Lastly stoode warre in glitteryng armes yclad,
With visage grym, sterne lookes, and blackely hewed;
In his right hand a naked sworde he had,
That to the hiltes was al with bloud embrewed.
SACKVILLE.
The zeal and fidelity of Francis Heywood, in that perplexity and
trouble of the Earl of Essex which were caused by the desertion of
Colonel Hurry at Thame, and by the information that he gave to Prince
Rupert, were so conspicuous, and he rendered such gallant and eminent
service in that unfortunate field of Chalgrave, in which Mr. Hampden
fell, that he was promoted to a colonelcy of horse soon after.
The army of Essex having been much weakened by the successful
enterprises of Prince Rupert, and being also more wasted by sickness,
the Earl moved from Thame towards London, and quartered his troops
about St. Alban’s. Here Francis Heywood met with a very unfortunate
adventure, which ended by his taking away the life of a brother
officer; but the origin of the dispute and the fatal issue of it were
such, that, even by a regular trial before a court of Puritan
officers, he was most honourably acquitted.
It chanced that as he was passing before the abbey of St. Alban’s a
little after dusk, he saw a drunken and noisy procession of the rabble
coming along by torchlight. He stopped to see what they were doing:
when they approached close to him, his anger and disgust were strongly
excited by observing a lewd wretch in a cope trailing in the dirt,
with a service book in his hand, singing, as in scorn, the solemn
words of the church litany, amid the derision and jeers of the base
fellows around him. Francis darted through the crowd and dealt the
impious knave a blow which laid him dumb in the gutter; and calling a
corporal who came in sight had him picked up and confined in a
guard-house for the night. It turned out that this rogue was a common
soldier in the regiment of Sir Roger Zouch, to whom such a
representation of the circumstance was made that he took up the matter
in great wrath, and sent Colonel Heywood a challenge. Francis
immediately sought an interview with Sir Roger, to explain and justify
what he had done. This furious fanatic not only defended and lauded
the crime of his soldier, but, in a paroxysm of rage, deaf to every
argument, rushed on Francis sword in hand; while the latter kept
retreating and expostulating, till at length he was obliged to draw
his sword in self-defence.
A home-thrust now soon put a period to Sir Roger’s life. Fortunately,
this contest took place in the open space near the Abbey, and in the
presence of many respectable witnesses both of the army and the town;
and these cheerfully came forward and deposed to the necessity under
which Francis was laid to defend himself.
This circumstance made a great impression upon Francis; for though he
stood acquitted in his conscience of all blame, and though he felt
opposed in heart to such a mischievous spirit as that evidenced by Sir
Roger, yet it forced him to consider that it was against such men that
the sincere churchmen in the royal ranks were honourably fighting.
However, he did not slack in his zeal for that cause for which Hampden
had already poured out his life-blood; but he confined himself
strictly to the duties of his particular command, and, both by example
and authority, enforced good discipline and quiet conduct among his
own troopers. He occasionally saw Cuthbert, but had now little comfort
or satisfaction from those interviews. In gloom and in sadness of
spirits that unhappy man wore away his days: his temper had become
embittered and stern; and he was ever unquiet and restless except in
the field, where he delighted to expose himself to every chance of
death. It has, however, been often observed, that that black tyrant,
insatiate as he is, delights to pass by the wretched, and transfix the
bosoms of those whose hopes are in the full blossom of promise. Of
this war is ever furnishing examples.
In a temper of mind very different from that of his brother did
Martin Noble make his campaign under Caernarvon.
About the middle of June, Prince Maurice and the Marquis of Hertford,
with sixteen hundred horse, one thousand foot, and eight field pieces,
marched to Chard, a fair town of Somersetshire, on the borders of
Devon, and effected their junction with the Cornish army, which
consisted of three thousand foot, eight hundred horse, and four guns.
This force soon possessed itself of Taunton, Bridgewater, and Dunstar
Castle, without bloodshed. Not long after they marched upon Wells,
where a respectable body had been drawn together by the parliament
officers, Popham, Strode, and others: these retired from the city as
the Marquis of Hertford advanced against it, and drew up on the top of
Mendip Hill; and, waiting till the royal horse came on the same level
in front of them, pursued their retreat leisurely, and in good order.
The King’s horse followed them, till they having to pass through a
lane, near Chewton, were compelled, before their entrance into that
defile, to leave their reserve fronted. The Earl of Caernarvon, who
was always in the van, and always charged home, perceiving this
advantage, rode hard at them, entered the lane with them, routed the
whole body of their horse, and did good execution on them for two
miles. But the enemy being reinforced by a fresh strong party of horse
and dragoons, which, by the cover of a hedge, had joined them without
being discovered, rallied, charged, and pressed Caernarvon in his
turn, who was now forced to retire through the village and lane, and
fall back on the Prince’s party, drawn up on the open heath.
Though somewhat broken and chafed, his men rallied stoutly on the
Prince’s flank; and when the enemy came up, though now very superior
in numbers, the Prince and the Earl, seeing the danger of a retreat
over those open hills, took the brave resolution to charge them. This
was so vigorously done by the Prince, and so briskly seconded by
Caernarvon, that after a close and fierce mêlée, sword to sword, the
enemy were driven from the field, and chased by Caernarvon again till
set of sun.
This stirring and brilliant action of cavalry was Martin’s first
trial; and he acquitted himself in a manner so spirited and valiant,
as won the warm praise of his gallant patron. He received two hurts,
and was beaten off his horse; but as the army rested many days at
Wells, and his wounds were only sword-cuts, he was sufficiently
recovered to be on horseback again before they marched forward. In the
battle of Lansdown, on July the 5th, he gained fresh reputation; for,
having been twice engaged in the early part of that action against the
famous regiment of cuirassiers, by which the King’s horse were so
amazed and staggered, and having shown the most invincible courage in
trying to restore confidence to the routed troopers, he was, in the
last advance against the hill, dismounted, his horse being killed
under him. He was himself at the moment immediately on the right of
those brave Cornish pikes which Sir Bevil Greenvil was leading up. He,
catching up the pike of a fallen soldier, fell into those ranks, by
whom the summit of the hill was soon won, and maintained throughout
that bloody evening. Night fell upon both hosts, tired, battered, and
contented to stand still; but before morning Sir William Waller
withdrew to Bath, and the field of battle, the dead, and other ensigns
of victory, were left with the King’s army.
His next service was at Roundway Down, where Sir William Waller
suffered so great a defeat as very much clouded his affairs and all
his previous reputation. Early in August, Francis was with that army
which sat down before Gloucester; but, as the horse are for the most
part only lookers on at the operations of a siege, he here enjoyed a
certain interval of leisure. At this period he contracted a close
intimacy with young Arthur Heywood, and he had a strange pleasure in
conversing with the youth about his brother Cuthbert. They two would
ride together the circuit of the leaguer, observing the batteries and
approaches, and watching the play of the cannon both on and from the
city; or they would choose unfrequented roads, which led into valleys
near where there was no sight of camp or town; or in tent or camp hut
they would sit together for hours, and often as they did so, the name
of Cuthbert came up, and the one recollected the brother of his
boyhood, and the other, the kind and gentle tutor, who first woke him
to good thoughts,--and it became a cement of love between them; and
while they deplored the course which Cuthbert had taken, their hearts
were full of affection for him. Nor was any one more forward to do
justice to his many excellent qualities than Sir Charles Lambert, when
he chanced, as he often did, to make one of the tent party.
Sir Charles was, as Arthur told Martin, a changed man from the period
when his brother first knew him; and no one that had seen the grave,
the manly, and thoughtful deportment of Sir Charles, the loyal and
devoted officer, could have deemed it possible that he was the same
person who had once invited and deserved their suspicions and their
contempt.
However, after lying nearly a month before Gloucester, and making
little progress in the siege, the King was roused by the news that
Essex was advancing to relieve the city. A last effort was decided on:
the town had been most ably defended by Colonel Massey, the governor,
who had made many bold and effective sallies, and interrupted the
labours of the siege with good success; but the garrison was now
reduced to great extremities for want of ammunition; therefore the
King battered the town heavily for thirty-six hours, made a fair
breach, and tried an open assault. The attempt was boldly made, and
the breach mounted, but, after a bloody conflict, the storming-party
was beaten back again. In this last affair Martin and Arthur were
looking on at the assault, when a cannon bullet struck and shattered
the leg of the latter, so that he was forced to have his limb
amputated considerably above the knee,--a most painful operation,
which he bore with a cheerful courage and composure. Thus did the
service of this noble boy suddenly end, he being made a cripple for
life, and no longer able to share the honourable toils of warfare or
to partake ever again of the pleasant and joyous exercises natural to
his age. The helplessness incident to the last season of life fell
suddenly upon him, and made him prematurely old. Martin parted from
him as he lay in hospital with tears in his eyes, and they never met
again: however, Arthur was removed with other wounded to a place of
safety, and when sufficiently recovered was sent to Oxford. Meantime
the siege of Gloucester was raised; and, when Essex marched into that
joyful town, he found them reduced to a single barrel of powder, and
other provisions nearly exhausted. He stayed three days in the place,
after which his care was to retire again to London without
encountering the King’s army. He made a night march from Tewksbury to
Cirencester, where he surprised two regiments of the royal horse, and
found a great quantity of the King’s provisions; hence he made his
route through the deep and enclosed country of North Wiltshire direct
for London. However, Prince Rupert, with five thousand horse, by
incredible diligence and forced marches, got between London and the
enemy, and detained him till the King, with his main army, came to
Newbury.
The forces of Essex being now intercepted in their movement, it was
not the interest or wish of the King to engage in a battle, except on
his own terms and with choice of his own ground; but when, on the
morning of the 18th of September, the hot spirits in the royal army
saw the host of Essex drawn up in fair battle array within a mile, and
when they heard the beating of their drums and the breath of defiance
from their trumpets, they would not be contained, and some young
leaders of strong parties got so far engaged that the King was
compelled to fight a general action.
Never did hostile forces meet with greater fierceness and resolution.
The field was obstinately disputed throughout the day, and night alone
parted the combatants. The foot of Essex had maintained their ground
with admirable steadiness; and the bold charges of Rupert and the
royal horse could make no impression on their stand of pikes. One of
the regiments most frequently exposed to these desperate assaults was
that of Maxwell, where Cuthbert commanded a company of pikes. This
corps, after having endured a storm of bullets from a body of the
King’s musketeers in the last attack of the royal forces before
sunset, was come upon suddenly, and at a disadvantage, by some
squadrons of horse, and broken in upon. Nearly half their numbers were
cut to pieces; but the rest, being well rallied, resisted, and slew
many of the horsemen that were intermixed with them, and finally drove
off the enemy.
No one exerted himself in this most critical juncture with more energy
and sternness than Maxwell; and Cuthbert showed in that difficulty a
noble example to his men. His sword had already been plunged into the
horse of an assailant with such force, that by the action of the
wounded beast he had been disarmed, and another horseman was rushing
towards him. He discharged his pistol swiftly, yet with an aim so
true, that the young Cavalier was borne past him reeling in the
saddle, and thrown violently to the earth.
When this short and confused conflict between the pikemen and the
royal horse was over, and there came a breathing time, and a pause in
the fighting at that spot, Cuthbert, who marked where his last
opponent fell, left his ranks, and hastened (it was not many yards
away) to his succour. The young man, bareheaded and pale, lay upon the
ground: his bright hair was dabbled with blood--not his own, but that
of other combatants who had been slain near him: a pistol shot had
reached his gallant heart; the courageous and gentle spirit had fled.
“Nothing can be done for him,” said Randal, for whom Cuthbert had
called,--“come away.”
“Surely, surely there can,” answered Cuthbert, in an agony, strange
and unaccountable even to himself.
“Nothing, I tell you: he is dead.”
“Well, then, I will take care of the body, and bury it.”
“Let the dead bury the dead,” said Randal.
“The battle is not over yet. Hark! there is the drum beating to fall
in.”
Cuthbert heard it, and the loud voice of Maxwell, and saw the men
rushing to their arms. He hurried to his post; and there, as he stood,
saw stragglers coming in, who stopped and stooped upon the very spot
where the body of the youth lay, as if to rifle it. His regiment was
at the same moment faced to the left, and moved a quarter of a mile
off to new ground. Here they halted and stood at ease.
Now came rumours how that great and good men had fallen on the King’s
side; that the gallant Caernarvon had been slain by the sword, and
that a bullet had taken the life of the noble Falkland.
The trumpets did seem to wail them, they sounded so desolate and
mournful as the shades of evening came on. As soon as he could get
away, Cuthbert again hurried to the place where the corpse of his own
particular victim lay. He got a torch, and searched the body, if haply
he might find a name: in the bosom next the heart there lay the
miniature of a girl of calm pure beauty; from the features and the
costume, it seemed that of an Italian. Cuthbert sighed, and continued
his search for some paper that might give a name. At last, in the
breast pocket of the doublet beneath his buff coat, he found a
letter:--the address was “Martin Noble,”--the handwriting was that of
his own father.