However graceful the Frenchman might be on foot, and no one denied his
elegance of bearing, he was but an amateur on horseback, and when his
steed unexpectedly plunged forward he relinquished the reins and grasped
the mane. For one brief moment the attention of the troop was diverted
toward the unexplained antics of the maddened horse and the imminent
overthrow of its rider. It is one of the defects of human nature that
man is prone to laugh when he sees a fellow creature in some predicament
from which his own superior skill leaves him free. Every man in the
company was a faultless rider, and nothing their horses could do would
have been any embarrassment to them. To see this dandified foreigner,
whom at heart they despised in any case, crouching like a gaudily
dressed monkey on a frolicsome dog, and screaming for help, was too much
for even the saddest of them, and a roar of laughter went up which did
nothing toward quieting the injured and frightened quadruped. If it had
been the horse of Armstrong that had begun these dancings, his guards
would have been instantly on the alert for an attempted escape, but at
the very moment their eyes should have been on the Scot their attention
was withdrawn. Armstrong did not laugh, but, thrusting back his knife,
whipped out his sword, and struck De Courcy’s horse twice with the broad
of it. His own steed leaped forward under the prick of the spur, and
before the colonel could give a word of command the two had disappeared
in the fog ahead. Even then the colonel, who was the only man that had
his wits about him, did not think there was the least chance of escape,
for he had heard the troop coming toward him, and Armstrong must run
directly into it. He rose in his stirrups to give the alarm to those
ahead, when all heard a ringing shout: “Charge, cavaliers! God save the
King! To hell with the Roundheads! Charge!”
Out of the fog came a spattering fire, then a volley. Two horses and
three men went down, while the other troopers hastily unslung their
carbines and fired down the street without waiting for the word of
command.
“Stop, you fools!” yelled the colonel, “you are shooting your own men.”
Then to the oncomers he roared a like warning, which was drowned in
another volley. The Lichfield men were not to be taken in, even if they
had heard the warning. With their own eyes they had seen two cavaliers
burst upon them out of the fog with a strident cry for the King. De
Courcy, coming first, they concentrated upon him, and he went down
before them. Armstrong, swinging his sword, smiting right and left,
bellowing like a fiend in true cavalier style, a very Prince Rupert
come again, dashed at the weakest spot, and his impetuosity carried all
before him.
“Never mind him,” cried the leader, as some would have pursued. “Fire,
and break their charge,” and fire they did right stoutly, until a
maddened officer, with a bravery that scorned the bullets around him,
galloped along their front, waving his sword and commanding them to
stop.
“You are killing your own men! There are no Royalists, but an
interfering fool of a Frenchman and an escaped Scot. Back to Lichfield!”
Nevertheless, a battle is not quelled at a word, and the brave colonel
pressed through among them and galloped in pursuit of his late prisoner.
Once clear of the clash, Armstrong was not sparing of a horse that
belonged to someone else. At great risk to his neck he raced through the
blind fog, sword in hand, ready for further opposition should he meet
it. He emerged from the fog with a suddenness that startled him. The sun
had set, and there, barely a mile away, stood out against the darkening
sky the great red bulk of the cathedral with its war-broken towers, and
the little town huddled at its feet. At the same moment he became aware
that some one was thundering after him, and again he dug the cruel spurs
into the labouring horse. A glance over his shoulder showed him the
colonel breaking through the bank of fog, and he thought of turning and
fighting him on the run, but the sound of firing had ceased, and he knew
the colonel would prove a stouter combatant than the Frenchman, so he
hurried on. Aside from this, Lichfield had been roused by the sound of
the guns, and he saw the long narrow street that lay between him and the
cathedral becoming alive with pikemen, and knew he would have his work
cut out for him if he was to get safely through the town. As soon as he
came within earshot he shouted to them: “Barricade the street! The King
is upon us. I have just escaped. Our men are on the retreat. Defend
the town to the south. Barricade! Barricade!” Thus he clattered through
Lichfield, shouting.
Soldiers are so accustomed to the word of command that they obey first
and think after, if at all. Seeing a rider in the costume of a cavalier
come tearing down upon them, they made hasty preparation for stopping
him; but his tone of authority was so well assumed that they gave
way before him, and began the running out of carts and whatever other
obstructions they could lay their hands upon, to make the way difficult
for the oncoming colonel, who swore as loudly at their stupidity as if
he were the King’s own.
“What are you about, you accursed clodhoppers? Don’t you know a
King’s man when you see one? Leave that rubbish and follow me to the
cathedral.”
Armstrong’s horse, nearly done, staggered over the bridge and up the
slight incline that led to the cathedral precincts. Across the grounds
surrounding the church had been raised a great earthwork, and the
battered west front of the sacred building showed that war had been no
respecter of sculptured beauty. A lone pikeman paced up and down before
the cathedral door, but paused as he saw this impetuous rider, whose
horse had stumbled and fallen at the top of the rubbish heap.
“What do you there?” shouted Armstrong, springing nimbly from his fallen
horse. “Did n’t you hear the firing? Down to the street and help your
comrades; the town is attacked! Run!”
“I was told to stand here,” objected the bewildered guard.
“Run, confound you! Do you question the word of an officer?”
The man, trailing his pike, ran, and disappeared down the street.
“Frances, Frances, are you within? Open the small door; it is I,
Armstrong.”
“Yes, yes, I knew you would come,” he heard her say, and then followed
the welcome rattle of the bolts. But they must be speedily drawn if they
were to clear the way for a man hard pressed. Over the barricade surged
a wave of pikemen, twoscore or more, the mounted colonel behind them,
urging them on with pungent oaths.
“Sanctuary! Sanctuary!” shouted Armstrong, raising his sword aloft,
standing under the arched doorway, steadfast as one of the stone knights
beside him.
“Sanctuary be damned!” cried the colonel, urging his horse up the
embankment. “Down on him, you dogs, and take him dead or alive!”
In spite of the cursing of the colonel; in spite of the battered
condition of the great church; in spite of the deadening influence of
the war, the cry of “Sanctuary” struck home to many of the hearts there
opposed to the fugitive, and the pike-topped crest of the human wave
paused for one brief instant, yet it was enough. Before the wave broke
and fell, the small door gave and swung inward. As the pikes rattled
against it, Armstrong had the bars and bolts in their places again.
“Break down that door!” he heard the colonel roar outside, while the
impetuous William clasped the girl in his arms and kissed her.
“Lord, lassie, I’m glad to meet you again, although it’s just dark
enough in this place for the seeing of any one.”
The young woman shook herself free.
“We wasted too much time at that before. Let it be a lesson to us. This
place is a stable. Our horses are well fed, and the saddles are still on
them.”
“But is there a way out?”
“Yes, a small door in the northeast corner. Come.”
“It will be guarded, surely.”
“No. I think they wanted me to escape, for they went out that way after
barring the front door. But they did n’t think you would be with me
when I took my leave. Come quickly, or they will be round to it from the
front.”
“I doubt it. The colonel is a Birmingham man and a powerful swearer, who
knows nothing of this church--or any other, I think. The men will not
remember the back door until it is too late, and then I pity them; they
will hear language from the colonel.”
The two made their way to the farther end of the cathedral, where the
horses were stalled. The vast nave was dark and would soon be black as
a cellar until the moon rose. It was used as a military storehouse, as a
stable, and as a dormitory for troops when the accommodation in the town
was overtaxed. As Armstrong and his companion stumbled over obstructions
toward the horses, the spacious chamber rang with the impact of timber
against the stubborn doors. Frances, knowing the geography of the
place, led the way with her horse, and Armstrong followed with his. Once
outside, there was more light than he wished for, but their way to the
rear was clear, and, mounting, he took the lead, crossing an alpine
ridge which had done duty during the siege, and taking a somewhat
terrifying leap down to the greensward of the field at the back of the
cathedral. Then they ran north through a slight valley, and, for the
moment, were safe from observation.
“The moon will be up soon,” said the young man, “and I do n’t know
whether to welcome it or fear it.”
“We shall do neither, as we have no influence one way or another, and
must bear its disadvantages or the reverse, as chance wills. Now tell me
what happened. How did you escape?”
The tale was soon told, half humorously, as if it were an escapade
rather than an escape, and the narrator wound up with a determination to
avoid the main road in future.
“There I do not agree with you,” she said. “I have been alone in that
cathedral some three hours or more, and have had time to think. You said
we blundered into the ambuscade, and so we did. You have hewn your way
out by a marvellous combination of luck and prowess, but such exploits
are not to be depended upon. You must use your mind, as well as your
right arm and the swiftness of your horse, if you are to win Scotland.”
“Frances, you discourage me: I looked upon my escape rather as a triumph
of wit than of muscle. The setting of the Roundheads at each other’s
throats in the mist seemed an inspiration, and the cry of ‘Sanctuary’
gave me just the moment of time that was needed. Your estimate of me is
that of the Reverend Henderson of Edinburgh, who held I had barely sense
enough to direct a stout blow.”
“No, no, I give you full credit for great ingenuity, but we stumbled
upon, the Parliamentarians with no plans made. Everything has been
done on the spur of the moment, and has not been thought out before
the crisis came. A few chance remarks got us clear at Warwick; while
inspiration and a fog were your safety at Lichfield, and even then by
one brief instant of time. The recurrence of such strokes of luck and
good management are not to be looked for. Some time the moment needed
will go against us, and then all is lost.”
“True enough. What do you propose?”
“I propose we take to the main road again, which must be near at hand on
our left.”
“You forget we have no pass from Cromwell now. The lieutenant has it.”
“You will have a pass for yourself the moment you are north of
Manchester, which cannot be more than fifty miles away. We must get
over those miles as speedily as possible; therefore the main road is our
route.”
“Yes, if it were practicable; surely danger lies thick along the main
road.”
“I do not think so. While in the cathedral I heard troop after troop of
men going northward. They will carry the news of your capture, but not
of your escape. Until they beat in the door of the cathedral and search
the place thoroughly, no messenger will be sent North. We are ahead of
them once more, with the news of your capture travelling in front of us.
We will keep ahead so long as we ride fast and until we stop somewhere
for the night; then they having relays of horses, while we have only
our own, will pass us. We cannot ride all night, or we shall kill our
horses; but We can cover a good deal of the ground between here and
Manchester. Once north of Manchester I think you are fairly safe. So
I propose we ride now for the main road, and keep going as long as our
horses are able to travel.”
“Agreed; but, following your own instructions, what are we to say when
we are stopped? We have no pass, so how am I to account for myself?”
“You are a Roundhead soldier, sent on to Manchester by the colonel at
Lichfield.”
“I look like a Roundhead soldier!” cried William, with a laugh.
“You will. It is always well to have some one in a travelling party who
can think. Have you not noticed the load you carry behind your saddle?”
Armstrong turned. The rising moon displayed a steel cap that looked like
an overturned pot and a bundle of cloth, all neatly strapped on.
“The cathedral is a storehouse for uniforms and accoutrements enough to
fit out a regiment. I selected the largest suit I could find, with cloak
and cap, and belted them to your saddle. Now I shall hold your horse
while you go into the thicket and change your raiment. Conceal your
cavalier costume as well as you can, so that, if they trace us over
this fog-sodden turf, which is likely, they will get no hint of your
new appearance. It might be well to climb a tree and tie your discarded
shell among the leaves, with the straps that bind the bundle to your
horse, and be careful to leave neither the King’s message nor your purse
with your finery.”
It was a happy omen for future domestic peace that the huge man did at
once and without question what the comparatively fragile young woman
bade him, she holding his horse while he made the rapid change. When he
emerged, the horse plunged, and she had some ado to hold him until he
heard his master’s voice and laugh.
“Yea, verily, this is a transformation indeed,” cried Armstrong, looking
at himself in the moonlight. “My name is Hezekiah, and the steel cap is
a thought on the small side, but the rest o’ the duds are not so bad.”
“The cap was the largest I could find,” laughed the girl, “and will fit
closely enough when your locks are shorn.”
“Oh. Must I sacrifice this vanity of Absalom as well?”
“Surely. If I am to be your Delilah, I must fulfill my duty. I searched
the whole cathedral for that which would do the work of shears, but
could find nothing. However, the first cottage we come to will supply us
with a suitable instrument. Now mount, and let us away.”
They speedily came upon the main road, and cantered on through the
beautiful night, determined to put fifty miles, or thereabout, between
themselves and Lichfield, but before they had accomplished half that
distance Armstrong saw that the girl was completely exhausted in spite
of her disclaimers, for, aside from the tiresome day’s travel, she had
had little sleep the night before. It was most tempting to push on, for
the night was perfect and the road was good. Even though they passed
through several villages they were not questioned. Soldiers in drab
cloaks and steel caps were too common on the road to cause comment, and
they were, as yet, in advance of any news of escape.
At last they came to a farmhouse near the roadside, and Armstrong beat
up the inmates, bringing a woman’s head to an opened window. At first
she would admit no one at that hour of the night, but the moon shining
on the steel cap and the long cloak apparently gave her confidence. Her
husband was in the south with Cromwell, she said. She could make a
place in the house for the lady, but the soldier would find better
accommodation than he was accustomed to in an outhouse. With this
Armstrong expressed himself as amply satisfied. They dismounted, and he
led away the horses. He found a place for them in a shed, examined them,
and rubbed them down with care. Having satisfied himself that they were
none the worse for their long journey, he attended to their wants and
flung down some bundles of straw for his own night’s lodging. He began
to think he must go supperless, or run the risk of foraging in an
unknown pantry, if he could find entrance, when he saw Frances approach
from the house with a loaf of bread and a lump of cheese on a trencher,
and a measure of ale. He met her half way and relieved her of the load.
Under her arm she carried some cumbrous weapon, which she brought out
when he assumed the burden of the provender.
“It is a pair of sheep-shears, which the woman tells me is all she has,
but I assured her they were most suitable for my purpose. Now sit on
this stone here in the moonlight and be shorn; for we must set out in
the daylight without those long locks of yours. You look too much like
the King, even with your cloak and steel cap.”
The girl laughed softly as she said this, and snapped the big shears
menacingly. He sat on the stone like the obedient young man he was,
shook out his lion’s mane, and in a few moments was bereft of it. The
girl stood back and surveyed her work, laughing, but nevertheless with a
tinge of regret in her laughter.
“Oh, it’s a pity!” she cried. “All the King’s horses and all the King’s
men are not worth the sacrifice. I hope it will grow again, for, if not,
the Philistines be upon thee, Samson. Your dearest friend would n ‘t
know you now.”
Armstrong smiled ruefully and passed his hand in anxious doubt over his
cropped head.
“I suppose it will grow again, unless my dearest friend refuses to
acknowledge me with this curtailment, when I shall become bald through
grief at her defection.”
“I make no promises, if you mean me. I shall very likely reconsider. You
are never the man who cast a glamour over me at Oxford and elsewhere. I
fear I am no true Parliamentarian after all, but I shall not come to
a decision until I see you in the daylight. Perhaps the cap will be an
improvement, but I doubt it.”
He squeezed on the cap, which was still too small.
“By the bones of my ancestors, it will need Peter, the blacksmith of
Gilnockie, to get this off again!”
“That is worse and worse,” urged his tormentor. “I cannot bear the sight
any longer, or it will drive sleep away from me. Good night, my poor,
shorn Samson,”--and she was off before he could spring up and intercept
her.