He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge with haughty
arms this hateful name in us.
_Henry IV._
On the cold foggy evening of October the 22d, 1642, the brigade of
foot to which the regiment of Cuthbert Noble belonged took up its
ground for the night in an open field to the north of the village of
Keinton, in which the Earl of Essex fixed his head-quarters. The
armies of the King and the Parliament had been several days on the
march, both moving in the same direction, on lines of route some
twenty miles asunder. Both the King and Essex were well resolved to
fight a battle when the fit opportunity should offer; and it was the
common talk of the soldiers on both sides that they should soon come
to blows. Nevertheless, there was little thought in either camp that
they were on the very eve of an engagement, or, indeed, that the main
bodies lay so convenient to each other as to fight on the morrow. As
soon as the guards were posted, the pikemen and musketeers of
Maxwell’s regiment piled their arms in ranks, and were allowed to make
such fires as they could. The country being open, and bare of wood,
these fires were comfortless and short lived. By a flickering flame,
fed with the small wood of the few bushes that grew near, Cuthbert
Noble and Randal ate a slender supper of dry bread and salt herring,
which they washed down with a weak draught of cold mixture, but
faintly tinged with strong waters. “The Saxons,” said Randal, who was
a very hardy man, “call this month the wine month, or _Wyn Monath_;
certainly there must have been milder seasons in England formerly than
we experience now; for it is impossible to fancy a vintage during such
sharp frosts as these.”--“Yes,” said Cuthbert, “yes.” Randal smiled at
a reply which bespoke inattention and discomposure, then added,
“Master Cuthbert, I counted on seeing you a little proud of your
first night in camp: we must all endure hardness as good soldiers.”
“True,” answered Cuthbert, recovering himself: “what is a little cold
and a little hunger compared to what thousands of Christian men have
in all ages endured, and do in all ages endure for the truth? It is a
great cause--a holy cause. I was only thinking at the moment that it
is a pity we had not taken a little better care of our bread and of
that bottle of strong waters: there is a loaf missing, and the bottle
is almost empty. But what petty trifles these are; how much below the
dignity of our nature: you are right, Randal; I am, and I ought to be,
happy; see how comfortable the Colonel has made himself;” so saying,
he pointed to where Maxwell sat, near the only good fire on the
ground, with a few officers round him. He was enveloped in a large
cloak,--a fur cap was drawn over his ears,--he was leaning with his
back against a pack-saddle; and as the smoke of his pipe issued in
warm clouds from his mouth he looked as much at his ease as if seated
in a chimney corner by the brightest fireside in the kingdom.
“Ay,” said Randal, “he is an old campaigner, and use is second nature;
for myself, as long as I am warmly clad, for no other comfort do I
care: I hate a pipe, and am not fond of a fire.” Now Randal was
wrapped up in an outer coat of the thickest woollen; and Cuthbert
himself, being also clothed in a large warm mantle, checked his
disposition to complain, and, after a little conversation of a better
kind, they both composed themselves to sleep. About two or three hours
after he had lain down he was awakened by a sensation of extreme cold.
He instantly discovered the cause: his mantle had been stripped off,
and he was left without any other covering than the clothes in which
he stood. Most of the camp fires were already extinguished, or only
emitted a very faint light from the expiring embers. The stars in the
deep blue sky above shone with the most vivid lustre: the fog had
disappeared; and through the clear gloom of night he could see
outlines of the piles of arms and of the groups of sleeping soldiers.
Immediately near him lay Randal in a profound sleep: lifting a
half-burned brand, he saw by the light which it gave as he waved it
around that the mantle was nowhere near the spot. He went among the
groups which were not far off to search for it; but the growl and the
curse of a brawny pikeman, over whom he chanced to stumble, deterred
him from his pursuit; and he had no other resource than to pace up and
down in a vacant space of ground, that he might keep himself warm by
exertion. In vain he tried to raise his mind to heavenly
contemplations; in vain he sought to warm his zeal by picturing the
sad and severe sublimities of battle and of victory; and the price of
blood which he might soon be called upon, and which he was ready to
pay, for the triumph of his cause. For great sacrifices he was eager;
for petty troubles he was wholly unprepared; therefore the night wore
away in coldness and discontent.
Just as the day was breaking, he observed a man, in the garb of a
Puritan, riding leisurely along the lines, and apparently taking a
very particular notice of the position and number of the troops. What
it was in the manner of the man that awakened the suspicions of
Cuthbert is uncertain, but he felt impelled to go closer, and examine
him. Accordingly, he crossed towards the quarter-guard, where he
observed him stop and enter into conversation with the sergeant. The
man’s back was towards Cuthbert,--thus he was able to approach the
quarter-guard without being perceived by the stranger. No sooner did
Cuthbert catch the tone of his voice than he immediately recognised it
to be that of the roguish hypocrite who had slept in the same chamber
with him at the inn in Aylesbury, two years before, and had stolen his
purse and the horse lent him by Sir Oliver Heywood. The knave, not
recollecting Cuthbert in his new dress, continued to pursue his
inquiries after he came up in the same canting phraseology, and even
addressed some questions to Cuthbert himself; but the latter,
suddenly seizing the bridle of his beast, directed the sergeant to
pull him out of his saddle, which was instantly and adroitly done, and
gave him in charge as a thief and a horse-stealer, and on suspicion of
being a spy. The wretch was so panic-stricken that he made no effort
to conceal or destroy any of the proofs which were found upon him,
when they proceeded to search his person. These papers consisted of a
letter to Prince Rupert--another, without a signature, saying that two
squadrons of the Parliamentarian horse were prepared to desert as soon
as the armies met--and a third, containing an accurate return of the
strength of Essex’s main body, and an estimate of the numbers left
behind in garrisons, and on other duties. He was taken before Colonel
Maxwell; by him sent forthwith to the Earl of Essex, who, having
gotten all the information which the confused hypocrite could give,
directed him to be hanged in front of the lines, before the troops
marched. The rogue died like a dog and a dastard, imploring mercy with
loud and feverish howls, till, the noose being fastened tight about
his neck, and made secure to a strong branch on the only tree near
the camp, the forage cart, on which he had been dragged beneath it,
was driven away, and he suddenly fell, and swung slowly to and fro
before the silent and stern battalions which were assembled upon the
ground in arms.
Such was the Sabbath morning of October the 23d,--far different in
prospect and in promise from those of his youthful days at Cheddar.
The distant sound of trumpets told that the divisions of horse were
already in motion; the drums beat; many a shrill fife pierced the ear;
and the columns of foot slowly followed. The army had scarcely
advanced a mile before the troops were halted; and they could all
distinctly see a fair body of horse on the top of a high level, called
Edge Hill, not more than a good mile in front. At the same moment, the
Earl of Essex rode past Maxwell’s regiment, and said, in the hearing
of Cuthbert,--
“Maxwell, I shall give you plenty of work to-day, for I know I may
reckon on your regiment safely.”
“My Lord, we’re all ready and willing,” was the Colonel’s brief reply.
The order now came for drawing up the army in order of battle. Near
Keinton, on the right, were some hedges and enclosures: among these
were placed the musketeers and pikemen; and one of the most important
posts was assigned to the regiment in which Cuthbert served. There
were not above two regiments of horse in this wing, where the ground
was narrowest; but in the left wing was placed a thousand horse under
Ramsey. The reserve of horse was commanded by the Earl of Bedford,
assisted by Sir William Balfour: between the Parliamentarians and the
royal position, on Edge Hill, it was a fair open country. Essex having
thus chosen his ground, stood still in a defensive posture, and
directed three cannon to be discharged as a defiance and a challenge
to the royal army: they answered readily on their part with two shot
from a battery of field guns on the brow of their position. However,
many of their foot regiments were quartered seven or eight miles from
the main body, and had that distance to march to the rendezvous. It
was past one of the clock before the King’s forces marched down the
hill, with the King’s standard waving in the centre of his regiment of
guards. They made a very fine and gallant appearance, especially their
horse. Their trumpets sounded out in the distance, very grand to hear,
and those upon Essex’s left wing sounded also. It was a glorious sight
to see the royal forces move steadily on, in two lines, with bodies of
reserve. They numbered not less than eighteen thousand men, and the
army of Essex was very little superior in strength; for two of his
best regiments of foot, and one of his horse regiments, were a day’s
march behind him. However, the Parliament soldiers were no less ready
for the fray than their eager adversaries.
During the solemn pause before the battle, while the hosts were
drawing up face to face, and the dispositions for the attack were
completing, Cuthbert felt an unaccountable sadness on his spirits. He
could well imagine, from all that he heard and saw, that the feelings
of a true soldier, standing opposite an army of hostile invaders, and
about to fight for the altars and the hearths of his native land, must
be of a most exalted and enviable description,--but how different were
his. The royal standard of England was floating in the adverse line,
and English voices were marshalling it for the onset: his own pupil,
young Arthur Heywood, was riding in those ranks.
“Remember, men,” said the commanding voice of Maxwell, “to be silent
and steady: wait for the order: reserve your fire to the last moment,
musketeers; and keep your ranks, pikemen, when it comes to the push.
By God’s help, we’ll drive them up that hill in worse order than they
are coming down.”
In another minute there broke a sudden flash from the enemy’s line:
close followed the white smoke and the thundering echo; and, by the
very side of Cuthbert, a sergeant was struck down dead.
“Pick up Sergeant Bond’s partisan,” said the sergeant-major of the
regiment as he was passing by: “pick it up, you Tibbs,” he repeated,
in a sharp cold tone, to a supernumerary sergeant attached to the same
company, and who had only a sword.
“Is this the glorious battle death?” said Cuthbert to himself,--but he
had no leisure for thought: the roar of shotted guns began on both
sides, and the battle fiercely opened. The musketeers of the regiment
were thrown out towards a hedge, a little in front of the ground
occupied by the pikemen; and a canopy of smoke soon rose above them
all, veiling the golden sun and the blue heavens, and giving to all
the forms and faces of those around, whether friends or foes, a
shadowy indistinctness.
In the midst of all this apparent confusion, governing commands were
given by beat of drum, or by the swift and intelligent service of
chosen aides, or by the personal presence and loud voice, at the
particular point were they were needed, of Essex himself, who
commanded and fought with his foot throughout the day. Captain
Ruddiman, who commanded the company of pikemen to which Cuthbert
belonged, did not appear to relish the cannon balls; feeling very
naturally, that however ready and able to encounter the Royalists at
close quarters, there was no mode of guarding against a round iron
shot; nor was he much better pleased with the spitting and whistling
of musket-balls. However, being a very brave man, he stood them all as
steady as a signpost, and rebuked Lieutenant Sippets for bobbing up
and down in a very unsoldier-like fashion. Meanwhile Cuthbert was
expressly called by Maxwell to go to the front, and take charge of a
company of musketeers, the officers of which were all killed or
wounded. He ran eagerly forward and was soon hotly engaged; but the
royal dragoons coming up to the support of their foot, and both
forcing their way on with ardour, the musketeers were withdrawn by
Maxwell behind the reserve of pikemen; and these moving up in good and
compact order soon came to a gallant push of pike, and drove back the
enemy with severe loss; at the same time the musketeers stoutly
supported the push of pike with their clubbed muskets, and made a
bloody carnage in the royal ranks. In this mêlée Cuthbert owed his
life to that expertness at the sword exercise for which he was
indebted to the lessons of George Juxon; for by a dexterous parry he
beat off the assault of a stout Royalist officer, who ran at him as he
was grasping at a colour, the bearer of which had stumbled, and,
killing him by a home thrust through the body, succeeded in taking the
colour.
In the pause which followed on the repulse of this attack Cuthbert
received the high praise of Maxwell, and the honest congratulations of
Captain Ruddiman, who, at close quarters, had himself done good
service among the Royalists, making not a few bite the dust beneath
the blows of a heavy poll-axe which he had found upon the field. Both
parties now for awhile took wind and breath; but soon again the horse
of Essex’s right wing was led by Sir William Balfour against the point
of the King’s left. Their squadrons passed the flank of Maxwell’s
regiment, as they advanced at a walk to take their ground before they
formed up for the charge; and Francis Heywood, already distinguished
by his brilliant conduct at the unfortunate affair of Pershore, passed
so close to Cuthbert that they shook hands. It scarcely seemed a
minute from this friendly greeting ere their trumpets sounded the
charge, and with a desperate fury they galloped towards the enemy. The
first line broke before them: the second was staggered; but two
regiments of the royal dragoons, in reserve, came swiftly to their
aid, and by the fire of their long carbines struck down a great many
of the Parliament horse, and following this up by a charge, compelled
them to wheel about. The royal foot now advanced again, and made a
furious attack upon the right of Essex, and pushed up to the very
mouths of his cannon, and drove away the gunners and spiked several of
the guns; but this artillery was valiantly won back by the
Parliamentarians: and the brigade of foot in which Maxwell’s regiment
fought actually charged the royal dragoons with their pikes, and drove
them back in disorder, with the loss of a great many men and horses.
It so happened, in this last movement, that when the two parties were
close together, Cuthbert caught a momentary but a very distinct view
of the fine countenance of young Arthur Heywood, and heard him cry
aloud, “Strike home, lads, for God and the King!” The smoke of battle
soon hid the vision, and the royal dragoons were compelled to retire.
Prince Rupert had beaten the left wing of Essex, and was in full
pursuit; but as night drew on the horsemen of the Prince were seen
returning to the field of battle; and as the right wing had maintained
its ground stubbornly, the battle ended by the King retiring to the
hills, and leaving Essex in possession of the field, where he kept his
troops together throughout the night. Both sides laid claim to the
victory, and both gained some advantages in the fight, but their
losses were very heavy and nearly equal. However, Essex slept upon the
field of battle, and was joined in the night by most of the fugitives
from his left wing, and was further reinforced by the arrival of two
good regiments of foot and one of horse.
The sun had no sooner set on the evening of the battle than it began
to freeze hard; and it being Cuthbert’s turn for outline guard, he was
posted at the end of a considerable enclosure, near some large gaps,
which had been made by the enemy in their attacks to admit of their
bringing up their cannon and their cavalry. The slaughter near this
spot had been considerable, and Cuthbert had to plant his sentinels
among mangled and naked corpses; but in the gloom and obscurity of
night the only appearance they presented was that of pallid and stony
objects without a shape. He was surprised to find himself insensible
to any feeling but the low animal sensations of hunger, cold, and
weariness. He sat round the watch fire with the men composing the
guard, and ate ravenously of such coarse provisions as were issued.
His share of the plunder had been a large warm horseman’s cloak, which
his corporal had found among the slain of the King’s guards, and which
he now folded about him as he lay down to rest with a very thankful
but somewhat a selfish sense of comfort. He gave orders that he
should be waked at every relief of the sentinels, and then sunk into a
deep slumber, from which he was aroused, within two hours, to go his
rounds. When he returned from them all disposition for sleep had
departed. He trimmed the watch fire, and was soon the only one awake
near the spot except the sentinel. A little book, with silver corners
and clasps, lay on the ground, where it had apparently been thrown by
one of the soldiers: it attracted the eye of Cuthbert by the gleaming
of its silver clasps,--he took it up; the covers were smeared with
dirt: he opened it,--it was a Book of Common Prayer: a leaf was folded
down at the collect for the day; and in the inside of the cover was
written the following quotation from George Herbert:--
“Sundays observe:--think, when the bells do chime,
’Tis angels’ music.”
He knew the handwriting; it was that of Katharine: he knew the book;
he remembered the Sabbath morning when she first presented it to her
cousin Arthur. He thought upon that glimpse which he had caught of his
pupil’s countenance in the battle, and he shuddered with
apprehensions.