grave, somebody or other always contrives to tumble in; an' mostly
they 'at first see him busy with the job. He's ca'd here 'the live
man's sexton.'"
The cavalier sat down before a well-covered stool, on which was spread
a homely but plentiful breakfast of eggs, cheese, rashers of bacon, a
flagon of ale, and a huge pile of oat-cake; but he did not fall to
with the appetite or relish of a hungry man.
"Let me reckon," said the host, beginning to muster up his arithmetic.
"There was"----
"Nathan Sumner, I say; thou'rt al'ays out wi' thy motty if a body
speaks. Doesn't the beer want tunning, and thou'rt leesing there o'
thy haunches; at thy whys and thy wise speeches. Let me alone wi' the
gentles, and get thee to the galkeer. Besides, you see that he knoweth
not how to disport himsel' afore people of condition--saving your
presence, masters," said the power predominant, as her husband meekly
retreated from the despotic and iron rule of his helpmate.
"Peradventure he doth himself provide tenants for his own graves,"
said the cavalier, thoughtfully; "but I'll split the knave's chowl, if
he dare"----
"You know not him whom you thus accuse," said a soft musical voice
from an inner chamber. "I know those who would not see him with his
foot in a new-made grave for the best rent-roll in Christendom!"
The speaker, as she came forward, bent a glance of reproof towards the
stranger.
"And wherefore, my bonny maiden?" inquired he.
"Does he not scent the dying like a raven? When once his eye is upon
them they shall not escape. There be some that have seen their last o'
this green earth, and the sky, and yonder bright hills. I trust the
destroying angel will pass by this house!"
"By'r lady," replied the other hastily, "the varlet, when I asked
whose lodging it should be, answered, mine! holding forth his long
skinny paw that I might pay him for the job."
The maiden listened with a look of terror. She grew pale and almost
ghastly; wiping her brow with the corner of her apron, as though in
great agitation and perplexity.
There was usually a warm and healthy blush upon her cheek, but it
waned suddenly into the dim hue of apprehension, as she replied in a
low whisper--
"Ye must not go hence; and yet"----She hesitated, and appeared as
though deeply revolving some secret source of both anxiety and alarm.
The cavalier was silent too, but the result of his deliberations was
of a nature precisely opposite to that of his fair opponent.
"Our beasts being ready, Chisenhall," said he to his companion, "we
will depart while the day holds on favourable. We may have worse
weather, and still worse quarters, should we tarry here till noontide,
as we purposed. But"--and here he looked earnestly at the maiden--"we
shall come again, I trust, when they that seek our lives be laid low."
She put one hand on his arm, speaking not aloud, but with great
earnestness--
"Go not; and your lives peradventure shall be given you for a prey.
There is a godly man hereabout, unto whom I will have recourse; and he
shall guide you in this perplexity."
"We be men having little time to spare, and less inclination--higlers
too, into the bargain," replied he, with a dubious glance toward his
friend Chisenhall, who was just despatching the last visible relics of
a repast in which he had taken a more than equal share of the duty;
"we are not careful to tarry, or to resort unto such ghostly counsel.
We would rather listen to the lips of those whose least word we covet
more than the preaching of either priest or Puritan; but the time is
now come when we must eschew even such blessed and holy"----
"There's a time for all things," said Chisenhall hastily, and as soon
as his mouth was at rest from the solid contents with which he had
been successfully, and almost uninterruptedly, occupied for the last
half-hour; wishful, also, to abate the impression which his
companion's indiscreet intimation of dislike to psalm-singers and
Puritans might have produced. "There is a time to buy and to sell, and
to get gain; a time to marry, and a time to be merry and be glad:"
here he used a sort of whining snuffle, which frustrated his attempts
at neutralising the sarcasms of his friend. "Being in haste," he
continued, "we may not profit by thy discourse; but commend ourselves
to his prayers until our return, which, God willing, we may safely
accomplish in a se'nnight at the farthest."
"If ye depart, I will not answer for your safe keeping."
"And if we stay, my pretty maiden, I am fearful we _shall_ be in safe
keeping." An ambiguous smile curled his lip, which she fully
understood. Indeed, her manner and appearance were so much superior to
her station, that no lady of the best and gentlest blood might have
comported herself more excellently before these gay, though disguised
cavaliers. There was a natural expression of dignity and high feeling
in her demeanour, as if rank and noble breeding were enclosed in so
humble a shrine, visible indeed, but still through the medium of a
homely but bewitching grace and simplicity. This, in part, might be
the consequence of an early residence at Lathom, where, in a few
years, she had risen, from a station among the lower domestics to a
confidential place about the person of the countess. Here she excited
no small share of admiration; and it was partly to avoid the fervid
advances of some vivacious gallants that she resolved on quitting so
exposed and dangerous a position; the more especially as the lowering
aspect of the times, and the uncertain termination of the coming
struggle, might have left her without a protector, and at the mercy of
the lawless ruffians who were not wanting on either side. Retiring
home without regret, she had imbibed, from the ministrations of a
zealous and conscientious advocate of the republican party, a relish
for the doctrines and self-denying exercises of the Puritans, with
whom she usually associated in their religious assemblies.
"Do ye purpose, then, for Knowsley to-day?" she inquired, after a
short silence.
"Yea; unless our present dilemma, and the obstruction thereby, turn
aside the current of our intent."
"Pray Heaven it may!" said the maiden, with great fervour; "for I do
fear me that some who are not of a godly sort are abiding there--even
they with whom righteous and well-ordered men should not consort
withal."
"Heed not. Being of them who are not righteous overmuch, we can bear
unharmed the scoffs of prelatists and self-seekers."
"There be others," replied she; but the appearance of the dame, who
had been overlooking the operations of her helpmate, interrupted the
communication. The horses, too, were at the door, led forth by a
lubberly serving-lad; and they seemed eager to depart, pawing, as
though scarcely enduring a momentary restraint. The cavalier, after
giving some order about the beasts, would have bidden farewell to the
maiden in private; but she had departed unperceived. He was evidently
chagrined, lingering long in the house, in hopes of her reappearance,
but in vain. He was forced to depart without the anticipated
interview.
Out of sight and hearing, the cavaliers began to converse more freely.
"Right fain I am," said Egerton, "of our escape from yonder house; for
I began to fear me we were known, or, at any rate, suspected by one,
if not more, of our good friends behind."
"By one fair friend, peradventure," said Chisenhall drily; "but, on
the word of a soldier, I may be known, and little care I, save that it
may be dangerous to be found in my company. In the last siege yonder,
at Lathom, I have beaten off more rogues than flies from my trencher;
and I would we had but had room and fair play at York; we would have
given your"----
"Hold; no names; remember that I am plain Master Egerton: there may be
lurkers in these tall hedges; so, both in-doors and out, I am--what
mine appearance doth betoken."
"Well, Master Egerton, good wot, though a better man than myself,
which few be now-a-days, for these strait-haired Roundheads do thin us
like coppice-trees, and leave but here and there one to shoot at. I
would the noble lord had been within his good fortress yonder, I think
it would have been too hot to handle, with cold fingers, by the host
of Old Nick, or Parliament, I care not which."
"It was partly at my suggesting that he retired to his island of Man.
There were heart-burnings and jealousies amongst the courtiers on his
account, which were but too readily given ear unto by the king."
"Grant it may not be for our hurt as well as his own. I had no notion
that these wasps would have been so soon again at the honeycomb. Could
we and our bands have made entry, we would have shown them some of the
old match-work, and given them a psalm to sing that they would not
readily have forgotten. As it is, we are just wanderers and vagabonds,
without e'er a house or a homestead to hide us in, should our friends
be driven from Knowsley, and our way be blocked up to the coast. What
is worse, too, our supplies are nigh exhausted, and our exchequer as
empty as the king's. I would we had not tarried here so long, waiting
for advices, as thou didst say, Master Egerton; but which advices, I
do verily think, were from a lady's lip; and the next tall fellow,
with a long face and a fusee, may tuck us under his sleeve, and carry
us to his quarters, like a brace of springed woodcocks."
"Fear not, Chisenhall. We will make directly for the coast, and
to-morrow, if we have luck, be under weigh for Ireland. If, as I do
trust, we get our levies thence, down with the Rump and the
Roundheads, say I, and so"----
"We are not bound for Knowsley, then?"
"No, believe me, I have a better nose than to thrust it into the trap,
after the foretokenings we have had. The knave who elbowed me i' the
graveyard, as well as the maiden yonder, warned us of some danger at
Knowsley, where, I do verily suspect, the rogues are in ambush,
waiting for us; but we will give them the slip, and away for bonny
Waterford."
The morning was yet raw and misty. A dense fog was coming on, which
every minute became more heavy and impervious to the sight. Objects
might be heard, long ere they were seen. The rime hung like a
frost-work from branch and spray, showing many a fantastic festoon,
wreathed by powers and contrivances more wonderful than those by which
our vain and presumptuous race are endowed. The little birds looked
out from their covers, and chirped merrily on, to while away the hours
till bedtime. The rooks cawed from their citadel--to venture abroad
was out of the question, lest the rogues should be surprised in some
act of depredation, and suffer damage thereby. So chill and searching
was the atmosphere that the travellers wrapped their cloaks closely
about their haunches, to defend themselves from its attacks. They were
scarcely a mile or two on their road when, passing slowly between the
high coppice on either hand, Egerton stayed his horse, listening;
whilst thus engaged, another blood-drop fell on his hand.
"There be foes behind us," said he, softly. His practised and
ever-watchful ear had detected the coming footsteps before his friend.
"'Tis a fortunate screen this same quiet mist, and so let us away to
cover." Without more ado he leaped through a gap in the fence,
followed by his companion; and they lay concealed effectually from the
view of any one who might be passing on the road. They were not so far
from the main path but that the footsteps of their pursuers could be
heard, and voices too, in loud and earnest discourse. The latter kept
their horses at a very deliberate pace, as if passing forward at some
uncertainty.
"I say again, heed it as we may, this mist will be the salvation of
our runaways. After having dogged them to such good purpose from
Lathom, it will be a sorry deed should they escape under this unlucky
envelope."
"Tush, faint heart--thinkest thou these enemies of the faith shall
triumph, and our own devices come to nought? Nay, verily, for the
wicked are as stubble, and the ungodly as they whom the fire
devoureth."
"But I would rather have a brisk wind than all thy vapours, thy
quiddities, and quotations. Yet am I glad they have not ta'en the turn
to Knowsley."
"Which way soever they turn, either to the right hand or to the left,
we have them in the net, and snares and pitfalls shall devour them."
The remainder of this comfortable assurance was inaudible, and the
cavaliers congratulated themselves on their providential escape.
"How stand ye for Knowsley now, Sir Captain?" said Chisenhall.
"Why, of a surety, friend, there be many reasons why we may pray for a
safe passport from this unhappy land; but it seemeth as though our
purposes were to be for ever crossed. Towards Knowsley, now, it doth
appear that we must proceed, our haven and hiding-place; these rogues
having got wind that we did not intend to pass by thither, we must
countermine the enemy, or rather double upon their route."
"But how shall we be enabled to proceed?"
"Forward to the right," said Egerton, "and we shall be sure to hit our
mark, if I mistake not the bearing. 'Tis, I believe, scarcely two
miles hence; and under this friendly cover we cannot be observed,
though we should mistake our way."
Changing their course, they now attempted, at all hazards, a running
chase along and across hedges and enclosures, in the supposed
direction of their retreat. After a somewhat perilous journey for at
least an hour in this thick mist, without discovering any object by
which they could ascertain their relative situation, Chisenhall at
length espied something like a dark square tower before them.
"Plague, pestilence, and all the saints! why if yonder be not that
same old ugly grim tower dodging us!" He rubbed his eyes, hardly
satisfied that his morning indulgences were ended.
"We are fairly on our way for the grave again, sure enough," said
Egerton; "or it may be as thou sayest, the graveyard itself is
following us." He tried to rally into a smile, but was unable to
disport himself in this wise, and it became needful that some way
should be hit upon for their extrication, and that speedily. Occupied
in earnest discourse, they were not aware of the presence of a third
person until a thin squeaking voice accosted them from behind.
"Back again so soon?--wi' the de'il at your crupper too!"
"Foul fa' thee, thou screech-owl," said Egerton, starting back at that
ill-omened sound; "we shall ne'er be rid o' this pestilence!" He
attempted to spring aside from the object of his abhorrence; but in a
moment his horse was holden by the bridle with almost more than human
strength; and the malicious creature set up an exulting and triumphant
laugh that was anything but agreeable in their present evil condition.
"Let go--or, by thy master's hoofs, I will send thee to him in the
twinkling of a trigger!" said Egerton, drawing forth his pistol.
"Hoo, hoo!" shouted his tormentor, mocking and making faces, with an
expression of fiendish delight--"thee 'ill be first though, nunky."
Egerton pointed the weapon; but his horse, goaded in all probability
by the strange being beside him, made a sudden spring, and, as
ill-luck would have it, stumbled and fell, both horse and rider
sprawling in the dust. The cause of this foul accident scampered off
with great activity: Chisenhall dismounted, extricating his friend
from the trappings. He was bleeding profusely from the nostrils, and
appeared insensible. Judging it the wisest plan, though at the risk of
their captivity, to procure help, he galloped away to the tavern for
assistance.
Much to the surprise of the family was Chisenhall's reappearance, but
no time was lost in useless explanations; the host and his daughter
immediately proceeded to the spot, with means and appliances for
Egerton's removal and recovery; but to their astonishment and dismay
the body was removed. His horse was grazing quietly on the herbage,
yet there was no trace of Egerton's disappearance. Chisenhall was
almost beside himself with distress and consternation; but Marian,
though much concerned, seemed to possess some clue to this enigma.
"Steenie, thou sayest, was the cause of this untoward disaster?"
"Ay; that cursed fiend. I wish all his"----
"Nay, nay, friend, thou speakest like to the foolish ones, vain and
impious men, whose mouths are full of cursing and bitterness. We had
best return; I will think on this matter, and ere the morrow we may
have tidings of thy friend; but"----Here she looked significantly
aside as she spoke, but not in her father's hearing. "Keep snug here
in thy quarters, friend; for since ye left there came divers of the
people to inquire, and as He would have it, from me only. Ye be sons
of Belial, they said, and cavaliers withal. But ye have eaten and
drunken in our dwelling, and though red with the blood of the saints,
I cannot deliver you into the hand of your pursuers."
Chisenhall reluctantly complied, having no other resource, and judging
it best not to stir abroad, as it might be compromising the safety of
both parties, without leading to any beneficial result.
The horses were unharnessed and turned out to graze, whilst Chisenhall
was disposed of in an upper chamber above one of the outhouses. His
anxiety for his friend allowed him but little rest, and often he was
on the point of issuing forth in quest of intelligence; but happily
prudence prevented him from sacrificing his own and another's life to
a vain and fruitless impatience.
During Chisenhall's concealment Marian was by no means in the same
state of idleness and inactivity. She threw on her hood and kerchief;
and a clean white apron, girt about her waist, fully displayed the
symmetry of her form. Her cloak was adjusted but with little regard to
outward show; and an hour was scarcely past ere she sallied forth, as
she was often wont, to the dwelling of Gilgal Snape, a person of great
note as a preacher and leader of the faithful in these parts. He was,
in truth, a worthy and zealous man, sincerely devoted to the cause he
espoused, and the service of his Maker--one widely distinguished from
the hypocrites and fanatics of that turbulent era, which, like our
own, produced, though in a more exaggerated form, from the stimulus
then abroad, the same rank and noxious weeds of hypocrisy and
superstition; for man, like a mathematical problem, circumstances and
conditions being the same, brings out, invariably, the same results.
No form of worship, however ludicrous or revolting, but hath its
advocates and supporters; and there is nothing which the proud mind
and unsubdued heart of man will not put forth, when that heart is made
the hot-bed of unholy and unsanctified feelings--all monstrous and
polluted things ripening, even beneath the warm and blessed sun that
revives and beautifies all else by its splendour.
Gilgal had, however, his figments and his fancies, inseparable
perchance from the times and dispositions by which they were
engendered. When men, awaking as from a dream, shaking off the deep
slumber of bigotry, but not intolerance, through the medium of their
yet unpractised sense saw "men as trees walking," regarding trivial
and unimportant objects as paramount and essential, while others,
whose nature was vital and supreme, were hardly discerned, or at best
but slightly noticed or understood;--when minds long tinctured by
superstition brought the whole of their previous habits and instincts
to bear upon the newly-awakened energies that were heaving and
convulsing the moral fabric of society, and the ground of preconceived
notions and opinions on which they stood, they could hardly be
persuaded that the kingdom of heaven "cometh not by observation;" that
special miracles, and visible manifestations of divine favour, were
not again to be vouchsafed to the "elect;" and that their faith and
prayers were not sufficient to remove mountains, and to conquer and
subdue every obstacle. There was more pride in these expectations than
they were willing to allow, or even to suspect; and in many it was
the very pride and "naughtiness of their hearts;" whilst in others it
was but the operation of remaining ignorance, unsubdued lusts, and
unsanctified affections.
Gilgal was famous in his day for dealing with "spiritual wickedness in
high places." The "prince of the power of the air" was subject unto
him. In other words, it was said of him that he had cast out devils
and healed the possessed. When others failed, Gilgal had wrestled and
prevailed. One of the first-fruits of this outpouring of his soul was
"Steenie Ellison," who, from his childhood, was subject to periodical
and violent affections of the body--contortions that gave him, in the
eyes of many, an appearance of one possessed. Stephen had a
considerable share of cunning, a sort of knavish sagacity and ready
impertinence, peculiar to most of his kind. He was an orphan, early
left to the care of chance or charity, and being a follower of
bell-ringers, grave-diggers, and the like, assumed a sort of
semi-official attitude at all funerals, weddings, and merry-makings in
the neighbourhood. He was generally suspected of holding intercourse
with the powers of evil, and when suffering from disease, the unclean
spirit whom he had offended was supposed to be afflicting him, having
entered into his body to buffet and torment him for his contumacy and
disobedience. So partial was he to the art and occupation of
grave-making, that he was observed at times to hew out a habitation
for the dead ere a tenant was provided. It was always remarked,
nevertheless, that the narrow house failed not ere long to receive an
inhabitant; and this apprehension considerably heightened the terror
with which he was regarded, and rendered him celebrated throughout the
country by the name of "the live man's sexton."
But the worthy minister being much moved with compassion towards this
child of Satan, his bowels yearned for him, that he might cast out the
unclean spirit, and deliver him from his spiritual bondage. He
accordingly girded himself to the work, and a great name did he get
throughout the land by this mighty achievement, for the possessed
became docile as a little child before him, and was subsequently a
sort of erratic follower of the party unto which Gilgal was allied;
but he would at times forsake the assemblies of the faithful, when, it
is said, the dark spirit of divination again came over him, and he
would wander among the tombs, showing symptoms of a disordered
intellect, though not of the same violent character as before.
Towards the dwelling of Gilgal Snape did Marian direct her steps; it
was but a short mile from her own. Often had she been a visitant to
the house, where she imbibed the doctrines and instructions of this
sincere and zealous confessor of the faith. She frequently mingled in
the devotions that were there offered up; but her piety was of a more
moderate and amiable cast--less violent and ascetic, not unmixed with
love and pity for her enemies and the persecutors of the truth.
Her object in this visit was not so much to partake of the crumbs from
the good man's spiritual banquet, as to gain some intelligence through
him respecting Egerton's disappearance. She recognised the individuals
who were in pursuit of him to be scouts from the republican leaders,
with whom the divine was in constant communication. Of the real rank
of Egerton she was still ignorant; but she more than suspected his
disguise, and scarcely hesitated to conclude, from the anxiety shown
for his apprehension, that he was of no little importance in the
estimation of his opponents.