Great is the recuperative power of youth, and shortly after sunrise the
two were on the road again, refreshed and with high courage, to face
the outcome of another long ride. They had travelled farther than their
estimate of the night before, and so found themselves but little more
than twenty miles south of Manchester. In the night the weather had
undergone another change, and the sun was hidden, while now and then a
scurry of rain passed over them. To the North the outlook was black and
lowering. They were approaching the land of storm.
“I have made up my mind,” said Frances, “that we must part. No, it is
not on account of that cropped head of yours, but rather to save it.”
“I have been thinking myself that it is wrong you should share my
danger, when there is nothing to hinder you from going across country to
your own home.”
“I shall not go across my country until I have seen you safely into your
own. But, as you know, the swearing colonel and his men are not looking
for me. Perhaps they think I took the opportunity left open to get
away from the cathedral; but on the other hand, if wise, they must have
looked for our horses’ tracks, and then they learned we left Lichfield
together. I propose to act as your scout. I shall ride a mile or two
ahead, and if I am stopped, you will strike to the right or to the left,
and avoid the danger if you can. On every elevation I reach I will stand
for a few moments. If my horse faces west, the way between us is safe;
if he faces east, there is danger.”
“Frances, I would rather run the risk and have your company.”
“I am sure you would, but”--and she laughed--“now that you are clipped,
you are the one who is beautiful, and I the one who is wise. It is
really to your advantage that I should see as little of my Roundhead
lover as possible, and you would be foolish to detain me, for I cannot
help glancing at you now and then, and whenever I do, I sigh for the
cavalier who wooed me yesterday. Women are not so changeable as they
say, and I am constant to my first adorer.”
To this William made no reply, gazing somewhat gloomily at the storm
away on the horizon.
“There, there,” she cried, riding alongside and touching his hand. “I
have offended his vanity, and he doesn’t like to be laughed at. Poor
boy, you little know what is in store for you. Don’t you understand you
will have enough of my company in the days to come, and may well spare
some of it now? I shall not disown my promise if you remind me of it
when your love-locks are over your shoulders again. But, seriously, my
plan is a good one unless you have a better to propose. We must quit
the main road now, and avoid Manchester as we avoided Birmingham, but we
should have a care that we do not ride into another ambuscade, and if I
go first that may be prevented.”
“When I see you interfered with, I will just gallop to your assistance.”
“You shall do nothing so foolish. No one in England is going to injure
me; but you are not safe until you are over the Scottish line. We shall
be north of Manchester in three or four hours, and then you have your
own pass. You are really a most creditable Roundhead. After Manchester
we can travel in company again, if you wish. Have you anything better to
propose?”
“Yes. I propose we stay together and take our chances.”
“Good bye,” she cried gaily, touching up her horse, then, over her
shoulder as she galloped off, “Remember. West, safety; east, danger.”
Armstrong had not only to curb his own inclination, but his horse as
well, who viewed with evident disapproval the departure of his mate. At
the summit of the first hill the girl turned her horse across the road
facing west, waved her hand to him, and disappeared over the crest. And
thus the journey went on; sometimes two miles between them, sometimes
less. Manchester was seen and left in the rear. He now tried to catch
up with her, but she kept valorously ahead, as if she were some fabled
siren luring the poor man on. For a time he lost sight of her, then,
as he mounted a hill, saw her standing on a crest a mile away, like an
equestrian statue against an inky sky; but this time her horse faced
the east, and he thought she was motioning with her handkerchief in that
direction. She stood there until he sent his horse over the hedge and
made in the direction of a forest, then the darkness seemed to swallow
her up. He skirted the edge of the wood. Rain was now coming down
heavily, but before it blotted out the landscape he passed the head of
a valley and saw dimly through the downpour a large encampment of white
tents. A man in drab on a black charger stood little chance of being
seen against the dark forest from the encampment, but he moved on as
rapidly as he could, knowing that if a lull came in the deluge he ran
great risk of detection by the outposts. Some distance on he stood for
a time under the trees, blessing the long cloak, which formerly he
had maligned for its ugliness, for now it proved of good material and
waterproof. The girl had evidently gone directly down into the camp,
and he was at a loss what to do. Duty called him to press forward to the
North, but duty is often an ill-favoured jade whose strident voice is
outdistanced by the soft whisper of a beautiful woman. Armstrong dared
not shout, and the deluge formed an impenetrable curtain whichever way
he turned. He skirted the wood for some time, then crossed the fields
to the west until he came to the road which trended North from the camp.
Here he stood in the rain, and wondered whether she was detained, or
whether she had already passed the spot he now occupied. They had made
no arrangement for meeting again in case they should lose sight of each
other, and he blamed himself for his negligence on this important
point. One thing was certain. It was useless to stand here until he was
dissolved. Even his stout-hearted horse had assumed an attitude of the
utmost dejection, with drooping head, the water pouring off every part
of him. Should the weather clear, which he was compelled to confess
there seemed little likelihood of it doing, he was in danger so near the
camp. He resolved to turn North, go on until he reached some place of
shelter, and there wait. Progress was slow, for the lane had become a
quagmire. The forest which he had skirted extended now to the west, and
the road became a woodland track, but just where it began to penetrate
into the wilderness there shone upon him a ray of hope. From an
overhanging branch of the first tree hung a limp and dripping white rag,
tied by one on horseback in such a position that it might brush the
face of a rider passing that way. He took it down, and it proved to be
a lady’s handkerchief. If he had followed the edge of the wood, he could
hardly have missed it; if he came along the lane he was almost certain
to see it. He thrust this token under his cloak and chirruped to his
discouraged horse. When something like a mile had been cast behind him,
his horse neighed, and was answered by another further ahead. Then he
came to a forester’s hut, and in an open shed, sheltered from the
storm, stood the companion of Bruce, who showed lively pleasure at the
encounter.
Inside the hut a cheerful sight met his eyes. A fire of faggots blazed
on the hearth, and before it stood a radiant young woman, arranging the
brands to their better burning with the tip of her boot. On a high stool
was spread her steaming cloak. In a far corner sat the old forester and
his wife, frowning on their visitor and their newly arrived guest; for
strangers were viewed with universal suspicion by high and low, little
good ever coming of them in the minds of the peasantry, while the chance
of danger was always present; danger whether hospitality was proffered
or withheld. There was more likelihood of entertaining devils unaware
than angels, and well the afflicted poor knew it.
However, less risk lay in succoring a steel cap than a feathered hat, so
the moment the dripping horseman shoved in the door, the old woman rose
and began to set out a meal of dark bread and swine’s flesh, boiled and
cold.
“Ah, here you are at last,” cried the girl. “I was beginning to fear I
should have to go back to the camp for you. Did you find my token?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
“Not so. Findings are keepings. You cannot prove your right to the
property.”
“Alas, honest travellers are few, as these good people seem to think.
Throw off your cloak. Here is a wooden hook by the fire that I have kept
for it. Draw up your stool and eat. I was so hungry that I didn’t wait.
You see what it is to possess a good conscience once more.”
“I possess a good appetite any way.”
“Then sit down, and I shall be your waiting-maid.”
“What news have you?”
“Hush! Great news, for I am the very princess of scouts. One thing at a
time, however, and the one thing now is this black bread, which is like
the old woman here, better than it looks. We can get nothing for our
horses at this place, so must set out again as soon as possible, in
spite of the rain.”
When he had finished his meal and stood again with her before the fire,
she whispered to him: “You must not pay these people too lavishly. They
are somewhat near the camp, and although they do not seem over talkative
it is better to run no risks. Bargain with them; be as a very Jew in
computation.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll be a very Scot, and so save money.”
Once on the road again, she gave him her budget of news.
“You are a hero, William Armstrong. England is ringing with your
exploits, and I never dreamed with what a valorous knight of old I
travelled. It seems you stormed Warwick Castle and took it. You passed
unseen through cordons of troops, and it is suspected you have dealings
with the Devil, who travels beside you in the guise of a female, as
is right and proper, and who appears and disappears at her will.
Single-handed, you scattered two armies at Lichfield----”
“Oh, give the Devil her due!”
“With her aid, of course; that is always understood. You attacked
Lichfield cathedral and captured it, and there is much disapproval among
the peasantry that Cromwell had formerly dismantled it, for they think
that if this had not been done the holy belongings of the place would
have baffled you. The cathedral now reeks of sulphur, and you escaped
in a whirl of flame amid a storm of bullets. They know that nothing
will prevail against you but a silver pellet, and even that must be well
aimed. So I am not sure but I have been mistaken in disguising you, for
if any Cavalier shows himself in the North, the inhabitants are like to
take him for Satan and fly from him.”
“Then they are not good Christians, for they are told to resist the
Devil and he will flee from them. You think, then, that my fiendish
character will protect me?”
“Not so; but you have nothing to fear between here and Carlisle. I
thought you said De Courcy had been killed?”
“He went down, and I supposed him shot, but was in too much of a hurry
to inquire.”
“He and others rode to the North last night, and they are now between us
and Carlisle.”
“He has as many lives as a cat. If that is the case, why do you say the
road to Carlisle is clear?”
“Because from Carlisle to Newcastle, right across England, the cordon
is to be stretched, and from Carlisle west to the coast. Before we can
reach there; a line of men, almost within touching distance of each
other, will extend from sea to sea, and all traffic North will be
stopped. A thousand pounds is on your head, and Cromwell thinks to stay
you, not with silver, but with gold. The General himself is on his way
North, to see that you are trapped, or to be ready for any outbreak of
the Scots should you win through.”
“I fear I have been unable to convince Oliver that I am the devil,
since he takes such excellent human means of frustrating me. A thousand
pounds! And yet you held that first day I was of slight value!”
“I have confessed my error since. The camp I visited is breaking up
to-day, and moving on to Carlisle. Twenty-three thousand men, I was
told, but, being mostly foot, there is no chance of their overtaking
us.”
“Well, the North looks black with more than rain, though goodness knows
there is enough of that. I wish I were in Glasgow.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“You are the plan-maker of this foray. What do _you_ propose to do, or
have you thought of that yet?”
“I have not only thought of it, but have received instructions on it. I
have heard the officers discuss what should be done, but I want to hear
your conclusions first.”
“Very well. The line runs from the west coast to Newcastle. At Newcastle
I am more than forty miles from Scotland at the nearest point, while at
Carlisle I am less than ten. Every step east I go, I am placing myself
more and more at a disadvantage, yet I might go east simply because of
this, and because they know that I know that they know I am on the road
to Carlisle. Having fallen into one ambush, they will imagine me on the
constant outlook for another. Going free for so long, they might even
count on my increasing carelessness, but shrewd men would not lippen to
that Knowing I am singlehanded and can make no stand, they will expect
me to creep through at night, either east or west of Carlisle, and as
near as may be to that place, trusting to the short distance and
the fleetness of my horse in a race for the Scottish Border. I am a
hillsman, accustomed to threading my way through a wild country, with
a keen eye for an enemy. I have avoided all the big towns, Birmingham,
Manchester, and the like, so they will not expect me to risk either
Newcastle or Carlisle. Night will be the time when they are greatly on
the alert, especially if this storm continues. Very well again. Who am
I, if questioned? I am a trooper of Cromwell’s own horse, sent North
from Warwick, having seen this escaped devil of a Scot, and therefore
the more likely to identify him. I have become detached from my company
in the storm. I will ride into Carlisle in broad daylight, and ask where
the Warwick horse are to be found. They were ordered to Carlisle, I
shall say. I shall not avoid the commander, but will seek for him. Then,
if I can saunter over the bridge, it’s ‘Hoorah for Scotland,’ and may
the best hoofs win.”
“Good,” cried the girl, “and well reasoned. They all agreed that
Carlisle was the weakest link in the chain.”
“Did they so? Then that makes me hesitate. If those in Carlisle think it
the weakest link, they will strengthen it.”
“The officer’s plan was not so bold as yours. Of course they did not
know you were travelling in the likeness of one of themselves. They
thought you would abandon your horse before you came to Carlisle, creep
into that town after dark, avoid the bridge, which is sure to be well
guarded, swim the Eden, and be across the Scottish border by daylight.
There are two defects in your own proposal; your accent is not that of
Warwickshire, and De Courcy is sure to be in Carlisle and may recognize
you. Besides this, you may meet some one who knows the Warwick
regiments, and you are not even acquainted with the name of the captain
of your supposed company. I think the night attempt more like to
prosper.”
“In the night every one is on the alert, and a Roundhead cannot be
distinguished from a cavalier, so there is closer scrutiny. I can enact
the stupid trooper to perfection, having natural gifts toward stupidity.
There is a risk, of course, but this is a risky journey at best. If I
once get over the bridge at Carlisle, I’ll beat all England in a race
for the Border.”
“I hope you will. I said I would see you across into Scotland, but I am
convinced that purpose is futile, and I shall prove but a danger to you.
A Warwick trooper on duty does not wander over the country a-squiring
of dames. I have given you good advice and a Roundhead’s equipment, and
have acted as your scout, so I must not imperil your mission by hanging
to the skirt of that sopping cloak. To-night we shall likely reach
Yorkshire, and to-morrow I bid you God speed and make across the county
to my own home.”
“Indeed, lass, I have come so to depend on you, I shall be but a lost
sheep, shorn at that, if you leave me.”
“The wind is tempered to all such, and if you depend on your own wit you
are likely to prosper. But you should have some care for me. It is my
own safety I am thinking of.”
Although the day was far from being one that incited toward hilarity,
Armstrong laughed, and turned his dripping face up to the storm. The
girl joined him, but with less of merriment in her tones.
“You will never persuade me,” he said, “that there is a tinge of
selfishness about you, or that you ever think of yourself when there is
a friend to think of.”
“There is worse to come,” she went on. “I must beg of you to sacrifice
that moustache. You will never get through Carlisle with that on your
lip. Anyone who has ever seen you before would recognize you now, in
spite of cloak and cap.”
“Madam, you ask too much. The kingdom of England may fall, but this
moustache, never.”
“Really,” laughed the girl. “If you saw it at this moment you would not
be so proud of it. It has drooped and wilted in the rain like a faded
flower. ’Twere better done away with, for it will mark you out from
the smooth-faced troopers who throng Carlisle.”
William somewhat wistfully wrung the water from it, and attempted to
draw it out across his cheeks.
“Madam, I suspect your design. One by one you have depleted me of what
goes to make up a Borderer, and gradually you have reduced me to the
commonplace level of those crop-eared villains who are fighting against
their King. Then, when I come to you and say, ‘I beseech you to fulfill
your promise to me,’ you will reply, ‘Away, Hezekiah, I know you not.’”
“’T is near to that point now, and a little more or less will make
slight difference with me, while it will greatly aid your passage
through Carlisle.”
“Would it not be well to have my ears cropped also?”
“They are somewhat prominent, now that your locks are gone. I wish I had
brought those shears with me. You see now why I must leave you. Oh, the
vanity of man! The self-conceit of woman is a molehill compared with a
mountain. But take courage, William. I shall not be near you when
the deed is done, and the moustache sacrificed, and you will wait in
Scotland until it grows again. Perhaps by that time our English troubles
will be finished, and thus Armstrong and England will be their true
selves at the same moment.”
They had long since reached the main road and were making way as well as
they could through the mud. The rain had not ceased, nor did it show any
sign of ceasing. It needed frivolous talk to keep the spirits up in such
weather. The young woman was earnest enough in her resolve to further
his disguise by the means she had suggested, but to this she could not
get Armstrong to say either yea or nay. He changed the subject.
“You never told me how you managed to get so much information in the
camp. Did they let you pass unquestioned?”
“It happened that I knew the officer in charge, and he knew me, and was
rather apologetic in his demeanour toward me, for he was one of those
of the court-martial who condemned my brother, I told him, truly enough,
that I had been to see Cromwell and had obtained his complete pardon.
That I had seen the General at Northampton, where he had made me a
promise, and again at Broughton Castle, where he had redeemed it. I was
now on my way home; that was all. The officer was very glad indeed to
hear of my success, and said, what was also true, that he had deeply
regretted the condemnation, but that the court could not do otherwise
with the evidence before it. He had no suspicion that I was the female
fiend who accompanied the man they sought, and as the talk was all of
this man I could not help but hear, and was indeed very glad to listen.”
As evening drew on, conversation lagged, and they rode silently
together, keeping doggedly to the work in hand, in spite of the flagging
energies of their horses and their own bedraggled weariness. The rain
fell with pitiless steadiness, and darkness came on early, with no
chance of a moon being visible that night. The welcome light of a town
twinkled ahead at last, and they resolved to stop there unless the risk
threatened to be overwhelming. At the outskirts they learned that
they had reached Clitheroe, and that “The Star” inn offered fair
accommodation for man and beast. They were not to reach Yorkshire that
night, and had accomplished less than thirty miles from Manchester.
They dismounted at “The Star,” two very water-soaked persons, and their
reception was far from being particularly cordial.
“Are you one of the troopers billeted here tonight?” asked the host, who
appeared not over pleased to welcome such enforced guests.
“No, I pay for my accommodation. I am an officer of the Warwick horse.”
“I was warned this morning to keep all the room I had for a company from
Manchester.”
“Then that need not trouble you. They will not be here to-night. They
did not strike camp until this afternoon, later than they expected.
Should any arrive who have a better right here than I, I will turn out,
at whatever time of the night it is necessary. I want two rooms, and
a sitting-room with a big fire. And get us a hot supper as soon as you
can. There is good stabling for the horses, I hope?”
“The best in Lancashire. You are on this hide-and-seek business, I
suppose?”
The landlord had become wonderfully genial, now that there was the
prospect of good orders and gold ahead.
“What hide-and-seek business?”
“This slippery Scot. Have you got him yet?”
“No. It is thought he has made for the coast.”
“Never you fear, sir. I know that kind of cattle, and have had them
staying with me many’s the time. He’ll take to the hills, and you mark
my word, unless you hold hands across England, you’ll not catch him, and
even then you’ll have to look well to your feet, or he’ll slip through
between them.”
“I hardly, see how a man on horseback can do that.”
“You mark my word, they’ll be looking for a man on horseback, and he’ll
be sneaking through the grass; then they’ll be looking in the grass, and
he’s whistled to his horse and is off over the hills. I know they chaps,
and have played blind man’s buff with them myself. You mark my word,
that lad is in Scotland before to-morrow night, and laughing at you
all.”
“Oh, I hope not!”
“You try to catch an eel by diving after it, and all you get is a
wetting.”
“Well, I’m wet enough now, landlord, and have caught no eel yet, so if
you’ll order a brisk fire going, we will see what we can do in the way
of eels tomorrow.”
It proved that Armstrong was quite right about the non-arrival of the
Manchester contingent, and his deep slumber was not disturbed by any
notice to quit. All night long the rain lashed down, but at daybreak
it ceased, although the heavy clouds hung low in the sky. After a good
breakfast the two set out, and were not molested or questioned as they
passed from under the shadow of the castle at Clitheroe.