A Legend of the Civil War.
In the year 1644 the town of Stockport became the scene of some
exciting incidents in the great struggle then waging between the King
and his Parliament. From ancient days, Stockport had been accounted a
place of military importance, commanding, as it did, the passage of
the river Mersey. When the Romans took possession of the county, they
established a strong fortified camp upon a site near the modern market
place. The Norman lords of Stockport reared a castle upon the same
site, and from that period downwards, the strategic value of the place
continued to increase. When the Civil War broke out, the importance of
obtaining and maintaining possession of the town, was soon recognised
by both factions, and throughout the grim and prolonged contest.
Stockport was held first by one party, then by the other, as the
respective fortunes of the Cavaliers and Roundheads ebbed and flowed.
The majority of the principal landowners and gentry--that is to say,
the most powerful of the representatives of the old county
families--in the vicinity of Stockport, were much inclined to
Puritanism, and so the cause of Parliament received strong support in
this part of the country. The Bradshawes of Marple Hall were vigorous
supporters of the Roundheads--Colonel Henry Bradshawe was a
distinguished Parliamentary soldier; and his brother, John Bradshawe,
afterwards became President of the Council of State, acted as the
Judge at the trial of King Charles, and passed the death sentence upon
that unhappy monarch. The Ardernes of Arden Hall, the Dukinfields of
Dukinfield, the Hydes of Hyde, and the Hydes of Denton were all
resolute supporters of the Parliament; and inasmuch as all these
families had property and influence in the town and parish of
Stockport, it is scarcely a matter for surprise to find that in the
year in which our story opens Stockport was held by a Parliamentary
force under command of that staunch soldier, Colonel Dukinfield, of
Dukinfield.
Colonel Dukinfield is a man who deserves a few words of description.
He was one of the most distinguished of the group of famous historical
characters who sprang from this part of East Cheshire, and helped to
mould the destinies of the nation in the 17th century. A man of
Puritan ancestry, himself a great Puritan, with Republican tendencies,
endowed, moreover, with many of the gifts of a great soldier, he took
part at an early age in the opening stages of the great war. His
exploits in the field, and his influence and ability to raise and keep
together strong bodies of horse and foot, soon won for him a high
place in the ranks of the Parliamentary party; and right worthily did
he acquit himself, whether in the field at the head of his troops, or
in the Council Chamber, where all the qualities of a statesman were
called into play. Historians are unanimous as to the disinterestedness
of his character, and the purity of his motives; indeed, it is
generally recognised that he was one of the truest men of either party
that the Civil War produced.
In the year mentioned, he was sent to guard Stockport, and the bridge
over the Mersey--one of the entrances from Cheshire into
Lancashire--and this task he performed, until military necessity
compelled him to evacuate the town, and retire before a superior force
of the enemy.
A strong army of Loyalists, being sent to invade Lancashire, must
needs take possession of Stockport on their way; they were led by that
dashing dare-devil nephew of the King--Prince Rupert of the Rhine.
Recognising that the enemy was too strong for him, and deeming it
imprudent to risk the lives of his soldiers in a hopeless resistance,
Colonel Dukinfield withdrew his force, and vanished from Rupert's
sight. He of the Rhine sent his men through the rich farm lands about
Stockport, and they plundered the suffering yeomen--confiscating
whatever they required for the service of the King. The Roundheads, on
their part, had done the same, so no one could grumble very much about
the matter. As the sufferers said, "One side was every bit as bad as
the other."
But not a glimpse of the Roundhead soldiers did the gay Cavaliers get,
and Rupert of the Rhine, hot-headed as he was, had yet more sense in
his pate than to be led astray from his direct line of march to begin
a risky, fruitless, and possibly disastrous chase of the
Parliamentarians. For he knew that Dukinfield, who, being a native,
was acquainted with every yard of the country, had taken refuge in the
wild and mountainous region of Longdendale, where it was easy enough
for the Roundheads to ambush the Cavaliers, and where there was little
chance for practising that dashing form of warfare--the grand charge
of large masses of cavalry upon equally compact masses of the
enemy--which was Rupert's favourite method, and which--until Cromwell
and his Ironsides came upon the scene--was invariably successful.
So after a time Rupert passed on his march.
Our story, however, has to do with the troops of the Parliament, and
their sojourn in Longdendale. When he left Stockport, Colonel
Dukinfield led his men directly to the wild country beyond Mottram;
and on the lands adjoining the old halls of Mottram, Thorncliffe, and
Hollingworth, and about the homes of the wealthier inhabitants, he
quartered his force. He does not seem to have met with much resistance
in this matter; and it is most likely that the Longdendale landowners
were themselves inclined to favour the Parliamentary cause.
Be that as it may, they found food for horse and men, and supplied
Dukinfield with money, cattle, and soldiers, when the time came for
him to march. There are some interesting documents still preserved,
which give the details of the various expenses to which the
Longdendale gentry were put by the prolonged stay of the Roundhead
forces on their lands.
[Illustration: DUKINFIELD HALL.]
As was to be expected, the arrival of so renowned a fighter as Colonel
Dukinfield, and his bold band of Roundheads, caused more than a
flutter of excitement in the breasts of the country folk of
Longdendale. Those inclined to the Roundhead faction, were rather
proud to stand by and wave their caps and cheer at the brave men who
had so resolutely fought against the tyrant King; while the Royalist
inhabitants surveyed the soldiers and their Puritan colonel, with
feelings akin to hatred seeing in them nothing but a set of rebels who
were too vile to live.
Of the last-named class was a stout yeoman whom for the purpose of
this story we will name Timothy Cooke. A thorough King's man at heart,
he had no sympathy with any who set themselves up to fight against the
"lords anointed," and as he saw the Roundheads ride past he would, had
he dared, and had the opportunity presented itself, have put a bullet
into the body of each rider.
"A damnable set of psalm-singing rascals," muttered Tim to a
companion, as the Parliamentary troops went by. "May the food and
fodder they get in Longdendale, choke both man and beast. They are of
the devil's spawn, every one, enemies to God as well as to the King."
"Steady, Tim," whispered his companion. "They will overhear thee, and
then, belike, thou wilt get into serious trouble."
"Trouble!" quoth Tim. "I care mighty little for anything they can do.
The King's forces will wipe them out ere long; and had I been but half
the man I was in my young days, I would have ridden behind the
Cavaliers, and struck a blow for His Majesty."
Then, grumbling at the perversity of the times, which permitted such
unseemly sights as that presented by a band of Republican soldiers
marching coolly through Longdendale, he jogged off homeward, to weary
his wife with his ill-humour.
But the goodman had more to put up with ere long, for after a few days
were passed, there came riding into his farmyard, the stalwart figure
of a Roundhead. The soldier was a young man, of gentlemanly
appearance, and strikingly handsome. He wore his hair cropped close,
and his face was clean shaven. He sat his horse firmly, and his
well-proportioned figure gave signs of strength.
"Farmer," cried he; "I give you a good day. You have a grey mare, I
understand, of some little fame hereabouts. My officers require the
use of her for the service of the Parliament. And I am come to take
her forthwith. Also a sheep from your fold would not come amiss, but
that you may send to the headquarters by one of your farm hands."
He spoke with the free air of one who expected that his requests, or
orders, would be observed as a matter of course.
Timothy stood stock still for a few moments, lost in wonder. Then his
hot temper blazed forth in a volume of words.
"Why you knave--you close-cropped murdering rebel--you speak and carry
yourself with the bearing of an honest King's man. Get out of my yard
this instant, or I'll brain you on the spot. No horse or sheep of mine
goes from here to the service of the King's enemies."
He flourished a large hay-fork dangerously near the horseman, and the
steed began to back with alarm.
"Drop that fork," cried the soldier, drawing his pistols, "I've no
mind that there shall be any accident, but if you will advance, and if
one of these weapons goes off, 'tis no fault of mine."
But the old farmer's blood was up.
"I'll spit you as I would a goose," cried he; "and all other such
Republican knaves."
The soldier pulled his horse aside, and levelled his pistol at the
farmer's head.
"Thou mad fool," he cried. "If thou wilt rush to thy death, 'tis no
concern of mine."
And sighting the weapon, he made ready to fire.
But at that moment came a diversion, and from an unexpected quarter;
for in the doorway of the farm, directly behind the irate yeoman,
there appeared the figure of a maid. She was the farmer's daughter,
and a maid of uncommon beauty; and the sight of so fair a daughter of
Eve, bursting thus suddenly on the soldier's vision, banished for one
brief second the murderous purpose from his mind. He hesitated, let
his eyes wander from the farmer to rest upon the figure of the girl.
That second's hesitation was fatal, for the hay-fork driven with force
by the yeoman, took him in the shoulder, and tumbled him heavily to
the ground. He had a confused sense of having done something very
foolish and unsoldierlike, of falling with a thud from his horse, of a
sharp pain in the shoulder, and then his senses left him.
When he recovered consciousness, the unfortunate Roundhead found
himself lying on a couch inside the farmhouse. He was at first dimly
aware that a somewhat heated discussion was going on in one quarter of
the room, and that some person with gentle touch bent over him and
tended to his hurts. In another moment, his senses having fully
returned, he could distinguish the voices of the disputants, and knew
that they were talking about himself.
The farmer's wife, good mistress Cooke, was denouncing her husband's
folly in having wounded the soldier, and thus brought the man nigh to
death, and the yeoman, himself, in grave danger of arrest, court
martial, and the gallows.
"'Tis thy hot temper, of which I have so often spoken, and which thou
never canst control, that has led thee into this mess--and a pretty
mess it is, upon my conscience," said the dame, "What harm had the
poor fellow done to thee or thine, that thou must prod him with the
fork, as thou dost a truss of hay, and tumble him headlong out of the
saddle. A mercy it is he did not break his neck by the fall. As it is,
he is not seriously hurt, though the back of his head will carry a
lump for many a day, and his shoulder will be stiff enough for weeks.
The next thing that will happen, I suppose, will be that thou wilt
have the whole band of them--foot and horse--about the house, and they
will carry thee away a prisoner, and I and the bairns will een be
tumbled out upon the road-side."
"Stop thy chatter," growled the farmer, his courage somewhat overawed
by the volubility and sting of his wife's tongue. "Wouldst have me let
a Roundhead knave, an enemy to the King, rob and plunder me of the
grey mare, and a sheep from the fold, without using the hay-fork when
'tis in my hand. Death and damnation is too good for all such rogues."
..."Death and damnation," quoth the dame. "Death and damnation,
forsooth. That is like to be thy reward for the business. Out of the
room, man, for thy presence drives away my patience. Out thou goest,
while I see if I can bring the poor fellow round, and make amends for
thy fool's folly."
She bundled the farmer out, and at this moment the Roundhead opened
his eyes. Then he shut them suddenly, as though some bright light had
dazzled him, for there, bending close above him, was the bonny face of
the maiden, whose dazzling beauty had been the cause of his undoing.
She had been tending to his hurts, and was gazing at him anxiously,
wondering the while if he were about to die.
The Roundhead did not long remain with closed eyes, for the vision of
the maid was too sweet to lose for want of the effort of raising his
lids. He gazed straight into her eyes, and smiled; and the girl,
finding him fully alive, and conscious of her presence, blushed
crimson, and drew backwards in confusion. Her movement attracted the
dame, who by this time had got rid of her husband; and having no
special desire to be the recipient of attentions from an old lady--no
matter how estimable and kindly disposed she might be--the Roundhead,
with an effort sat up. He had not been seriously injured by his fall,
which had done nothing more than deprive him of his senses for a short
time; and the thrust in the shoulder was nothing more serious than a
flesh wound; now that the bleeding had been stopped, he was really
little the worse for his misadventure.
"I thank you, madam," said he to the farmer's wife, "for your kindness
and attention. Doubtless your good offices, and those of the young
lady, have saved my life; and I promise you they shall not be
forgotten in my report to my commanding officer."
Relieved as she was to find the Roundhead out of all danger, poor Dame
Cooke was terribly upset on hearing the concluding words of the
soldier.
"Oh, sir," said she, the tears springing to her eyes, "must you indeed
report the misdeeds of my hot-headed husband. If he is taken,
and called to account for this mishap, I much fear that his
punishment will be severe. If you could overlook--could find some
excuse--could----"
She broke off, utterly unable to say more, but her eyes pleaded with
the soldier.
Restraining an inclination to smile, with an effort, the Roundhead
said solemnly:
"A bandaged head and shoulder must of necessity give rise to comment.
And how can I escape from the necessity of a report? Moreover, there
is the matter of the grey mare, and the sheep."
"They shall be sent to your camp within the hour," put in the woman
eagerly; "and more likewise, if ye will only be merciful to my good
man."
Other talk followed, but for reasons of his own, the Roundhead omitted
to assure the dame as fully as she could have wished, that she should
hear no more about the matter. It was not without a feeling of great
trepidation that she listened to his last words of gratitude for her
personal attentions, and witnessed his departure.
Mounted on his horse, he rode slowly down the lane, and not till the
farmhouse had disappeared from sight--hidden by a bend in the lane,
and a dip in the road--did he meet a single soul. Now, however, he
reined in his charger suddenly; and he felt his heart beat quicker as
he beheld the pretty maid standing in the road barring his path.
Off came his hat, with a sweeping bow, that would have done credit to
a Cavalier; and he bent gallantly in the saddle to converse with the
fair being who had waylaid him with the evident intention of speaking
to him.
"Oh, sir," said the maid, her voice trembling with emotion, her face
rosy with excitement and bashfulness; "you will forgive my father will
you not? He is not a bad man, and if anything happened to him, it
would break my heart, and my mother's also. Do not punish him, and
mother and I will make amends in some way."
The Roundhead looked at the maid, then cast his eyes rapidly up and
down the lane, and a twinkle of merriment shone in his glance.
"You are quite willing to compensate for your father's sins--to render
a service if I pledge myself to silence on his misdeeds."
"I will do anything," said the maid, eagerly.
The Roundhead bent low in his saddle, until his face was dangerously
near that of his companion. There was a look in his eyes which caused
the maid to blush a deeper red, and set her heart pit-a-pat with a
thrill of strange and joyous excitement.
"Then kiss me," was all he said.
The girl dropped her eyes a moment, then looked full into his, and
finally raised her lips and kissed him.
"Now," she said, "remember your promise, and keep it."
Then with a mischievous nod of her head, that caused her curls to
dance in the sun, she skipped out of his reach, and ran up the lane
towards the farm.
He turned the horse as though to pursue her, but contented himself
with calling after her, "Tell your mother not to trouble about the
grey mare and the sheep. I will come for them myself--another day."
He doffed his hat, and the girl waved her hand; and then the Roundhead
trotted off to explain in some cunning fashion how he had foolishly
met with an accident, and if his colonel had no objection he would go
for the grey mare and the sheep another day. The young man was a
favourite officer with his superiors, and his colonel had no objection
whatever, so the farmer heard no more about his attack upon the
Parliamentary forager.
* * * * *
It is not to be supposed that human nature of the masculine gender,
however much inclined to Puritanism, could, after having once tasted
the sweet lips of the farmer's daughter, resist the longing for more
of such delights. And so the Roundhead more than once or twice made
his way towards the farm; and either, owing to his cleverness, or to
the strangest coincidence, it so happened that he never returned to
quarters without having held some converse with the maid.
In this way the time passed, and to the two lovers it seemed as though
everything was sweet and fair, and as though war, and suffering, and
death were not abroad in the land. Indeed, so far, the revolution had
brought nothing but fortune to the young man, for he was already
promised a captaincy when next the troops were put in motion; and then
he would move onward to fresh adventures, wherein he hoped to add to
his laurels, so that when the wars came to an end, he would have a
position of some standing to offer to his bride.
At last there came a day when Colonel Dukinfield bade his men make
ready to march. Messengers had ridden in on foam-flecked steeds, and
it was understood that great events were about to transpire. The
troops looked to their arms, burnished up their breast-plates, and
head pieces, and after a busy day spent in preparations, made ready to
pass their last night in Longdendale in the fashion that the Puritan
soldier loved.
When the night had fallen, groups of soldiers were gathered within the
best rooms of the farms whose owners--being favourers of the
Parliament--had gladly welcomed and billeted the Roundheads, and the
host having brought forth some musical instruments, which were tuned
up forthwith, soon the voices of all were joining in a Puritan chant
of praise. Loud and long that night sang the Puritans, and ever and
anon, in the intervals between the chants, some of them, in nasal
tones, would break out into prayer--strange old-fashioned petitions,
in which the Lord was asked to strengthen the arms of the Parliament,
and to sweep the Royalist faction away as the leaves are scattered
before the wind. Then with the first break of day the bugles sounded;
and, leaving the fair Longdendale land behind them, the Roundheads
passed to scenes of grim contest--some joining in the conflicts in
Yorkshire, others participating in different sieges in Lancashire and
Cheshire. After their departure, Longdendale was visited in turn by
bands of Cavaliers, who rode towards the points of strife; and then
for a time the valley was left to its rural quietness.
[Illustration: "A PURITAN CHANT OF PRAISE."]
For some weeks the maid heard nothing of her lover and her only
consolation during his absence was to chat and talk with the wives and
sweethearts of Longdendale men who had joined Colonel Dukinfield's
troops, and ridden off to the fight.
One day, however, when the tasks about the farm were all done, she
sat in the old-fashioned seat in the advanced porch of the steading,
which looked out towards the west. It was the close of a glorious day,
and far away over the great levels of the Cheshire plain, the sun was
setting--flooding the earth and sky with a light that seemed too
beautiful to be real. It was as though one looked right into the gates
of heaven. The farmer and his wife were seated near, for they, too,
were weary with the toil of the day, and were resting for a space in
the cool of the evening before the darkness fell.
Suddenly the girl raised her head as though to listen, and then
pointing towards the sunset, she uttered a loud scream.
"There, there! do you not see them? the Roundheads are beaten back,
and their leader falls. It is he, my love--and oh!--they have slain
him----"
Then she fell back into the seat and sobbed, and shivered, and moaned.
The farmer took her by the shoulders, and shook her.
"Art daft, my lass," said he, "or dreaming. What is it thou see'st?"
For a moment the girl could not do anything but sob and moan, then,
recovering herself, she told her parents that, as she gazed at the
sunset, it seemed as though the western heavens were alive with the
figures of men--she could see the Roundhead troops rushing to the
assault, at their head was the form of her lover, and even as she
looked, the Royalists repulsed the attack, and in the melee she saw
her lover fall, his brain pierced by a musket ball. It seemed, too,
that she could hear the noise of the piece, and the death-shriek as he
fell.
"Tut-tut," said the farmer, "'tis nothing but a dream. Thou hast been
dozing, that is all."
The mother also tried to comfort her, and the two led her inside, but
that night when the farmer and his spouse sought their chamber, the
latter said in an awesome whisper:
"'Tis the gift of sight, good man. My grandmother had it; and I fear
that the vision she has seen will prove true."
* * * * *
Some days passed, and nothing was heard of the great strife which
waged beyond the valley; but one day a man, pale and thin from
suffering, seated upon a jaded steed, rode wearily into Longdendale.
Near Mottram town he met Yeoman Cooke, whom he accosted; and the
latter looked at him with a start of surprise.
"Why, Jack, is't thee, my man?" said the farmer. "Bless me if I knew
thee. Thou art just like a ghost."
"And I had nearly been turned into one, farmer," answered the man.
"For I got a blow on my head in the fight just a week gone by to-day,
which stretched me senseless; and other hurts about my body, have
knocked out of me all the fighting for some months to come. 'Twas an
evil day for Longdendale, and I trow that thy own home will be turned
into a house of mourning by it. For this was how we fared. Even as the
victory seemed assured, the Royalist rascals made a great rush, and by
ill-luck our leader was shot dead, and other officers falling, we were
beaten off. As for the Captain--well, I think he loved that lass of
thine--King's man though thou art,--for in his breast, when we came to
carry his body off, were certain keepsakes which I have seen thy
daughter wear. There was also a letter addressed to her, and I have it
with me here. Thou wilt tell her that he died as a brave man should
die, and that he was worthy of her love to the last. I must ride on
now, for it grows late, and I have ill-news to carry to other
Longdendale women besides thy wench. This is the worst side of war."
[Illustration: ARMS OF THE DUKINFIELD FAMILY.]
"One moment," said the farmer, placing his hand on the bridle of the
other's horse, "When did this happen?"
"A week ago to-day," replied the Roundhead. "Just as the sun set; and
it was too late to renew the attack that day."
With that the man rode on, and the farmer was left alone.
"The good wife is right after all," he said to himself. "'Twas second
sight, and the lass has the gift. We must keep the matter to
ourselves, or the folk will think she is a witch."
Then he set his face homewards, and walked off wondering.