trap-door, by which we were lying.
But to destroy us by fire was not their object, for one of the men
soused the fiercely-burning mass with water. The clear flame gave
place to a dense column of blinding smoke, and in a few seconds we
were choking and coughing furiously. Firestone gripped me by the
shoulder, and, forcing our way through the smoke, we reached a little
doorway in one of the hexagonal sides of the steeple, which gave
access to a narrow platform surrounded by a parapet.
Here we stood, once more in God's good sunshine, half blinded and
suffocated. Drawing in the pure air to our smoke-laden lungs, we had
no thoughts for anything but the delights of the life-restoring
atmosphere, till the thud of a bullet on the stonework close to our
heads warned us that our enemies had expected our appearance, and
were firing at us from the street.
Instinctively we dropped behind the parapet, lying in the lead
gutters, still taking in copious draughts of air, while from the
doorway through which we had emerged came thick columns of smoke.
Bullets still pattered thickly against the stonework of the steeple,
while, in addition to the reports of the muskets, the hoarse shouts
of the baulked rebels added to the din.
After a while we plucked up courage, and, raising ourselves
cautiously, we looked over the edge of the parapet.
In spite of our danger, we could not help admiring the prospect.
Bathed in the slanting rays of the setting sun, the town of
Lostwithiel and the surrounding country made a delightful picture,
that, were it not for the presence of the rebels, would have been
typical of an English countryside.
On the east beyond the red-tiled roofs of the timbered houses we
could see the road by which we had come, looking like a white thread
amidst the dense masses of dark green foliage and the lighter tints
of the well-laden fields. Across the silver thread that showed the
course of the Foy stream was the old stone bridge, its townward end
closed by a rough barricade, through the gaps of which were four
pieces of ordnance trained to command the road.
Here were strong parties of pikemen and musketeers supporting the
gunners, while, on the north side of the town, the rebels were
actively engaged in throwing up earthworks. Further up the valley, on
the low hills to the left, we could discern a small castle, on which
a flag hung motionless in the still air.
"Canst make out yonder standard?" asked Firestone, indicating the
flag.
"Nay, 'tis o'er far," I replied.
"It must be the castle of Restormel, of which Captain Dawe spoke.
That being so, 'tis the standard of the Hoptons that flies over it."
"The rebels are in a great state of activity," he continued, "and,
judging by their defence works, I trove that they expect an attack.
But we must keep an eye on the trap-door, lest the rogues make an
attack under cover of the smoke."
By this time the fire had died out, and, though the atmosphere within
the belfry was charged with choking fumes, we could breathe with but
little difficulty. Looking down, we saw the lower room was deserted,
and the ominous silence filled us with misgivings.
The sun had set, and twilight was drawing in apace. Thirst and hunger
began to make their presence felt, and in desperation I suggested to
Firestone that, when it grew dark, we should descend by means of the
bell-ropes knotted together, and take the risk of capture rather than
starve where we were.
"Yes," he replied shortly. "We can but try."
We immediately set about unfastening the remaining ropes, out of
which we made one stout rope of double thickness, sufficiently long
to reach the ground.
The oppressive silence still continued, although from the church
itself came the discordant sounds of the lawless soldiery.
"Hist! Someone comes!" I whispered, as the now familiar noise of
footsteps stumbling up the spiral staircase became audible.
"For the last time, dogs!" came Chaloner's voice--"will you give
yourselves up?"
"This is not Southsea Castle," I replied sneeringly. "We do not give
up without sufficient cause."
"Then take the consequences," replied the renegade. "For a barrel of
powder is even now placed underneath the tower, and in five minutes
you will be blown skywards. Fare ye well, and a pleasant journey!"
And, with a mocking laugh, he disappeared.
The horror of the situation held us spell-bound.
Here we were eighty feet above the ground, with a barrel of powder
ready to burst asunder the very foundations of the tower, while above
us was a mass of stone another seventy feet in height, or
thereabouts, which, at the moment of the explosion, would crumble,
collapse, and bury us beneath its stupendous weight.
Nor was escape possible, for the churchyard was filled with rebels,
and we knew full well that to accept Chaloner's offer of surrender
was to deliberately throw away our lives, seeing that the man would
have had us shot in cold blood under the plea of armed resistance.
Colonel Firestone was the first to recover his composure.
"Perchance, 'tis but an idle threat," he exclaimed. "Yet, even if
they fire the powder, its effects may not be so disastrous as they
think. I call to mind the springing of a mine at the causeway of Rhé,
when those nearest escaped nearly scot-free, and the greatest damage
was done by the falling stones on the Frenchmen, who caused the
explosion. Nevertheless, if we are to die, let's get to the open air
once more."
Taking the ropes with us, we made our way out on to the parapet.
It was now dark. But few lights twinkled in the houses of the town,
though the watch-fires of the troops surrounded Lostwithiel like a
circle of glimmering points of light. Looking straight down, we could
distinguish the heads and shoulders of the troops in and around the
churchyard.
"Why not lower ourselves on to the roof of the nave?" I exclaimed.
"The idea seems good," replied Firestone, and we immediately ran
round the leads to the opposite side of the tower. Twenty feet below
was the ridge of the tiled roof that sloped down on either side to a
parapeted gutterway.
"Fools we were not to have thought of this before," exclaimed the
colonel. "Quick! Make fast the rope round this piece of stonework.
Once we gain the roof, we are safe."
The rope was secured but, just as I was about to clamber over the
edge, there was a glimmer of a match on the farthest end of the roof,
then a flash, and a loud report, and a bullet whizzed past our heads.
"The rogues have done us!" muttered the colonel. "They have placed
musketeers on the roof to shoot us down."
Hastily crouching behind the sheltering stonework, we drew up the
rope and waited, in dead silence, for the threatened catastrophe.
In obedience to an order, there was a hasty stampede on the part of
the rebels from the church, and, in our anxiety, we imagined we could
hear the spluttering of the slow-match.
Regardless of the possibility of being shot at, Colonel Firestone
stood erect and defiant, his figure showing clearly against the
starlit sky.
"God save the King, and confusion to all his enemies!" he shouted,
receiving in reply a chorus of ribald jests and laughter.
"Stand firm, Humphrey," he exclaimed, gripping my hand. "'Tis soon
over, if 'tis to be."
Silence had now fallen upon the crowd of rebels and townsfolk, the
former eager to see the result of their vile work, the latter,
doubtless filled with grief at the wanton destruction of their
venerable edifice, which for nearly four hundred years had been the
pride of this Cornish borough.
Suddenly the massive tower shook like a leaf. There was a blinding
flash, a deafening roar, a cloud of sulphurous smoke, followed by the
rattle of hundreds of pieces of stonework. Gasping and nearly blinded
and deafened by the explosion, I could not for a minute grasp the
fact that I was still alive. Gradually it dawned upon me that I was
not injured, and that, moreover, I was still on the tower. Then I
stretched out my hand, and, to my delight, I gripped that of Colonel
Firestone.
"Art hurt, Humphrey?"
"Nay, I think not--only shaken. And how is it with you?"
"Little the worse. We must brace ourselves together, for now is our
time. Canst slide down the rope?"
"I hope so."
"Then explore the roof of the nave, for 'tis certain the men have
taken themselves away ere the explosion. I must needs stay here to
cover your retreat if needful, and also to guard against an attempt
by the trap-door. We need not fear for lack of missiles, I take it."
In truth the parapet was littered with broken tiles, each of which
would make an effective impression if hurled at a man's head.
I swung myself over the ledge and descended the rope. At length one
foot touched the roof, and instinctively I put out my other to gain a
footing, but, to my surprise, there was a gaping hole. I had lighted
upon one of the massive oaken rafters of the nave, for the explosion
had stripped the whole of the tiles off the roof close to its
junction with the tower.
Even as I looked down the evil-smelling smoke was still filtering
through the ragged gaps between the beams. Men with torches and
lanterns were already pouring into the building.
Fortunately for us, the effects of the explosion had followed the
line of least resistance. The massive outer walls of the tower had
withstood the shock, but a thin wall separating it from the nave had
been blown into the church, and, as I said before, the roof had borne
the brunt of the catastrophe.
Steadying myself by the rope I walked cautiously down the beam, till
I gained the lead-lined parapet. Here I made fast the rope, and
proceeded on my tour of inspection, keeping a careful watch lest any
of the rebels should have remained on guard on the leads.
At length I neared the part above the east window, when suddenly I
stumbled over the body of a man. It was one of the rebels who had
fired at us on our previous attempt to descend. He still lived,
having been only stunned by a fragment of flying masonry that had
caught him on the right temple.
Just then I heard men's voices. A detachment of rebels was coming up
to the roof by means of a ladder. Retracing my footsteps, I paused
but for a moment to relieve the senseless soldier of his musket and
bandolier; then, seizing the rope, I swung myself back to where my
comrade was anxiously awaiting me.
"Is it safe to make the attempt?" he asked.
"Nay, the rebels are even now on the roofs. Listen!"
I showed him the musket I had gained possession of, whereat he
expressed great approval.
"We must needs wait till the small hours of the morning," he
continued. "And the best way to forget one's hunger is to gain sleep.
I'll take the first watch, so the sooner you fall asleep the quicker
you'll forget your troubles."
So saying, he took the musket, loaded and primed it, and sat down at
the edge of the trap-door. For my part I lay down on the dust-covered
floor of the belfry, and, worn out by hunger, fatigue, and
excitement, I fell into a dreamless slumber.
I was awakened by Firestone shaking me by the shoulder.
"Time to be up and doing," he exclaimed.
It was broad daylight, and the sun's rays played strongly upon the
blackened stonework of the tower, and across the gaping rafters of
the roof of the nave.
"Why did you not waken me before?" I asked reproachfully, for the
colonel presented a sorry appearance; his gaunt features were drawn
with hunger, his face blackened with smoke and dirt, and his, clothes
smothered with dust and particles of charcoal.
"You wanted rest more than I," he replied, with a grim smile. "A few
hours' vigil makes but little difference to a war-worn veteran. But
see!" he added, holding up an arrow for my inspection.
At first I thought the rebels had resorted to this bygone instrument
of offence in the hope that its noiseless flight might have taken us
unawares. Its point was blunted, but whether by design or by reason
of its striking the stonework I knew not.
"'Twas shot by a friendly hand," continued Colonel Firestone. "Here
is a paper that was folded round the shaft."
Taking the scrap of paper, I saw written in a scrawling hand: "_Be o
goode cheere, for the rebells are leaving Listithiel this day._"
"I would be fuller of good cheer had I a square meal!" replied I,
dolefully, as a savoury smell was wafted to our nostrils.
We looked cautiously over the parapet. Through the shattered roof we
could see the floor of the church, where several of the rebels were
engaged in cooking their food in large iron cauldrons suspended from
rough tripods, the fires being fed with pieces of oak, which the
troopers had relentlessly hacked from the pews. The soldier whom I
had found insensible in the gutterway had been removed, but the fork
of his musket still remained. Soldiers were busily engaged in
clearing away the mass of rubble that blocked the entrance to the
spiral staircase leading to the tower, so it was evident that they
had not despaired of taking us--a further proof of the vindictiveness
of the renegade Chaloner.
Could I gain possession of the musketeer's rest before the passage
was cleared, a means would be at our disposal whereby we could obtain
much-needed food; so, descending by the rope, I reached the shelter
of the parapet of the nave, and immediately secured the instrument
left behind by the wounded sentinel.
It was about five feet in length, made of wrought iron, and
terminated in a double prong.
Requesting the colonel to throw me a length of rope, of which,
fortunately, we had plenty, I bent the rest into the form of a large
hook. To this I secured one end of the rope, then, leaning cautiously
along one of the beams, I slowly lowered my improvised fishing tackle
down into the interior of the church.
To my delight, none of the soldiers noticed the descent of the hook,
owing possibly to the smoke, and by dint of careful manoeuvring I
succeeded in hooking a large iron pot that, full of savoury stew, was
boiling over a brisk fire.
The next instant, amid the shouts of the astonished and enraged
rebels, pot and tripod were being rapidly drawn upwards; but ere I
could secure my prize, a musket-shot pierced the bottom of the
vessel, tearing a ragged hole. By the time I had unhooked the pot
nearly the whole of the precious contents had escaped, but Colonel
Firestone and I had the great satisfaction of breaking our fast by
making a sorry meal from the sticky mixture that still adhered to the
sides of the utensil.
Later on, though still in the early morning, we could discern large
bodies of troops pouring into the town from the direction of
Liskeard, and 'twas evident that the rebels had met with a reverse.
But we had no time to observe what was going on outside the town, for
our own lives were in jeopardy.
Having cleared away the rubbish that obstructed the staircase, the
musketeers, with fierce shouts, began the ascent.
"Stand to it," exclaimed Firestone, encouragingly, as a bullet
whizzed close to my head. "Can we but hold our own for another five
minutes, all will be well!"
"Shall we open fire on them?" I asked, making ready with the musket I
had taken from the insensible man on the roof.
"Nay," replied the colonel. "Keep them in ignorance of the fact that
we possess a weapon. Then, if the rebel Chaloner appears, I'll put a
bullet through his traitorous head."
But the musketeers contented themselves by firing several volleys up
through the floor of the belfry, which, however, as we took the same
precaution as heretofore, did us no harm. After a while they went
down again, leaving a soldier on guard.
We kept perfectly quiet, so that, evidently thinking we were without
the steeple, the man relaxed his vigilance, and, seating himself in a
low wooden chair, he drew a portion of a loaf and some cheese from
his pocket.
Following this he produced a pipe and a metal box of tobacco, and,
after looking from the food to the tobacco with evident indecision,
he leant back in the chair, stretched his limbs, and gave a terrific
yawn.
I could see Firestone's eyes fixed longingly on the tobacco, while I
looked with equal avidity upon the bread and cheese. In a moment my
mind was made up. Holding up the end of the rope to my companion, who
nodded knowingly, I gathered myself up at the edge of the trap-door
and made ready to spring.
I alighted fairly and squarely on the shoulders of the unsuspecting
rebel. He fell backwards in one direction, I in another; but I was
instantly on my feet, and, seizing the man's musket, prepared to stun
him should he offer resistance. But he lay motionless whether the
fall had killed him or merely deprived him of his senses, I knew not.
Gathering up the food, tobacco, and pipe, and hitching the end of the
rope round the man's musket, I swarmed up to our place of refuge, and
drew up the weapon.
Hardly had I done so when the rest of the party, alarmed by the
noise, rushed up the stairs, only to find to their mystification the
senseless body of their comrade.
The sight of the muzzles of the two muskets caused them to beat a
hasty retreat, although we suffered them to remove the body of their
luckless fellow-soldier.
Assured of no further molestation in this direction, we went out on
to the leads, and found that at that very moment an attack was being
made upon the rebel position, both sides keeping up a continuous
artillery fire, though the defence was conducted in a spiritless
manner that promised a speedy release from our captivity.
We shared the captured food, and the colonel filled the pipe, which
fortunately had been unused, lighting it with a portion of the
slow-match obtained with the bandolier we had previously taken.
Suddenly my companion pointed to a company of men forming up in the
churchyard.
"There he is--there's that villain Chaloner," he exclaimed, and,
starting to his feet, he seized and levelled his musket. But as he
applied a match I struck up the piece, and the bullet went singing
over the house-tops.
The colonel turned on me, livid with anger.
"Why this foolishness?" he demanded.
"We are not assassins," I replied.
"That man with his treachery has placed himself without the pale," he
retorted. "Therefore I am justified in shooting him like a dog. Mark
my words, Humphrey, you'll rue the day you made me miss my aim."
"Nevertheless, 'tis a craven act to shoot a man unawares. I, too,
have an account to settle with Chaloner, and with more cause than you
have, I trove; but Heaven forfend that I strike him after the manner
of a hired assassin."
Happily, Firestone soon regained his accustomed composure, and, after
reloading his piece, we watched the progress of the assault.
A ring of smoke encircled the town, for the cavaliers had drawn a
cordon round it, and already their advanced works were within
musket-shot of the bridge, whence the cannon behind the bridge kept
up a steady fire on the attackers.
It was low tide, and the river ran but an insignificant stream,
barely two feet in depth beneath the arches. Even as we looked we
heard a flourish of trumpets, and with a wild, irresistible rush a
squadron of Royalist cavalry, with loose rein and flowing mane,
charged headlong for the bridge as only our horsemen can charge.
Saddles were emptied, but, regardless of the losses, the attackers
deployed right and left, plunged into the river, and the next instant
the barricade was charged in the rear, and the gunners cut down or
made prisoners.
The horsemen were ably seconded by a strong body of Cornish pikemen
and musketeers, and, the guns being turned to command the principal
approach to the bridge, the town was at the mercy of the Royal
troops.
There was a roll of drums, and, bearing a white flag, a rebel officer
rode from the headquarters of the Parliamentarian army towards the
Royal lines.
"They are treating for terms," exclaimed the colonel. "While the
armistice lasts, there's no reason why we should not try to take
advantage of it."
And without let or hindrance we did indeed descend the tower, pass
through the now deserted church, and gain the street. Soon we were
safely within the outposts of the Royal army.
We were immediately taken to a tent, where the Royalist officers were
engaged in drafting out the terms of capitulation, and, thinking we
might be of service to them, they asked us for an account of our
adventure.
"Chaloner, say you? Chaloner, the renegade?"
"The same, sir," replied Firestone.
"Mark him down. Mark him down, scrivener," exclaimed one of the
officers, addressing a scribe who was laboriously writing out the
terms of surrender at a roughly constructed table.
"Him we must have at any price. Let me think. His name will be third.
There's the rebel Colonel Hobbs, formerly a waggoner, who ruthlessly
burned Pentillie; the ex-miller, Captain Gale, who unlawfully strung
up five of our men at Looe; and the traitor Chaloner. The other
officers we will suffer to depart on parole."
While the clerk's quill pen was scratching and spluttering over the
parchment, the officer turned to us once more.
"You were on the way to join the Cornish army. What regiment did you
intend serving in?"
"In Sir Bevil Granville's."
"In Sir Bevil Granville's? But I grieve to say Sir Bevil is dead, and
the regiment well-nigh cut to pieces at Cropredy Bridge."
"And his son----"
"Sir Ralph Granville, as he must now be styled, has joined his sorry
remnant to the command of Sir Ralph Hopton."
"Then under Sir Ralph Hopton will suit us."
"'Tis well. Malpas!" he shouted to a sergeant who was on guard
without the tent. "Conduct these gentlemen to the camp of Sir Ralph
Hopton, for, methinks, rest and refreshment will not come amiss. Fare
ye well."
With a salute we left the staff-officer's tent, and, under the
guidance of the sergeant, we were taken to a spot where a triple Line
of weather-worn tents and rough huts of boughs and bushes marked the
temporary camp of the redoubtable Royalist.
Here we were hospitably received, for, though in common with most of
the cavaliers, there was scarcely a gold piece to be found amongst a
score of them, such was their devotion to His Majesty, both in
personal service and gifts of money, they gave us plenty to eat and
insisted on our going to sleep.
When I woke up I found, to my joy, Ralph Granville sitting at my
side. A complete change of apparel and a serviceable equipment of
armour and weapons were placed at our disposal, which, I afterwards
learnt, were contributed from the joint store of this particular
company.
"How goes it with you, Ralph?" I exclaimed, wringing my friend's
hand.
"Passably," he replied, "though 'tis but the fortune of war."
"I heard of your father's gallant end."
"Ay. My father and twenty-two of our tenantry fell before Waller's
pikes, and now I have just heard that our house at Tregetty has been
burnt to the ground, so nothing remains but my sword."
I hardly knew what to reply. For all I knew I might even now be in a
similar position. Ashley Castle might be razed to the ground, and my
parents dead beneath its ruins. It was, as Ralph had observed, the
fortune of war, and we had but to look around and see the devastating
effects of this struggle, in which Englishmen were flying at each
other's throats.
Further conversation was interrupted by the trumpets sounding the
assembly, and, mounting our chargers--two passable horses which had
belonged to two cavaliers who had fallen in the charge on Lostwithiel
Bridge--Firestone and I took our places in the ranks of our new
comrades, Granville being my left-hand man.
Everyone was in high spirits, for the articles of capitulation had
been accepted by the rebels, and we were even now on our way to
witness the surrender of the Parliamentary army of the west.
Other regiments had preceded us, and by the time we crossed the old
bridge once more, this time in the midst of a troop of horse with
standards flying, and not as prisoners in the centre of a body of
sour-faced Roundheads, the greater part of the King's army was drawn
up in a long double line.
Our troop formed up facing the church, and as I looked up at the
smoke-blackened tower and shattered roof I could not help wondering
how near we had been to death, and how Providence had safely guided
us through perils innumerable.
My reveries were cut short by a roll of drums, followed by a hoarse
order, which was taken up all along the double line by the company
commanders. Instantly the swords of the cavalry flew from their
scabbards, while the pikemen stood to their pikes and musketeers
shouldered their pieces.
The march of the surrendered army was about to begin.
[1] It must be borne in mind that Humphrey Markham's narrative deals
with the Civil War from the standpoint of an ardent young Royalist.
Both sides were doubtless guilty of many excesses.
[Illustration: _With undiminished speed the horse shot into space._]